By Rob Fleder
Winners of twenty-seven global sequence titles, the recent York Yankees are the critical activities dynasty. Love them or hate them, they can't be neglected via someone who professes to be keen on the nice online game of baseball.
With Damn Yankees, Rob Fleder, former government Editor for Sports Illustrated journal, bargains a undying number of unique essays through the most favorite modern writers in America—from Pete Dexter to Jane Leavy, from Roy Blount Jr. to Colum McCann—each piece concentrating on one uniquely colourful topic: the fanatically adored/resoundingly despised “Bronx Bombers.”
Funny, relocating, provocative, insightful appreciations and detractions—from Babe Ruth to Mickey Mantle to Derek Jeter—Damn Yankees bargains twenty-four interesting takes at the so much storied franchise of baseball’s significant Leagues.
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Extra info for Damn Yankees: Twenty-Four Major League Writers on the World's Most Loved (and Hated) Team
We won our ﬁrst couple games 12–1 and 11–3. When we got on the bus to ride to Dodger Stadium for the championship game, we were so high on ourselves it’s a wonder the bus didn’t ﬂoat off into the sky. We were positive we were the best team in the city. Nothing was going to stop us. All we had to do was beat Granada Hills, an all-white team from the Valley. They looked great, really professional. We were a bunch of black kids from a penny-pinching inner-city school and we were intimidated. I think playing in that gigantic stadium made us selfconscious, too.
All the other kids staring. Out in the hall, the principal said, “Mr. ” We go to see Mr. Hurst. He’s so excited he’s vibrating. But I played it cool. ” he says. ” I mean, I knew I was going to be drafted. The only question was which team. ” Well, that got my attention. “The New York media wants to speak to you on a conference call,” he said, still bubbling over. And we held a press conference right there in his ofﬁce. There’s a TV crew, and they unfurl a Mets jersey for me, and I’m on the tele- 38 / DARRYL STR AWBE RRY phone with a bunch of New York sportswriters.
I sure never had any intention of going to Tennessee. To me, Tennessee was somewhere in the South where no young black man went if he didn’t have to. When it was time to board the plane I kissed my mom good-bye and hugged her and didn’t want to let go. I wanted to tell Roger, “Forget it. Rip up my ticket and the contract. ” I may have been a big, tall, strapping lad, but inside I was one scared little rabbit. I wasn’t any happier when I got there. Kingsport was like a foreign country to me. A very small, very white city.
Damn Yankees: Twenty-Four Major League Writers on the World's Most Loved (and Hated) Team by Rob Fleder