Each Friday we will be featuring blog posts written by you, the fans. Today’s is courtesy of Rick Pearce.
Yogi Berra managed the New York Yankees in 1964. Let’s just say I’m one of your more seasoned White Sox fans. I came up to Chicago in 1956 from Tucson, Arizona. My grandfather lived up here and he took me to Wrigley and Comiskey. Later on in life, I found that really strange. Now, I could have gone to the dark side and become a Cubs fan, but I thought the outfield upper deck at Comiskey was really cool. That and second baseman Nellie Fox are really the main reasons why my loyalty went South.
It didn’t take me very long to develop a hatred for the stinking Yankees. You not only had to beat them, but you had to beat the Kansas City Athletics too. Let’s just say they were kissing cousins. Now, I wouldn’t say it was downright collusion, but it seemed funny to me that every time someone got good at Kansas City, all of a sudden they got traded to the Yankees for a bat boy. For example, Rodger Maris, Ryne Duren, Bob Cerv, Hector Lopez, etc. I saw Harry “Suitcase” Simpson was hitting a ton for Kansas City, and a few days later he was in Yankee pinstripes. Disgusting.
Anyway, Yogi Berra took over as the Yankees manager. They came into Chicago on a summer night for a four-game series, Monday through Thursday. The Sox SWEPT THEIR BUTTS. On the bus on the way back to the airport, with their tails between their legs, the Yanks had a player named Phil Linz who took out his harmonica and started playing it. Yogi Berra went absolutely ballistic! To whom this may concern, THIS, outside of that World Series win, is my absolute favorite White Sox memory.
GO SOX! Be well. Stay safe.
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