More than a star pitcher and accomplished coach, Mel Stottlemyre has a history that serves as a behind-the-scenes tour of four decades of baseball. From Mickey Mantle and Whitey Ford to Dwight Gooden and Darryl Strawberry to Derek Jeter and Mariano Rivera, Stottlemyre connected generations of stars during a remarkable career. The fact that he had a complicated, sometimes bitter relationship with George Steinbrenner for thirty years adds a layer of melodrama to the story of one of the classiest men ever to wear pinstripes—for both the Yankees and the Mets.

In his long-awaited autobiography, Stottlemyre tells his story in colorful detail, from his days as a rookie sensation on the last of the great Mantle teams to those as trusted pitching coach during the Joe Torre administration. Along the way he takes readers inside the clubhouse of championship ball clubs, describing the defiance of the '86 Mets, from manager Davey Johnson on down, that defined them as champions but then destroyed them prematurely. Stottlemyre also recalls the true grit and selflessness that helped make Torre's Yankees a dynasty from 1996 to 2000. Finally, there are the ups and downs with Steinbrenner, from standing up to the Boss during some hilarious staff meetings to getting caught in the line of fire of Steinbrenner's constant second-guessing.

Three times a twenty-game winner before a shoulder injury abruptly ended what could have been a Hall of Fame career, Stottlemyre had the misfortune of pitching during one of the longest championship droughts in Yankees history, but then won five championship rings as pitching coach with the Mets and the Yankees. All told, in coaching the likes of Gooden, David Cone, Andy Pettitte, Mariano Rivera, Roger Clemens, Randy Johnson, and many others, Stottlemyre has perhaps worked with more great pitchers than anyone in baseball history. And he has stories to tell about each of them.

Off the field, Stottlemyre lost a young son to leukemia, and speaks openly about the tragedy and its effect on his and his family's lives. Years later, during the 2000 season, he survived his own battle with cancer. He believes that both events may be related to medical treatment he received as a young Yankee pitcher.

Inspiring and revealing, Pride and Pinstripes is the unique story of a beloved baseball man who has carried himself with great dignity through a lifetime of tragedy and triumph.

Cheeseburgers with George...

It was the World Series of a lifetime for millions of New Yorkers, but even more so for me. The Yankees and Mets: For all but a few of my forty years in professional baseball, theirs were the only two uniforms I wore. So many memories. So much emotion. If only I could have soaked it all in from my usual front-row seat next to Joe Torre in the dugout. But as the Series began on a chilly Saturday night in the Bronx, I had to rely on recall to experience the feel of Yankee Stadium in October, the buzz inside the big ballpark that is unlike anything else I've seen or felt in baseball.

Oh, I was there that night in the fall of 2000. I wouldn't have missed it for the world. But because it had been barely more than a month since my stem-cell transplant that enabled me to survive multiple myeloma, a rare bone marrow cancer, my doctor would only allow me to attend the game if I stayed in the relatively closed environment of the manager's office. As it was, I had to beg the doctor for that much, since it would be months before my immune system was again strong enough to be exposed to the everyday germs that I would encounter being around people.

So although this was my first time at the ballpark since entering the hospital in early September, I hadn't exactly made a grand entrance. I was driven right up to the press gate, helped down the stairs, and from there I made the walk around the winding corridor, finally entering Joe's office through the side entrance. I was wearing latex gloves to further protect me from exposure to germs, and feeling a bit out of place because of my condition. I wanted so badly to offer some pregame encouragement to our Game 1 starter, Andy Pettitte, one of my all-time favorite pitchers whom I've coached. But the doc wouldn't budge: no contact whatsoever with the players in the club-house. Actually, Andy and I were so close that it probably wouldn't have been a good idea to throw such an emotional curve into his preparation anyway. I was just hoping that knowing I was there would offer him a bit of inspiration.

In Joe's office, I settled in on the couch to watch the game on TV. From there I could feel the rumble from the roars in the stadium above, but as close as I was to the field, just a short walk up the tunnel from the dugout, I still felt strangely detached as the game began. At least I'd been allowed to see and talk with Joe before the game. He had been a lifesaver during my absence, speaking to me almost daily by phone to keep me up to date and ask for my opinion on pitching matters, and I'll always be grateful for that. But then, I wasn't surprised. Over our years together with the Yankees, Joe had become like a brother to me, one of the most loyal, trusting people I've ever known in or out of baseball. Just seeing him briefly had lifted my spirits, and now as the first pitch was thrown I sat alone, trying to concentrate on the TV, just in case I saw something that I might want to relay to either Andy or Joe. Other than an equipment man or club-house kid occasionally popping in to see if I needed anything, I assumed I'd be watching the game by myself.

Then, suddenly, none other than George Steinbrenner came striding into Joe's office, asking me how I felt, which was nice of him, and deciding that he wanted to watch the game with me, which wasn't really what I wanted to hear. George had been great to me during my illness, offering to help me in any way that he could. It is times like this, when any member of the Yankee family is ailing, that George can be the most kindhearted man in the world. He'll use his clout as the owner of the most famous franchise in sports to make sure the person gets whatever he or she needs. When I was in Memorial...

Mel Stottlemyre retired after five decades in baseball. He and his wife live in the Seattle, Washington, area.