The “Mickey cloak effect” in my life
As I was reviewing my early years as an athlete, it occurred to me what a profound effect Mickey had on my life. Let’s start when I first noticed him. I was 13 and the year is 1951. Dimaggio is fading and headlines are announcing that this wunderkind from Oklahoma will take his place. He has all the tools and he looks good. We all fell in love with “Mick”. We tried to swing like him, run like him, and even wear our uniforms and socks like him.
From 1951 to 1958, Mickey established himself as an icon for baseball fans everywhere. We cheered him on when he was doing really well. We sympathized when he got hurt. We worried when he was in a depression. It’s hard to believe that one athlete could have had such an effect on an entire generation of fans (male and female).
I chose 1958 because that’s the year I signed my professional contract with the St. Louis Cardinals; Ironic because the Cardinals were Mickey’s favorite team growing up and they never offered him a contract. We both started in Class D with different results. Mickey struggled and had a bad year. They played him at shortstop, while I played the outfield. He made 100 mistakes. I made the AllStar team. He hit bad. I finished second in the league at .333 behind Lou Johnson, who later took over as the Dodgers’ cleanup hitter. In the second year, we both moved up to Class C and Mickey was transferred to the gardens with flying colors. We both had good years, but Mickey, with his great speed and power, was being groomed to replace the aging Dimaggio. I, on the other hand, was expendable because the Cardinals had a fixture in left field named Stan Musial.
During the winter of 1960, I get a call from a friend informing me that the Dodgers selected me in the first open draft before the expansion. I run out to buy the Sporting News and sure enough there is my photo. It’s a bit of a shock, but March is coming and I’m on my way to join the Dodgers in Vero Beach, FL. I must say Dodgertown was beautiful. Great resort, great food, but I’m an outsider here. I don’t know anyone and I’m a bit lonely. I’m a bit behind a lot of the players, especially the ones from warmer climates who play all winter. I stayed in the cold north and worked to make ends meet. My contract was with Montreal in the International League, but I find out that the coaches want to send me back to the league I played in the year before. Now I am very depressed. When that happened to Mickey, his dad came down and gave him a good talk. My father was not that kind of person. He was passive and he never told me much.
Finally, one day the Yankees came in to play with us. We all had lunch together at the Commissary. I noticed that sitting at a table in front of me was a group of Yankees. There was Bauer, Skowron and Mantle. He had never seen Mickey up close, only from afar in the Stadium. I looked at him and it was like he was chiseled in stone. His neck, his forearms, his legs were twice the size of mine. He was intimidated. I told myself that no matter how hard I tried, he was never going to measure up. A few days later I packed my bags and quit baseball. Looking back, it was probably a mistake, but at the time, I just wanted to go home.
How would I have done if I had stayed? We’ll never know, but one thing is for sure, even if he made it to the majors, he couldn’t get from home plate to first in 3.1 seconds and couldn’t hit the ball 500 feet. Oddly enough, Mickey’s talent was out of my league and he really pissed me off.
Sy Bonem