Now we say goodbye to Phil Rizzuto, one of the last of the great Mom & Pop baseball announcers. As the broadcast voice of The New York Yankees, that most corporate and successful of baseball teams, Phil Rizzuto was a rube, as unsophisticated and spontaneous as they come. He was nicknamed The Scooter, a moniker given him by a fellow minor leaguer when they played in the Yankee farm system’s Kansas City affiliate. He “scooted” over thae basebaths like his feet didn’t even touch the ground, his buddy told him.
The name stuck and Rizzuto was Scooter until he died at 89 years young. He played shortstop for the Yankees from 1941 until 1956 (with a couple of years off to serve in the U.S. Navy in World War II), appearing with some of the greatest baseball teams that ever graced the diamond. A small man by regular guy standards, never mind professional athletics, He was a star in the field and at bat, even earning the coveted Most valuable player award in the American League in 1950 over the likes of teammates Yogi Berra, Joe DiMaggio, and the Red Sox’ Ted Williams.
The great Ted Williams often said that if Boston had Rizzuto at shortstop and not the Yankees it would have been his team winning all those pennants and World Series in those years. Williams figured the sure-handed infielder was responsible for saving dozens of runs per season from scoring, big difference makers in close games. Advantage, Yankees. None other than Ty Cobb, a mean-spirited soul extremely stingy with compliments of the many gifted baseball players that followed his own era, went out of his way to praise the Scooter, calling him a “scientist” with the bat. Never a power hitter, the pesky singles hitter and superb base runner is still considered to be one of the best bunters to ever play the game.
But none of those Hall of Fame accomplishments are why I remember The Scooter so fondly. I don’t remember his playing days. Instead I remember him as the voice of the Yankees for practically my whole life, seeming more like a lovable uncle than a professional sports announcer. He lived up to his youthful nickname with a wide-eyed boyish enthusiasm for the game and unabashed rooting interest in his team. He plugged his favorite restaurants, talked about his family and friends and wished Grannies a happy birthday on the air.
Phil cared nothing for jaded, detached professionalism and was more like an announcer for a rural semi-pro team than the radio and television voice of the most successful franchise in sporting history. Listening to Rizzuto and his various broadcasting partners over the years was a comfortable experience. The other guys would tease him about his many phobias or his reputation as a cheapskate and he’d call them Huckleberry or exclaim his trademark “Holy Cow!” He never lost his wide–eyed innocence or supreme good humor and loved a good laugh at his own expense.
I remember taking my sons to Yankee Stadium many years ago on “Phil Rizzuto Day.” The Yankees had a ceremony before the game honoring him and showered him with gifts, among them a real cow. No one got a bigger laugh about that than Rizzuto. The game that day was also very memorable when another New York sports hero, the Mets’ Tom Seaver, then pitching for the Chicago White Sox, proceeded to beat the Yanks and earn his 300th win. Years later Seaver shared the Yanks’ broadcast booth with Rizzuto for several seasons and Phil always moaned to him that he had ruined his big day. I still have our ticket stubs from that game.
The fact that he was a funny and lovable character masked a shrewd baseball mind and a gift for calling the game. On the radio he made you feel like you were there at the Stadium alongside him, such was his talent for verbally describing the game of baseball. On television he was a perfect complement to the action you saw, often pointing out nuances of the game with his ballplayer’s eye for positioning and strategy. And always you felt like you knew the guy, that nutty uncle or lovable neighbor sharing his passion for baseball in general and the Yankees in particular. When he retired you felt like the old timer ay your job was retiring and you wished him all the best. You missed the guy who taught you so much and was so generous with his praised and so down to earth. He was the Mom & Pop announcers and we won’t se his like again. So long,Scooter. I’ll miss you and baseball will miss you. You made us both better.
