When I think of Phil Rizzuto, who died Tuesday at 89, I think of him almost giving me a heart attack in August 1985. The Yankees were hosting the Blue Jays in a crucial series. The Bombers were down by two runs late, with two runners on, and I took my eyes off the screen to collate another paper for my local route the next day. Rizzuto screamed, "HIT DEEP TO RIGHT!"

I freaked. Then I re-focused on the tube and saw a harmless fly ball land into the right fielder's glove.

That huckleberry. He got me again.

I was 12 years old then. Same year I saw Rizzuto have his #10 retired on Aug. 4, the same day Tom Seaver spoiled by winning his 300th game at the Stadium. (Still have the ticket stubs 22 years later.) Same year I bought my first Don Mattingly shirt and, like a pussy, juuuuust about started to cry before Butch Wynegar saved the Yankees from playoff elimination (albeit for only a day) with a ninth-inning home run in Toronto. Same year I probably played 1,000 hours of stickball and Intellivision, while coming to realize that girls weren't too awful to hang out with ... even if they couldn't hit a lick.

It was a nice time. Going to Yankee Stadium with my family a couple of times a year was an amazing treat. If I could have been there every day, I would have. On days I couldn't go, I watched with Phil. He told me what he thought was going on. Some of the time he was correct. Like me, he was a huge Yankees fan. And he seemed to have a lot of friends with summer birthdays.

Last night I was at Yankee Stadium, watching a future Hall of Fame shortstop single in the winning run in the ninth inning. Scooter sure did pick a nice time to leave. I'm sure his old teammates have a cannoli waiting for him.

Related: Rizzuto's Wikipedia entry | Rizzuto on baseball-reference.com