Soon Berra was ushered outside by the airline attendant and his face brightened when he spotted the familiar white truck, Guidry waiting on the sidewalk. He took the bags from the attendant--two moderately sized suitcases, one with the familiar interlocking NY Yankees insignia. How come you didn't come in? Berra asked, before proceeding to recite the itinerary for the remainder of the day--hotel check-in, shopping, supper, etc. Guidry rolled his eyes and complained aloud about what he again had gotten himself into. Get your ass in the truck, he barked at Berra, who giggled like a little boy on his way to his first ball game. Guidry reached inside the truck, picked up the dark blue baseball cap with the inscription Driving Mr. Yogi, and placed it atop his neatly combed hair. With him at the wheel and Berra in the passenger seat, they pulled into traffic and drove off for another long adventure together, just as they had for the past eleven years. Excerpted from Driving Mr. Yogi: Yogi Berra, Ron Guidry, and Baseball's Greatest Gift by Harvey Araton All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
