This past Sunday was Father’s Day, and I was delighted to present my dad with the exceptional DVD gift set, “New York Street Games,” an amazing new documentary about stickball and all the other games he used to play back in the day with the town CYO and his friends on the corner of every block.

It got me thinking about all the good times we shared—most of which usually had a backdrop of organized (and disorganized) sports. He grew up from the Fifties through Seventies, where the “playing outside era” was at its height, and although I may have caught the tail end of that in the Eighties and Nineties, parks, fields, sandlots, the school yard, the town pool, the streets, this is where it all went down.

Whether it was Off-the-Wall (“Suicide”), horseshoes, bocce, the basketball game H.O.R.S.E, manhunt at Fort Lee’s wood-filled “Indian Valley” (which I now believe is an apartment complex), just having a catch, or countless other activities, the fun was not sitting around and surfing the internet. When I had no one to hang with (which was rare), I’d keep myself occupied for hours just throwing a Spalding against the steps and mimicking the moves of second baseman Steve Sax. Going to the countless trading card shops—which seem to be almost extinct now—and buying comic books and packs of Topps (with the hard stick of pink bubble gum inside) to add to my collection, was another joy. Hopefully, all this stuff can be revived in 2010, and I’m gonna do my best to try and help make that happen.

Coincidentally or not, it was a fittingly awesome sports weekend, both as a spectator and as a participant. Playing baseball with my six-year-old stepson, Matthew (who I love unconditionally like a son), brought me back to my childhood when I got my first bat (a $40 Easton) and glove—which me and my dad oiled up and wrapped tightly in a rubber band to “break in” overnight before it could be used. Matthew’s new favorite activity is baseball, and we went out and bought him white Mizuno uniform pants and a matching ¾ sleeve practice shirt—next he wants the stirrups and spikes. And surely more gear and accessories are to come, at a much steeper price than my Easton bat cost over at Bob’s Sports-O-Rama. Not to sound like a MasterCharge commercial, but this stuff is priceless.

On TV, we watched the exhilarating World Cup competitions on Friday with Team USA in their 2-2 draw against Slovenia and Sunday with Team Italia who also ended their matchup in a tie vs. New Zealand (1-1 was the final in that contest). Not to mention the Yankees, who took two out of three against the Mets. Italy and the U.S. may not have gotten ‘W’s and the Yanks may not have swept the Subway Series, but madonne—every day had a great game to cheer for, and that’s what counts—the bonding these games bring.

During the 1980s, my father (AKA, “Big John”) owned a string of North Jersey batting centers in North Bergen, Hackensack and Piscataway. They had billiards, arcades, one of the first 3-D interactive golf screens where you used a real club to test your driving distance, and of course, the hitting cages. Baseball was the main thing in our household. Hanging out at the batting centers was always a big bonding experience between us, as well as going to the Yankee games together on East 161st Street and River Avenue in the Bronx at the Cathedral of sports.

We’d buy the tickets day-of-game, and always got a great seat. Well, at least to us, there was no “bad” seat. This was before going to the Stadium was the “trendy” thing to do and there were real fans in attendance, not tourists and corporate executives who didn’t even have a clue who the visiting team was. My dad would say to me, “what’s better than this?” as we looked out at the vast diamond during BP while the outfielders would sprint across the freshly cut green grass. Really, there wasn’t anything better, I was in my glory with my bag of Bazzini peanuts and the ballpark giveaway (hat day and calendar day were always our favorites).

My old man made me a Yankees fan since birth. The pinstripe pride was as important in my family as our Italian-American heritage or our Roman-Catholic religion. Growing up, I would pretend to be Don Mattingly, Mike Pagliarulo and Ricky Henderson from the St. Nick’s Church lot (the “Ice House” as it was called back “up the hill” in my old neighborhood of Palisades Park), to the Little League field, and everywhere in between. My first game at the Stadium was during the 1986 season, when we followed a hugely talented squad managed by Lou Piniella (who took over for Billy Martin during one of his five managerial stints). Lou was a regular at my dad’s batting cages. Although “Sweet Lou” is Spanish, if you asked my mom, she’s certain that he has some Italian lineage somewhere. But I digress…

The Bombers had the best overall winning percentage in all of baseball for the entire decade of the Eighties, but they never won a World Series in any of those years. I still remember those games fondly on WPIX with Phil “Scooter” Rizzuto in the booth, who made every inning exciting for me as a young fan (especially watching him munch on cannolis in the broadcast booth). I really was hooked on Yankees baseball from then on out, and my father took me and my buddies to a game every year on my birthday from around ‘88 through ’94. I still have all the programs and scorecards. My mom always packed us a nice bag of food to take along, and I’ll never forget the time a foul ball landed in my dad’s lap right on top of his meatball sandwich (honest to God, he was eating a meatball sandwich). It ruined lunch, but I got a souvenir! Another time, he caught me a ball with his bare hand and autographed it for me: “I broke my hand for my main man.”

The early Nineties was a very dark time for the Yankees, when the upper-decks were empty and a seat was real easy to come by. Getting excited when Melido Perez was on the mound should tell you all you need to know, but even so, I remained a die-hard fan because of my dad and we always banged hard on Freddy’s frying pan with the highest level of enthusiasm (only die-hards know of Freddy). Of course, even a casual observer of sports now knows what happened when the Yankees started making the playoffs again in 1995, collecting five World Championship titles since then. However, I rooted hard throughout the good times and the bad times, unlike many of the band-wagoners who jumped aboard when Joe Torre’s magical ’96 team won their first crown since ’78 (during their first Fall Classic appearance since my birth year of 1981). My little brother was four-years-old when he first saw the Yanks win it all that year, and that was the first time I experienced a championship as well, except I was fifteen!

Now, my brother will be heading to college soon on a scholarship and yearns to play in the Majors. I was never quite as athletically gifted as he is, but sports will always be a unifying bond between me, dad and bro, whether it was the Bombers, the Ewing-era Knicks or the Parcells-led Giants. Another yearly tradition would be heading over to my uncle’s for his Super Bowl parties—although he was a Jets fan, he made the best chili around. We never followed hockey or Cosmos / Metrostars soccer (or Red Bull New York, whatever they go by now), but World Cup time we got into it, especially my Italian uncles and cugines. The Olympics were HUGE as well.

We also all loved boxing, although we didn’t go to a professional fight together until three years ago. One afternoon, I called into “The Max Kellerman Show” on ESPN Radio, a sports program I often used to listen to. Max was interviewing boxer, John Duddy, and I told him that I’d kill to go to his next fight (which was taking place at Madison Square Garden). Max told me to state a compelling case on why I should be given tickets. I told him that it was my dad’s birthday and that we never went to a pro fight before. I also explained how it would be a dream come true to sit in the special seats at the Garden with him and the ESPN Radio crew. My case was apparently compelling enough, and I won the tickets.

What an event that was—a wild slugfest between an Irish-American and an Italian-American. Undefeated middleweight “Ireland’s” John Duddy (18-0 at the time) and Anthony “The Bullet” Bonsante battled it out, and we were right there in the front row like a couple of VIPs. We were rooting for Bonsante, but Duddy won. Again, the outcome of the sporting event was not what mattered, it was all about the experience. This was such a memorable night, and we met all kinds of stars who were in attendance, from Brooklyn’s Paulie Malignaggi to the legend, Jake LaMotta (“Raging Bull” himself).

We all have different “bonding memories,” and the important thing is that we always look fondly back on them, and continue to make new ones—no matter how old we get—or how much the neighborhood around us changes. Just like everything else, I plan to certainly continue these traditions as a father myself.

As The Scooter would have announced if he was still around calling the games: At this time I’d like to offer a very special Happy Father’s Day to my dad, John, and my soon-to-be father-in-law, Ed, as well as my great-grandfather, “Poppy” and my grandfathers; “Be-Bop” and Peter, who I was lucky enough to know and love growing up, but are now up in Heaven. And I extend those wishes to all the fathers and stepfathers out there. God Bless. Remember, a day without cannolis is a day without sunshine.


“New York Street Games” (from the official website)
Narrated by Hector Elizondo, with stories from Keith David, C. Everett Koop, Joe “Joey Pants” Pantoliano, Regis Philbin, Ray Romano, Curtis Sliwa, Mike Starr and many more...New York Street Games captures a special time in American history. From Boxball to Ring-o-leavio to Skully, the film addresses the social and cultural importance of these games and the sense of community they engendered.


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PS - You can now hear me live every Tuesday afternoon on my great friend, Lorraine Ranalli’s all-star packed radio show, “Cucina Chatter” broadcast from 1pm-2pm from WBCB Radio in PA and also online at http://www.wbcb1490.com/. My segment, “Cugine Corner With Johnny Meatballs” airs at 1:22 pm, right after Maryann “Boom Boom” Maisano of The Italian Chicks. As Lorraine’s featured contributor, I’ll be chatting about all things Italian-American, and maybe some occasional Yankees-Phillies trash talk! This week, I’ll be discussing my upcoming “Meat & Greet” at Ah’Pizz Pizzeria (7 North Willow Street in Montclair). On Friday, June 25, Ah’Pizz will be featuring THE JOHNNY MEATBALLS PIZZA all day on the menu. Hope to see you there…