MICHAEL O. ALLEN

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baseball

I wish . . .

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Sports Illustrated would stop doing the insane poll where Major League Ballplayers vote Derek Jeter the most over-rated player in baseball. Year in, year out, he shows again and again how it’s done. On the field. Where it matters.

(AP Photo) New York Yankees shortstop Derek Jeter makes an off-balance throw to second base to force out Tampa Bay Rays’ Dioner Navarro on a ground ball hit by Willy Aybar to end the top of the seventh inning in Major League Baseball action Tuesday, July 8, 2008 at Yankee Stadium in New York. (AP Photo/Julie Jacobson)

If anything is clear, those who are saying that are jealous and hating on a player. You can take this to the bank: If four World Series rings and playing in two other World Series does not put that to rest, Jeter will most likely get 200 hits this season, or come damn well close. I will pick him to start my team in any sport.

Cowardly Wilpons

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I have to say that I had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach when Willie Randolph signed on to be manager of the Mets. Willie had worked so hard and strove so many years for an opportunity to manage, enduring endless interviews. When the opportunity came it was in New York and with the Mets, the team that seems to permanently have the word “hapless” appended to its name.

The reason for my trepidation for him is this: Bad things happen to people who go to the Mets, especially good people.

Do you know that the moment he was fired, he was no longer a member of the team and was, therefore, responsible for paying his hotel bill and for his flight back to New York? Not that Willie Randolph could not afford it, but they fired him in the middle of the night at the other end of the world. By e-mail at 3:17 a.m.

They could have fired him before the team left on this West Coast trip. New York’s voraciously racist sports press had been screaming for his head for months and had been on a death watch for weeks. Willie’s fate was especially acute by the week’s end.

So, why didn’t they fire him after the home series against Texas? Why let the man get on a plane, then fire him in the middle of the night? He could have cleaned out his locker and gone home.

The Mets is a low-class, bush league organization and the Wilpons are cowards.

Willie is class, a winner who was saddled with a team badly assembled by a master cover-your-own-ass general manager, Omar Minaya. They hired Willie, then Minaya cobbled together an over-the-hill gang of Latin players and a spoiled brat of a shortstop, Jose Reyes. Minaya consistently overrates and overvalues the team.

The reason they had “the collapse” last year was because they did not have the players. But they mistakenly thought that they had a good team and that they could win now. So they mortgaged the future of team to get Santana.

The problem for Willie now is that his Mets sojourn may have ruined his managerial career. He may never get another managerial post.

Questions for Mr. McNamee

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Brian McNamee and Roger Clemens in February 2006. If we take Brian McNamee at his word, why did he keep this?

Was he thinking five years ago, or however long ago this gauze and needle are from, that he would one day rat Roger out and use the stuff to back up his case if Roger denied it?

Is Roger’s blood in the syringe?

In which case, wasn’t he supposed to be injecting Roger with steroids, not extracting his blood?

How do we know how and when the steroids got in the syringe?

Was it before or after McNamee used it on Roger?

These and many other questions . . .

’60 batboy sees it again through 14-year-old’s eyes By MICHAEL O. ALLEN, DAILY NEWS STAFF WRITER

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nullSaturday, October 17, 1998

NEW YORK–As ace Yankees relief pitcher Mariano Rivera punched out the final Cleveland batter last week, tears welled up in Fred Bengis’ eyes.
“Are you OK?” Terry, his wife, asked.
“I’m just happy,” he said.
And as Yankees jumped in joy, an image of James D’Angelo, the 14-year-old honorary bat boy during the league championship series against Cleveland, flitted across their television set, and Terry turned to her husband:
“If you could say anything to that kid right now, what would you tell him?”
Bengis didn’t hesitate.
“I would tell him, ‘Kid, this is the very best time of your life. You should really take it all in and enjoy it.”‘
Bengis should know. His entry into the Yankee family began as a 14-year-old bat boy with the legendary Yankee team of 1960. He would stay through the ’61 and ’62 World Series-winning teams.
“The years that I was with the Yankees were, beside being with my family, the most exciting years of my entire life,” Bengis said.
He is 54 years old now, a resident of Yorktown Heights in Westchester County and a national accounts manager for a Maryland-based microbrewery. But those teenage days are as vivid today as when he worked with Yankee greats like Roger Maris, Whitey Ford and Tony Kubek.
The pinstripes, he said, feel like part of his skin, and putting on the uniform today still brings back memories of the first time as a 14-year-old.
Bengis grew up in the shadow of Yankee Stadium, on Morris Ave. about 10 blocks away, and idolized Joe DiMaggio and Babe Ruth. So, when Lou Zaklin, a scout for the Pittsburgh Pirates, opened Lou’s Sports Store on 170th St. and Grand Concourse Bengis started frequenting the store. Pretty soon, he got a job as a stock boy.
Zaklin found out from his friend Pete Sheehy, the long-time Yankees clubhouse man, that the Yankees needed a bat boy during the 1960 season. He sent young Bengis along for an interview.
“It was unbelievable,” Bengis said. “When he told me he was going to hire me, I started to cry. My father had tears in his eyes.”
Headier days were to come: Being tongue-tied on first meeting Mickey Mantle; traveling on the road with the team, and becoming a celebrity in his own right. He appeared on television shows and was profiled in Sports Illustrated.
The best part was befriending Maris, he said.
“I just had a lot of fun with him, and I respected him very very much,” Bengis said. “I liked the idea that he was a major-league ballplayer, but he was a down-to-earth, real nice human being who had deep feelings for people. He appreciated my nervousness, and he helped me.”
(c) 1998, New York Daily News.