Mike Piazza Is Alive and Well and Living in Italy

Photo: Michael Schwartz/New York or Nowhere

Blessed with opposite-field power, hunky looks, and an admirable joy in hamming it up off the field, Mike Piazza was a household name in baseball from 1992 to 2007 — a career span that coincided with one of the sport’s biggest booms. Piazza was the National League Rookie of the Year in 1993 with the Dodgers, who bewilderingly traded him away in 1998. He became the face of the Mets shortly after. For eight seasons in New York, Piazza brought star power and a big bat to the team, led them to the playoffs twice after an 11-year hiatus, and hit one of the most memorable home runs in Shea Stadium history in the city’s first Major League Baseball game after 9/11. Widely considered the greatest hitting catcher of all time, Piazza was inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame in 2016.

He was nearly as visible off the diamond. Piazza appeared on Baywatch, Married … With Children, and Celebrity Jeopardy! (winning twice) and in the film Two Weeks Notice; played drums onstage with Anthrax and other bands; and was frequent tabloid fodder and an occasional squire of actresses and Playboy Playmates. He also spent plenty of time on Sports Illustrated covers and ESPN airwaves. Piazza’s father was a successful car salesman in suburban Philadelphia who was pals with Dodgers manager Tommy Lasorda. Within baseball, this access sometimes worked against Piazza, but the jealousy and power struggles it created gave him a relentless drive.
“Not one time did I ever see Mike just jog to first base on a ground ball, even a ground ball to the second baseman,” his Mets teammate and friend Al Leiter once said. “Here he is catching 140 games a year, trying to leg out infield singles.”

While Piazza was focused, introverted, and sometimes angry on the field, away from it he’s chill, charming, and talkative. He spoke to me recently from his home outside Milan, Italy, where he has lived with his wife, Alicia Rickter, and their two daughters and son, since 2018. Our conversation took place after he returned from dinner out and before putting his son to bed.

You live in Italy now. What’s your day-to-day life like there?
My wife and I did a small soccer project over here, which was unsuccessful. Since it didn’t work out, she said, “Let’s try to get something positive out of Italy.”

And so, in the process, we put our children in school in the Parma area. It was just going to be a two-year project to put them in school, let them learn Italian, get a European experience, learn different languages, obviously. Then my two girls fell in love with an American school in Switzerland in Lugano, which is just north of Como, about 40 minutes, so we’re able to see them often. But it’s turned out to be a great thing for them, and they’re polyglots now. They speak Italian, they speak French, a little bit of German, a little bit of Spanish.

Part of your persona in your playing career was not only being a proud Italian but also leading a charmed life. So when people hear you’re living in Italy, it seems like such a fit — like, of course you’re living somewhere nice.
Well, let’s just be honest. I think a little bit of shine comes off the ball when you’re living the day to day. It’s like, I don’t know, living in New York every day — people don’t understand. Yeah, when you visit New York, you’re going to the shows, the restaurants, the museums, and the sexy part of New York. But then living there day to day is like a grind. The energy is palpable, and it’s very difficult to rest sometimes, if that makes sense.

Italy is very chill. There are some things that, if you’re an American, you just never get used to: the three-hour nap, equivalent to a siesta, where stores are closed in the afternoon. Food is sacred here. I remember my wife and I were looking to lease a car and went into a BMW dealership just before lunchtime. And they were like, “Sorry, it’s time for lunch.” If my dad was working at this dealership and the staff pushed away a customer for lunch, he would have gone freaking nuts. But I found that so refreshing, along with all the general cultural differences. In the summer, you just see Italians bake in the sun all day, and I’m thinking, They have no fear of skin cancer here!

Your career arc is interesting because your father was a wealthy, self-made man, but even with those advantages, you ended up becoming a self-made man too, in the sense that your family connection to Tommy Lasorda created its own backlash. That privilege became an obstacle in many ways. It gave you a chip on your shoulder that you needed to earn everything and overcome the skepticism. What’s the overall lesson?
Well, that’s true. It was a paradox, I guess, is a better word. The relationship with Tommy exposed me to the Champagne parties of their teams of the ’70s, meeting all the big-league players, seeing the way they work and finding inspiration from that experience. That was very important for me because I vividly remember it from when I was a kid — those images are tattooed in my mind. The parties, watching practice, the crack of the bat — it was infectious, obviously. It was addictive. I was like, I’ve got to do this. This is my dream.

But there was a moment where I actually walked away from baseball because I was so tired of the drama and the treatment fueled by resentment. And I figured, Okay, it’s fine. The game beat me. It. I’m no different than thousands of other guys who didn’t make it. At least I had a shot.

But when I came back, I transformed completely from Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde, and I just became mean and surly and short-tempered. It was almost like getting dumped by the girl of your dreams and then when she begs you to come back, you realize she wasn’t as great, if that makes sense. Before that, I was sensitive to criticism and the media and talking about Tommy. Afterward, I didn’t give a shit. I was just going to play hard. I call it “emotional armor.” Of course, I knew the media had a job to do, and I was available as much as I could be. But there were little scenes, like when I was named the starting catcher for the Dodgers and Tommy was asked in a live interview, “Oh, is it because he’s your guy?”

And I just remember biting my tongue and thinking, It’s never going to be over. But that’s probably what propelled me to have the career I did. It just made me get into that state. I guess there’s a lesson in there somewhere. And now, as I’ve gotten further away from it, I don’t regret it one bit. Because I feel like if I didn’t go through those moments, I don’t feel like I would’ve accomplished what I did.

There’s a cinematic moment in your autobiography: You describe the first time you got to be a batboy, when the Dodgers came to town. You had on the little uniform, you walked into the clubhouse expecting to see guys warming up for a game, and instead they’re all crowded around a TV watching a porno.
That’s pretty funny, yeah, but I think it humanized them because I had them on this level of being gladiators. And coming from a very conservative Catholic household, it was a shock. I remember mentioning it to my parents and my mom was like, “He’s never going again!”

But I got to see the whole experience of life behind the scenes as a big-leaguer. It wasn’t just hitting home runs and cheers and flashbulbs going off. There was dirty underwear, dirt, jockstraps, injuries, pitchers coming out with big bags of ice, and guys screaming when they were getting worked on because of various bruises and things like that. Like seeing behind The Wizard of Oz’s screen, you realize there’s a lot more to it.

During your playing career, you were earning more than most American-born baseball players earn today in off-field endorsements. You also frequently appeared as yourself, or a parody of yourself, on popular TV shows. Why hasn’t baseball had another guy like you who regularly puts himself and his personality out there in the public eye and enjoys doing it?
Things were completely different in the sense that there was no internet when I came up. You couldn’t just go on Instagram and say what you’re doing — you had to go out and do things.

And I’ll give my first agent credit: He said, “Just because you have numbers doesn’t mean you’re going to get paid — you have to create a persona, you have to be visible, you have to do the interviews.” The PR side is very important because when fans hear you say, “I want $10 million a year,” or whatever the case may be, if they know who you are and the team is not treating you well, then you’re going to build that fan sentiment. And obviously, I ruined it very quickly in L.A. with the contract squabble there!

But I think it also goes back to being one of the rare players to have the prime of my career in market No. 1 and market No. 2. It probably wouldn’t have been that way if I had played in a smaller city somewhere in the Midwest.

Were you exceptionally marketable, or does baseball just have more of an exposure problem that goes bigger these days?
I think some guys are more guarded, and especially with a game like baseball, which is based on failure, it’s more difficult for baseball guys to put themselves out there. And we’re not as international as some other stars are, in a sense: We don’t make a lot of money off shoes because Nike and Adidas don’t sell a lot of spikes; soccer’s worldwide, and for basketball players, everyone wears basketball shoes. In a way, I guess that made us a little more creative.

But I had a good agent. We had good chemistry, he knew my personality, and I was able to get gigs — and it was fun. I also had the attitude of I’m lucky to be here. But guys today … I think if you’re making $20 to $30 million a year now and have a private jet, and some company is like, “Would you come and do this for $100 grand,” they’re going to be thinking about it. Whereas for me, I’d be like, “Okay, I’ll do it!” I think companies are really going to have to pay a lot of money to get guys out of the house, and in this day and age, they don’t have it in their budgets, I guess.

Perhaps the most unusual moment of your career was a brief tabloid-news cycle in 2002 that insinuated, without evidence and with a lot of innuendo, that you were gay. One of the most lasting elements of it that I’ve never heard you weigh in on is that classic Belle and Sebastian song “Piazza, New York Catcher.” As a big music fan, what were your thoughts on it?
Flattered, obviously. I don’t know, man, as you get older, you just don’t get as wrapped up in those things, or you just don’t have the energy, really. There’s also the Beastie Boys song “3 the Hard Way.” My son likes them, even though it’s dirty. I like the clean version. But any time you’re remembered in pop culture like that, it’s nice. I’m also blessed with the fact that I guess I’m in some video game. When I meet young kids today, they still know me because I’m in this video game.

MLB: The Show.
Yeah, I guess so. It’s some game that has this “Legends” feature with points. I don’t know because I’m not a video gamer, and I should actually know more. One time, I was giving a clinic and a kid goes, “Are you Mike Piazza? You’re on,” like you said, The Show or whatever. He goes, “Man, you got a lot of power.” I said, “Oh, thanks, dude.” He’s like, “Yeah. Are you surprised?” It was really funny having an 11-year-old kid who was born after I retired talk about me in that way. Hey, I’ll take it. Believe me — it’s nice to be remembered.

Looking back on 9/11, it’s remarkable how closely tied to it you and that Mets team were. Players visited hospitals and Ground Zero, while Shea Stadium was a first-responder staging area. A few years ago, Chipper Jones was interviewed about the first game back at Shea Stadium following 9/11, against his Braves team, and he said he was so certain you were going to hit a home run when you stepped up in the eighth inning that he could feel it. Could you?
Yeah, even looking back now is — I hate to get cliché — it just doesn’t seem real. It was one of those out-of-body experiences where you felt like, me being a man of faith, that somebody was definitely looking out for me. Somebody was supporting me because, as the game started, we were emotional wrecks because of everything we had gone through that week. I didn’t realize this so much when I played because everything was so physical, but emotionally, you can be tired too. From the stress, from the anger, the spectrum of emotions you go through, all the crying, and all the work: Every day, we were getting in a van, trying to make people feel better and then coming back to work out.

Doing the Special Forces show a few years ago, which was really an incredible experience, you realize your body does have an overdrive gear somewhere that we rarely tap into because we only need it in times of stress or crisis. But there is one, and I see it with these Special Forces guys, man. I guess I had that moment there, and I really felt everyone was emotionally pulling for me.

It doesn’t get any less vivid as the years roll on. It makes me a little sad, of course, in the sense that I think generally as a society, we just move on, and I think something like 9/11 will obviously never lose its historical significance. About ten years ago, my wife really wanted to go to the museum. I couldn’t really go in. I had this withdrawal. I don’t know if it was emotional or it was just a block, and she really got mad at me. She’s like, “Why aren’t you being courteous? They’re giving us a special tour.” And I said, “I already saw this,” you know what I mean? It was really difficult. I actually felt more serene by the fountains outside with the names. That was my favorite part.

You’ve said before that 9/11 was a dividing line for you.
It altered the path of my life in the sense that I realized at that point I just didn’t want to be the bachelor. I wanted to have a legacy and have children. Until then, it wasn’t that I was averse to getting married and having kids; it was just that I was so focused on my career. But then after that, you saw how special family was and how sad it was for people. I realized this was the next step for me.

And then, I think just on a physical level, my physical skills were starting to decline a little bit. I had some moments after that: In 2003, I got off to a good start, and then I got hurt and I was out for three months, and then I think ’04 and ’05 weren’t great. San Diego was a fun bounce-back year for me. I was glad I went through that experience because I didn’t want to go out in a sour or somber way. It was just one of those years where I felt young again.

As a bachelor, you had a method of having a girlfriend for an entire season. Was that done with your career in mind? Because it sounds like the plot of Bull Durham.
Maybe I was too comfortable when I was dating someone. I either didn’t have the energy to go out and date other people or I was transfixed by my career. But yeah, I remember the volleyball player Gabrielle Reece coined the term season girlfriend.

It wasn’t by conscious design. It was a reverse courtship in a way: They were pursuing me and obviously other guys who were in baseball. They made it easy for you. It wasn’t like we really had to do tons of work.

And then, when the offseason hit, especially if we didn’t win, I was surly for a few weeks. It’s funny you say that because maybe it’s a little similar to when you’re married and you retire: There’s a different energy after that. You’re working, you’re flying around, and then, all of a sudden, you’re home.

But then you realize, as an athlete, you can’t just roll over. And consequently, a lot of marriages suffer. Unfortunately, some don’t make it because when someone retires, they’re around all the time and boredom sets in. Maybe he gains weight and probably doesn’t get motivated because he’s not doing the same thing. You have to find a way to keep hunting, even if it’s a little thing. My mom has a great expression. She always says, “You can pick, you don’t have to shovel,” if that makes sense: You can do little projects.

For a retired athlete, probably nothing can ever replace performing in a crowded stadium, but what’s the closest thing to it? Do people still chase that in some way?
That’s a good question. I think the first key is realizing that what you do will never be as exciting as what you did. There is definitely a fall from grace. You have to adjust and find things that interest you, but you have to resign yourself to knowing that whatever you do will never be as exciting. That doesn’t mean it’s boring or it’s not fun. I have great friends. Sometimes, it’s just a buddy calling me up on a Sunday like, “Hey, dude, what are you doing? Let’s go get lunch and a cigar,” and we tell jokes and talk about things. So it’s not like you’re dead. It’s just a transformation. And I think a lot of guys struggle with it.

But you have to be secure with knowing that it’s over and that you’ve got to go home sometimes. Years ago, when I was in the disco or the club and the lights go on, guys would be like, “Where are you going?” I’m like, “I’m going home, dude. What else is there to do?” They just don’t want the party to end. I think you have to use that as a metaphor for your career and say, It’s okay, go home. Recharge your batteries. And some guys can’t go home. They go right into broadcasting, and that’s fine.

How long did it take to adjust?
A few years. For me, it was a little longer because I just got to the end quickly. I thought maybe after I went to Oakland, I would bounce back. And then you realize not only is your body not responding the way you want it to, but I had such a high level of expectations for myself.

Al Leiter has a saying: “You don’t lose your desire to play, you lose your desire to prepare to play.” In previous years, I would just show up, hit batting practice, and play the game. But as you got older, you’ve got to show up at one o’clock, you got to get ice, you got to get rubbed down, you got to … you know what I mean? It starts to wear on your psyche a little bit. That’s the story at the end.

Looking back at the write-ups at the time, a lot of the focus of your joining the Mets was obviously your bat but also your star power — that you would fill a void that involved having the Mets, for example, appear in “Page Six” more often. You took issue with the ball club thinking it has to chase the spotlight and bend to the New York media. If the Mets didn’t do that, what could their identity in New York be like?
As I mentioned before, there was no social media. The only thing was the papers, all the various TV and radio, the FAN, “Mike and the Mad Dog.” If you have a bad game, they’re beating you up.

But there was that competition with the Yankees. You could feel it. Our PR guy, Jay, was always like, “We got the back page! We got the back page!” That was just part of the jungle that was New York. When we had those first subway series in ’99, 2000, it was incredible. Those games were like World Series playoff games. The whole city stopped. I would put them on par with the intensity of any regular-season game in the history of the game, without a doubt.

Do you think the Mets have an alternative, or do they have no choice but to play that role and chase the media the way you regretted they had at the time?
Well, I don’t know if I regret … they’re just trying to put butts in the seats. It was a different game back then. Now, there’s more media — and a new stadium. We had Shea Stadium, and that place, God rest its soul, the best part about it was that we knew other teams hated playing there, so it was a real home-field advantage for us. But we didn’t really love it!

Fans come up to me and they’re like, “I miss Shea Stadium.” I’m like, It was a dump. The first day, the toilets backed up. Here I come from Southern California, living on the beach, playing in Dodger Stadium, the mild weather. First day I show up, there’s sewage by my locker! I’m thinking, Is this a premonition?

There was a point I was about to make here. We were in a different time in the sense that we were competing for publicity; we were competing for excitement to get the fans out.

You’ve said New York City has a way of draining an athlete. The city uses up the spirit and passion in a player.
I call it the “football mentality.” When a team loses in football, they talk about it the whole week until the next game. When we lose a baseball game, they’ll talk about it for the next 20 hours before we play the next day. I tried to shield myself from that. You have to be reclusive, in a way, as an athlete because if you don’t, it starts to really affect your psyche.

I remember one time coming into the ballpark and everyone was like, “Did you hear ‘Mike and the Mad Dog’ last night?” I go, “No, I went home and went to bed.” They were like, “Well, they were talking about it all day.” I just remember saying to myself, I’ve got to hit a home run tonight because if I don’t, they’re still going to talk about this mistake I made! Fortunately, I had a good game, but it’s just part of New York. And there’s a lot of guys who couldn’t do it.

One thing that got attention in your book was your opinions on Hispanic ballplayers. Now that you’re an expat yourself, have your attitudes about those things changed?
Hmm, good point. I think growing up in a sheltered environment and not having a lot of world education, I guess, for lack of a better word … but also don’t forget, I went to the Dominican Republic after I had first signed with the Dodgers. So I got to see and feel the hunger of those guys, and I think it affected me in a good way.

I think my only issue was, in a general sense, when we make something too easy for people, it sometimes takes away your incentive, you know what I mean? I’ve learned in my life that because of my personal situation, nothing was really given to me. Yes, doors were opened to me, but I still had to perform. I guess what I’m trying to say is, and I think you see it in their successes and I’ve talked to a lot of them now, what motivated them in a sense — and I’ve seen this even in my own coming to Italy — sometimes you have to have a sink-or-swim mentality.

I don’t even get affected with languages living in Italy. I hear Italian, I hear French, I hear German. So I think maybe when I was younger, I would be like, They’re not speaking English. Where are they from? Or, You’re in the United States, you should speak English. I’ve completely done a mature 180 on that. I am so completely oblivious when I hear other languages now.

You were driven by your father to be a baseball player in a way few people can appreciate, outside of maybe Tiger Woods. Sometimes, you felt as though you played more for your dad than for yourself. Did you ever feel out of control of your destiny?
My dad was an incredible man, but he was driven. He had a lot of demons from his childhood. So I was able to humanize that in him. Part of my faith is just compassion. I saw that in him. I saw his pain sometimes when he wanted to be around me all the time, but I had to say, “Dad, I need to live my life.”

Talking about retirement being tough on me — it was very, very tough for him. But how could I not have gratitude and appreciate the fact that he encouraged me, and stood by me, and believed in me, and really stuck his neck out for me?

I’ve always enjoyed my personal success, but my personality is such that I enjoyed sharing it with people. How often can you really just go, me, me, me? It is important to share it with people because I didn’t get there alone. I had people look out for me, and I was so blessed to have this sixth sense to listen to people, especially coaches.

But as a continually overlooked college player and minor leaguer, you had the hunger to seek it out when you needed to.
Yeah, of course, you have to. That was another thing for me. I was so focused, and I knew I wouldn’t have been a good minor leaguer if I was married with a kid or whatever. I wouldn’t have been able to perform with that pressure. Even in the big leagues, the first few years, I would’ve probably been divorced because I was just not in that mode. I was lucky that something was telling me to wait, wait, wait because I wouldn’t have been a good husband at all. I probably would’ve been terrible. Not that I would’ve been a womanizer or anything, but … you do have to be very selfish. That’s just unfortunately part of the animal.

Timing is everything in life.
That’s true. I never really knew what that meant when I was younger. But as I’ve gotten older, it makes a lot of sense.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.