It started, as all great obsessions do, with a throwaway detail that should have led nowhere. While researching Down on the Korner, the second book I co-wrote with Howie Karpin, I stumbled upon a rumor—one of those too-good-to-be-true whispers that you assume has been exaggerated over the years.
There had been, I was told, an episode of Kiner’s Korner—not just any episode, but a rain-delay special featuring none other than the legendary George Carlin. The idea was almost too perfect. Carlin, the man who turned baseball and football into an entire comedy bit, sitting across from Ralph Kiner in the hallowed, wood-paneled sanctuary of postgame Mets chatter? It had to exist. It needed to exist.
And so began my journey, my Moby Dick, my Ark of the Covenant, my Holy Grail. Some people search for Bigfoot. Others hunt for buried treasure. I spent 11 years chasing a rain-delay edition of a baseball talk show from decades ago. If that doesn’t tell you something about my priorities, I don’t know what does.
But here’s the kicker: I finally found it.
(And yes, it was absolutely worth the hunt.)
Like any good detective—or just a guy who spends way too much time on the internet—I left no stone unturned in my search. I posted in VHS collecting groups, reached out to every archivist I could find, scoured Google like a conspiracy theorist trying to prove the moon landing was faked. I even dove into the dark, uncharted depths of Facebook’s endless past posts, a place where good sense and social decorum go to die.
And then, in the digital equivalent of stumbling across an ancient scroll in a flea market bin, I found it. A 2014 Facebook post. The modern-day Rosetta Stone of Mets rain delay history.
It read:
"With the wife away till later, my viewing continues with August 13, 1989 vs St. Louis.....Long rain delay before this one starts and my tape caught a rare ‘before game’ Kiner’s Korner, with guest George Carlin. Great 10 minutes with Ralph, talking baseball, NYC neighborhoods, impressions, etc. As far as the game, Mets won 3-2....Strawberry hit a triple, and since the field was so wet, he actually wore bags in his shoes to help him, so watching him leg out a triple was pretty funny. Ojeda pitched well, Myers closed it out, and the Mets continued their best stretch of baseball that season (at this point in the year they were the hottest team in the NL...too bad it didn’t last)."
Could it be? After all these years, was this the proof I had been searching for? Was my white whale not just real but actually sitting on an old VHS tape in some guy’s collection?
At this point, I had two options: I could celebrate prematurely, or I could track down , the person behind the post, and hope that, one, he still had the tape, and two, he hadn’t accidentally recorded over it with an episode of Mad Men.
Spoiler alert: The hunt wasn’t over just yet.
Here’s where it gets spooky. When I opened Facebook Messenger, I realized this wasn’t just some random Mets fan—it was a guy I had already tracked down once before, back in August of 2024, during one of my deep dives into the shadowy underworld of VHS collector forums. We had gone back and forth for six days, me playing detective like I was channeling my 1970s TV heroes—Columbo with the “just one more thing” follow-ups, Kojak with the relentless persistence, Starsky & Hutch chasing leads down digital back alleys. And then… radio silence. My lead vanished like a perp slipping into the night.
I circled back in January 2025, pulling a Dan August-style move—dogged, determined, refusing to give up. Again, nothing. The trail was colder than Baretta’s birdcage.
Then, in February, I found his post. The adrenaline kicked in. Could it be? Had my long-cold case just warmed up?
February 25th, 12:24 PM (said in Jack Webb's voice): I sent another message via Facebook.
"I see you mentioned the George Carlin Kiner’s Korner appearance. Do you still have a copy??"
Twenty-seven hours, forty-one minutes went by.(But who's counting) It felt like a lifetime. I sent another message.
"Just circling back. Do you have the Mets-Cards rain delay with Ralph Kiner and George Carlin?"
And then… radio silence was broken. I now know what Mission Control in Houston felt like when Apollo 13 finally responded after six minutes of dead air.
"I believe so. I have to check, but I’m quite certain I do."
And then… four more days of silence. I followed up on March 2nd.
"Any luck finding the Mets-Cards 8/13/89 game with George Carlin rain delay with Ralph?"
This time, an instant response.
"Yeah, I have it. It’s with the full game. I’ll copy it and I can send it to you. Just need your address. It’s on DVD."
Could it be? Had my quest ended?
A few more follow-ups were met with silence, but then… March 11th, 9:36 AM (again, in Jack Webb’s voice):
"Apologies, I’m not on Facebook Messenger much and don’t check it. I have your DVD ready to ship and will do it either tomorrow or Wednesday. I’m glad I could help."
I asked for his address in return and sent him an autographed copy of Kiner’s Korner, signed by Ralph Kiner himself—one of the copies Ralph’s son, Scott Kiner, had been kind enough to send me to distribute to deserving fans. This guy? He more than qualified. I also sent him my latest book, The Forgotten Miracle: The Story of the 1973 New York Mets.
Thursday, March 13th, 9:41 AM (Jack Webb intensifies): I got the tracking number!!
It was on its way.
Now my 11-year search rested solely in the hands of the United States Postal Service.
Now, there was another obstacle. It had been many years since my Netflix DVD subscription had lapsed, and my DVD players were long gone—likely resting in the same landfill as my Betamax and VCR, most likely with the clock still blinking 12:00. My MacBook Air, sleek and modern, lacked a DVD drive. Anticipating the arrival of the coveted disc, I took swift action.
I went on Amazon and invested $14.99 in an "External DVD Drive, USB C Superdrive for Apple USB 3.0 DVD Burner Reader for Mac, Portable CD +/-RW Drive External DVD Player for Laptop MacBook Windows 11 10 PC Linux OS." Because nothing screams "cutting edge technology" like resurrecting a format that had already been declared dead.
And in a twist of perfect timing, the DVD drive arrived within the same hour as the DVD itself.
With the precision of a museum curator handling the Dead Sea Scrolls—or perhaps more accurately, like Philip Pritchard, the fabled "Keeper of the Cup," white gloves and all—I carefully unboxed my new DVD drive. Good thing I still had that stash of COVID-era nitrile gloves. Nothing was going to scratch this disc. Not this time. Not after 11 years of searching.
The telecast on WOR kicked off with a wide shot of Shea Stadium, the field covered with a tarp, and Tim McCarver delivering the intro to Mets Baseball ‘89, setting up the Mets-Cardinals game. The broadcast transitioned to some banter between Tim and Ralph Kiner, the kind of back-and-forth that felt like two old friends killing time before the inevitable: the rain wasn’t stopping anytime soon.
About five minutes in, they teased a rain delay edition of Kiner’s Korner coming up after this word from Budweiser.
Coming out of the break, I braced myself. George Carlin, here we go. And then… wait, what? That’s not George Carlin. To borrow a José Iglesias OMG—it's Lloyd Lindsay Young. Yes, Double L himself, the over-the-top WWOR weatherman, a man known for his outrageous weather pointers, including icicles, mannequin legs, and a six-foot model of the Empire State Building with an attached King Kong. His wild weather schtick had earned him guest spots on Geraldo and The Howard Stern Show, and funnily enough, he had even introduced George Carlin in the stand-up special What Am I Doing In New Jersey?
But I hadn’t spent 11 years waiting for three minutes of Lloyd Lindsay Young.
Ralph took it to break and promised they’d be back with Davey Johnson. At this point, doubt crept in. Maybe it was just an urban legend. Maybe someone once jokingly referred to Lloyd Lindsay Young as the “Hippy Dippy Weatherman” on Kiner’s Korner, and the myth was born. Maybe I had wasted more than a decade chasing shadows.
Ralph came back from break, did a solid 10 minutes with Davey, and then, just when I was ready to throw in the towel, he went to break again. "We’ll be back with more with Davey after this message from Mitsubishi Motors." (Which, by the way, Ralph pronounced perfectly on this occasion, so at least the 11-year wait wasn’t entirely in vain.)
And then it happened.
They returned from break, and Ralph announced that Davey had to leave, but they’d try to dig up another guest. He filled time with matchups from around the league, rattling off pitching duels and division standings. Another break. And then… wait for it… YES. George Carlin.
Then, finally, the moment I had waited over a decade for—11 minutes of pure gold.
Shea Stadium, August 13, 1989. Rain is coming down in sheets, and everyone’s stuck waiting. But instead of the usual endless replays of groundouts and pop flies, we get George Carlin on Kiner’s Korner. Not some quick, pre-recorded bit, but a full-fledged, ten-minute conversation with Ralph Kiner. And let me tell you, it was a masterclass in Carlin's observational comedy, served up with a side of baseball nostalgia.
Carlin, a lifelong National League fan and a Brooklyn Dodgers devotee, reminisced about the good old days at Ebbets Field, the “people’s place,” and contrasted it with the “uptown” feel of the Dodgers’ new digs in Los Angeles. He recounted witnessing Gil Hodges’ legendary four-home-run game, a memory so vivid you could practically smell the hot dogs and hear the cowbells.
He and Kiner discussed the strange connection between entertainers and athletes, Carlin noting the subtle differences between their worlds—lockers versus dressing rooms, practice versus rehearsal. He even gave us a taste of his famous baseball-football comparison routine, a reminder of his genius for finding humor in the everyday.
And here’s the thing—Ralph Kiner was masterful. No script, no pre-planned questions, just two legends in completely different arenas finding common ground in baseball. Kiner, the Hall of Fame slugger turned broadcasting icon, had a way of making any guest feel at home. Carlin, the comedic genius and lifelong baseball savant, needed no prompting. The two riffed effortlessly, seamlessly blending humor, history, and nostalgia, making it feel like eavesdropping on a conversation between old friends
For me, this was a moment that transcended mere baseball nostalgia. These were two of the most influential pop culture icons of my childhood, two voices that shaped the way I saw sports, humor, and life itself. To finally see them both, in the same place, was worth the wait. It was like finding out Santa and the Tooth Fairy once had coffee together, and I had just uncovered the security footage.
The whole thing was a delightful mix of baseball nostalgia, social commentary, and classic Carlin wit. It was the kind of thing you’d tell your grandkids about, if they weren’t too busy staring at their phones. And it was all sitting on a VHS tape in Staten Island, waiting to be rediscovered.
And, folks, after all that digging, all those digital breadcrumbs, I can finally say… here it is. I hope you enjoy it as much I as I did :