I'd like to see a movie based on Joe Dimaggio's life, the
real Joe Dimaggio. The cheap bastard Dimaggio, the vindictive Dimaggio, the Dimaggio who punched Billy Crystal in the stomach:
I got a call from George Steinbrenner on behalf of Mickey [Mantle's] family. They wanted me to speak at the unveiling of Mickey's monument in Yankee stadium. Moved and honored, I agreed to fly to New York.
It was a somber occasion as the Yankees and fifty-seven thousand fans gathered to remember the legend. many former Yankees teammates were there, and after a few spoke, Bobby Murcer, a former Yankee and now an announcer, introduced me. He told the crowd that I was a great Yankee fan and a dear friend of Mickey's and that the family wanted me to speak.
I almost tripped on my way out of the dugout, but I made my way to the microphone. At the home plate I always dreamed of stepping on after my World Series-winning home run, I spoke of my dad taking me to my first game in 1956 and asked the last row of the upper deck to stand up to show how far Mickey had hit the ball that day.
I told them I was there representing all fathers in the stands who were bringing their sons to their first game. I then introduced a film package of Mickey moments. As it was playing, Murcer came over and said, "When it's over, introduce Joe DiMaggio."
Oh man, okay, I thought. In the dugout, Joe was pacing. I had never met him, but he'd been my dad's favorite player. "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Joe DiMaggio," I said.
Joe bounded out onto the field and got to me quickly as the crowd roared. "I'm not speaking - what do I do?" he asked gruffly. "Wave and stand next to Whitey Ford," I replied......
Joe Torre, in his first year as manager of the Yankees, invited me to work out with the team. I spent some time with Yogi Berra and Whitey Ford. I greeted Mickey's widow, Merlyn, and their sons David and Danny. We were standing just out side the Yankee Clubhouse when the door opened and Joe DiMaggio came out. He stepped toward me and without warning, punched me in the stomach. Hard. I wasn't ready for it, and it knocked the wind out of me. He put his face inches from mine. "Greatest living player!" he hissed, and then stormed off.
I didn't know what to do. Totally confused, I was escorted up to Mr. Steinbrenner's box, and when I arrived, George was laughing. "Well, you ****** Joe off - he insists on being introduced as the greatest living player."
From Billy Crystal's book,
Still Foolin' Em.