Nicest Guy on the Yankees Almost Makes Me Want to Root For Them

By Mike Takeuchi
(Photo by Yankees Team Doctor Chris Ahmad)

On the Anaheim Stadium field. while stretching between the serious Jorge Posada and locked-in Alex Rodriguez, Mick Kelleher bore the expression of an 18-year-old rookie who couldn't believe his good fortune.

The funny thing is, even after 36 years in the Major Leagues as a player and coach, maybe he hasn't. And that's partly why many local baseball fans were hoping that the universally recognized nice guy will finish first, even if he is part of the Evil Empire known as the New York Yankees

Kelleher, a Santa Ynez resident, is the Yankees' first base coach and infield instructor. After 11 years as a player, and 25 as a coach, it will be his first trip to the Fall Classic.

Despite not yet reaching the pinnacle of his sport, the energetic 62-year-old has enjoyed a bounty of honors — from the respect of his peers, to an endearing nickname that will forever be immortalized in Chicago Cubs lore. He is also a widely respected infield coach, whose pupils have included future Hall of Fame shortstop Derek Jeter.

Just prior to Game Four of the ALCS, and shortly after being given a warm welcome from Angels coach Ron Roenicke, he leaned on the railing of the visitors' dugout and shook his head in wonder.

"I don't know how to explain it," Kelleher said. "I've been very fortunate to have a career in the game I love. I love the lifestyle, the travel, and mostly the people."

Gary Woods, also a former big leaguer, said there was nothing to wonder about. They met during the early 1970's when Kelleher moved to Santa Barbara with his wife Renee, and soon became workout partners and close friends.

"There is not a finer person in Major League baseball," Woods said. "That, and the fact that he is simply the best infield coach in the game, have given him a life that he loves and deserves.

"As a player, he may not have been blessed with the most talent, but I can't think of a player that gave any more of themselves."

Kelleher broke in with the St. Louis Cardinals in 1972, then played for the Houston Astros, the Chicago Cubs, the Detroit Tigers and, finally, with the Angels, with whom he retired in 1972.

While lacking power (.213 career average, zero home runs), he more than made up for it with fielding (.975 percentage) and toughness.

Woods, who also played for the Cubs, pointed to one memorable fight on Aug. 7, 1977 when his friend took on the toughest player in the game — and won. In an already brawl-filled game with San Diego, the Padres Dave "King Kong" Kingman was plunked by Chicago pitcher Steve Renko. Angered from the play, Kingman took out Kelleher hard at second base during a double-play attempt. The 6-foot-6, 210-pound Kingman barreled straight into the 5-9, 170-pound Kelleher — who proceeded to jump on King Kong's back and pummel him.

"He looked like a little monkey on King Kong's back," Woods said with a laugh. "But damned if he didn't get the best of Kingman."

Kelleher also laughed when asked about the story.

"I may have won the fight on the field, but after he got the best of it because I had five bruised ribs, a wrenched neck, and a severe charley horse on my left leg, and we were both suspended," Kelleher said. "The funny thing is, Kingman signed with the Cubs the next year and it was bygones."

The fight earned Kelleher the nickname "King Kong Killer," along with t-shirts in his honor, and the eternal adoration of longtime Cubs fans. This approach and toughness also earned him a job when his career ended. Jack McKeon, who would later win a World Series with the Florida Marlins in 2004, told Kelleher to call him when he was done playing.

"When you're a player you only think about playing as long as you possibly can," Kelleher said. "You literally have to take it one day at a time and I was fortunate to have played for 15 years. When I was done playing in '83, I called him and got a job as instructor with the Padres."

Sprinkled among stints with the Padres, the Cubs, and the Pittsburgh Pirates, with whom he also coached first base, he worked with a young Jeter while serving as the Yankees roving fielding instructor from 1996 to 2002, and was the first base coach with the Tigers from 2003-2005. In 2006 he returned to the Yankees as an instructor and was named first base coach last year after Tony Pena was promoted to bench coach.

It reunited Kelleher with Jeter.

"Even when he was young, we knew Jeter was a player — heck he had 200 hits in his first full season," Kelleher said. "I didn't have to tell him much then, and I definitely don't have to say much now. But I'm here if he, anyone needs me. I keep an eye on them, but everyone has their own style of work.

"It's hard for players to see what they are doing wrong. That's what coaches are here for, helping the players adjust immediately. That's what it's all about."

After his season ends, Kelleher will move back here to a place he settled with Renee and raised their now adult daughter, Britanny, while making such close friends as Bill Pintard, manager of the Santa Barbara Foresters. Pintard, who also serves as a scout for the Angels, named his daughter Kelby, which is Kelleher's nickname.

He was able to spend time with Kelleher in Anaheim during the recent series, while others such as Woods and Joe Howell have been trading yucks by phone.

The Santa Barbara High baseball team is also looking forward to some quality time with Kelleher.

"It's flattering that he will come out and bother to work with us before leaving for spring training to work with Derek Jeter and Alex Rodriguez," Dons coach Fred Warrecker said. "Over the last 10 years, he has taught us many things, the latest being Break on the Ball or B.O.B. — in which everyone is moving prior to the play.

"If it's good enough for the Yankees, it's good enough for Santa Barbara High, so we do it every day."

That same enthusiasm was evident last Tuesday, as Kelleher bounded from stretching, to infield practice, to pitching batting practice. As he was on the field, Howell extolled his friend by phone.

"Outside of the field, you wouldn't have any idea that Kelby was a ballplayer," Howell said. "In fact, one time he broke his nose playing basketball and he couldn't convince the lady that his insurance was the Major League Baseball Players Association because she didn't believe that he was a player. But that didn't stop him from playing with a bunch of lawyers as our ringer."

"Anybody that knows him has seen that same pure heart that had him last so long in the Major Leagues, is reflected by anyone who knows him. When my son Ben wanted to have a baseball themed birthday party, Kelby not only came dressed in his Padres uniform, but he made me wear one of his uniforms too.

"Even though the pants were high waters and came up to my calves, I outweighed him by some 50 pounds, and had no baseball skills whatsoever, he almost convinced me that I pulled it off. That's Kelby."

e-mail: irontak@yahoo.com

Oh Brother Where Art Thou?

Dodgers and Angels Need Brother Antonine's Divine Intervention

By Mike Takeuchi

Anaheim-With both Los Angeles teams on the brink of elimination, the Dodgers and the Angels may want to call upon some divine intervention from Brother Antonine Correa. The former porter at the Old Mission, who passed away 15 years ago, was an avid Dodger fan and was friends with Angels manager Mike Scioscia during his playing days as the Dodgers catcher.

If he is looking down from up above, he may have enjoyed seeing his favorite team and favorite player managing another being so closed to a trip the World Series. But with the current state of both, he may be fretting as he once did in front of the television at the Old Mission.

As a child, I knew Brother Antonine, who was this writer's art teacher at San Roque School in the mid-1970's, quite well. He was a man with great passion who bluntly recognized this writer's lack of future as an artist at an early age. Yet he still left me with a fondness for him because he was the first adult outside of my own parents to give it to me straight.

And boy, did he love his baseball.

"I remember meeting him when we came up to Santa Barbara with our Dodger Caravans (a traveling group that included players and then manager Tommy Lasorda to communities outside of Los Angeles) ," Scioscia said. "And each time he would come up, he made sure to stop by and talk about the team. He really knew his baseball."

His longtime colleague, Brother Timothy Arthur chuckled at the recollection of his friend planted in front of the television during baseball season.

"I don't think he missed many Dodgers games on television," Brother Timothy said. "I remember him always saying that although he couldn't play the game, it didn't stop him from loving it."

Although he did not have an acumen for baseball, he was multi-talented according to Father Maurus Kelly, a priest at the Old Mission.

"As porter at the Mission, Antonine was tremendous," Father Kelly said. "Whenever we had visiting clergy come, he went out of his way to schedule activities and outings for them and took care of the logistics. But his biggest talent was art..

"He did a lot of stitchery here and became quite reknown for it. His art is hanging in churches across the country and around the world. He also made vestments for the priests here and abroad. Eventually he started making vestments for certain bishops to wear. He was really unselfish when doing this. Antonine was more than willing to commit himself to anyone that needed any help."

And that included the Dodgers. After several visits with Scioscia via the Caravan and on his own, the two traded notes and Scioscia sent pictures and Dodgers memorabilia. Brother Antonine responded by making Scioscia tapestries.

"When he gave me the first cloth, I was literally blown away," Scioscia said. "I was amazed at his talent, but really touched that he took the time to make them for us. I still have them."

Scioscia said the two then talked about the commonality of the beauty of sport and art. Over the years, Brother Antonine made more of his artwork and gave them to the Dodgers players.

"Antonine was able to combine two of his passions and bring joy to others by sharing them," Brother Timothy said.

And now that the Dodgers and Angels are one albeit troublesome round away, would he have changed his allegiances to the Angels for Scioscia?

"I don't know, but I hope so," Scioscia said.

His old friend was more certain.

"I think he would have been happy either way," Brother Timothy said.

Dodger Fans Retrained?

October 15, 2009


Los Angeles- They didn't leave.


It wasn't surprising that the Phillies beat the Dodgers on Thursday night 8-6. They aren't the defending World Champions for nothing. And it wasn't a shock that try as they might, the Dodgers couldn't perform a miraculous comeback in a sport where three out of ten is considered a success (I stole that line from Torii Hunter).

What was shocking is the fact that though their team was down, the 56,000 Dodger fans didn't leave en masse. In fact, a great majority of them were there on the final pitch, even after Casey Blake grounded into a double play in the bottom of the ninth.

Where the Angeleno faithful are notorious for arriving after the third inning and leaving before the end of the seventh, they may have been actually trained to stick around this year. Until recently, there really hasn't been much to stick around for since Mike Piazza left. Even with the four consecutive home run miraculous finish against San Diego three years ago didn't teach Dodger fans to stay until the final out.

But this year, where Andre Ethier seemingly hit a walk-off home run every other game, and the Mark Loretta single that clinched the Division Series last week, people have been taking part. The best part about the excitement is, that the fighting seems to have ceased, or at least slowed down. Although data is not released, one anonymous security guard said that violence at the Stadium is indeed down.

Sitting in the auxiliary press area in the reserve seats behind home plate, which incidentally much better than being in the actually press box. I enjoyed observing the fans almost as much as the thrilling game. Perhaps because we are slightly segregated from them, but close enough to watch and listen. There were the usual insidious chants of “Phillies Suck!” and other comments which seemed to have come straight from “Dumb and Dumberer”. But for the most part, they were in the game, supporting their team. (BTW Observance of fans would be a grad student's dream of a sociological experiment).

One can almost forgive the towel waving, a ripoff of the Steelers Terrible Towels and even the Homer Hankies of the Minnesota Twins Metrodome. After all, it may have helped the team win the clinching playoff game as Cardinals Matt Holliday lost the ball into the lights (and maybe towels) of Dodger Stadium. It beats those thunder sticks. My wife Munch's ears are still ringing from the ALCS in 2005.

Maybe it's me that has the problem. Have I become a snob much like the Patton Oswalt played character in the poignantly painful movie “Big Fan”? When I have gone to a game as a fan, other than applause for a good play by either team (people do look at me strangely when I do) and conversation with my seat neighbors, I am largely silent. Maybe I should go a little bonkers some times. It probably helps with the stress level. Just don't make me do the Wave. But two things I will most definitely do, come on time, and wait until the last out is recorded.

An Unrequited Bromance

Hunter Plays and Lives a Life Worth Emulating
(Torii Hunter and Hall of Famer Frank Robinson before Game 1 of the ALDS)


By Mike Takeuchi


Anaheim-This ain't no bromance but how do I love thee Torii Hunter? Let me count the ways Well, maybe it is a little. But from his electric style of play to who he as a man, the Angels' center fielder is like a virtual Pied Piper of the clubhouse.

On Thursday, he proved that once again by hitting a three-run home run in the fifth inning of a scoreless tie to offset the magnificent pitching of John Lackey in helping to lead his team to a 5-0 victory in Game 1 of their Divisional Series playoff against the Boston Red Sox. The win was the team's first playoff home win since Game seven of the 2002 World Series.

After he hit the home run, he paced the dugout like a tiger that hadn't eaten in three days and then spiked his helmet like he had scored the game winning touchdown for his Pine Bluff (Arkansas) high school football team.

“It's like when I played football, they called me the Sandman because I put them to sleep,” Hunter said seriously.

That's my kind of guy. Because for me, I find that there are more players that I don't care for than I actually like. Other than Hunter, there are a few-Ichiro of course, Chone Figgins and David Eckstein because I can visually look them in the eye. There are a couple of players that I enjoy watching like the Giants Pablo Sandoval and the Dodgers Matt Kemp. Manny amuses me much like Barry did where their failures are as entertaining as their successes, but that's about it.

Perhaps it's because of proximity and seeing them up close makes me jaded. But maybe it's something more. Maybe it's the way many play the game with a nonchalance that looks suspiciously like apathy or even antipathy towards the game. Hunter is the antithesis of this in the way he plays and the way he lives his life.

In this modern age, he is the closest thing to a modern day Roberto Clemente that there is, which is ironic since he is his team's 2009 nominee for the award for the Hall of Fame player and humanitarian. Hunter, the winner of the 2007 Marvin Miller Award recently won the Branch Rickey Award for his accomplishments off of the field. Named for the former Brooklyn Dodgers executive who is best known for signing Jackie Robinson, the honor is given to the player who exhibits “service above self.”

Last year before a game, I came up and asked him about another program he is involved in, the RBI (Reviving Baseball in the Inner Cities) to get African American players more involved in the sport. While I expected a 30-second sound bite, what I got was a ten minute conversation about how important it is to keep Blacks in the sport in particular, and about the role of race in sport in general.

Of course the guy can play a little. With a .275 lifetime average and 235 homers and 322 doubles he can hit pretty fair. But it is in the field where he dazzles the most With eight consecutive Gold Glove awards, he is the standard for center fielders. He can also be spectacular making the wall climbing catch a semi-regular occurrence. Who can forget the Spiderman earning nickname when he out jumped Ichiro to rob Barry Bonds of a home run in the 2002 All-Star game? Since he signed with the Angels, things haven't changed-inspiring teammates such as Chone Figgins.

“He's a game changer,” Figgins said. “He plays big that's what he does. He comes to play and makes things happen at the right time.”

And he always talks to the media win or lose. My first encounter with him was after the All-Star Game in San Francisco years ago. With everyone, including Hunter in a hurry to get back to the next game they were playing, I looked for a player, any player to interview to meet my deadline.

“What you need sir?” Hunter asked. “I'll talk to you. We are all getting out of here in a hurry, but I got a minute.”

He save my deadline and my life.

Through the last two years, I have observed him to be an eloquent speaker with a touch of Pine Bluff still in him. When asked what the difference between guts and nuts were, he smiled.

“The nuts is Hood,” Hunter replied.

Even in defeat, he was always what we reporters call “a story saver”-the one guy you can count on to help you make deadline when other guys won't talk. It was never more apparent after the last home playoff game the Angels played in, a 7-5 loss to the very same Red Sox who eventually eliminated the Angels in four games.

After that game, he simmered with anger, yet still was willing to talk to the media. After most of the reporters tiptoed away, a few of us remained because it was apparent that Hunter was not finished talking. A question was posed to him about a teammate talking about facing the reality of elimination. When asked the same question he frowned.

“Elimination?” Hunter seethed. “Who's talking about elimination? Tell me who it is, because I want to slap them.”

He then went on for another five minutes before he started smiling and said, perhaps to convince himself more than anything, that the Angels season wasn't over. It's too bad the team didn't follow his lead, because two games later, it was.

Thursday night's clubhouse scene was a little more joyous. When Hunter came back to the clubhouse, a horde of scribes and TV types were waiting for him. Hunter willingly and happily obliged questions about anything and everything-including his end zone style spike of his helmet in the dugout.

“ I just lost it, I was so pumped up,” Hunter said. “My adrenaline was going man. I wish you guys can feel what I feel in my body. Because it's niiiiiicce!”

“I really wish you guys can feel that,” Hunter repeated before excusing himself to the shower.

After the group broke up, I related what was said to the Angels clubhouse gatekeeper Bruce Olson. I added that I thought Torii Hunter has got to be one of the nicest guy in baseball.

“In any walk of life,” Olson responded.

I stand corrected.

Levels Jerry, Levels

Reserve Level, Dodger Stadium, Los Angeles- Every where one travels there are levels. And I ain't talking about what Kramer needed for his apartment in Jerry Seinfeld's world. The ones I am referring to are social levels and in this case in particular media levels. As I sit high above the action in front of a guy two rows behind me who thinks nothing of deriding St. Louis Cardinals third baseman Mark DeRosa for having the audacity to take time out after he hit his head sliding into the knee of Dodgers first baseman James Loney, I think of the social strata that occupies those reporting the Major League Baseball playoffs.

Count me at a similar level as that of my Beta fish (or his preference Siamese Fighting Fish) Bubbles-alternately lovable and tenacious. But in the eyes of other fish, he is just another low gill-flapper in the food chain. Bubs and I are of the same breed, insignificant to everyone around us. But don't cry for us, we are actually happy in our anonymity. As I look around at those trying to get up the Major League pecking order, I have to shake my head in amusement at the schmoozing (Yiddish for “talking about nothing” literally).

Watching the hens (Relax pc patrol, I'm talking about the men) gather and cluck there way in little groups, they virtually ignore the weeklies, Web site writers, and small town scribes like myself. It reminds me of a Hollywood party.

But as I sit among my brethren in the Reserve Section, it is a nice comfortable feeling, talking baseball with like-minded individuals who love and know the game- the knucklehead a couple of rows behind us, notwithstanding.