Memories of the late Jim Bouton and the Met League

One of my biggest thrills in my lengthy sports writing career used to take place during the summer months when I worked for the North Jersey Herald & News in Passaic.

It was a tremendous sports staff, with people like Tom Guilitti, Shawn Roarke, Jim Brennan, Keith Idec, Ralph Vacchiano, Jim Carty, Sean McClelland, Mike Niebart, Tom Gatto, Ives Galarcep, Rosemarie Ross, Ken Pringle, Rick Resnick and the late Larry O’Rourke. That is clearly a superstar lineup of sports journalists over the last three decades.

I covered a variety of sports for the paper, including extensive coverage of the New Jersey Nets and New York Knicks, Seton Hall and Rutgers basketball, Rutgers football, as well as all high school sports. It was an incredible place to work and a stop in my career that definitely helped to hone my craft – as well as finding great joints to hit after work was over including Paul’s Bar and Bowling (my favorite, because there was no place like it in the world), the Fern Bar (don’t think that was the real name), Das Fleiglempouse or Das Lichtenstein (never knew the real name of that joint either) and Casey’s (I definitely got that one right).

Well, one of my regular responsibilities at the Herald & News was covering New Jersey’s premier semi-pro baseball league, the old Met League, which incredibly remained in existence for more than 40 years in Bergen and Passaic Counties.

The Met League definitely produced some of the best baseball in the area, filled with up-and-coming stars, some other standouts who were on the downside of their careers and then even others who were on the older side of old, but still managed to compete and do fairly well.

The games were played in places like Breslin Field in Lyndhurst, Nash Park in Clifton, Vander Sande Park in Saddle Brook and Veteran’s Field in Ridgewood. The games were old time baseball, played with wooden bats and nine innings long. The games were usually well pitched and definitely well played. The games were also highly competitive, which made the games extremely entertaining.

During the summer months, I covered at least four Met League games a week and wrote a weekly page devoted to the Met League, filled with features, notes, statistics, schedules, standings, you name it. I was extremely proud to have constructed that page (along with the help of colleague Gatto, who now works for the Sporting News) and it was a very well read and popular page with local baseball fans, especially the participants in the Met League.

Well, one of the regular players in that league was a guy who found success in the major leagues in two different stints. Jim Bouton, who died Wednesday at the age of 80, was an up-and-coming star with the New York Yankees in the early 1960s. He won seven games in his rookie season of 1962, then exploded in 1963, posting a 21-7  record with a 2.53 earned run average for the Yankees, earning a spot on the American League All-Star team and actually collecting votes for the AL Most Valuable Player.

A year later, 1964, Bouton won 18 games with a 3.02 ERA and won two more games in the World Series, helping the Yankees win the World Series title.

But then injuries plagued Bouton and led to his demise with the Bronx Bombers. In 1965, a forgettable year for the Yanks, Bouton won only four games, posting a dismal 4-15 record with an ERA of almost 5. Bouton would only win five more times over the next three seasons. Bouton was then sold to the expansion Seattle Pilots in 1969, a year that would eventually become a very influential one for Bouton.

While Bouton was with the Pilots, he began to write an extremely controversial book entitled “Ball Four,” which would become one of the best selling sports books of all-time. Bouton did the unthinkable, opening up the door to baseball clubhouses and off-the-field antics. He freely wrote about drug abuse in the locker rooms and massive drinking after games. He portrayed legends like the late Mickey Mantle, Whitey Ford, Joe Pepitone and others in unflattering lights, like constantly womanizing.

Before Bouton’s book, it was always considered taboo to even talk about what went on in the locker rooms. That was like sacred ground. What happened in the locker room generally stayed in the locker room. 

But Bouton wrote about players freely taking amphetamines to battle hangovers and to stay awake during day games and drinking in the clubhouse. That was considered a no-no. Bouton was opening up a gigantic can of worms by doing so.

However, Bouton’s diary of all that happened made for very interesting reading in 1970, because the subject was never before breached. Mickey Mantle was the icon and hero to practically everyone In America in 1970. It was hard to believe that Mantle was using illegal drugs and drinking all the time. But Bouton opened up that door and wrote freely.

It turned Bouton into somewhat of a pariah in baseball circles. A lot of ballplayers shunned Bouton. The Yankees refused to let Bouton come back to Old-Timers’ Day festivities for ages. Commissioner Bowie Kuhn called the book “detrimental to baseball.” People like the late Thurman Munson bashed Bouton for writing the book. Pete Rose regularly shouted, “Fuck you, Shakespeare,” at Bouton whenever he pitched. Sportswriter Dick Young penned Bouton as a “social leper.”

However, the book was a best seller. It sold millions of copies and was reprinted several times. The New York Times listed the book as “one of the greatest sports books ever written.” Time Magazine lists “Ball Four” as one of the 100 best non-fiction books of all time.

By 1970, Bouton’s baseball career appeared to be over. He was released by the Seattle Pilots and did not receive another contract. He took a job as a local sportscaster at WCBS-TV Channel 2 in New York and gained popularity there. My first association with Bouton came in the mid 1970s, when he was regularly covering the exploits of the Dickinson High School football team, which was in the midst of a lengthy losing streak spanning years.

I also got to know him from my days working with the Jersey Indians minor league team in Roosevelt Stadium in 1977 and 1978. Bouton would come from time to time to cover the Indians, but he was also considering a comeback to baseball as a player, predominately a knuckleball pitcher. Bouton sat with me in the press box of Roosevelt Stadium on several occasions. He wanted to possibly get a chance to sign with the Indians as a free agent, but that never materialized.

However, legendary owner Bill Veeck did give Bouton a chance to come back with the White Sox in 1977, but his comeback lasted only two months.

A year later, Bouton, at age 39 and eight years removed from Major League Baseball, made a comeback with the Atlanta Braves and pitched in five games, posting a 1-3 record. It was remarkable that he was able to pitch in the big leagues once again. He ended his major league career with a record of 62-63.

Bouton then returned to Channel 2 to do sports and was also the creator of the shredded bubble gum Big League Chew.  He was also briefly an actor for a Robert Altman movie and played himself in a short-lived TV sitcom called – of course – “Ball Four.” That show lasted all of five episodes.

Bouton never gave up his love of competing in baseball, thus his association with the Met League, an organization he pitched in for a remarkable 18 seasons, well into his 50s. Bouton was mostly a knuckleball pitcher in the Met League, but he was very successful, winning almost 100 games in his Met League career.

When I started to cover the Met League regularly in the summer of 1992, I approached Bouton before one game and asked him if he would consent to an interview. I asked him if he remembered me from my days with the Jersey Indians and it was like a light bulb went off over his head.

Bouton was more than gracious to do the interview. In fact, we went out after one game for a burger and a few beers at – where else – Paul’s Bar and Bowling, which was just a knuckleball’s throw away from Nash Park.

Bouton loved the fact that I was giving so much publicity to the league.

“You know, these guys play just as hard as big leaguers and get no glory from it,” Bouton said in 1992 about the Met League players. “It’s a joy to be around all these young guys. They make me feel young. I especially like it when I strike out a young guy who is looking for the knuckleball and I slip in a fastball. It’s a lot of fun and if it wasn’t fun, I wouldn’t be doing it for as long as I have been.”

I once showed Bouton an autograph I had of his from when I was a little boy. It was given to me by my confirmation teacher in seventh grade. The autograph read, “To Donna, Best Wishes, Jim Bouton.” He then grabbed my notebook and wrote, “To Jimmy, Best Wishes, Thanks for the Chats, Jim Bouton.” He said, 

“You’re obviously not Donna.” Bouton also autographed my copy of Ball Four, an old paperback version from like 1973. He laughed at the condition of the book.

Bouton left the Met League in 1994, when he was 55 years old, and moved to Massachusetts with his new wife. Eventually, he reconciled with the Yankees and returned to Old-Timer’s Day just a few years ago. 

Bouton was truly a baseball icon and his legacy will live on with the real first tell-all book, which nowadays, wouldn’t open as many eyes, because it seems like everyone is writing a tell-all book these days. Well, those authors all have Jim Bouton to thank for it.

And I will be forever grateful to Bouton for being as gracious and kind as he was to me – and grateful to the Met League for three great summers of fun baseball with fun characters, a lot of whom became good friends.

Well, the blog about the U.S. Women’s World Cup team the other day certainly started a firestorm, one that this blog rarely sees. It drew opinions on both sides, either agreeing with me or vehemently disagreeing with me. More than 400 people commented on Facebook, which is amazing. I’m glad that there were so many people who read it, considering that I don’t get paid to write it. It’s always rewarding when people read what I write. I’ve been extremely fortunate to have had been a part of my life for the last 36 years now.

However, the blog is not meant to stir up angry and nasty comments, like some of those that were fired at me over the last few days. I’m big enough to handle the criticism, but the personal stuff, either towards me or towards someone commenting or even the subject I am writing about -- is just uncalled for and unfortunately wrong.

There are ways to criticize and comment without making it personal and hateful. I appreciate those who disagreed with me and kept their opinions to the subject, without making it a personal attack. I hope that people continue to read, because that’s what the blog is all about.

One last thing: After writing that blog, I don’t know how the comments became political. Believe me, it was not the intent. And for those who don’t know better, I am a dyed-in-the-wool proud Democrat and will be until I die. Anyone who thinks I wrote that blog in support of No. 45 who occupies the White House right now is delusional. Just because I didn’t like the behavior of the U.S. Women’s Soccer Team does not mean I am a supporter of one Donald J. Trump. That’s the furthest from the truth. I just happen to – I guess – agree with him on this topic. But it was not at all intended to be political. Ok, end of subject.

I’d now much rather be writing about the Mets, who if they trade Noah Syndergaard, I’ll be really ticked off. I also want to offer Zach Wheeler an extension instead of trading him for a low level prospect that will never pan out. I want Wheeler to grow old with Jacob DeGrom, Thor and Steven Matz. I still hold on to the hope that the four of them will be a dominant pitching staff someday. Yeah, I know. Maybe I’m the one who is delusional.

You can read more of my stuff at www.hudsonreporter.com and www.theobserver.com and follow me on Twitter @ogsmar.

No celebrations here for the U.S. Women's Soccer Team

The United States women’s soccer team captured the World Cup Sunday, winning the world title for the second straight time and the fourth time since the inception of the tourney for women in 1991.

For that achievement, the team will be treated to a ticker tape parade down the Canyon of Heroes in lower Manhattan Wednesday morning.

It will be the second time that New York has welcomed the conquering heroes with the ultimate of celebrations, an event not only reserved for New York’s championship teams like the Yankees (last time in 2009), the Rangers in 1994 and the Mets in 1986, but also for Olympic gold medal winners, returning NASA astronauts and the hostages that were held in Iran for over a year and returned to freedom.

All of that is wonderful and it’s an absolute just reward for the achievement of the team. And it’s safe to say that there will be hundreds of thousands of young impressionable girls who will line the streets of New York, cheering and waving to the team on their statuesque floats.

But in this corner, there’s a dark cloud that hovers about this team. I know that I’m probably In the strong minority over this feeling I have. I know that it probably reeks of a lack of patriotism, which is the furthest thing from the truth.

I’m a proud product of a World War II veteran, a recipient of two Purple Hearts and a Silver Star for his service to the United States Army. The Stars and Stripes are proudly flown outside my home most days. 

Only on certain days (usually involving my favorite sports teams or a distinctive holiday) does the American flag come down. I bleed red, white and blue. My sentiments have nothing to do with my feelings for the United States of America.

But I have a strong disdain for this particular team. It borders on downright hatred.

And there are several reasons for my feelings. Again, I could be raising high holy hell against me by expressing the opinion, but I feel obligated to do so, especially when so many people have asked me my thoughts about the U.S. Women’s soccer team.

For one, let’s start with the so-called captain of the team, Megan Rapinoe. Sure, she is an excellent player and expresses herself with her multitude of ravishing hair colors, like pink and purple. She’s certainly allowed to express herself anyway she seems fit, even with her hair color.

But I for one cannot fathom the idea of someone representing our country either not standing for the National Anthem, which she did on several occasions this year, or not putting her hand on her heart at the playing of the National Anthem before the U.S. faced the Netherlands in the championship game on Sunday.

Here she is, playing in the most important soccer game of her life and she cannot even respect the country she is playing for, with USA on the front of her jersey? Rapinoe can’t stand with her hand on her heart for two minutes like the rest of her teammates?

Rapinoe said previously that she cannot respect the National Anthem because it was written by Francis Scott Key, who was a slave owner during the Civil War when the song was written.

“I’ll probably never put my hand over my heart,” Rapinoe said in an interview before the World Cup began. “I’ll probably never sing the National Anthem ever again. “

When Rapinoe was asked if her protestations were a contradiction to her captaincy of the United States team, she said, “Not really. Because I feel like I’m a walking protest. Colin Kaepernick very much inspired me and inspired an entire nation and still does, to actually think about these things. The way he spoke about them so clearly, so a matter-of-fact, wasn’t trying to convince anyone. I found it extremely inspiring and convicting. Like, how can you not support it? This is what it’s going to take for things to change, norms to change, conventions to change, to try to break down white supremacy and break down racial bias. Using this blanketed patriotism as a defense against what the protest actually is for is actually pretty cowardly.”

Rapinoe continued, “We can actually have a conversation, instead of just telling me that it’s a privilege to put on the jersey. Of course, it’s a privilege for me to pull on the jersey, but part of that privilege is representing America and representing America is representing all of America. So I feel like there was a major miss on that part, which is unfortunate.”

Now, if Rapinoe believes that there is a racial inequality in America – which unfortunately there is – then speak out in other forums. But don’t dare use the World Cup when you are representing the United States as that forum. It’s actually quite bogus and disgraceful to every single member of the United States military, many of whom have given their lives in order so Rapinoe can speak her mind freely and wear whatever color hair she chooses.

I’m all for freedom of speech and I know that’s what our great country is based on. But just like I didn’t like Kaepernick taking a knee before 49er games, I despised Rapinoe using the World Cup for her stage to express her feelings. It was the wrong place, the wrong time, the wrong venue. It sent a hideous message to everyone involved. Especially as the team captain, Rapinoe had the responsibility to represent her team in a true patriotic manner. Not by protesting.

My negative feelings about this team grow further. In their opening round win against Thailand, the United States won by the ungodly score of 13-0. Say what? They scored 13 goals? That’s just insane. And the players celebrated each and every one of those goals like they were World Cup winners, sliding across the field, pumping their fists, the entire team running onto the field to express their joy.

Was there any consideration given to the other team? In an international competition, where was fair play? That was totally embarrassing the opponent by running up the score like that. Someone pointed out to me that one of the tiebreakers was goal differential. Well, the U.S. didn’t have to worry about tiebreakers because they won every game. If they won even 8-0, no one would have blinked an eye. But 13-0 in an international soccer match? No one does that. Ever!

When the United States played England in the semifinals, in a very heated contest, Alex Morgan (who scored five of those 13 goals against Thailand) scored what proved to be the game-winner in a 2-1 Team USA win. And what did Ms. Morgan do after scoring her goal? She made a gesture like she was sipping tea to embarrass the English, much like the people in Great Britain do every day. That was just so uncalled for and actually ridiculous.

And it goes one step further. After Team USA defeated the Netherlands, 2-0, to win the championship match, three members of the team (one of which was Rapinoe) grabbed an American flag and traipsed across the pitch with the flag. When it came time to make a hand gesture for a photographer, Allie Long took the flag and disgracefully threw the flag on the ground, which is a complete no-no. Rapinoe actually stepped on the flag. Luckily, team member Kelley O’Hara picked up the flag quickly to properly respect Old Glory. No one is ever supposed to place the American flag on the ground. Ever!

And then there’s the entire team fighting over their thoughts of getting equal pay with the men. Are they kidding? FIFA’s grand take on the tourney didn’t come close to what the men’s tourney brings in, in terms of entry fees and sponsorship rights and television rights. Everyone is pointing to the Neilsen numbers that the championship game produced. Yeah, that’s because a U.S. team was in the finals. Would the women’s tourney draw those numbers if the Team USA wasn’t playing? No way. Sorry, but the women do not deserve the same pay that the men get. There should be no comparison.

I’m sure that’s going to bring about comments about me being a sexist. No, that’s just being someone with common sense. It has nothing to do with gender. It has to do with generating funds. It’s like saying that women golfers deserve the same amount as men. That idea is also silly. If you want to argue Wimbledon and U.S. Open tennis, then that’s a valid point. But not in international soccer. It’s not even close.

So there will be a grand celebration in lower Manhattan Wednesday. I will not be one of those in attendance. I think these women acted deplorably during this World Cup. Sure, they won. All the power to them. They just could have conducted themselves as proud American citizens, not protesting, unsportsmanlike hooligans. Good riddance. Let’s hope for better behavior when the U.S. goes for a “three-peat” in 2023.

I lost my fanatical feelings for the NBA ages ago, but after this free agent frenzy, where players actually dictated the way franchises operate is a bit over the top. Players negotiating with themselves as to where they were going to sign. Kawhi Leonard actually got the Oklahoma City Thunder to trade Paul George to the Clippers after Leonard, the NBA Finals MVP, decided to sign with the Clippers as a free agent. Leonard actually brokered the deal, forcing the Thunder’s hand into making the trade. The whole league is a mess. And the salary structure is out of control. To think, the Brooklyn Nets will pay Kevin Durant $44 million this year to NOT play. How wrong is that?

In closing, if the Mets trade off Zach Wheeler for a bag of balls like what’s rumored, then they shouldn’t be in the business of Major League Baseball. Wheeler is an elite pitcher and the Mets should be looking to lock him up long term, not disposing of him and not getting nearly equal value in return. But the Mets won’t re-sign Wheeler and they’ll get rid of him, like they did with their free agents-to-be in 2017.

However, all of the players that the Mets got in trades that year didn’t exactly turn out well. In fact, of all the players they got for Jay Bruce, Curtis Granderson, Addison Reed and Lucas Duda, only Jacob Rhame remains in the organization. And Rhame will probably never pitch for the Mets ever again.

Simply put, the Mets are a disgrace and it’s never been more embarrassing than this year.

It’s all on the heads of two people. Brodie Van Wagenen, who constructed the useless blob, and Mickey Calladoo, who is simply the worst manager the franchise has ever had. And believe me, the Mets have had their share of winners, like Jeff Torborg, Dallas Green, Willie Randolph, Art Howe, Jerry Manuel and Joe Frazier (not Smokin’ Joe, the other one). But Calladoo (called that because he’s a combination of his real name and Ben McAdoo, the hideous ex-Giants coach) is clearly the worst.

I can find better things to do for the rest of the summer than watching the Mets.

You can read more of my work at www.hudsonreporter.com and www.theobserver.com and follow me on Twitter @ogsmar.