by Phil Pepe
Contents
Foreword by David Cone
Introduction
1. Enter Mariano
2. Handy Andy
3. Southern Exposure
4. Kalamazoo Kid
5. Sticktoitiveness
6. Hello Columbus
7. New York, New York
8. “Clueless Joe”
9. A Special Rookie
10. Champs to the Core
11. Posada’s Time
12. Say It Ain’t So, Mo
13. Oh Captain, My Captain
14. Boone or Bust
15. Breaking Up That Old Gang
16. Lightning (A)Rod
17. Return of the Prodigal
18. Moving Day
19. Core Fours of the Past
20. New Home
21. Bye Bye Andy
22. Jorge’s Rebellion
23. Closure
24. Hit Man
25. Jeter
26 The Kid, the Flip, the Dive
27. Andy Returns…Again
28. False Step
29. Rebound
Epilogue
Photo Gallery
Foreword by David Cone
On July 28, 1995, I went from the Toronto Blue Jays to the New York Yankees in a trade that, at the time, hardly set the baseball world on its ear. I was 32 years old—what baseball people like to call the “twilight” of my career.
I could look back on some very good days with the New York Mets, the Kansas City Royals, and the Blue Jays: 120 wins with only 76 losses, a 20-win season, and a Cy Young Award with the Royals, my hometown team.
With the Yankees, I was expected to provide a so-called veteran presence on a team of up-and-coming young stars. At the same time I would benefit by holding off the eventual limbo of retirement and the feeling of emptiness at the loss of professional camaraderie and competition. My reward would include another hefty contract...or two…or three, and the opportunity to feed my hunger for the kind of culture found only in New York: theater, museums, restaurants, etc.
People said it was a nice way for me to wind down a somewhat checkered career.
It turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me professionally.
I got to extend my career by six seasons, win another 64 games, make three All-Star teams, pitch a perfect game, play for four World Series champions, and sow the seed that was to be my current career: analyst on Yankees games for the YES Network.
And I got to play with the Yankees’ Core Four of Mariano Rivera, Andy Pettitte, Derek Jeter, and Jorge Posada.
When I got to the Yankees, it was only a “Core Two,” if you can call a guy with a 12–9 record (Pettitte) and a guy with a 5.51 earned-run average (Rivera) any kind of “Core.”
Before the season ended, the entire “Core Four” would be intact. Jeter—who had been up for a brief trial before I got there and then went back to the minor leagues—was brought up from the minor leagues again in September, never to return. Posada also arrived in September, though he only appeared in one game. The Core Four was here to stay, and it’s more than just coincidence that starting with 1996 the Yankees would win six pennants and four World Series over the next eight seasons.
I am honored and privileged to have been part of those four World Series–championship teams, and to have been a teammate of a Core Four that consists of two certain Hall of Famers (Rivera and Jeter) and two others (Pettitte and Posada) with strong Hall of Fame credentials.
But I would be less than honest if I said I knew Rivera would become the greatest closer in baseball history, that Jeter would get more than 3,000 hits, that Pettitte would win more postseason games than any pitcher in history, that Posada would hit more home runs as a catcher than Hall of Famers Gabby Hartnett and Bill Dickey, or that this Core would stay together for 16 years and that three of them, all save Posada, would still be performing at a high level going into the 2013 season.
—David Cone
Introduction
Outlined against a blue, gray October sky .the Four Horsemen rode again. In dramatic lore they are known as famine, pestilence, destruction, and death. These are only aliases. Their real names are Rivera, Pettitte, Posada, and Jeter.
—With apologies to Grantland Rice
Seven decades after coach Knute Rockne’s backfield of quarterback Harry Stuhldreher, left halfback Jim Crowley, right halfback Don Miller, and fullback Elmer Layden were immortalized by Grantland Rice, probably the most famous of all sportswriters, for running rampant through and around the Army defense in Notre Dame’s 13–7 victory before 55,000 spectators in New York’s Polo Grounds on the afternoon of October 18, 1924, along came Mariano Rivera, Andy Pettitte, Jorge Posada, and Derek Jeter.
In time, they would come to be known as “The Core Four” and they would don the famed pinstripes of the New York Yankees.
And not a moment too soon!
Oh, how the mighty had fallen in the years preceding the arrival of these young saviors.
As January 1, 1990, dawned, ushering in a new year and a new decade, the erstwhile mighty, the exceedingly proud, always- arrogant, ever-pompous New York Yankees were in decline, a state bordered on the north by turmoil, on the south by dysfunction, on the east by upheaval, and on the west by instability.
They had not played in the World Series in eight years, and had not won one in 11, their longest drought in seven decades. They would extend that streak to 17 seasons without winning the World Series, their longest period of privation since the franchise’s first 20 seasons in New York, almost a century before.
From 1982 to 1990, the manager’s office was occupied by Bob Lemon, Gene Michael, Clyde King, Billy Martin (his third tour as Yankees’ manager), Yogi Berra, Martin again, Lou Piniella, Martin once more, Piniella again, Dallas Green, and Bucky Dent. (Billy Martin was tragically killed at the age of 61 in an automobile crash outside his home in upstate Binghamton, New York, on Christmas Day, 1989. At the time there were reports that there were negotiations being held for a Billy VI as manager of the Yankees.)
While the Yankees’ managerial carousel was spinning, the office of Yankees president/vice president for player personnel/general manager also was in need of a revolving door, as Lou Saban gave way to Gene McHale who departed for Clyde King who abdicated in favor of Woody Woodward who turned it over to Lou Piniella who passed it on to Bob Quinn who left to make room for Harding Peterson.
The turnover in managers and in front-office executives made the Yankees the laughing stock of baseball, which was reflected on the playing field. A proud franchise that could boast of Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, Joe DiMaggio, Lefty Gomez, Mickey Mantle, Whitey Ford, Yogi Berra, Reggie Jackson, Thurman Munson, Catfish Hunter, Graig Nettles, Ron Guidry, and Don Mattingly now was represented by such as Bobby Meacham, Joe Cowley, Steve Trout, Wayne Tolleson, Dan Pasqua, Eric Plunk, Don Slaught, Cecilio Guante, Clay Parker, and Alvaro Espinosa.
Alarmingly, attendance had fallen from an all-time franchise high of 2,633,701 in 1988 to a five-year low of 2,170,485 in 1989, and to rub salt in their wounds, the Yankees’ staunchest rivals, the crosstown, upstart, formerly laughable expansion New York Mets had seemingly regained control of New York City, outdrawing the Yankees for the last six seasons by an aggregate of some 3 million paying customers more than the Yankees.
The Yankees restoration would begin on February 17, 1990, with a transaction that hardly made a ripple in the baseball waters: the signing of a slim, 20-year-old, non
-drafted amateur, a free agent right-handed pitcher out of Panama named Mariano Rivera.
Four months later, in the 22nd round of the June amateur draft, the Yankees would select Andrew Eugene Pettitte, an 18-year-old left-handed pitcher from Deer Park (Texas) High School. Two rounds after choosing Pettitte, they would select Jorge Rafael de Posada Jr., a switch-hitting infielder from Santurce, Puerto Rico.
At the same time, a Yankee scout named Dick Groch was keeping a watchful eye on a skinny shortstop named Derek Sanderson Jeter, who was completing his sophomore year at Central High School in Kalamazoo, Michigan. The Yankees would make him their first pick in the 1992 June amateur draft and he would team with Rivera, Pettitte, and Posada to form what would come to be known as the Yankees’ “Core Four.”
The Core Four would play as Yankees teammates for 13 seasons, during which time they would make the playoffs 12 times, win the American League East title eight times, the American League pennant seven times, and the World Series five times.
In 2010, Rivera, Posada, and Jeter became the first three teammates in any of the four major North American sports (baseball, football, basketball, hockey) to play together on the same team for 16 consecutive seasons. (Pettitte missed joining the others when he left the Yankees to sign with the Houston Astros before returning to the Yankees and reuniting with the other members of the Core Four.)
It’s a baseball anomaly that, more than 20 years after they were signed to professional contracts, all four—two certain, no-brainer, first-ballot Hall of Famers and two others who are borderline but in the discussion—remained active, important, and relevant members of the team that signed them. That might not be so remarkable a happenstance for one player, or even two.
But all four?
Considering the accepted short shelf life of the professional athlete and the perishability of athletic talent, especially among pitchers, this phenomenon can only be attributed to excellent scouting, rare clairvoyance, and, let’s face it, good fortune.
1. Enter Mariano
Major league baseball scouts were not exactly beating a path to Panama in 1990, not like they were to San Pedro Macoris, the Dominican Republic; Santurce, Puerto Rico; or Caracas, Venezuela. In 1990, you journeyed to Panama to discover future stars of World Cup soccer or for the shrimp and sardines, not for baseball players.
On February 17, 1990, when the Yankees signed an undrafted, free agent amateur named Mariano Rivera from the tiny fishing village of Puerto Caimito, Panama, a transaction deemed so inconsequential it never so much as made the agate of the New York newspapers. Only 24 Panamanians had ever appeared in a major league game, most of them up for little more than the proverbial cup of Jaramillo Especial.
On the list of big leaguers from Panama were former Yankees Hector Lopez and Roberto Kelly; catcher Manny Sanguillen, a mainstay for the Pittsburgh Pirates that won six National League East titles and two World Series in the 1970s; Rennie Stennett, who tied a major league record on September 16, 1975, when he banged out seven hits for the Pirates in a game against the Chicago Cubs; and one Hall of Famer, Rod Carew, whose Panamanian mother gave birth to him on a racially segregated train in the town of Gatun in the Panama Canal Zone. When Carew was 14, his family migrated to the Washington Heights section of Manhattan, where he attended George Washington High School, which also produced Manny Ramirez and Dr. Henry Kissinger.
Mariano Rivera was born on November 29, 1969, four months after Apollo 11 landed on the moon, 44 days after the New York Mets won their first World Series in a resounding upset of the heavily favored Baltimore Orioles, and eight days after the birth of Ken Griffey Jr., half a world away. As a child, young Mariano whiled away the idle hours playing baseball, but not with any thought of making it a career. Soccer was his game. Baseball was fun, a diversion played with baseballs handmade of fish netting and electrical tape, bats constructed from tree branches, and gloves formed out of milk cartons. When he was 12, Mariano’s father bought him his first real glove. His formative years were good times, so good Mariano didn’t realize he was poor.
“I didn’t have much,” he once said. “I didn’t have anything. But what we had, I was happy. My childhood was wonderful.”
Finished with Pedro Pablo Sanchez High School at 16, Mariano did what most Panamanian boys his age did: he went to work. Six days a week he toiled on a commercial fishing boat captained by his father. On the seventh day he played sports.
“On the boat, I liked looking at all the different fish,” he said. “But my father’s life was not for me. There’s no future in fishing.”
Perhaps he could escape as a professional soccer player. Baseball was not an option, but he continued to play for fun with Panama Oeste, a local amateur team.
If it was fate that brought a man named Herb Raybourn, director of Latin American operations for the New York Yankees, to Puerto Caimito, where he first saw Rivera, a 155-pound shortstop—“He had a good arm and good hands, but I didn’t think he could be a major league shortstop so I passed on him.”—it was good fortune that sent Raybourn back to Puerto Caimito to check out reports about a promising pitching prospect named Mariano Rivera. Raybourn was confused. The Mariano Rivera he knew in Puerto Caimito was a shortstop, and no prospect. Nonetheless, Raybourn returned to the tiny fishing village and arranged a workout for the young shortstop-turned-pitcher.
What Raybourn saw hardly blew the scout away, a pitcher topping out at 84 miles per hour, not the stuff of legend or future stardom. But Raybourn saw something special in the skinny right-hander: a joy for the game and a strong desire to excel. He also saw rare athleticism and an easy, fluid pitching motion that caused the baseball to jump out of his hand and enable him to get excellent movement on his pitches.
Raybourn reported his findings to the Yankees, who authorized him to offer the young pitcher a signing bonus of $3,000, tantamount to a king’s ransom to a child of Puerto Caimito, Panama. Rivera eagerly accepted the offer, hoping this was his chance to avoid the life of a fisherman. It also was the only offer he received.
“I was there the year before and I passed on him,” said Raybourn. “I went back a year later and we got him. Why didn’t any of the other scouts sign him before I got back to Panama?”
Why, indeed!
Somewhat frightened and extremely naïve—he had never been out of Panama, had never been on an airplane, and he spoke no English—Mariano, considered nothing more than a fringe prospect, flew to Tampa to join the Yankees affiliate in the Gulf Coast Rookie League, the lowest rung on the team’s minor league ladder. Rivera’s Tampa Yankees teammates were future major leaguers Russ Springer, Ricky Ledee, Shane Spencer, and the Yankees’ first-round draft pick that year, Carl Everett. Rivera’s manager was 29-year-old Glenn Sherlock of Nahant, Massachusetts, a catcher who had been the 21st-round selection of the Houston Astros in the 1983 amateur draft and who had spent seven minor league seasons in the Astros’ and Yankees’ farm systems without ever reaching the major leagues.
Sherlock, now the bullpen coach for the Arizona Diamondbacks, remembers the young Rivera as “very quiet—he didn’t speak a lot of English—a very nice kid that went about his business in a professional manner.
“Obviously we didn’t know at that time that he was going to be maybe the greatest relief pitcher of all time. I don’t know if anybody is that smart. What we did see was that he had a very good work ethic and he did a lot of the little things like the bunt defenses and the pitchers fielding practice. He put a lot of effort into it. He was an extremely good athlete.
“Hoyt Wilhelm [the Hall of Famer, one of the great knuckleball pitchers of all time and a pioneer relief pitcher for 21 seasons in the 1950s, ’60s, and ’70s] was our pitching coach and he used to play a game with the pitchers so they could have some fun. He’d let them bat and shag and Mariano could really hit and he could really play the outfield. He was clearly one of the best athletes we had on the team.”
> As his first season was winding down, Rivera had pitched in 21 games and had the lowest earned run average in the league, but he was five innings short of qualifying for the league ERA title, for which the Yankees offered a wristwatch and a bonus of $500.
“We had a doubleheader on the last day of the season,” Sherlock recalled. “We spoke to Mitch Lukevics [director of minor league operations for the Yankees] and talked about starting Mariano in one of the games. We got an okay and Mariano pitched a seven inning no-hitter, which was pretty amazing.”
While he still was not considered a hot prospect, the no-hitter, a 5–1 record, an ERA of 0.17, 17 hits allowed, and 58 strikeouts in 52 innings, could not be overlooked. At least it caught their attention in the Bronx and Tampa (where the Yankees’ player development staff is located) and it elevated, at least slightly, Rivera’s status. No longer merely a fringe prospect, Rivera was moved up to Class A Greensboro in the South Atlantic League the following season.
At Greensboro, Rivera split his time almost equally between starting and relieving. Despite a record of 4–9, he continued to impress and progress with a 2.75 ERA, 123 strikeouts, and only 36 walks in 1142⁄³ innings. It caught the attention of Yankees manager Buck Showalter, who deemed Rivera’s strikeout-to-walk ratio “impressive in any league.”
Showalter was not alone in his judgment. The Yankees brain trust concurred, bouncing Rivera up to Fort Lauderdale in the high A Florida State League in 1992. The Yankees decided he was now a full-fledged starter. By midseason, Rivera had made 10 starts, had a record of 5–3, a 2.28 ERA, 42 strikeouts, and an especially impressive five walks in 59¹⁄³ innings. Then he faced his first crisis.
Attempting one day to improve the movement on his slider by twisting his wrist, Mariano felt something snap. He had damaged the ulnar collateral ligament in his pitching elbow, requiring surgery and abruptly ending his season.
“People think he had Tommy John surgery, but he didn’t,” said Gene Michael, the Yankees’ super-scout/adviser (as well as former player, manager, and general manager).
