For The Champion In The Rotisserie League, Joy Is A Yoo-hoo Shampoo

Stein, author of the baseball novel Hoopla, is something of an expert on ethics, having written a column on the subject for Esquire. But that doesn't stop him from trying to foist Householder off on unsuspecting colleagues. Stein's partner in crime is Cary Schneider, a public-relations executive who named his child Stanley Frank Musial Schneider. And she was a girl. Just kidding, folks.

Stein had taken over the franchise, formerly the McCall Collects, in the second year of the league. He made the team competitive, but we do miss the newsletters of former owner Bruce McCall, humorist, ad exec and Canadian. McCall did leave each of us splendid logos for our teams. I'm particularly grateful for the Wulfgang symbol, which is a wolf dressed as Mozart in powdered wig, waistcoat and spikes, wielding a musical symbol as if it were a Louisville Slugger.

At the end of last season Stein underwent the sacred Rotisseritual, the same rite that Waggoner, Gethers, myself and Eisenberg had been through in previous years. The champion gets Yoo-Hoo, the chocolate-flavored drink, poured over his head. Take a look at the ingredients on a Yoo-Hoo bottle sometime—ferric orthophosphate is a personal favorite. Yoo-Hoo actually leaves your hair soft to the touch. You can also drink it.

I'll never forget my Yoo-Hoo shampoo, and with that memory in tow, I walked into the Yankee Stadium clubhouse one day last summer. Much in the manner of a disciple asking the master the secret of life, I approached Yogi Berra to ask him about Yoo-Hoo. Yogi has long been associated with the drink, even though he is no longer Yoo-Hoo's executive vice-president for promotions. We talked for a bit about Yoo-Hoo, and then I just happened to mention that I belong to this crazy group of baseball fans who operate their own statistical league, and at the end of the season we pour Yoo-Hoo over the head of the winner. Upon hearing that, Yogi, who was dripping tobacco juice from the left side of his mouth, gave me a look of total disgust and said what I think was "Ooy-ooh." I later found out that's Yoo-Hoo upside down, or something.

Still, there isn't one of us who doesn't long for the day when he or she will stand under a cascade of Yoo-Hoo. It's with that dream in mind that we took our seats in Corona Park last month.

Did I hear " Dale Murphy for fifty dollars"?