“Fort Apache, Yankee Stadium”

Once upon a time, when chaos graduated to bedlam in the bowels of what Art Rust, Jr. used to call the big ball orchard in the Bronx, the still-somewhat-new general manager of the team in Queens surveyed the mayhem and — referencing a popular (though Lord only knew why) action film of the time — pronounced the orchard "Fort Apache, Yankee Stadium."

The fort's commanding officer (no, silly, not the manager) was not amused. Of course, in that time and place he was not very much amusing. Even the gags about his throwing out the first manager of the season had worn out their welcome already, a point said commanding officer ignored for, oh, about most of the next decade.

All this season's eulogizing the big ball orchard in the Bronx has been gushy, mushy, sentimental, and mostly on the mark. Never mind that, technically speaking, the House That Ruth Built (actually, it was built for him, opening in 1923, with particular attention paid to making life simple enough for his left-handed power stroke) became the House That Ruthless Rebuilt (with a lot of help from New York City's strapped taxpayers) in 1975-76.

The Yankees would have loved nothing better than to close their longtime mansion with a trip to the postseason. You can thank injuries and ill-timed slumps, perhaps an ill-timed benching or two, for that. (They're already debating whether manager Joe Girardi waited too long to send indifferent Robinson Cano to the pine.)

But it isn't as though Yankee Stadium is necessarily lacking in championship seasons. Or other kinds of seasons. There certainly have been enough of a boatload of Yankee Stadium doings and undoings, in or around the place, to cover half the width of the Harlem River. We'll bet you didn't hear about half of them in the course of the season-long hosannas.

"Mr. Gehrig is Badly Underpaid" — That was Joe DiMaggio's quiet reply, before the 1938 season, when owner Jacob Ruppert, trying to quell DiMaggio's salary holdout — the Clipper was looking for $40,000 for the season; Gehrig's contract would pay him $39,000 — sought to force DiMaggio to accept $25,000 and not a penny more by quoting him Gehrig's salary.

DiMaggio eventually signed after Ruppert threatened to suspend him, but the holdout actually turned DiMaggio into something of a hate object, with no little help from manager Joe McCarthy, who was fool enough to say, "The Yankees can get along without DiMaggio."

(For equals in the annals of foolish commentary you'd have to fast forward to M. Donald Grant, the unlamented Mets general manager, saying during Tom Seaver's contract contretemps, when Seaver pressed the Mets concurrently to dip a little into the rising free agency market, at a time the farm system was parched and the trade market low, "We won a World Series without superstars and we'll do it again.")

Scoot! — Maybe Phil Rizzuto was over-the-hill as a player by 1956-57. But general manager George Weiss and manager Casey Stengel calling him in to ask him to suggest a roster cut to make room for Enos Slaughter — while rejecting his suggestions, one and all, until the Scooter was left to get the distinct impression that he was the cut they had in mind — was something even George Steinbrenner at his worst might not have thought to pull.

To his credit, however, Rizzuto refused to divorce himself from the Yankee organization ... and signed on as a broadcaster, impressing Red Barber (who'd joined the Yankees after the 1953 World Series) when he approached Barber at once and asked him to teach him all he could, all he knew.

Hats Off — Weiss was so insensitive to the thought that maybe the Yankee image might need a little humanizing that, for years, he refused to sanction the sale of replica Yankee caps for kids. That kind of thinking goes a long way toward explaining why the Yankees of the era might have been mighty and unavoidable but weren't necessarily anywhere near lovable.

A Night at the Copa — Celebrating Billy Martin's birthday, a group of Yankees and their wives took in Sammy Davis, Jr. at the Copacabana after earlier stops for dinner at Danny's Hideaway and to catch Johnnie Ray at the Waldorf. It should have been a pleasant evening all around but for someone apparently hurling racial epithets at Davis, offending the Yankee party in general and outfielder Hank Bauer in particular.

The short take: Bauer barked at the drunk to shut up, after one of the drunk's racial barbs actually prompted a comeback from Davis. ("I want to thank you very much for that remark. I'll remember it.") The drunk barked back an order that Bauer make him shut up. Others in the drunk's party suggested Bauer not test his luck that night. Martin suggested both parties take it away from the tables, and he was accompanied by Mantle. Bauer's wife suggested he stay out of it. Martin and the drunk's brother agreed to keep the drunk away from the Yankee party. Yogi Berra and Whitey Ford were found in the men's room restraining Bauer, who was standing over the drunk stone-cold on the floor with a broken nose.

The problem was that Bauer swore it was Copacabana bouncers who'd decked the drunk and not himself, which didn't stop the drunk from wanting to swear out an arrest warrant for Bauer. The further problem was that Weiss assumed Martin was the instigator, not to mention speculation all over that the Yankees were trying to cover it up — even as they fined Martin, Mantle, Ford, Berra, and Bauer $1,000 apiece and young pitcher Johnny Kucks $500 ... before a grand jury hearing that ended with the case thrown out.

The Copa incident plus a subsequent on-field brawl with Larry Doby of the Indians — after a knockdown pitch to Doby provoked him to threaten Yankee pitcher Art Ditmar — finally drove Weiss to trade Martin, on whom the general manager blamed the Copa incident, at the non-waiver deadline.

The Milkshake Muckup — Weiss got his, though, at least once, when he hired a firm of detectives to tail some Yankees he thought were enjoying a little too much nightlife during the 1958 season, when the team was slumping somewhat. (Weiss has long been believed to have beaten Mickey Mantle out of a pay raise one winter, after getting some damning reports about Mantle's extracurricular activities from other private detectives he'd hired, and then all but threatening Mantle with their public release unless he came to terms on Weiss's terms.)

Whom did Weiss hire — the Keystone Kops? Mantle and Ford, of course, didn't have carrot juice for brains; they spotted the dicks and shook them almost at once, hiring a cab to lead them on a merry high-speed chase around Detroit.

But the dicks' most embarrassing report involved players with a very different idea of nightlife than the roisterous Mantle and Ford. It turned out that this group of dicks spent most of their time tailing infielders Bobby Richardson and Tony Kubek, and pitcher Bobby Shantz — a trio of straight-arrow teetotalers with a particular passion for milkshakes, whose idea of a night on the town was hitting the YMCA and similar establishments, where the only skirts they were caught chasing were any that might have been draped around the edges of ping-pong tables.

Richardson, Kubek, and Shantz needed all of about five minutes to figuring out they were being tailed and adopted a few evasive maneuvers of their own to shake the gumshoes. They ducked into a movie theater, prompting the dicks to buy tickets for the evening show themselves, unaware the three players had ducked out a side door with, perhaps, a little help from a knowing usher.

The papers got wind of the Yankees' spy operation and Kubek threatened a holdout for the following season. "I'm going to ask for a raise for next year," he said, "and tell them to pay me what they paid the cops to follow us."

Shake It Up — Dan Topping's apparent attempt to force manager Ralph Houk to jiggle his lineup and let Mantle have a better crack at Ruth's record than Roger Maris in 1961 should have shamed any and everyone who ever associated with the Yankees. To his credit, Houk didn't budge. And, as it turned out, he got a little help from Mantle's health: a hip abscess thanks to a bad vitamin shot took Mantle out of the running and, as it turned out, out of the 1961 World Series altogether.

Tell Me Why? — Not even the Voice of the Yankees himself was immune to Yankee panky. After suffering a vocal ailment during the 1963 World Series that at least one columnist suggested was psychosomatic (as in, he couldn't bear to watch Sandy Koufax and company sweep the Yankees for the first time in their storied postseason history), Mel Allen ended up dumped in favor of Rizzuto as the Yankee broadcast representative for the 1964 World Series.

To the day he died, Allen was never offered a thorough explanation as to why, beyond an almost rote reply from Yankee television sponsor Ballantine Beer that the brewery was trying to plug up the leaks in the bottom line.

The Swap Heard 'Round the World — In the same summer, as CBS was buying the Yankees from Dan Topping and Del Webb, and with Houk now their general manager, the Yankees were looking for any reason to dump first-year manager Yogi Berra when the team struggled and Berra's inability to play tough sergeant was cited as a key reason. What they found was Berra's eventual successor — in St. Louis.

And here's where it gets interesting. Johnny Keane was himself the subject of a little backroom backstabbing, with some Cardinals front office men — and, it was alleged, broadcaster Harry Caray — angling to move then-Dodger coach Leo Durocher into Keane's job while the Cardinals experienced a few struggles of their own approaching the stretch drive.

What they and nobody expected: Both the Yankees and the Cardinals ended up winning the pennants.

The Yankees put on a phenomenal stretch surge; rookie right-hander Mel Stottlemyre's nine wins down the stretch, and late-season relief acquisition Pedro Ramos were two of the keys.

The Redbirds needed a lot of help from the infamous Philadelphia collapse, in addition to a lot of big work from Bob Gibson, Dick Groat, Bill White, Ken Boyer, and company. And even then, on the final weekend, the hapless Mets, of all people, almost beat them out of the race by winning the first two of a season-ending three-set, including Al Jackson beating Gibson stylishly enough, threatening an unprecedented three-way tie for first.

Finally, on the final day, the Redbirds outlasted the Mets while the Cincinnati Reds (with incentive of their own: manager Fred Hutchinson's cancer had finally forced him to retire, and they were trying to win one more for the dying man who'd managed them to the 1961 pennant) took care of the desperate Phillies.

Then the Cardinals won a thriller of a seven-game World Series. The following day, both managers were out.

Keane upstaged Cardinal owner Gussie Busch, who called a press conference to announce Keane's rehiring, by handing Busch his resignation: he'd already agreed to take the Yankee job, possibly well before the World Series. That job became vacant officially when Berra went to the Yankee offices the day after the Series and came out with his head on a plate.

The deal didn't do anybody any good in the long run. With the Yankee farm system still parched, Keane suffered enormous pressure while trying to compel the Yankees to adapt to a National League style of play for which they weren't exactly built. The Yankees fell all the way to the basement by the end of 1966.

So far as arm-troubled pitcher Jim Bouton was concerned, that pressure (including Houk and CBS pushing him to rush players back onto the field before injuries healed fully) was the likely cause of Keane's fatal January 1967 heart attack, after he'd left the Yankees to sign on as a California Angels scout. He was 55.

Eddie, Are You Kidding? — Just prior to that strange 1964 season, an ex-Yankee pitching bellwether proved himself a scouting blind man. Eddie Lopat, scouting for the Kansas City Athletics, dismissed Tony Oliva as a serious prospect: "This kid will never hit in the big leagues." The Minnesota Twins thanked Lopat profusely for that one.

Ball Foul — Don't go getting any ideas that Houk was a saint. In fact, he was only too willing to skirt the rules, as the Yankees' general manager, and was in a holdout tussle with loquacious pitcher Bouton when he attempted to fine Bouton $100 for every day the right-hander continued his holdout.

Ssssssh! — The Yankees, like many teams, were often loath to disclose just how seriously a particular player might have been injured. In one case, they may have been loath to tell the player. It took long enough for Yankee fans who couldn't figure out the causes to discover that Roger Maris's wrist injuries — which robbed him of his once-prodigious power — were far more serious than first revealed. It took just as long for the Yankees to tell Maris himself how serious they really were.

Better Dead Than Red — Unless there's been such a canning elsewhere that I've yet to discover, the dumping of Red Barber from the Yankee team after the 1966 season — and the reason that probably triggered it — was at least as big a disgrace as the swap dump that made an ill-fated Yankee manager out of Johnny Keane.

Barber's crime: he ordered his television camera crews to pan a near-empty Yankee Stadium, during a September 1966 game, toward the end of a season in which the Yankees fell to a level they hadn't seen since the Wilson Administration — dead last. That non-crowd, Barber realized, was the real story of that game, if not the state of the Yankees themselves.

Barber's superiors nullified the order, and Barber was handed his unemployment at season's end.

Let's Make a Deal — Marilyn Peterson (wife of pitcher Fritz Peterson) and children, traded to pitcher Mike Kekich for Susanne Kekich (wife) and children. Thank God there were no players to be named later. Unless you want to count that the former Mrs. Peterson ended up moving further on, happily marrying a New Jersey physician.

That's Politics — George Steinbrenner had barely taken control of the Yankees — after buying the team almost under the radar, when a group led by Joe DiMaggio himself thought they might have the best shot at buying them (DiMaggio later swore he knew nothing of the Steinbrenner group until he read of the deal in the newspapers) — when he got suspended for a year over a contribution to Richard Nixon's 1972 election campaign.

Bronx Cheer — In a postgame, televised press conference, after the Big Red Machine steamrolled the Yankees in four straight in the 1976 World Series, Pete Rose plopped a Yankee cap on his head, turned his thumbs down, and loosed a raspberry. Not even Yankee fans deserved a display like that.

Duck! Duck! Goose! — Designated hitter/periodic catcher Cliff Johnson and future Hall of Fame relief ace Goose Gossage scuffle in the shower, leaving Gossage with a broken thumb and Johnson with a one-way ticket out of The 'Stripes.

Riding the Pine Tar — George Brett. The nullified three-run homer. The pine tar bat. The attempted multiple amputation by Brett upon the umpires. The makeup inning.

The Firing Line — Seventeen managers in 17 years. Sixteen if you count Billy Martin's tenures; 15 if you count Lou Piniella's; 14 if you count Bob Lemon's. (And let's not go there about the lowballing of Joe Torre, who's about to lead his Dodgers to the postseason the Yankees are going to miss.)

Shirley, You Jest — Flaky pitcher Bob Shirley, getting a ninth-inning assignment in a blowout, retired the side to secure the Yankee win. He was there in the first place because Rich Bordi, the reliever Billy Martin really wanted, was away from the Stadium as his wife gave birth. "It was nothing," Shirley said when reporters flocked to praise his performance. "The only reason I got in there was because of something that happened in the Bordi bedroom nine months ago."

Stool Pigeon — Steinbrenner had taken to ripping Graig Nettles' alleged falling out of shape when Nettles came into the clubhouse to find Steinbrenner sitting on his locker stool. "George is right," Nettles said, pointing at Steinbrenner. "Nettles is getting fat!"

Steinbrenner also rewarded Nettles at last with a long-term contract for big money ... only to trade him to San Diego when Nettles' book, Balls, was published at about the same time.

And even when he mellowed over it, Steinbrenner couldn't resist bad timing. During one of his bids to discredit Dave Winfield, he suddenly waxed about Nettles, who was all but through as a player: "[Winfield]'s nothing like Reggie, or even Graig Nettles. Nettles may have said a lot of nasty things about me but he played hard, gave me his all, and was all for the team. I'd take him back anytime."

Ding! Dong! The Boss is Dead! — No moment in Yankee Stadium history was more surreal than the night Steinbrenner got a standing ovation that swelled slowly around the park ... when he wasn't even allowed to be there: he was suspended for a second time, this time by Commissioner Fay Vincent, over using gambler Howard Spira to help discredit Winfield.

The Yankees were hosting the Detroit Tigers. Yankee fans clung to portable radios awaiting the news, which was believed to be coming that very evening. When the news broke, a slow surge of applause started down the right field stands. Within moments, it swelled to consume the entire park.

The timing was even more surreal: the ovation began as the Tigers were coming up to hit. The Tigers had no idea what was happening, and indeed many of the Yankees may not have known what was really going on, either. It may have been the first time in baseball history that fans gave the owner a standing ovation for getting put on ice for three years.

By the way, the Yankees beat the Tigers that night, 6-2, with Jesse Barfield and Oscar Azocar going long against Steve Searcy and Dave LaPoint pitching a complete game for the win.

Hizzoner the Maier — Game 1, the 1996 American League Championship Series. Talk about a helping hand. (And, if the Baltimore Orioles continue their none-too-winning ways over another decade or three, a Curse of the Maier.)

Scoot! Part Two — Phil Rizzuto all but ended his broadcasting career thanks to The Boss, when Steinbrenner or his minions refused to allow him time off to attend Mickey Mantle's funeral.

"You Lost! Go Home!" — Triumphant Florida Marlins pitcher Josh Beckett hollered that at lingering, commiserating Yankee fans after the Florida Marlins dispatched them in the 2003 World Series. Not even Yankee fans deserved that, either.

And Yet ... and Yet ... — Even a no-questions-asked Yankee hater could only sit in awe, after the Boston Red Sox finished what they started so improbably, those four straight wins off a down-to-the-last-strike crouch in the 2004 American League Championship Series. George Steinbrenner, of all people, dismissed calls to send the rollicking Red Sox fans home and close the Stadium for the winter once and for all.

"No," Steinbrenner insisted. "They earned it. Let them enjoy it."

Let's be fair and remember that there were more classy than crassy moments in the Big Ball Orchard in the Bronx, the House That Ruth Built, the House That Ruthless Rebuilt, Fort Apache Yankee Stadium.

There was Lou Gehrig's spontaneous eloquence in the face of certain death on the day in his honor in 1939.

There was Babe Ruth's humility, likewise in the face of certain death, on a similar day in his honor in 1948.

There was Mickey Mantle's physical courage.

There was Roger Maris getting in-your-face to every last one of his critics on the final day of 1961.

There was the genuine awe in the immediate aftermath ("I can understand how he won 25, what I can't understand is how he lost five" — Yogi Berra), when Sandy Koufax whiplashed them in Game 1 1963.

There was Reggie Jackson and the three pitches, three swings, and three majestic bombs in Game 6, 1977.

There were the Yankees up and down the roster and organization behaving with class throughout when, for once, the world seemed to be a Yankee fan in the World Series wake of 9/11.

And, there was Bobby Murcer's cheerful courage in what proved a losing battle against brain cancer.

But when Steinbrenner ordered one and all to leave the partying Red Sox fans alone, that they might celebrate their greatest triumph in the home park of their longest-standing enemy, that may have been the classiest Yankee Stadium moment of them all.