Being born and raised in the Bronx for 18 years during the ’40s and ’50s, baseball became part of my genetic code. After all, every kid in my neighborhood was preparing himself to play shortstop or centerfield for the Yankees, the Giants, or in my case, the Brooklyn Dodgers.
Truth be told, I still hang around the phone during March, expecting to get a call from the Dodger organization asking me to come down to spring training. They’re looking for a knuckleball reliever. So naturally I have been following the recent sign stealing “cheating scandal” that has been monopolizing the hot stove baseball season this winter.
My take on this current brouhaha is probably different from today’s popular stance on the issue. I might chalk it up to the fact that I became an incorrigible cynic when the Dodgers left Brooklyn. The old joke goes like this: Say you had a gun with two bullets and standing in front of you were Hitler, Stalin and Walter O’Malley. Whom would you shoot? Answer: O’Malley, twice!
This kerfuffle about sign stealing is just that — a kerfuffle. Sign stealing has been part of baseball since before the first pitcher in history went into his first windup….