"O it was always intense.
Just as you said
And it was not a regular
Not a regular game at all.
It was every game meant so much,
You know,
One seemed to top the other."

That's one of the many rambling nuggets collected in O Holy Cow!, a 1993 compilation subtitled The Selected Verse of Phil Rizzuto. Actually, it's just color commentary from Phil's nearly 40 years in the broadcast booth, but the subtitle is somehow appropriate. The man could talk, and sometimes, even when he left you with a shaking head and a silly grin, it was poetry. And the poet was a gentleman. And now he's gone.

I don't know the context of the above quote, except that it was during a Yankees-Red Sox game, so it's easy to imagine he was talking about 1978, which seems to be repeating itself this year. But it doesn't matter who you root for; how could anyone not like the Scooter, a guy whose picture should grace the entry for non-sequitur in the dictionary; who loved Cora (his wife of an astonishing 64 years), cannoli, and the art of bunting, in that order; who wasn't ashamed to positively cower in the presence of lightning?

Rizzuto's numbers as a ballplayer in the 1940s and 1950s didn't get him into the Hall of Fame. But they got him close enough for his charm, personality, and unbridled enthusiasm to close the gap. And because God didn't give him a body for sports, he earned every scrappy hit, every stolen base, every perfect bunt, with desire and grit. From the booth, he railed on the inability of today's major leaguers to execute a proper bunt. It offended him. You know what? It kind of offends me, too.

"He has powerful legs and cute buns,
that Henderson."

He'd say any damn thing that entered his head, Scooter would. Particularly late in his broadcasting career, when - let's be honest - senility crept in, he'd occasionally go into his home-run call for routine flies to right. My brother Jeff and I would do impersonations: "Holy cow, that's gaaah - oh, wait, Steve Sax is under it..." Sometimes he'd be more interested in telling stories from his youth than telling the one being written 50 feet below him, but the old stories were usually more interesting, especially during the early '80s when I'd watch games downstairs with Grandma Olivia and the first two guys in the batting order were - no kidding - Rupert Jones and Jerry Mumphrey. From Roger Maris' 61st homer to the dawning of the Jeter era, Rizzuto was the glue for every fan at home.

Anyway, so long, Phil. I'm raising my bottled water right now to a class act, and remembering how your lovely, all-over-the-place Hall of Fame speech was the only good thing about baseball in 1994, the year they shut it down. I'm sitting next to the signed pictures, bat, and ball that my wife bought for me a few years ago, and hoping she puts up with me half as long as Cora put up with you.

Goodbye, sir. You took what you were given and made a life. You inspired me and made me laugh. Holy cow. Now teach the saints how to bunt.

"Fly ball right field
It's gonna drop in.
No it's not gonna drop in
Happy 46th wedding anniversary
Thomas and Mary Anne Clearwater.
That's it.
The last three, six, nine, twelve Yankees
Went down in order.
So that's it.
The game is over."

Learn more about this author, Joseph Bednar.
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