PART 2: “WILLIE … ALMOST MICKEY … AND THE DUKE”

Redlands Connection is a concoction of sports memories emanating from a city that once numbered less than 20,000 people. From the Super Bowl to the World Series, from the World Cup to golf’s U.S. Open and the Olympics, plus NCAA Final Four connections, NASCAR, the Kentucky Derby and Indianapolis 500, Tour de France cycling, major tennis, NBA and a little NHL, aquatics and quite a bit more, the sparkling little city that sits around halfway between Los Angeles and Palm Springs on Interstate 10 has its share of sports connections. A well-known guy surprisingly showed up. – Obrey Brown

Subbing for the Cashman part of that 1981 song, “Willie, Almost Mickey and the Duke.”

I never came close to chatting with Mickey Mantle. Known as The Mick. I’d only seen him play in person a couple times. That came in 1968, his final season, but only because the A’s had moved to Oakland. It meant the Yankees had a few stops to make out there.

About a decade later, during the 1977 season in Oakland, I got a press pass to a mid-week afternoon game with the visiting Yankees, a team managed by Billy Martin. These were the Reggie Jackson Yankees who, incidentally, wasn’t in that day’s lineup against his former team.

That day, it was Vida Blue pitching against Ron Guidry.

The world champion A’s had long since been disbanded – trades, free agency, you name it. The Yankees, meanwhile, had picked up Jackson and Catfish Hunter from three-time champion A’s.

Guidry, leading 2-0, had tamed the A’s for 8 1/3 innings before he gave up ninth inning home runs to Manny Sanguillan and Dick Allen to knot the score at 2-2. Martin replaced Guidry with Sparkly Lyle, who was the Cy Young Award winner one season earlier.

The game went 15 innings. Blue lasted 13. Finally, in the 15th, the Yankees broke through for three runs, winning, 5-2. There weren’t even 10,000 fans in Oakland’s park that weekday afternoon.

I couldn’t wait for a post-game chat in New York’s clubhouse. I wasn’t assigned to cover that day. I’d gotten a media credential through my college, Chabot. There was no difficulty getting a pass, certainly like it is these days.

As a budding reporter, I wanted to watch New York reporters talk about the game with Martin. I wanted to experience a give and take between media and managers. I’ll never forget that as long as I live. I figured that was part of my “education.”

With Martin, the media discussed Guidry’s brilliant game, despite giving up those ninth inning HRs. There was expected second-guessing: Why didn’t you bring Lyle in to start the ninth. Martin, a little annoyed, told them he felt Guidry had “enough gas left.”

There was some discussion of Jackson not being in the lineup on his return to Oakland. He’d played the day before and struck out three times. Martin said, “We just wanted to give him a day off.”

Blue, he told reporters, looked sharp and strong.

That chat lasted around 30 minutes. It started to break up. Guys had deadlines. Martin probably had plans, too, especially since he was a Bay Area guy. I was one of about a dozen guys that circulated in this visitor’s office.

I won’t ever forget how he looked right at me, saying, “Something I can do for you, son?”

In all honesty, I had a couple questions for him. I’d hesitated to ask. After all, I was a nobody.

“That play (Graig) Nettles made in the ninth, the double play,” I said, “was unbelievable. Went to his left. Sort of a semi dive. That bailed Lyle out of a tough spot.”

It came in the ninth. Sanguillan and Allen had homered. Wayne Gross drew a one-out walk off Lyle. Earl Williams, a home-run hitting catcher, was looking to drive one out, too. But he cracked a shot into the hole toward left field. Nettles, reacting quickly, got the ball to Willie Randolph at second in a hurry.

Double play, ending the threat.

I also asked Martin about a couple of steal attempts that catcher Thurman Munson had shut down. A’s speedster Bill North was one of those. North had a dispute on that out call at second.

There were a couple other plays I wanted to ask about, but I didn’t want to press my luck.

Martin took those questions on with a full head of steam. Those N.Y. reporters ready to depart instead hung around. On Nettles and Munson, Martin rhapsodized about how “this game wouldn’t have been won without those plays. Big keys to the game.”

Was I done? He wanted to know. Yeah, I said.

“You know, we’ve got a lot of high-priced talent here from New York that didn’t even pick up on those plays,” said Martin. “You keep asking questions like that, young man, you’re going to go a long way in this business.”

Where was my Mom? My friends? A tape recorder?

I couldn’t believe this.

Billy Martin said that to me? In later years, I wondered if he was just picking away at his regular press corps.

SHOWING UP AT A REDLANDS AMERICAN LEGION

Seven or eight years later, 1984 I think, I was sitting in my Redlands newsroom office. I got a call from an area baseball-lover, Fred Long. Guy had been a scout for Montreal, maybe Kansas City or Milwaukee. Can’t remember each of Fred’s affiliations.

“O.B.,” he said, “Billy Martin’s here.”

At first I didn’t believe this. Martin was drinking beer at a local American Legion Post, Fred told me.

I asked him what the hell Billy Martin was doing in Redlands.

Apparently, Fred told me, Billy had a wife from Yucaipa. They were in this area visiting. I dropped everything. Rushed over to that legion post on foot. In those days, that American Legion spot was located a few blocks from my office. Sure enough, there was Martin, a beer in front of him, four guys sitting around him, a bartender hanging out. Talking baseball. I snuck myself into the mix, listening, hearing the chat back and forth.

Upon arrival, he was chatting about Ted Williams, that legendary Boston left fielder who could hit like crazy. Now that American League play included designated hitters, Martin made it clear that if he were managing a team with Williams, “I’d have him at DH.”

Guys told me later that Williams told them that Williams didn’t practice much as a fielder or a baserunner, “but he could really hit.”

For nearly three hours, I watched Martin down a beer, or two. He never cracked. Kept talking baseball. There was talk of Mickey Mantle, his good buddy. “No one,” said Martin, “could come close to his power … or speed.”

How he shouldn’t have lost his jobs in Minnesota or Texas or even the Yankees. He’d just gotten finished managing in Oakland, of all places – Billy Ball!

It was the off-season, I should report. Martin was in the Redlands area because he’d married a gal who had Yucaipa connections. Yucaipa was a city just east of Redlands. While she was apparently visiting friends and family, Billy visited that Redlands legion post. Talked a little about his military background. He felt comfortable.

Finally, when I felt comfortable enough, I mentioned that Yankees-A’s game in Oakland from a few years earlier. How he’d been real classy to me in his clubhouse after that game. I asked him, despite all the beer he’d downed, if he’d remembered.

He stared right at me. Took a swig of beer. He even grabbed a pretzel and stuck it into his mouth, kind of smiling as he thought. I figured he was getting ready to say he’d remembered.

“No,” he finally said, “I can’t quite remember anything like that. It’s been a few years, right?”

Oh, yeah.

Said Martin: “A lot’s happened since then.”

Part 3 of Willie, Almost Mickey and The Duke next week.