GaryMrMets
12-25-2005, 07:45 PM
http://www.nydailynews.com/sports/col/story/377683p-320740c.html
Holiday tribute
to a Giant of a man
http://www.nydailynews.com/images/columnists/gallo_b.jpg
Forgetting our recent travail in this city, this is a day when we put it all aside and focus on the smiles of children.
I always felt the spirit of Christmas was really the faces of happy children unwrapping gifts under the tree. And, if not under the tree, then, by the light of a menorah.
It is a day most folks go to a church or a synagogue and pray. We pray for our families, we pray for peace and we pray for the guys and gals over there.
This is not meant to be a goody-goody piece, but to express some of the good thoughts we all have within us. Folks, if you aren't filled with the gift of giving today, then I feel sad for you.
This is a Christmas column and I'm thinking of those over there today. A lot of ol' salts remember what it was to be away from home during this holiday and fighting in a far-away land. During a war there are no "timeouts." The shots still ring, no matter the date on the calendar.
With this in mind, I share a poem with you written by a man who happened to be a Hall of Fame football player I once knew.
He is the late Kyle Rote, former New York Giant whose playing career ended in 1962.
In 1951 Giants coach Steve Owen plucked Rote from Southern Methodist, the prize plum in the NFL's annual college draft.
A college All-American, he was a fullback playing out of the "T" formation and also starred as a quarterback.
With the Giants, Rote was an offensive end, the best the Giants ever had. In 11 seasons with New York, he caught 300passes for 4,797 yards and 48 touchdowns.
When his playing days ended, Rote took to the airways and quickly became a shining light as a football broadcaster. In 1964, Rote was the director of sports for WNEW Radio, and was about to handle color commentary on ABC-TV.
Rote was great behind the mike. He was articulate, delivered his lines with admirable timing and showed the viewer a great sense of humor.
He was going like gang-busters when something caught up with him. He became a victim of the bottle and broadcast jobs faded. A shame, because he was made for the tube.
When Kyle died at age 74 in 2002, I went to pay my respects. I'd known Kyle for many years - we were friends who bumped into each other on the golf course and the sports dinner circuit.
Whatever his inner struggles, he was always pleasant and quick with compliments. Kyle was liked and admired by his fellow men. I once heard Mickey Mantle say, "Kyle Rote is the greatest natural athlete I ever knew."
Kyle fought his disease and gradually beat it. In his healing process, he looked into himself and found a poet.
This was one of his last. It was sent to me by his wife, Nina, and it seems fitting today:
I touched the shoulder of my friend
In hopes he'd feel me say,
'I know you know I owe a debt,
I cannot ever pay.'
I touched his brow of cool, dank sweat
In hopes he'd feel I care.
I knew he knew a friend had come
Despite his sightless stare.
The only hand that he possessed
Moved inch by inch t'ward mine
A monumental effort just
To indicate 'He's Fine.'
I must go visit him again.
There's something I must see.
Just where did my self-pity go -
That moment he touched me?
Kyle wrote this as "A tribute to our hospitalized veterans." His wife tells us of the many Christmases Kyle spent visiting what he called, "the forgotten men in VA Hospitals."
Nobody but his family knew Kyle did this all these years. So now I tell you, the story of a man who fell into a weakness, looked into his soul and found something he always had, but didn't know he had.
To continue in the spirit of the day, I say this:
If any of you feel tired, sad and creaky-legged just because you're over 70, do yourselves a favor and see Chita Rivera in "The Dancer's Life."
Here's a peppy 73-year-old who will dazzle you with an evening of dancing and storytelling. What an honest, gracious, natural lady this is. Here's what she says does it for her:
"The secret of life is in opening up your heart."
Viva, Chita!
Originally published on December 25, 2005
Holiday tribute
to a Giant of a man
http://www.nydailynews.com/images/columnists/gallo_b.jpg
Forgetting our recent travail in this city, this is a day when we put it all aside and focus on the smiles of children.
I always felt the spirit of Christmas was really the faces of happy children unwrapping gifts under the tree. And, if not under the tree, then, by the light of a menorah.
It is a day most folks go to a church or a synagogue and pray. We pray for our families, we pray for peace and we pray for the guys and gals over there.
This is not meant to be a goody-goody piece, but to express some of the good thoughts we all have within us. Folks, if you aren't filled with the gift of giving today, then I feel sad for you.
This is a Christmas column and I'm thinking of those over there today. A lot of ol' salts remember what it was to be away from home during this holiday and fighting in a far-away land. During a war there are no "timeouts." The shots still ring, no matter the date on the calendar.
With this in mind, I share a poem with you written by a man who happened to be a Hall of Fame football player I once knew.
He is the late Kyle Rote, former New York Giant whose playing career ended in 1962.
In 1951 Giants coach Steve Owen plucked Rote from Southern Methodist, the prize plum in the NFL's annual college draft.
A college All-American, he was a fullback playing out of the "T" formation and also starred as a quarterback.
With the Giants, Rote was an offensive end, the best the Giants ever had. In 11 seasons with New York, he caught 300passes for 4,797 yards and 48 touchdowns.
When his playing days ended, Rote took to the airways and quickly became a shining light as a football broadcaster. In 1964, Rote was the director of sports for WNEW Radio, and was about to handle color commentary on ABC-TV.
Rote was great behind the mike. He was articulate, delivered his lines with admirable timing and showed the viewer a great sense of humor.
He was going like gang-busters when something caught up with him. He became a victim of the bottle and broadcast jobs faded. A shame, because he was made for the tube.
When Kyle died at age 74 in 2002, I went to pay my respects. I'd known Kyle for many years - we were friends who bumped into each other on the golf course and the sports dinner circuit.
Whatever his inner struggles, he was always pleasant and quick with compliments. Kyle was liked and admired by his fellow men. I once heard Mickey Mantle say, "Kyle Rote is the greatest natural athlete I ever knew."
Kyle fought his disease and gradually beat it. In his healing process, he looked into himself and found a poet.
This was one of his last. It was sent to me by his wife, Nina, and it seems fitting today:
I touched the shoulder of my friend
In hopes he'd feel me say,
'I know you know I owe a debt,
I cannot ever pay.'
I touched his brow of cool, dank sweat
In hopes he'd feel I care.
I knew he knew a friend had come
Despite his sightless stare.
The only hand that he possessed
Moved inch by inch t'ward mine
A monumental effort just
To indicate 'He's Fine.'
I must go visit him again.
There's something I must see.
Just where did my self-pity go -
That moment he touched me?
Kyle wrote this as "A tribute to our hospitalized veterans." His wife tells us of the many Christmases Kyle spent visiting what he called, "the forgotten men in VA Hospitals."
Nobody but his family knew Kyle did this all these years. So now I tell you, the story of a man who fell into a weakness, looked into his soul and found something he always had, but didn't know he had.
To continue in the spirit of the day, I say this:
If any of you feel tired, sad and creaky-legged just because you're over 70, do yourselves a favor and see Chita Rivera in "The Dancer's Life."
Here's a peppy 73-year-old who will dazzle you with an evening of dancing and storytelling. What an honest, gracious, natural lady this is. Here's what she says does it for her:
"The secret of life is in opening up your heart."
Viva, Chita!
Originally published on December 25, 2005