Possum Philosophy: Genetics may influence this Yankee fan

“Baseball is 90% mental, the other half is physical.”
—Yogi Berra, one of the greatest baseball players of all time.

Crocuses are starting to bloom. I am seeing more robins every day. And the one sure sign that spring is here (or almost), baseball has begun spring-training. Hallelujah!
As anyone that even barely knows me is aware, I do not like cold weather. Actually, it is more than that. I hate, despise, detest, loathe, abhor, dislike intensely, find insufferable and cannot bear cold weather. (See I warned you readers you would rue the day I found the online thesaurus.)
In fairness, this has not been the worst of winters. There hasn’t been much snow, although we usually see a couple of major snows in early spring. But it has been a dreary winter, cold enough to be uncomfortable, damp enough to be unpleasant, just dreary, kind of bleak, constantly gray, depressing. Enough so that I am weary of it, ready for days when it is so nice you just want to stand outside, turn your face to the sky, close your eyes and let the warmth of the sun rejuvenate you body and soul. I, for one, am very much ready for a little spirit-lifting and rejuvenating.
And it has slowly, oh so slowly, begun. I now pick up the papers and read of baseball games played. Of box scores and innings pitched and trades made. Of who is hot and who is not and what the season may bring.
I have been a baseball fan since I was a wee lad. Some of my earliest memories were of my Dad, my uncles and many friends gathering around our television set—its smallish screen black white and various shades of gray since color TV was unheard of then. The picture somewhat fuzzy until they got the antenna adjusted just right (if ever anyone did). This was the early 1950s and television at least for the common man was new technology then. Many homes had not seen fit to invest in this new-fangled form of entertainment. So when a game was on, people gathered in droves to watch. At least true believers in the wonderful sport of baseball did.
I was a Yankees’ fan from infancy. I think it might be genetic. My father was a Yankee fan as was his father before him. So then (and pretty much now), my spirit rose and fell with the fortunes of the boys in pinstripes who played in the Bronx zoo. And they were pretty good fortunes too. From the year of my birth in 1950, the Yanks won 11 American League pennants and eight World Series Championships. According to Wikipedia, the online encyclopedia (http://www.wikipedia.en), they are the most successful team in Major League Baseball. They have won 39 American League Pennants and 26 World Series Championships. They are the most successful franchise in North American professional sports, passing the Montreal Canadiens’ (24 hockey titles) in 1999. The wonder is not that I am a Yankees fan; it is that not everyone who likes baseball is one. I simply don’t understand it.

“I don’t care what the situation was, how high the stakes were - the bases could be loaded and the pennant riding on every pitch, it never bothered Whitey (Ford). He pitched his game. Cool. Craft. Nerves of steel.“
—- Mickey Mantle one of the greatest baseball players of all time.

Over the years I have seen a lot of truly great pitchers, many of them wearing a Yankee uniform. I was watching TV a few days ago and two fellows were arguing as to who the greatest Yankee pitcher of all time might be. One said Ron Guidry (Louisiana Lightning as he was nicknamed). The other swore by Goose Gossage, also a top reliever with a rocket launcher for an arm. Both were outstanding. Both were overpowering. But in my many, many years of being a Yankee fan, none were better than Edward Charles “Whitey” Ford, who still holds many records. He was an outstanding starter yet would often come in as a reliever when an important game was on the line. On several occasions he pitched in three of a seven-game World Series. And his only performance enhancing substance was a tad of tobacco spit on the ball (and that only rarely in his later years).
With the season soon to begin all I can say is “GO YANKS!”
Columnist’s note: Just a quick reminder, we would love to hear from any reader or family member of a reader with a story to tell of life here in the Appalachians while a spouse or parent was away at war. If you are interested please e-mail me at or Stephanie at .