Page 276 - 1975 BoSox

’75—THE RED SOX TEAM THAT SAVED BASEBALL 269
Bob, asking why. Rowswell: “Sponsors deserve fans, and fans deserve a show. Balls and strikes alone give ’em neither.” In an inning, he might seguė from U.S. Steel stock to poetry to a favorite song — what Prince called a “Rosey Ramble,” learning well.
“Oh, by the way,” Bob would footnote, “Clemente grounded out, Stuart ied out, and that’s the inning.” He was partisan: “Come on, we need a run.” Unpredictable: Bob won a bet by waltzing from center eld to home plate in stockings, pumps, neon jacket, bow tie, and Bermuda shorts. Controversial: “On purpose,” Prince admitted. “I’d do anything to build my reputation.”
Aging, Rosey often fell asleep as Bob re-created by ticker, Prince waking him in studio if the Bucs took the lead. At Forbes Field, he pointed to a base or posi- tion “to give Rosey some idea of the ball.” From 1950 to 1957 the Pirates nished last or next to last. “Here’s to the Rosey Ramble,” Prince said after his mentor’s death in 1955. Bob’s riposte was “Gunner’s Gallop”— anything but the game.
Woods’s early life was as picaresque as Prince’s: born 1916; Kansas City Blues mascot at 4; team batboy at 8; high school, local radio score reader; freshman dropout, University of Missouri.
Dad: “Son, I hate you leaving school.”
Jim: “You won’t when I get to Yankee Stadium.”
In 1935 the ex-journalism major joined KGLO in Mason City, Iowa — e Music Man’s “River City.” By 1939 he had replaced Ronald Reagan, dealing Big Ten football for Hollywood: Poss later crowing, “Nothing like topping a prez!” Reagan’s voice soothed, like a compress. Woods’s slapped you in the face. From 1942 to 1945, he rode the Navy War Bond circuit with actors Farley Granger, Dennis Day, and Victor Mature. By 1948, Poss succeeded Ernie Harwell at Triple-A Atlanta when the Georgian left for Brooklyn.
In 1949 Woods’s Crackers became the rst team to air an entire home year of television. Four years later a voice phoned topping even Jim’s whiskied baritone.
“Mel asks me to New York. I walk into his suite, and he’s on the phone talking to Joe DiMaggio about Marilyn Monroe.” Poss knew then he was in the bigs. In 1953 actor Joe E. Brown was to have succeeded DiMag on Yanks pre/post-game TV and air several innings. “Guess Brown should have stuck to lm,” Allen said. Replacing him, Woods stuck to ball.
One day Possum was at Toots Shor’s restaurant bar, near Yanks and Dodgers owners Dan Topping and Walter O’Malley, respectively, when Brooklyn’s boss began ripping his announcer. “I hate the son of a bitch,” he said of Barber. Also gassed, Topping recip- rocated: “I can’t stand Mel.” Amazed, Woods heard “the heads of baseball’s biggest teams trashing sports- casting’s then-biggest names.” O’Malley raised his glass. “I’ll trade you the SOB.” Dan replied, “I’ll give you Allen.” Next day, “sans booze,” they reneged.
e 1953 Yankees drew 1,537,811, down half a million since1950.OnecausewasTV’sgrowth,anotherAllen’s sheen. Woods respected, but feared, Mel, especially his snapping ngers when something popped a cork. After Poss said Mickey Mantle “foul(ed) a ball on top,” ngers snapped. “What’d I do?” Jim said. Allen: “On top of what?”Woods:“ e roof.”Mel:“ en say the roof and complete your sentence.” Jim never forgot the tutorial. “I learned to take nothing for granted and not to fear dead air, surprising for a guy famed for talking.”
Woods’s rst-year team won a fth straight World Series. Stranger than ction: e sole Yankee to play every pre-1956 Series against Brooklyn was born there. at August general manager George Weiss told shortstop Phil Rizzuto, “We’ve got a chance to get Slaughter. What do you think?” Scooter took cyanide, saying, “Boy, getting him would be a help.” Enos re- placed Rizzuto on the roster. Unemployed, Phil charmed sponsor Ballantine Beer, which told Weiss to put him in the booth. Odd man out, Woods was summoned to the GM’s o ce. “Jim,” George groped, “I have to do something I’ve never done — re someone without cause.”