THE MICK'S FIRST HIGH

A couple of decades ago, Joe Pepitone wrote a book about his experiences playing first base and outfield for the New York Yankees from 1962 through 1969. It was called "Joe, You Coulda Made Us Proud," and is currently out of print. Good book, at least for Yankee fans such as myself.
Joe was one of the first "sixties" ball players. That is to say, he was a fun-loving, longhaired, crazy motherf#(er who was endlessly startling the more staid pre-sixties ballplayers, who didn't know quite what to make of him. He is credited with introducing the blow dryer to major league baseball. And he inhaled.
It's been years since I've read the book, but I want to attempt relating a story Joe told that struck me as very funny at the time. This is not plagiarism! More like repeating a joke you heard at a party or something. Okay? So here goes:
Joe and Mickey Mantle, both being party animals, were buddies. One day in '69, they were going to play a night game and found themselves with nothing much to do during the day. Since they were in NY, and Joe was a guy from Brooklyn who knew a lot of Sopranos-like characters, Joe suggested that he pay a quick visit to one of these guys and return with some weed for them to smoke. "Wha'?" said Mick. "You mean like mary-jewana???"
With a smile, Joe went off and scored from a dealer he knew. Returning to the hotel room he was sharing with Mick, he proudly placed some J's on the table. Mick gulped. "Uh, listen, Joe, we got a game tonight. Am I gonna be okay?" Pepi, as he was known, assured the Mick that the game was many hours away, that he wouldn't be feeling anything by the time he had to play. The Mick shrugged and reached for the reefer.
Well, they both got stoned. Very stoned, even for Pepitone. The fooled the day away, having a good time, but Mick kept looking worriedly at his watch and, sure enough, by game time he was just as stoned as he'd been all day, if not more. In the first inning, Mick went to the plate and promptly struck out on three pitches. Returning to the dugout with a peculiar fixed expression, he took his seat.
Third inning -- same thing. Sixth inning -- same except he got a ball this time. Finally, it's the ninth inning. With the game on the line, Mantle came up to the plate...and hits one of the longest, hardest, bestest home runs of his career, winning the game. He rounded the bases and as he shook Joe's proffered (there's that word again) hand on his way to the dugout, with that same peculiar fixed expression, he said "Joe, if you ever give me anymore of that stuff, I'll kill you."
It is not recorded that the Pep ever offered the Mick so much as a toke again. He finished his baseball career with a couple of other clubs, never quite reaching his potential as a ballplayer. This year he would be sixty-two. Every so often, I find myself wondering what he's up to these days, and to what extent, if any, he still needs that hairdryer.
Oh, but I almost forgot -- there's a punch line. 1969, as all good New York stoners will recall, was the year the smoke hitting town suddenly went from being Mexican So-so to Columbian dynamite, which was way better. And it just so happened that the day Joe Pepitone went to score for him and the Mick was the very first day that a shipment of Columbian arrived.
Who knows -- if it had been Mexican the Mick had smoked, he might have hit three home runs, switched from booze to pot, and be alive today.
Freaky thing, life.