Old Baseball Players Never Die…They Just…
I posted this item a week ago just before news of Yogi Berra’s passing broke. I took it down out of respect but I think it’s OK because many humorous remembrances of Yogi are being published and spoken with fond, respectful intent.
So here is a fictional story that sounds like it could really happen!
Courtesy of inspire21.com
I have a confession to make. As a died in the wool Yankee fan, I couldn’t resist modifying the original two characters in this story, Moe and Sam. I renamed them Whitey and Yogi.
All you Red Sox fans can revert to Moe and Sam if it will make you feel better.
Two ninety-one year old men, Whitey and Yogi, have been friends all their lives It seems that Yogi is dying of cancer, and Whitey comes to visit him every day.
“Yogi,” says Whitey, “You know how we have both loved baseball all our lives, and how we played minor league ball together for so many years. Yogi, you have to do me one favor. When you get to Heaven, and I know you will go to Heaven, somehow you’ve got to let me know if there’s baseball in Heaven.”
Yogi looks up at Whitey from his death bed, and says, “Whitey, you’ve been my best friend many years. This favor, if it is at all possible, I’ll do for you.”
And shortly after that, Yogi passes on.
It is midnight a couple of nights later. Whitey is sound asleep when he is awakened by a blinding flash of white light and a voice calls out to him, “Whitey…. Whitey….”
“Who is it?” says Whitey sitting up suddenly. “Who is it?”
“Whitey, it’s me, Yogi.”
“Come on. You’re not Yogi. Yogi just died.”
“I’m telling you,” insists the voice. “It’s me, Yogi!”
“Yogi? Is that you? Where are you?”
“I’m in heaven,” says Yogi, “and I’ve got to tell you, I’ve got really good news… and a little bad news.”
“So, tell me the good news first,” says Whitey.
“The good news,” says Yogi “is that there is baseball in heaven. Better yet, all our old buddies who’ve gone before us are there. Better yet, we’re all young men again. Better yet, it’s always spring time and it never rains or snows. And best of all, we can play baseball all we want, and we never get tired!”
“Really?” says Whitey, “That is fantastic, wonderful, beyond my wildest dreams! But, what’s the bad news?”
“Whitey, You’re pitching next Tuesday!”