MLB

Memories of Cone’s ‘Boss’: Large furies … and small details

The Yankees hitters had all jammed into the small food room in the back of the clubhouse at the old Yankee Stadium.

We, the 114-win 1998 Yankees, had already won two rounds of playoffs, and then-hitting coach Chris Chambliss was holding his scouting meeting in that small room, readying his hitters for the Padres and the World Series. And there, hovering just over Chambliss’ shoulder, was George Steinbrenner.

The owner of the Yankees had a copy of the same scouting report from which Chambliss was reading, and was adding his own emphasis. Except The Boss was distracted. There was a soda machine in the room, and everyone was so silent because of Steinbrenner’s presence that the humming of the machine could be heard distinctly.

It was just meaningless background noise to everyone in the room. Well, everyone but George. Not for a man looking for every advantage to win possible, including assuring that his hitters were paying complete attention on how to attack Padre pitchers Kevin Brown and Trevor Hoffman. So George got down on his hands and knees, pulled the heavy machine away from the wall and yanked the plug. When he stood, his blue blazer was covered in soot and dirt.

Nobody knew how to react. And, just by happenstance, I walked in at that moment. “George,” I said, “what are you doing? Don’t mess up those guys.”

For a moment, there was nothing and then George broke out laughing, and the rest of the room all but fell to the floor cracking up. The mood was lightened, and we went out and swept the Padres.

But that was George. He was the most involved owner you could ever imagine — the one willing to do anything to win, the one who wanted to be part of the clubhouse and part of the action.

This is what I remember now upon his passing. For, quite frankly, I am not a Yankee if George is not George, if he is not doing what others in his position would never do.

In July 1995, my Blue Jays were badly out of the race and decided to trade me. The Yanks were interested, and George flew to Toronto to meet face to face with Blue Jays president Paul Beeston to work out a trade.

That offseason, I was a free agent and on the brink of signing with the Orioles. Baltimore hesitated ever so briefly and George got wind of it. He was visiting a friend in the same hospital in Tampa in which he passed away yesterday. George broke away from the visit and personally called me from a pay phone in front of the hospital, re-did the Yankee bid and explained to me why I had to be a Yankee.

It was because of that personal involvement that I was part of four-time champion in the next five years.

When I think about George I think about that passion, that involvement, the furor to gain an edge. In the 2000 Subway World Series, he took one look at the stools in front of our lockers with the Mets’ insignia and hired a moving company to haul those stools out and bring the furniture from our clubhouse at Yankee Stadium to the visiting clubhouse at Shea.

Snap your fingers and the clubhouse was full of Yankee blue logos.

He was impetuous. He flew off the handle. He wore his emotions on his sleeve. But George was everything you could want in an owner. He could have taken enormous profits after he made his first cable deal with MSG, but he kept re-investing in the brand, and he made the Yankees the biggest brand ever in sports.

What the Yankees have become is George’s great legacy.