Who’s Your Daddy Now?

When Papa John’s gets offensive:

There really is a John inside Johnny’s Pizza in Sunset Park, Brooklyn — John Miniaci Jr., whose father, John Sr., founded the neighborhood pizzeria in 1968.

There will soon be another John right next door on Fifth Avenue — Papa John’s Pizza, a franchise outlet. John Jr. considers this as an insult to his own papa John, who died just one month ago. Of all the spots the franchise could have chosen, why, he asks, did it have to be on the other side of the wall where two centurion busts stand guard above customers waiting for zeppoles or Sicilian slices?

“This is a neighborhood that has had businesses in the same family for two and three generations,” Mr. Miniaci said. “These big corporations come in and don’t see the value of that.”

That’s why Johnny’s latest delivery is a petition — to Papa John’s corporate headquarters in Kentucky. Some 2,200 people — shopkeepers and customers, including other pizzeria owners — have come to Mr. Miniaci’s defense. They have signed a declaration “to stop the establishment of Papa John’s in our neighborhood.”

Who Did You Think Would Answer The Door, Charlton Heston?

Writer Franz Lidz, knowing full well what would happen, looks anyway*:

For more than a month, I have been trying to get an audience with George Steinbrenner III, the principal owner of the New York Yankees. His son-in-law and designated heir, the infelicitously named Steve Swindal, was arrested on the night of Valentine’s Day for allegedly driving under the influence and is now divorcing his way out of the team hierarchy. I want to ask Steinbrenner who will succeed him at the helm of the most famous franchise in American sports.

But the once bold and blustery Boss, as he often calls himself, has been in nearly silent retreat since fainting at a friend’s memorial service in 2003. He has been slowed by a bum knee, and his nearly uncontainable energy has ebbed noticeably, some say alarmingly. At 77, he attends his club’s games less and less frequently. He hasn’t been sighted at Yankee Stadium since opening day, April 2, and on that occasion he looked unsteady and hid from public view. The Bronx Bloviator, who used to love sparring with sportswriters as much as bullying employees, now speaks to the media in canned statements issued through his designated mouthpiece, the New York P.R. guru Howard Rubenstein. Steinbrenner’s Howard Hughes-like reclusiveness has fueled rumors that he is, at best, recovering from a mild stroke, at worst, in the early stages of Alzheimer’s.

He has only added to the mystery by refusing interview requests and instituting a gag order on the Yankees front office and his relatives. His own publicist declines to discuss him. “Mr. Rubenstein is not available to talk about Mr. Steinbrenner or his team,” the flack’s flack told me. “Nor will he be available in the near future.” (Rubenstein later told Condé Nast Portfolio, “I speak to George each day, and he seems okay to me.”)

I seek out Tom McEwen, the onetime sports editor of the Tampa Tribune. He and Steinbrenner have been golfing buddies since 1973, the year the Boss bought the Yankees and moved his family from Cleveland to Tampa, Florida. But they haven’t talked to or seen each other in more than a year. “I’ve heard all the speculation,” McEwen says. “I hope he’s okay.”

The 84-year-old McEwen doesn’t get around much anymore himself. Circulation problems in both legs have confined him to a wheelchair. Still, he offers to accompany me to Steinbrenner’s home, which borders the Palma Ceia Golf and Country Club in downtown Tampa. “I don’t care if George gets mad,” he says. “At this age, what can he do to me?” So on a bright, cloudless day in June, we pull up to the Steinbrenner compound, a stucco palace with thick white columns.

As my rental car idles near the entrance, the black wrought-iron gates part and another car drives out. McEwen says, “Let’s go in.” We do. A portly gardener in a Yankees T-shirt leans against a huge white anchor that dominates the front lawn. McEwen asks him, “Is George home?”

The gardener nods. “Tell him Tom is here to see him,” McEwen says. The gardener disappears into the house. We park in the circular driveway, and I help McEwen out of the car and into his wheelchair. Then I push him to the front porch. We stare into a dark alcove and wait.

Five minutes later, a solitary figure emerges out of the shadows, limping toward us. It’s 2 in the afternoon, and George Steinbrenner is wearing slippers, silk pajamas, and a terry-cloth robe — all Yankee blue. A diamond-encrusted World Series ring nearly as big as a Ritz cracker obscures his wedding ring.

When he sees McEwen, a big, goofy grin spreads across his face. “Great to see ya, Tommy,” he exclaims.

“Great to see you, George,” McEwen says. He introduces me as a writer working on a story and asks about Steinbrenner’s wife, Joan.

“Great to see ya, Tommy,” Steinbrenner says.

McEwen asks about his sons, Hank and Hal.

“Great to see ya, Tommy,” he says.

McEwen asks about his daughters, Jennifer and Jessica.

“Great to see ya, Tommy,” he says.

McEwen asks about his health.

Steinbrenner sighs heavily and mutters, “Oh, I’m all right.”

He doesn’t look all right. In fact, he looks dreadful. His body is bloated; his jawline has slackened into a triple chin; his skin looks as if a dry-cleaner bag has been stretched over it. Steinbrenner’s face, pale and swollen, has a curiously undefined look. His features seem frozen in a permanent rictus of careworn disbelief.

. . .

I ask Steinbrenner about the Yankees, who are struggling mightily at the time. The grin turns into a snarl. “They’ll come around,” he snaps. It’s the first sign of the old George.

I ask Steinbrenner whom he wants to succeed him. He ignores me. That’s the last sign of the old George.

A few minutes later, Steinbrenner starts repeating himself again. “Great to see ya, Tommy,” he says in response to every question. “Great to see ya.”

(Link via.)

*We are all Franz Lidz!

In Other Places They May Beat Up A Parent Or Two; In Queens We Bypass All That

You could call it criminal, but really, there’s no shame in simply defending your team:

Anthony Macchirole, a coach for the Midville Dodgers, is charged with assaulting a teenaged player on a team the Middle Village squad was competing against at Juniper Valley Park.

According to a source close to the case against him, Macchirole had gotten involved in an altercation with teen Robert Inzerillo, an opposing team’s base runner, during a July 12th home game at Juniper Park at about 8:10PM.

According the Queens District Attorney’s Office, Inzerillo apparently collided with Midville’s catcher on a play in which it appeared he was going to be tagged out. In retaliation, Macchirole threw him to the ground, causing him to injure his knee.

. . .

. . . [A]nother coach for the Midville Dodgers, who asked not to be identified by name, claimed what happened at the July 12th game did not constitute any big deal. “There was a collision at home plate,” he said. “There was no ‘incident.'”

The First Rule Of PR Is Never To Repeat The Negative . . . The Second Rule Is Never Let It Get Out That Before You Mugged Centenarians You Also Robbed Churches (We Hear Parole Boards Look Down On Such Behavior)

The guy who beat on and mugged a 101-year-old woman has been linked to a robbery at a church:

As if he didn’t have enough strikes against him in the book of life, the brute who allegedly beat and robbed two elderly Queens grandmothers is now accused of breaking into a church and stealing a poor box, police said yesterday.

Jack Rhodes, 45, broke into the All Nations Apostolic Tabernacle Church in Jamaica on Sept. 25, 2006, and kicked open several office doors before finding the aluminum box, police said.

“When you break into a church, that’s just plain wicked,” chided Pastor Devon Dawson, who said Rhodes probably found a small amount of money in the coin box — which the church’s youth group collected for missioners.

After breaking the poor box open, Rhodes tossed it away near the church, and police later found it.

A DNA test just revealed that Rhodes’ blood was on the box, police said.

Charles Barron Keeps Council Focused On Serious Issues — Ethnic Cleansing, For Example

Council Speaker Christine Quinn fires an aide to Councilmember Charles Barron because the aide refused to concede her right to engage in inflammatory hyperbole:

The letter of termination for Viola Plummer — who sparked the controversy by calling for the “assassination” of a councilman last month — was e-mailed to her lawyers last night and was to be delivered to Plummer, said Quinn’s spokeswoman, Maria Alvarado.

Last week, Plummer, Barron’s then-chief-of-staff who was making $51,575 annually, was presented with a document by Quinn requiring her to pledge to behave appropriately during council sessions. Quinn said Plummer had been disruptive at some meetings.

If Plummer didn’t sign the letter by last Friday, her employment was over. Plummer refused.

The bizarre brouhaha stems from the failed council bid to name a street after the late controversial black activist Sonny Carson. After the Carson measure was defeated, a disappointed Plummer called for the end of Queens Councilman Leroy Comrie’s political career even “if it takes an assassination of his ass.”

Comrie, like Barron a black Democrat, had supposedly promised supporters he would back the street renaming, but he abstained from voting. Plummer insisted that she was talking only about character “assassination” to send Comrie packing.

After Quinn fired Plummer last night, Barron said: “We are not honoring any termination. Christine Quinn is out of control, and the courts will validate that. Viola Plummer works for me, not Christine Quinn.”

Earlier, Barron branded Quinn’s actions a form of “ethnic cleansing.”

That’s OK — Plummer will just “volunteer” instead:

Plummer, the chief of staff to Council Member Charles Barron of Brooklyn, yesterday was given a visitor’s pass to enter the building across from City Hall that houses Mr. Barron’s legislative office and those of other council members.

She said she plans to stay on Mr. Barron’s staff as a volunteer indefinitely and will attend council meetings and hearings at City Hall as she did in the past.

. . .

A spokeswoman for Ms. Quinn, Maria Alvarado, said Plummer’s official council employee card has been deactivated, but noted she is able to visit City Hall and council members’ offices like any member of the public.