Davey Johnson Lived One of Baseball’s Most Interesting Lives
From All-Star gloveman on a dynasty to one-year power wonder, World Series ringmaster to nomadic managerial talent, Johnson embodied a restless spirit of rebellion and reinvention.
When the sad news came down that Davey Johnson, longtime MLB player and manager, had died on Friday at age 82, I thought immediately about the story of the wrecked charter plane in Jeff Pearlman’s book “The Bad Guys Won”.
Johnson, then age 43 and less than a decade removed from his own playing career, had been tasked with unlocking the full potential of Doc and Darryl and the rest of the most talented New York Mets team ever. After winning the 16-inning marathon that was Game 6 of the 1986 NLCS to clinch a spot in the World Series, team brass rented a United DC-10 plane for the trip back from Houston. The Mets — an unruly circus of a team stocked almost exclusively with notorious, no-fucks-given characters — proceeded to party so hard that the plane was drenched in food, booze, vomit and untold other remnants of debauchery when it landed.
Management, needless to say, was none too pleased. General manager Frank Cashen, Johnson’s nemesis — the uptight dean to his frat-house leader — chewed the manager out after receiving the bill from the airline, and sent his traveling secretary to give Johnson and his players another dressing-down later on. Here’s how Pearlman describes what happened next:
Once he left the room, Johnson spoke. This was one of his shining moments as Mets manager.
“Guys,” he began, “do you realize how much damage we did on the plane? I mean, does anybody in here have anything to say? Does anybody in here feel guilty?” Johnson was pacing back and forth, a copy of the United bill rolled up in his hand. The players were awkwardly staring at the ground, quiet and motionless. “Men, what are we going to do about this? What should we do?”
There was silence.
“Well,” said Johnson, “do you know what I think? I think in the next four games you’ll probably put enough money in these guys’ pockets to cover this. So fuck this bullshit!”
With that, Johnson ripped the bill in half, crumpled it up, and threw it into a nearby garbage can. The room exploded with comments.
YEAH! FUCK THEM!
FUCKIN’ A—!
MOTHERFUCKERS!
The Mets were heading to the World Series.
If those Mets were a circus, Johnson was the ringleader. He was the ultimate player’s manager, and he made an entire career out of consistently getting the most from his rosters — including that team, which fulfilled their manager’s prophecy (with a little help from the Red Sox) a week and a half later.
