GaryMrMets
08-02-2004, 07:06 PM
http://newyork.yankees.mlb.com/NASApp/mlb/nyy/news/nyy_news.jsp?ymd=20040802&content_id=817207&vkey=news_nyy&fext=.jsp
08/02/2004 1:56 PM ET
Yankees' Munson not forgotten
All-Star catcher died in plane crash 25 years ago
By Tom Singer / MLB.com
I can't remember if I cried
When I read about his widowed bride
But something touched me deep inside
The day the music died
-- Don McLean, "American Pie"
At 3:02 p.m. on Aug. 2, 1979 -- 25 years ago today -- the Yankees' music died. Their soundtrack was stilled.
Thurman Munson perished in the crash of his private jet short of a runway at Akron-Canton Regional Airport, and The Bronx wept.
Teammates he had ragged, reporters he had cursed, fans whose pleas for autographs he had ignored ... they all cried the hardest.
Still do.
"It's incredible that it's been that long ago," says Graig Nettles, adding softly, "That's almost half my life."
"Time passes fast. As you get older, it passes faster," says Ron Guidry. "He was a special friend, a great ballplayer. A good person."
Thursday, Aug. 2, had been an off-day for the Yankees. Thus scattered throughout Manhattan, they were quickly united by their grief.
Munson had perpetual stubble, always scowled under that mustache. His nicknames were all unflattering: Squatty Boy, Jelly Belly, Pigpen.
He was the Bluto of the Yankees' Animal House.
He also was their soul, inspiration and ringleader.
"He was absolutely my favorite teammate," Goose Gossage says. "And I had some great, great, great teammates. But he was the best."
He was also a darn good receiver.
Guidry was the one who made the pitches, but he has always felt that his singular 1978 season (25-3 with a 1.74 ERA) was Munson's masterpiece.
"I went the whole year never shaking him off one time," Guidry recalls. "And he always knew when to say something, and when to shut up."
The "C" in the box score denoted not only "catcher," but "captain." In 1976, Munson had become the Yankees' first team captain since Lou Gehrig delivered his 1939 farewell.
Munson never got to say good-bye.
And the Yankees have never let go.
His locker is preserved as a shrine in their clubhouse. They observe their own version of the Air Force's missing-man formation.
Subtle. Poignant. Whenever Yankee Stadium's video board flickers with the Munson tribute, Jorge Posada stays clear of home plate.
"It's his plate," Posada simply says.
The teams of the '70s were Munson's Yankees. Each era in their dynastic history has its defining personality.
Before, it was Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig and Joe DiMaggio and Mickey Mantle. Now it's Derek Jeter.
In-between, it was Thurman Munson. He played in pain and exhaustion, so no one else could quit around him. He dialed up the rivalry with the Boston Red Sox from competition to warfare.
"I don't remember him ever chewing people out and pointing fingers," Guidry says. "He'd just say, 'We're not playing as a team. We're better than this.'"
When he arrived in 1969 as a No. 1 draft pick out of Kent State and after only 99 games in the minors, the Yankees were mired in the fifth year of a wretched skid during which they were 382-424.
Munson arrived on the scene with the attitude that the losing was over. He did not become part of the Yankees. The Yankees became part of him.
"In those days," recalls Bobby Murcer, who became Munson's tightest friend, "rookies kind of walked quietly and did what they were told. Thurman was different. He felt like he belonged the first time he stepped on the field at Yankee Stadium."
When he departed, the Yankees were two-time World Series champions, three-time American League pennant winners.
After he departed, it would be 17 years before the Yankees won another World Series.
Their heavy hearts dragged the Yankees back to the bottom of the East Division.
"When you lose a leader like that, there's such a void," says Willie Randolph. "You keep thinking, 'This can't be happening.' We just wanted to get the season over with and go home."
Sports heroes leave us all the time, and it's always sad. Ken Hubbs, Roberto Clemente, Darryl Kile.
When the sports figure is iconic, the foundation for an entire team and the emotional cue for an entire city, his sudden loss is devastating.
Time chisels a man's mystique, while dimming his accomplishments. In memory, image tends to obscure feats.
Well, Munson was a giant. In a three-season span from 1975 through 1977, he batted .300-plus each year while averaging 16 homers and 103 RBIs.
He was also a rock, tireless. From 1972 through 1978, he averaged 149 games. Only occasional breathers came as a designated hitter, as he caught 923 games in that seven-year span.
Such diligence brought him some rewards: 1970 Rookie of the Year, 1976 Most Valuable Player, three Gold Gloves. But not enough.
He played in the shadows of two contemporaries. Munson didn't hide his resentment over the worship accorded Johnny Bench and Carlton Fisk.
Both are in the Hall of Fame. So Munson is still being treated as their inferior, unfairly.
Time would not have made much difference for him. The accumulation of the workload was already reflected in his diminished production.
In 1978, his last full season, Munson's run production dwindled to six homers and 71 RBIs in 617 at-bats. He was down to three homers and 39 RBIs in 97 games in 1979.
But he had already done enough in his alloted time. While he and Fisk (who became a Boston regular in 1972) were in the AL at the same time, Munson was chosen to more All-Star teams (7-to-6), earned more Gold Gloves (3-to-1), and led his team to more World Series titles (2-to-0).
Not that Munson needs any more tributes. The Yankees honor him every day, as they have since that Aug. 6, when they risked having to forfeit that night's home game against Baltimore to attend his Ohio funeral.
Lou Piniella and Bobby Murcer delivered the eulogies in Canton.
Murcer had one more eulogy left in him. That night, he drove in all five runs, ending with a two-run, ninth-inning single, in a 5-4 victory over the Orioles.
Tom Singer is a reporter for MLB.com. This story was not subject to the approval of Major League Baseball or its clubs.
http://newyork.yankees.mlb.com/images/2004/08/02/Crmo3KIH.jpg
The Yankees didn't win another World Series for 17 years after Thurman Munson died. (AP)
http://newyork.yankees.mlb.com/images/2004/08/02/9cGVgoBk.jpg
Thurman Munson won three Gold Gloves behind the plate. (AP)
08/02/2004 1:56 PM ET
Yankees' Munson not forgotten
All-Star catcher died in plane crash 25 years ago
By Tom Singer / MLB.com
I can't remember if I cried
When I read about his widowed bride
But something touched me deep inside
The day the music died
-- Don McLean, "American Pie"
At 3:02 p.m. on Aug. 2, 1979 -- 25 years ago today -- the Yankees' music died. Their soundtrack was stilled.
Thurman Munson perished in the crash of his private jet short of a runway at Akron-Canton Regional Airport, and The Bronx wept.
Teammates he had ragged, reporters he had cursed, fans whose pleas for autographs he had ignored ... they all cried the hardest.
Still do.
"It's incredible that it's been that long ago," says Graig Nettles, adding softly, "That's almost half my life."
"Time passes fast. As you get older, it passes faster," says Ron Guidry. "He was a special friend, a great ballplayer. A good person."
Thursday, Aug. 2, had been an off-day for the Yankees. Thus scattered throughout Manhattan, they were quickly united by their grief.
Munson had perpetual stubble, always scowled under that mustache. His nicknames were all unflattering: Squatty Boy, Jelly Belly, Pigpen.
He was the Bluto of the Yankees' Animal House.
He also was their soul, inspiration and ringleader.
"He was absolutely my favorite teammate," Goose Gossage says. "And I had some great, great, great teammates. But he was the best."
He was also a darn good receiver.
Guidry was the one who made the pitches, but he has always felt that his singular 1978 season (25-3 with a 1.74 ERA) was Munson's masterpiece.
"I went the whole year never shaking him off one time," Guidry recalls. "And he always knew when to say something, and when to shut up."
The "C" in the box score denoted not only "catcher," but "captain." In 1976, Munson had become the Yankees' first team captain since Lou Gehrig delivered his 1939 farewell.
Munson never got to say good-bye.
And the Yankees have never let go.
His locker is preserved as a shrine in their clubhouse. They observe their own version of the Air Force's missing-man formation.
Subtle. Poignant. Whenever Yankee Stadium's video board flickers with the Munson tribute, Jorge Posada stays clear of home plate.
"It's his plate," Posada simply says.
The teams of the '70s were Munson's Yankees. Each era in their dynastic history has its defining personality.
Before, it was Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig and Joe DiMaggio and Mickey Mantle. Now it's Derek Jeter.
In-between, it was Thurman Munson. He played in pain and exhaustion, so no one else could quit around him. He dialed up the rivalry with the Boston Red Sox from competition to warfare.
"I don't remember him ever chewing people out and pointing fingers," Guidry says. "He'd just say, 'We're not playing as a team. We're better than this.'"
When he arrived in 1969 as a No. 1 draft pick out of Kent State and after only 99 games in the minors, the Yankees were mired in the fifth year of a wretched skid during which they were 382-424.
Munson arrived on the scene with the attitude that the losing was over. He did not become part of the Yankees. The Yankees became part of him.
"In those days," recalls Bobby Murcer, who became Munson's tightest friend, "rookies kind of walked quietly and did what they were told. Thurman was different. He felt like he belonged the first time he stepped on the field at Yankee Stadium."
When he departed, the Yankees were two-time World Series champions, three-time American League pennant winners.
After he departed, it would be 17 years before the Yankees won another World Series.
Their heavy hearts dragged the Yankees back to the bottom of the East Division.
"When you lose a leader like that, there's such a void," says Willie Randolph. "You keep thinking, 'This can't be happening.' We just wanted to get the season over with and go home."
Sports heroes leave us all the time, and it's always sad. Ken Hubbs, Roberto Clemente, Darryl Kile.
When the sports figure is iconic, the foundation for an entire team and the emotional cue for an entire city, his sudden loss is devastating.
Time chisels a man's mystique, while dimming his accomplishments. In memory, image tends to obscure feats.
Well, Munson was a giant. In a three-season span from 1975 through 1977, he batted .300-plus each year while averaging 16 homers and 103 RBIs.
He was also a rock, tireless. From 1972 through 1978, he averaged 149 games. Only occasional breathers came as a designated hitter, as he caught 923 games in that seven-year span.
Such diligence brought him some rewards: 1970 Rookie of the Year, 1976 Most Valuable Player, three Gold Gloves. But not enough.
He played in the shadows of two contemporaries. Munson didn't hide his resentment over the worship accorded Johnny Bench and Carlton Fisk.
Both are in the Hall of Fame. So Munson is still being treated as their inferior, unfairly.
Time would not have made much difference for him. The accumulation of the workload was already reflected in his diminished production.
In 1978, his last full season, Munson's run production dwindled to six homers and 71 RBIs in 617 at-bats. He was down to three homers and 39 RBIs in 97 games in 1979.
But he had already done enough in his alloted time. While he and Fisk (who became a Boston regular in 1972) were in the AL at the same time, Munson was chosen to more All-Star teams (7-to-6), earned more Gold Gloves (3-to-1), and led his team to more World Series titles (2-to-0).
Not that Munson needs any more tributes. The Yankees honor him every day, as they have since that Aug. 6, when they risked having to forfeit that night's home game against Baltimore to attend his Ohio funeral.
Lou Piniella and Bobby Murcer delivered the eulogies in Canton.
Murcer had one more eulogy left in him. That night, he drove in all five runs, ending with a two-run, ninth-inning single, in a 5-4 victory over the Orioles.
Tom Singer is a reporter for MLB.com. This story was not subject to the approval of Major League Baseball or its clubs.
http://newyork.yankees.mlb.com/images/2004/08/02/Crmo3KIH.jpg
The Yankees didn't win another World Series for 17 years after Thurman Munson died. (AP)
http://newyork.yankees.mlb.com/images/2004/08/02/9cGVgoBk.jpg
Thurman Munson won three Gold Gloves behind the plate. (AP)