Pummeled by Pally

I have very fond memories of a Hall of Fame smackdown I once endured. No worries! This is a happy tale!

Charley Feeney was an unforgettable veteran baseball writer whose storied career ended at retirement in 1986 after two decades with the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, my longtime employer. Feeney solidly had established himself as a home run hitter among hardball scribes long before I came onto the scene in the 1970s. 

Charley Feeney at work in the press box at Three Rivers Stadium, Pittsburgh.

A Queens, N.Y. native, Feeney started in the newspaper business at 16 as a copy messenger for the New York Sun. He went on to cover the New York Giants, the New York Yankees, and finally, my team, the Pittsburgh Pirates. In all, that was 41 years of Major League Baseball coverage. He was a master at making his deadlines.

Indeed, it was an impressive batting average.

Feeney, a feisty yet jovial fellow, called everyone “Pally,” but that nickname mostly became his, and it followed him with affection down baseball’s long and winding Yellow Brick Road.

In 1996, he was named the recipient of the J. G. Taylor Spink Award, given annually by the Baseball Writers' Association of America. The award is the highest given by the BBWAA. It is presented "for meritorious contributions to baseball writing."

Wait. There’s more.

The following year, Pally was inducted into the writers wing of the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum.

Read that again: The Baseball Hall of Fame. Now that’s a grand slam!

A fabulous feeling, one I still treasure, knowing that I worked with and learned from a true Hall of Famer.

 

And my most memorable incident with Pally? Oh, it was so funny … especially after the bruises healed.

I don't remember why I was working the press box for this particular game, but Pally was standing behind me as I sat. He was intent on schooling me on various baseball issues. Maybe this leprechaun of a writer knew that I also carry Irish blood.

At times, he had his hands on my shoulders. Other times, he was simply talking, gesturing. Pally made sure I listened and understood the lessons. It was only my third year on staff at the Post-Gazette. I was a cub but not from Chicago.

So it was July 23, 1979. Three Rivers Stadium, Pittsburgh. No outs, second inning. 

Atlanta's Pepe Frias doubled then Bruce Benedict walked. Two men on, no one out.

Braves’ pitcher Phil Niekro then hit a sharp one-hopper to the Pirates’ Bill Madlock at third base. Madlock stepped on third, threw to Phil Garner at second, who threw to Willie Stargell at first.

Triple play!

That’s when the beating began.

“Did you see that, Pally?” Pally yelled. “Did you see that?!!” Fists were flying with glee. And landing on me. Oh, it hurt.

As you may know, I was a helluva lot bigger than Pally. Maybe by a foot, definitely by a lot of pounds.

Yet in his excitement, he just kept kicking my butt. I admit: I nearly was out at the plate.

As I recall, I managed to get up and walk away. Maybe I dashed. Perhaps staggered.

But despite the pain and bruising, it remains a fond memory. Fact is, it’s one of my favorites.

After all, I was beaten by a Hall of Famer! And I loved it!

Note: Charley Feeney died March 17, 2014. For more on his life and links to many of his stories, I recommend a visit to his Wikiwand biography. Miss you, Pally!