Sunday, October 25, 2009

Thursday, October 1, 2009

Mike DeNero's Neighborhood: October 2009

Mike DeNero's Neighborhood was created by superstar cartoonist Jim Hunt - check out his website ( To view a synopsis of the comic strip and/or sketches of the four characters with whom you will become familiar, please click here.

Something Was in the Air:

My Close Encounter with Game 6 of the 1977 World Series

By Jim Walters (with Mike C. DeNero)

Yankee Stadium - The Bronx, NY

“Oh, what a blow!” – Howard Cosell (after Reggie Jackson launched his third home run in Game 6 of the 1977 World Series, into the deepest part of Yankee Stadium).


For a few hours on the night of October 18, 1977, everything at Yankee Stadium was so right that I forgot that everything outside the ballpark was so wrong. The world was thrust into fits of craziness in 1977. In the Soviet Union, staunch Stalinist Leonid Brezhnev consolidated his power and agitated the Red Bear at the height of the Cold War. Back in the U.S., it snowed in Miami, Florida (the only time in recorded history), and a bloated Elvis Presley—the undisputed King of Rock and Roll—died from a drug overdose on a Graceland toilet. Regrettably on many levels, the King’s last breath came as Andy Gibb topped the charts with the sappy, “I Just Want To Be Your Everything.”

The Big Apple, of course, would not be outdone in 1977’s Bizarro World. Some wacko named “the Human Fly” scaled the World Trade Center’s South Tower, earning him a measly fine of $1.10 (i.e., a penny per floor) from the City’s diminutive mayor, Abe Beame. Two months later, a blackout blanketed the City for twenty-five hours, sparking severe and ubiquitous looting and disorder. Once power and order were restored, New York’s Finest finally arrested “Son of Sam,” but not before he spent a year trolling the boroughs, slaughtering six people, wounding seven others, and casting an ominous cloud of fear over millions. Against that backdrop, it’s probably no coincidence that 1977 marked the opening of the sci-fi hit Close Encounters of the Third Kind.

Dubbed “The Bronx Zoo” by the local press corps, the ’70s Yankees were not themselves immune to the bizarre. Superintending the worst World Series drought in Yankees history, owner George Steinbrenner hired a fresh cast of talented misfits to return the team to the Promised Land. The much-hyped zookeeper, Reggie Jackson, signed a five-year, $2.9 million free-agent deal with the Bombers (not including furs, bonuses, and luxury cars), and made every effort to upstage Joe Namath as Broadway’s most egotistical showboat. And in 1977, former Yankee scrapper and wiry cage-rattler Billy Martin was the team’s sophomore manager, still drowning his sorrows from a Big Red Machine sweep of the Yanks in the 1976 World Series. Fueled largely by egos and, in Martin’s case, large amounts of scotch, by the fall of 1977 the Jackson-Martin marriage had morphed into a clash of titans, a caustic relationship that constantly teetered between great promise and epic destruction.

But on the night of October 18, everything was right in the House that Ruth Built. The money I’d earned washing dishes in a nursing home bought me two tickets to each of the Yankees’ World Series home games. My dad and I were two of 56,407 in attendance during Game 6, sitting in the cool air beneath the radiant lights (to be exact, high above home plate in Row W of Section 2 – Seats 24-25) of the newly refurbished Yankee Stadium, a glowing shrine perched among the torched buildings in the darkened Bronx. We didn’t yet know that we were about to see one of the most memorable performances in baseball history.


With two outs in the top of the first inning, Steve Garvey hits a two out triple off Yankees starting pitcher Mike Torrez to score two runs and give the Dodgers a quick lead...

My journey to Game 6 began in a modest Northeast Jersey living room, where I spent my boyhood Friday nights in the late ’60s. Like many other young baby-boomers in the area, I sat captivated in front of a wooden television console’s black-and-white picture, listening to the hypochondriacal Phil Rizzuto exclaim “Holy Cow!” on WPIX Channel 11, and watching my beloved Yankees. If the atmospheric pressure measured just right, and if the rabbit ears were tilted directly at Pluto (back when it was still a planet), the union between TV pixels and sound was decipherable. To be sure, it wasn’t easy being a pinstripes fan in those gloomy years: Mickey Mantle’s exit ushered in a cast of line-up fillers, while the Lovable Losers from nearby Queens were fast becoming the Amazin’ Mets.

After Reggie Jackson draws a four-pitch walk in the bottom of the second inning, Chris Chambliss belts a two-run homer off Dodgers starter Burt Hooton to knot the game at deuce...

Fast-forward to 1977. The Bombers were poised to reclaim the pennant. As an 18-year-old college freshman waiting for class to begin, I impatiently flipped through the Daily News. In the smeary newsprint, I seized upon an ad for Yankee World Series tickets—offer good only for orders postmarked before noon tomorrow. Two tickets to each of the four home games, including shipping and handling, would set me back $85, quite a bit more than my customary $4 seat s. So be it. I rushed to the post office, leaving the campus in my wake. I was going to the World Series!

Reggie Smith puts the Dodgers up 3-2 with a solo blast in the third...

My daily routine thereafter never wavered: I went to class; came home; and made a beeline for the mailbox. After two anxious weeks, it arrived: a brown legal-sized envelope with a return address marked New York Yankees. After carefully opening it, I held in my hot little hands two beautiful strips of World Series tickets.

Reggie Jackson blasts a first-pitch, two-run bomb in the right-field stands giving the Yankees a 4-3 lead in the fourth inning and knocking Hooton from the game... Lou Pinella increases the Yankees lead to 5-3 with a sacrifice fly…

I attended Games 1 and 2 in the Bronx with my boyhood friend Howie (the pictures of us sprinkled herein were taken before and after Game 1). For Game 1, I drove my 1969 Volkswagen Beetle—a green love bug replete with sunroof and rusted right front bumper—to the Port Authority. Then we headed to Tad’s Steak House on 42nd Street for a $5.99 steak dinner (see picture below) with all the fixings before heading to the Times Square subway station. Once there, we hopped on the 42nd Street Shuttle to the #4 train, which then carried us to 161 Street Station Yankee Stadium. After eleven tense innings, the Yankees’ Paul Blair sent us home after midnight with a game-winning single in the twelfth.

Reggie Jackson puts the Yankees ahead 7-3 in the fifth inning after launching Elias Sosa’s first pitch in the right-field stands for his second two-run home run in as many innings and pitches (Reggie declines the fans’ raucous request for a curtain call)...

In Game 2, Howie and I superstitiously followed the same routine. Unfortunately, things didn’t work out as well. The Yankees got thumped 6-1, and during the game arsonists set buildings on fire behind the stadium (thus, “The Bronx is Burning”). To add insult to injury, Howie and I got lost on the way home. We somehow missed our subway stop at Grand Central Station and ended up touring the NYC underground. (For the New Yorker recreationists: 14th Street back to 42nd Street; #7 train headed toward Queens; exit Hunt's Point Market; take the #7 back to 42nd and then—fuggetaboutit!). Lesson learned: pay attention!


The teams traveled to Los Angeles, where the Bombers had to win a game to bring the Series back to Yankee Stadium. They won two. Game 6 was on October 18, just three days past my dad’s birthday. I thought it would be a nice gift to take my old man to his first Yankees game, and let him enjoy his first NYC subway ride to boot. Needless to say, he wasn’t displeased.

Reggie Jackson crushes the first Charlie Hough knuckleball he sees 475 feet into the black in dead centerfield, putting the Yankees ahead 8-3…

Leading three games to two, the Yanks had little wiggle room to squander Game 6. The Dodgers quickly jumped out to a 3-2 lead, but what happened thereafter is now memorialized in the Book of Legends. Reggie would hit three home runs on three pitches. Taking into account his late-inning Game 5 blast, and his base on balls to start Game 6, he would homer on his last four swings of the Series, each off a different pitcher, leading the Yankees to their 21st World Series title and cementing the nickname “Mr. October.”

Reggie obliges with a curtain call, pumping his fists as the crowd goes crazy and the stadium shakes…

Of course, as soon as the last out was tallied, Bizarro World 1977 returned. Fans stormed the field in pandemonium. People tore up the grass, sliding into home and jumping around like maniacs. One guy tried to steal third base—literally—before a policeman jacked him across the chops with a nightstick. The would-be thief lay draped over the base, motionless for the remainder of the celebration. I actually checked the obits the following day to learn if he’d died. (Still unsure.) But in the meantime, I didn’t care too much about the wackos. When I got home, I just collapsed from emotion and exhaustion and fell asleep with a huge smile on my face, content with my close encounter with one of the greatest sporting events of all time.

Yankees 8, Dodgers 3. Even in Bizarro World, nothing else mattered.

Bob Lemke's Cool Custom Cards: October 2009

The 1977 Topps Reggie Jackson: Reggie as a Baltimore Oriole!

Despite leading the Oakland A’s to three straight World Series Championships (1972-1974) and a fourth straight appearance in the Fall Classic in 1975, Reggie Jackson and a couple of no name scrubs were Imagetraded to the Baltimore Orioles for Don Baylor, Mike Torrez, and Paul Mitchell, just prior to the start of the 1976 season. A’s owner Charles Finley decided to pull the trigger on the trade because he was unwilling to pay the enormous salary Reggie was sure to command after the 1976 season when he would be a free agent. Jackson played one year for the Birds before Boss Steinbrenner signed him to a $3 million contract, ensuring that Mr. October would take aim at Yankee Stadium’s famous short right field porch for the ensuing five summers and, if everything went as planned, autumns.

This 1977 Topps Reggie Jackson custom card created by Bob Lemke (at right above) depicts every late 1970s Bronx Zoo fan’s nightmare – without #44 in their lineup during the 1977 and 1978 seasons, the Bronx Bombers would not have won back-to-back World Series titles. Seriously, how ridiculous does Reggie look in that absurd Orioles batting helmet?

The card pictured at left below is an example of the actual 1977 Reggie Jackson card released by Topps. You will notice that it is in pretty bad shape – an SGC 50. It is the exact card that I have owned in my personal collection for the past 32 years and the first Reggie Jackson card I ever pulled from a pack. Take a look at the edges – you can easily see that I kept this card on top of my Yankees pile, which I kept together with a rubber band.

As a seven-year-old kid who lived in North Jersey at the time, I spent all of my 50 cent weekly allowance on baseball cards (football cards in the fall). Reggie was my favorite player. One Sunday afternoon, my grandmother gave my cousin Mark and I one dollar to spend as we wished at Bill’s Deli, the neighborhood deli/five & dime, located one block from her house. While my older sister had to remind me of the name of the establishment, I can still, however, picture vividly the glass case in which all packs of cards (e.g., baseball cards, Grease movie cards, Kojak television series cards) and candy were housed. On that particular day, my cousin and I each bought a cello pack (25 cents each) -- what we did with the remaining 47 cents (after paying New Jersey’s 6% sales tax on the packs) I can no longer recall. As we walked out of the deli, we ripped open our packs and started to thumb through our cards as we walked back to my grandmother’s house. Midway through the pack, there it was! “REGGIE JACKSON,” I screamed, at the exact instant that I walked, top of my head first, into a telephone pole – remember, I was looking down at the cards as I walked. My cousin nearly fell over from hysterical laughter as I began to stumble from the shock of my head’s crash into the telephone pole.

Regardless of how funny my cousin thought the moment was, I recall that he laughed much harder the next week, when my eleven-year-old sister accompanied us to Bill's Deli to pick out some cards and candy with our grandmother’s money – as my sister was momentarily stumped at what to spend some of the money on, she then blurted, “I’ll have a pack of the Kojak cards.”

If my sister’s card purchase wasn’t funny enough, she then opened the pack to find that all of the cards therein were identical – a type of Kojak portrait photo, over and over again. If that pack break wasn’t humorous enough, when we showed my grandmother what we bought with her money (i.e., 10-12 copies of the same Kojak card), her reply was, “Isn’t that a sin. At least he’s so good lookin’, God bless him.”


Bob Lemke is a collector of bubblegum cards in the 1950s-1960s, Bob Lemke's hobby today is creating cards of current and former “players” in those "golden age" styles. He currently edits the vintage sections of the Standard Catalog of Baseball Cards and maintains a hobby blog at

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Keith's Key Kard Korner: October 2009


The 1935 National Chicle Clark Hinkle

Alright, so the name “Clarke Hinkle” invokes images of the nerd who the bully beat down on the playground. The kicking follow-through position struck on his popular 1935 National Chicle football card only reinforces the perception. In reality, Hinkle was a hard-hitting Green Bay Packers fullback, linebacker, and kicker who gained repute as one of the few defenders who could take down the legendary Bronko Nagurski.

As a student at Pennsylvania’s Bucknell University (where celebrated pitcher Christy Mathewson also matriculated), he became known as the “Bucknell Battering Ram.” His subsequent 10-year career with the Green Bay Packers culminated in two Championships: 1936 and 1939.

Hinkle’s career helped nurture what has flourished as the NFL’s longest-tenured rivalry: Green Bay Packers vs. Chicago Bears. In fact, it has been documented that on one particular running play, the Bears’ Bronko Nagurski nearly had Hinkle trapped for the tackle until Hinkle ran over him, leaving Bronko with a fractured rib and broken nose. One Hinkle mantra was “Get to the Bronk before he gets to me.” All this, despite the fact that he weighed 30 pounds less than bruising Bronko.

Hinkle led the NFL in field goals in 1940 and 1941. In his final season (also 1941), he broke Cliff Battles’ record as the All-Time NFL career rushing yards leader (a record which stood until 1949 when Steve Van Buren surpassed Hinkle’s mark). Despite the kicking and rushing accolades, many historians regard Hinkle’s greatest prowess a defender against both the rush and pass.

The 1935 National Chicle football release constitutes a compact, 36-card set, making it highly collectible. It has seen terrific price growth over the last decade, due to the contemporary popularity of pro football coupled with limited quality finds of these handsome 75-year-old antiquities. Coincidentally, Hinkle, Nagurski, and Battles all belong to this first widely distributed professional football card set. These “Chicles” employ brilliant hues contemporaneously with their sister baseball issue of like design known as the 1934-36 Diamond Stars.

The Hinkle card shows the leather-helmeted, ochre-uniformed Packer, along with his dutiful holder, placing a short-range field goal attempt, with the stadium flag showing the wind blowing against the direction of Hinkle’s freshly pooched pigskin. The orange color on the background stadium fa├žade appears to be illuminated with low-angle sun, lending an aura of a brisk autumn afternoon in the upper Midwest. The Hinkle card is subject to many of the era’s production quality control obstacles, such as miscuts. Equally predictably, post-production wear has significantly limited the number of high graded “Chicle” examples.

As for Hinkle’s legacy, his association with a team of enduring clamour like the Green Bay Packers; membership in the Pro Football Hall Of Fame; and namesake Clarke Hinkle Field as one of the Packers’ two outdoor practice facilities cement him in Green Bay lore. Just think about the three positions Hinkle played – he covered offense, defense, and special teams in the same game. They just don’t make them like this anymore.