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Zusatztext “Wonderful. . . . It should eventually find its way to that very short shelf of enduring sports nonfiction! perhaps somewhere between Ball Four and Friday Night Lights .” —Leigh Montville! author of Ted Williams and The Big Bam “A terrific memoir! combining an endearing coming-of-age story with a unique window on the inner world of baseball. It is warm! witty! shrewd! and entertaining from start to finish.” —Doris Kearns Goodwin“[McGough] writes fondly and opens a window that baseball fans rarely see.”— The Tampa Tribune “McGough provides humorous! often poignant! observations about Bronx Bombers legends.” — USA Today Informationen zum Autor After his two-year career as a Yankee bat boy, Matthew McGough graduated from Regis High School, Williams College (George Steinbrenner’s alma mater), and Fordham University School of Law. After law school he clerked for a district court judge at the Federal Courthouse in Lower Manhattan. McGough lives in New York City. Klappentext Most of us have dreamed of sitting in the dugout with our favorite baseball team, and at sixteen Matt McGough was no different. A few months after sending a blind application letter to George Steinbrenner, on Opening Day 1992 Matt found himself walking into the legendary Yankee clubhouse. There, amid the chaos and excitement, he was greeted by none other than his idol Don Mattingly — who promptly played a prank on him.Thus began two years of adventures and misadventures, from being set up on a date by the bullpen to playing blackjack on the team plane to studying for an exam at 3 am in Yankee Stadium. Through these often hilarious experiences, and especially through his friendships with the ballplayers, Matt learned priceless lessons about honor, responsibility, and the importance of believing in oneself. A magical tale of what happens to a young man when his fondest dream comes true, Bat Boy wonderfully evokes that twilight time just before adulthood, ripe with possibility, foolishness, and hard-won knowledge.Chapter 1 The Best Seat in the House The game of baseball frames many of my sweetest childhood memories. I made my first friendships playing Little League, and these friendships were shaped by countless hours of team batting and fielding practice on our neighborhood diamond. I consider our coach, a burly police officer named Mr. Ferguson, to have been my first great teacher. He drilled us in baseball fundamentals until they became second nature, but also allowed us time to practice acrobatic catches and double plays, feats we dreamt ourselves capable of but had little chance of ever actually executing in a game. Practices were focused but fun, a solid foundation for a lifelong love of baseball. As a fan, I grew up rooting for the New York Yankees, and the team's players became my earliest heroes. I looked forward to visiting Yankee Stadium at least as eagerly as I anticipated the first day of summer vacation, Halloween night, or Christmas morning. I was still too young to realize that I might lack major league talent, and the handful of games I'd seen in person just fueled the dream that I too might play someday at the Stadium. As momentous as any trip to see the Yankees seemed at the time, there was one particular game that made an impression so vivid and powerful that I can hardly imagine my childhood without it. In fact, it's hard not to wonder how my adolescence might have unfolded had I been anywhere else but Yankee Stadium that day. The game, against the Kansas City Royals, was played on a sweltering Sunday afternoon in late July 1983. I had just turned eight. Personally speaking, it had been a banner summer for baseball. I was halfway through my second season of Little League, starting at shortstop and leading off for my team, the legendary, perennially pennant-contending Brunt & Brooks Pharmacy. Being sponsored b...
