Few names in New York sports history are as superfluous as Philip Francis Rizzuto. Born in Brooklyn, star-bred in The Bronx, Rizzuto transformed into a singular name – and to watch the 5-foot-6 jitterbug of a shortstop play, it was hard to imagine a better fit than “Scooter.”

Unless it’s “Winner.”

Here’s a guy who played 13 seasons for the Yankees and took his team to the World Series in 10 of them. Scooter helped the Yankees win eight titles, too, hitting over .300 four times in the Fall Classic. Holy Cow, indeed.

It’s funny, because Rizzuto was hardly a shining hitter the first five seasons of his career. Then in 1949, the Yankees slid him into the leadoff spot and he took off, batting .275, scoring 110 runs and finishing second to Ted Williams for MVP. The next year, Rizzuto went a step further, winning the darn thing by putting together career highs in batting average (.324), runs (125) and hits (200).

But it was on defense where Rizzuto’s impact was most firmly felt. He was one of the slickest shortstops of his era, constantly among the leaders in fielding stats. Then again, Scooter’s impact went far beyond numbers. It was in the calming influence he had on his pitchers, in the way he allowed them to throw with supreme ease. Proof? Pitcher Vic Raschi once admitted, “My best pitch is anything the batter grounds, lines or pops in the direction of Rizzuto.”

There would be more praise along the way for Rizzuto, of course. He would win World Series MVP in 1951, thanks to a .320 average. He would spend 40 years as a beloved broadcaster for the Bombers. He would have his No. 10 retired in 1985. And in 1994, he received the ultimate honor. Rizzuto had once said, “I’ll take any way to get into the Hall Fame. If they want a batboy, I’ll go in as a batboy.”

That year, the Hall didn’t want a batboy. Just the Scooter.