First Bob Sheppard, then George Steinbrenner--and now, RIP Freddy Sez.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
They Die In Threes (But Sometimes It Takes A Few Months)
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Stang
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6:35 PM
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Well, Suzyn, I thank you...
First Bob Sheppard, then George Steinbrenner--and now, RIP Freddy Sez.
6 comments:
Never again shall I bang that smelly old man's pan with that greasy disgusting spoon. I am saddened and diminished by our collective Yankeeverse loss. What do you think the uniform patch to mourn Freddy's passing will look like?
I hope they do something classy in tribute to this titan--perhaps start with Yankees taking field to Curtis's "Freddy's Dead" and then they should erect a massive sky-obscuring pie plate in "Monument Park" that sets majestically atop George's Hadrian's Wall-esque plaque. They could take the old steam pipe bat that sat outside the real Yankee Stadium and have it hoisted by several ex-Yankee roided behemoths who in turn would ceremoniously whack Freddy's memorial plate to jar the wealthy fans out of their J. Rockets-induced comas during games. Better yet, maybe A.J. Burnett can volunteer his thick cranium for us to beat with blunt pewter spoons for luck--an empty head like his will ring loudly. Keep it in mind.
How about they replace the trad. Yankee logo with a new one made of interlocking greasy spoons in the familiar "NY" logo? A fitting tribute, for sure. Or maybe they can just blare incessant pan-whackings over the Stadium loudspeakers, starting at batting practice and continuing thru to Francis Albert escorting us all out of the stadium confines?
I can't believe anyone would comment on this?
I listened to The Story on NPR this past summer every now and then when I was bored out of my fucking mind -- one night it was the story of Freddy, but more specifically the story of his son, who didn't give two shits about sports, finding his long-lost father on a chance Google search via his massive "popularity" within the City -- news articles and whatever else. Freddy was obviously a simple, kind-hearted man, and I'm happy that he died knowing his son. Touching stuff.
Fuck pans, etc.
Buck Foston says,
He died 10 years ago but no 1 told him.
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