Happy Birthday, Yogi!

Yogi Berra is 82 today.
My kids and millions of other young Americans know Yogi as the AFLAC duck's partner in a cute commercial that plays on the stereotype of him as something less than the sharpest knife in the drawer. A recent book of "Yogi-isms" was published to make a little money off of that image. I understand why Yogi lends himself to these kinds of things; players didn't make today's money when Mr. Berra was on the field. But "Yogi the dope" sells him short.
Yogi's teammate, Joe DiMaggio, is described as elegant, poetry in motion; all kinds of rapturous recollections are available. He had the great resume, the carefully tended public image. The Great DiMaggio was, however, a wretched human being personally. He wouldn't appear unless announced as "Baseball's Greatest Living Player." His contracts even specified that he would be paid a dollar more than Ted Williams whenever they appeared together, and that he be allowed space to sign larger than Ted's name whenever presented with a picture of the two legends. Dominic DiMaggio is universally acknowledged to be one of the truly gracious and decent people anywhere, but Joe was arrogant and insufferable. He was a sorry man, and wasn't the Greatest Living Player, either. Ever. Ruth lived until 1948; Williams until 2002.
And Yogi Berra is still with us.
Yogi is the Greatest Living Player by one basic, undebateable standard: Yogi Berra has ten World Series rings. No other player, living or dead, can match Yogi's credentials as a winner.
Yogi won three MVP awards. DiMaggio had three, but two of them, 1941 and 1947, were only his because the writers hated Ted Williams, who hit .406 in '41 and won the freaking Triple Crown in 1947, only to be denied the award each time. In fact, Teddy Ballgame would have been the only player until Barry Bonds to have won 5 MVP awards if he had had any relationship with the Knights of the Keyboard. They gave the trophy to Joe Gordon when Ted also won the Triple Crown in 1942. But Ted is another column.
Yogi played catcher. Obviously, that is the position that makes greater physical and mental demands than any other. Catching means that you can't lounge around in the outfield thinking about the opposing pitcher's strengths and weakness in between at bats. Yogi had to manage the Yankees' pitching staff when on the field, and those were the days when catchers actually called the game. Nobody on the bench told Yogi what to call for. He was one of the handful of truly great players.
He is also a man of great character. Yogi Berra is one of very few managers to win pennants in both leagues, AL in 1964 and NL in 1973. When others were willing to inhabit the Steinbrenner Circus of the 1970's and 1980's, Yogi excused himself. King George fired Manager Berra sixteen games into the 1985 season. 16. That's SIXTEEN. When the Reds humiliated their great slugger, Tony Perez, in 1993, they gave him 44 games to manage. At a time when Billy Martin, Gene Michael, Bob Lemon and others were perfectly willing to stand by in George's revolving door, Yogi said no thanks. He left the Yankees at great pain, and loss of income, to himself. And this greatest of Yankees stood by his decision. Because when Yankee class and dignity had been thrown out of the Bronx, Yogi Berra kept his. Only 20 years later, when Steinbrenner had repented of his earlier ways, did Yogi go back to Yankee Stadium.
Happy Birthday, Yogi! You have helped make Baseball great, and every fan is indebted to you for a lifetime well lived.