Ralph does Buffalo proud

CANTON, Ohio – One of the things I’ve always enjoyed about Ralph Wilson in the 26 years I’ve known him is his sense of humor. The Bills owner has never been afraid to poke fun at himself, and he’s never demanded the spotlight the way current egomaniacs like Jerry Jones and Daniel Snyder have. Ralph has always been content to hang in the background and allow his players and coaches to receive the accolades.

His trademark humor and humility were on display during his Pro Football Hall of Fame acceptance speech Saturday night when about 10,000 Bills fans in the crowd of roughly 15,000 turned Fawcett Stadium into Ralph Wilson Stadium.

Ralph talked about how friends convinced him to go down to the locker room after his team had fallen behind 21-7 to the New York Titans (now the Jets) in an exhibition game before the 1960 season.

“So at their urging, I went down and walked into our locker room, and there was our head coach, Buster Ramsey, with that ‘What are you doing in here?’ expression on his face, ’’ Wilson recalled.

“I said, ‘I want to talk to the team.’ Buster said: “Go ahead, talk to them.’ And I gave the team one of the most inspiring fight talks. It was reminiscent of Knute Rockne or Vince Lombardi. And we lost the game, 51-7.

“Shortly, thereafter, Buster said to me, “Hey, Ralph, next time talk to the other team.’’

Ralph also spoke about how it was simultaneously special and strange to be inducted because, unlike the other enshrines, he never played the game.

“I play tennis,’’ he quipped, “because, in tennis, folks, when you go back to serve, you don’t have to worry about the rush of Bruce Smith. And you go home without any bruises and clean clothes.’’

He may not have played football, but, as these past 50 years have proved, he loved the game with his heart and soul.

For me, one of the nicest parts of his speech was when he paid homage to Bills fans. He talked about how, back in 1959, he wound up choosing Buffalo for his new AFL franchise from a list of five prospective cities.

“It was a lucky pick,’’ he said, “because over the years, they have supported the team in Buffalo beyond our fondest dreams. And without the support, I wouldn’t be on this platform tonight.’’

Nicely said, Ralph. Nicely said.

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For a soon-to-be 91-year-old, Ralph gave a solid speech. He told some funny stories, thanked a ton of people and didn’t ramble much.

The same couldn’t be said for former Pittsburgh Steelers defensive back Rod Woodson, whose 40-plus minute sermon threatened to put many of us to sleep.

I feel badly for the Hall of Fame organizers and the television producers who had told each of the six inductees well in advance that they shouldn’t go longer than 12 minutes. Woodson showed total disregard for the audience and the other inductees by being such a wind bag.

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My wife, Beth, suggested that the Pro Football and Baseball halls of fame adopt the Academy Awards approach to keeping the length of speeches under control.

At the Oscars, they begin playing music after a minute or two to let the winner know that his or her time is up, and that the show must go on.

Perhaps, if they had blasted a college fight song over the Fawcett Stadium loud speakers at about the 20-minute mark, Woodson would have taken the hint.

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I thought it was bush league when some Bills fans began chanting “Free Marshawn!’’ when NFL commissioner Roger Goodell was introduced. They should be happy that the Commish hit Marshawn Lynch with just a three-game suspension for his gun possession arrest this spring on top of his hit-and-run incident last year. Come on, folks, I know you love your team, but your loyalty can’t be blind.

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On a personal note: It was great spending time in Cleveland with friends Leigh and Larry Brattain, their dog, Pip, and their cats, Charley and Leo. Rochesterians will remember Leigh as Leigh Ann Carlson, the long-time news anchor at the old R-News.

On the road to Canton

I'm heading off to Canton to cover the Pro Football Hall of Fame inductions of Ralph Wilson and Bruuuuuuuuuuuuce! Smith. Should be fun.

I'm glad that Ralph is finally getting in. It's long overdue. Without him, the AFL never would have survived and flourished. He bankrolled several struggling franchises, including the Oakland Raiders and old Boston (now New England) Patriots. He also helped broker the merger between the two leagues, and through the years has been one of the NFL's more sane voices. (He was one of only two owners that voted against Art Modell's move of the Browns out of Cleveland.)

Of course, we, here in Western New York, have benefitted the most by having a big-time franchise to follow all these autumns. The Bills helped put the region on the map, and whether you love 'em or hate 'em, they've added to the region's quality of life.

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I was there for the compelling speeches of former Bills coach Marv Levy and quarterback Jim Kelly. Ralph and Bruce are going to have a difficult time matching Levy's humor and erudition and the poignancy of Kelly, who paid tribute to his late son, Hunter, who was in the audience that day and died a few years later.

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It will be interesting to see if Ralph and Bruce stick to the 12-minute limit imposed by ESPN, which is covering the event live. As a veteran of about 20 Baseball Hall of Fame ceremonies, I can attest that there's nothing worse than a long, rambling speech.

I remember covering one year when former baseball commissioner Happy Chandler filibustered for 45 minutes. Frank Robinson was next up to the dais, and assured he would not be as long-winded as the ex-Commish. Well, Robby proceeded to go even longer under the blistering Cooperstown sun. Surprisingly, none of the fried fans or reporters suffered heat stroke. I don't remember a word Robby said after his failed promise. I was just praying for his speech to end as quickly as possible.

Remembering Thurman Munson

Thurman Munson’s old locker, which had remained empty in the Yankees clubhouse for nearly three decades, is now on public display in the museum at the new Yankee Stadium.

It serves as a haunting reminder of the Yankees first captain since Lou Gehrig and how Munson’s life was cut short at age 32 when the Cessna Citation he was piloting crashed at the Akron-Canton Regional Airport.

Last Sunday marked the 30th anniversary of that tragedy – still one of the most shocking and saddest sports moments of my lifetime.

I loved watching Munson play. He was a superb athlete stuck in a squatty, unathletic-looking body, which no doubt added to his appeal for the majority of us who weren’t lucky enough to be born to look like Adonis.

The most appealing thing, though, about Munson was his competitiveness and grit. He always put his team first, often playing hurt and seemingly always finding a way to drive in the crucial runs.

And although Reggie Jackson wound up getting a candy bar named after himself, Munson’s teammates, to a man, would tell you that Thurman was the true straw that stirred the drink on those Yankee championship teams during the incendiary Bronx Zoo seasons of the late 1970s.

Besides the anniversary of his death, Munson is back in the news this summer because of a compelling new biography written by Marty Appel, a former Yankees public relations director and co-author of Munson’s autobiography roughly three decades ago.

Munson: The Life and Death of a Yankee Captain is a superb read that delves into his turbulent childhood and dysfunctional family. Through extensive interviews with Thurman’s estranged siblings we learn about his impossible-to-please father who continued to rail against his famous son, even in the days following his death.

In one of the more disturbing passages of the book, Darrell Munson approaches his son’s coffin just before it is lowered into the ground and shouts: “You always thought you were too big for this world. Well, you weren’t. Look, who’s still standing, you son of a bitch!’’

Although notorious for his gruffness with the media and strangers, Munson is portrayed as a loving husband to his wife, Diana, and a doting father to his three young children.

In a cruel twist of irony, he upgraded to a jet he may not have been totally prepared to fly in order to shorten the off-day trips from New York to Canton so he would be able to spend more time with his young family.

In one of the most compelling parts of the book, Appel does a masterful job re-creating, in riveting detail, the final days and minutes leading up to the accident.

Munson’s fatal crash is attributed to pilot error, but his heroism is evident to the end. His final actions helped saved the lives of his two passengers, and the first thing he asked after the crash were: “Are you guys okay?’’

Though the circumstances of his death are what many remember most about Thurman Munson, this book reminds us of what an incredible life preceded that tragic ending.

Cobbling together material garnered from more than 150 interviews and his own experiences with Munson during his days as the Yankees PR man, Appel tells, in page-turning fashion, the definitive story of a man and a player who will never be forgotten.

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Munson was All-Ohio in three sports in high school – baseball, football and basketball. A number of major colleges offered him football scholarships as a flanker and safety, including Syracuse.

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I never interviewed Munson, but I did speak to him once. My buddy, Wayne Cacciatori (yes, that’s really his name and his nickname was “Chicken’’), and I visited a friend of ours in Tampa in March of '78 and took in a spring training game between the Yankees and Mets in St. Petersburg.

The curmudgeonly Thurman was in an especially jovial mood and was even fielding grounders at third base with his catcher’s mitt on.

After batting practice was over, we called out to him, and he came over, asked us where we were from and posed for a picture from the stands.

I also saw Munson play for the Syracuse Chiefs and was in old Yankee Stadium the night he made his big-league debut.

While playing softball in the late 1970s, I grew a Fu Manchu mustache, and some of my teammates started calling me "Thurm.'' I took it as a compliment. (Hey, it's better than being calling "Squatty Body'' or "Pudge.'')

A Happy Anniversary shout-out to a very special lady

I've managed to make a living these past 36 years stringing words together, but, try as I may, I can't find ones to adequately describe the depth of my love for my soul mate, Beth.

From my admittedly biased perspective, Beth is the most kind-hearted, intelligent, beautiful, humble, funny, sensual, compassionate, dignified, grounded person I've ever met.

So what the heck is she doing with me?

Good question.

All I know is that I love her more than life itself.

And always will.

So please indulge me as I wish my Beth a very Happy Anniversary.

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I have no idea how to segue from that opening to the wacky world of sports, but I'll try.

I filed stories for The Associated Press today and wound up scrambling once the Bills handed us a press release saying that NFL Commish Roger Goodell had denied Marshawn Lynch's appeal to reduce his three-game suspension for violation of the league's personal conduct policy.

Lynch can't possibly be surprised by the ruling.

I'm shocked he appealed the suspension in the first place.

The Bills running back probably should be happy his misdemeanor gun charge in February coupled with last year's hit-and-run incident didn't result in a longer suspension.

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I wish someone would release the entire list of the baseball players who flunked their drug tests. This one name here, one name there stuff is like Chinese water torture.

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One more personal note: I'd like to wish my mother-in-law a speedy recovery from a bad fall today. Get well soon, Dot.