It's pronounced "Yo-diss" for many of the same reasons a heavy Brooklyn-Staten Island accent changes "watt-err" into "wood-ah."

If everything were correct, it would be "Iodice," or "I-O-deech-A," as Robert Yodice Sr. explains it. Upon arriving from Italy, his father, who didn't speak English, accepted an ill-placed slash on his surname from immigration officials. The "I" became a "Y."

It was transformed and carried on by Yodice Sr. and passed on to Robert Yodice, a catcher for the Penn State baseball team. The name has become very American.

When the public address announcer at Medlar Field at Lubrano Park calls up Yodice, cueing hip-hop artist Jim Jones' "We Fly High," Penn State students do a basketball-like follow-through and imitate the lyrics saying, "Ballin'. "

It's a street-wise flavor that complement's Yodice's silver chain, his short hair, a barrel-chested strut, the stereotypical accent. But his 5-foot-10, 200-pound build says he's not throwing up jump shots. He's trying to jack a homer.

"It gets me pumped up," Yodice said. "You know, we fly high, go up there and give it your shot."

The song brings up to bat an only child, whose mother died when he was three. His father, an ex-professional ballplayer, raised him alone, the only way he knew how. It calls to the box someone spoon-fed the game his entire life.

Yodice's grandfather, who had five other kids, knew nothing about Yodice Sr.'s blossoming talent until Yankee great Yogi Berra was in their home. Ask Yodice about his father, and he'll reference the first-pick label as if it's written on the family crest.

In 1965, Yodice Sr., also a catcher, became the first overall pick of the New York Mets in the August Legion phase of the first-ever Major League Baseball Draft. Yodice Sr. became a pro straight out of Lafayette High School in Brooklyn.

"I had just turned 17, going to my first big league camp," Yodice Sr. said, "and I'm walking into a clubhouse where guys are 37, 36, 28, and I'm saying to myself, 'Where are all the 19-year-old guys?' "

Yodice can tell you that his dad could have vied with Jerry Grote for the job as starting Mets catcher, as he moved through the minors with roommate and future Cy Young winner Nolan Ryan.

He has some of his father's rare talent. Yodice has the arm, the uncanny skill for handling pitchers and the same energetic demeanor. While he doesn't have his dad's top-of-the order speed, baseballs soar farther off his bat.

As the Nittany Lions' home run leader with three, Yodice was such a popular pick to hit the first collegiate homerun at Medlar Field that his finance teacher bet on him in the stadium contest.

A gamble? No. Yodice put one over the right-center field wall on March 30.

Yodice Sr. sat in the stands with other parents and joked that he would have bet on his son that day, but he didn't have a Penn State ID card. Yodice Sr. usually sits in right field with a cigar in his mouth and little interest in conversation.

Now 59 years old and semi-retired, a passerby only gets a "How are ya?" from Yodice Sr., who normally socializes with ease. Now his focus rests on his namesake.

"His style of play is almost identical to mine," Yodice Sr. said. "With the power. This kid, he's got pop. From what I can see ... I heard several scouts saying he's got some pop in his bat."

That talent has been nurtured by a close father-son relationship that borders on brotherhood. Wasting talent, Yodice says, the gift his father gave him, is unforgivable.

Yodice wants to have friends like Nolan Ryan, who his father clowned with all the way up to Triple A, one step from the big leagues. Ryan, a Texan, messed with his name, calling him "Yo-dice" or "Yoddy."

But Yodice Sr.'s journey ended protecting the plate, tearing his rotator cuff in a collision with a Yankee during spring training in 1969. A surgery to repair that injury did not exist then.

At 20 years old, the thrills of gunning down a runner stealing, feeling the bat on the ball, or dust spraying into the air after a head-first slide, were all gone.

Yodice Sr.'s name lives with those who saw him play in high school. They know of his exploits, catching for Hall of Famers Tom Seaver and Ryan, throwing out base stealers from his knees.

"People from our era certainly do know Rob, absolutely," said Dennis Canale, Yodice's coach at Xaverian High School and a contemporary of Yodice Sr. "Rob was a legend behind the plate. He really was."

As a junior, transferring to Penn State this season from Gulf Coast Community College, less than two years removed from a messy exit at Florida Atlantic, Yodice still has time to uphold on the family name -- if he can, and if he wants to try.

"No, he's our guy"

Straight talk is all they have.

"If my son stunk," Yodice Sr. said, "I would tell him, 'You better take up ballet. Take up cooking, because this is not for you. Don't waste the coach's time, or his efforts or your time. Be a student.' "

As the No. 1 high school player in the state of New York, Yodice Sr. was with his son on every college visit. Yodice could have signed with a minor league team out of Xaverian, but his father refused, saying he needed at least three years of college ball.

Multiple two- and four-year institutions courted Baseball America's No. 151 prospect nationally. According to Yodice Sr., Arizona State offered, boasting Major League alumni such as catcher Paul Lo Duca, slugger Barry Bonds and "Mr. October" Reggie Jackson.

But Florida Atlantic was aggressive and, most importantly, to the point. It was a small program, but Yodice heard "you're our guy." At face value it was a chance to play.

Head coach Kevin Cooney and assistant coach John McCormack satisfied Yodice Sr. because of their northern New Jersey/New York ties.

Words proved moot. Yodice said he felt like he beat the catcher in front of him but he only played in 25 games. It was a "low blow," he said. Baseball, for once, could not remedy his ills or a newly jaded outlook.

"The excuse was that I was a freshman," Yodice said. "Coming into a program, I'm not going to play? I wasn't told that. That kind of ticked me off.

"I was told the job was open, and I come here on a full scholarship, and I earn the job, and I don't get a shot to play? That's what I didn't like. If I didn't earn the job, I'll be the first one to sit on the bench. If you perform, you play, that's it."

Things worsened. Yodice asked for his release at season's end, but the coaching staff refused to grant it. Yodice Sr. traveled to Florida Atlantic, talked to Cooney, pointing to his son's 35 at-bats, only to hear, "No, he's our guy."

Eventually, "to make a long story short," Yodice Sr. said he went to the athletic director and, after pulling a few strings with a friend of a friend close to the program, Yodice was granted his release.

Yodice Sr. was gratified with the result because he believes his son is a good kid. If Yodice were the "punky kid" stereotype that many conclude after hearing their Staten Island accent, Yodice Sr. said he would step aside and let his son deal with the repercussions.

Mike Kandler, who became Yodice's next coach at Gulf Coast, called him a "hard-working, blood-and-guts guy."

That's the type of son Yodice Sr. will defend: "I would do anything for him, not because he is my only child, but because of the kind of kid he is," he said. "On the other hand, if he were not all the things I just told you, I would let him fend for himself."

"Putting my two cents in"

He expected a different stance.

When Yodice was two, his mother, Kathleen Yodice, bought a wiffle ball and bat. She set the ball on a tee, and their little one whacked it onto the roof, displaying signs of a power bat.

Yodice Sr. watched in shock.

His son ate with his right hand, and even threw a ball righty, so why was he hitting the ball from the left side of the tee?

"I said, 'He's no lefty. He's hitting from the wrong side,' " Yodice Sr. said. "Me, putting my two cents in, I turned him around, and he was horrible righty."

Proudly, after putting aside issues of form, the Yodices put their little masher in the front yard. Neighbors walked by, marveling at the child that almost never was.

Robert and Kathleen Yodice were married for 17 years, starting to seriously contemplate adoption, before they became pregnant with Robert Jr. in 1985. Yodice Sr. calls him "a kid from heaven."

Without his son, Yodice Sr. doesn't know how he would have handled his wife's passing.

Kathleen Yodice, six days short of her 41st birthday, succumbed to breast cancer. Yodice, who was three years old when she died, has her picture by his bed. Luckily for him, Yodice Sr. had the means to carry on her memory.

"I have a big family, and a lot of people in my family love my wife, so, they kind of relay what kind of mother she was in their way," Yodice Sr. said. "If I didn't have him, it would have been really rough for me."

Without baseball, and now his wife, all Yodice Sr. had was Junior.

What blossomed was an uber-father-son relationship. Canale hired Yodice Sr. as an assistant at Xaverian High because he was always around. He knew all-too-well that once Yodice went off to college, Yodice Sr. would follow. They always left the field together.

"He was there before we got there," Canale said. "He was pretty chatty, but you know, his input was always positive. He would not just set on his son, he was positive with all of the kids. Otherwise, I really wouldn't have made him a coach."

Yodice Sr. was the hitting instructor, and his son was behind the plate. It was a fairly new position for Yodice, who only started playing catcher on a volunteer basis at 13. Catching, along with many other lessons, came quick and straight from Yodice Sr.'s two cents.

"You know, growing up, keeping me out of trouble, having my mind focused on school and baseball. Kept me straight," Yodice said. "You know, because sometimes you can kind of drift, and when I drifted, he put me back in line."

Yodice Sr.'s current beef is his son's refusal to swing at the first pitch. He said "the book is out" and coaches say, "You know, that Yodice kid, he has power, but he won't swing at the first pitch, especially if it's a strike."

He points to his son's just above "Mendoza Line" .214 average.

When Yodice tells his father that he is letting the team down, Yodice Sr. points out that head coach Robbie Wine wouldn't keep him in the middle, RBI-producing slots of the batting order if he didn't believe in the catcher's abilities.

If only the son would listen.

Yodice Sr. said that sometimes, because they are so close and brotherly, his son might shrug off his advice and tell him the game was different when he played. Then he will respond with, "The game hasn't changed in 150 years."

"One thing I would tell Rob is that he should probably listen to his dad more than he does already," Kandler said. "Right now, he knows about one-one hundredth of what his dad knows about baseball."

The batting tee incident aside.

"Plain and simple"

When Yodice Sr. and Canale grew up, the game of baseball, whether it was traditional style, stoopball, or stickball, was all they had.

In the streets of Brooklyn or Staten Island, kids lived off of a bat and ball. Today, Canale said, youths have computers, cars and every other distraction imaginable.

"All there was was ball," Canale said. "There are a lot of other distractions today other than baseball. There are other things in life other than baseball. But to us, all there was was baseball."

While Yodice Sr. has heard his son spout professional aspirations in the same breath as winning the College World Series, he can't help but wonder. It all sounds great, but does he really mean it?

"I used to say to myself, 'I just hope that this kid is not playing to keep up what I had accomplished,' " Yodice Sr. said. "I don't want him to do anything because I did it, because I was successful."

It's the only distraction in his perfect father-son connection. It plagues him, not because he really believes his son is devoted to pleasing him, or that he could leave the game he loves. Is it because Yodice Sr. is devoted to pleasing his son? He looks into every angle.

There is no doubt that Yodice has worked to become a draftable player. He is a leader who constantly pats teammates on the back. Ask Wine or any other coach, they will tell you that Yodice is ahead of the curve.

Kandler allowed him to call pitches at Gulf Coast, because the selections were nearly telepathically accurate to what he wanted. Yodice still catches with his father's cool, unwilling to "jump on somebody," but relaxed and in control of his pitchers.

But he knows that Yodice Sr. is watching with bated breath.

"He wants me to follow in his footsteps," Yodice said. "I have big shoes to fill, but I'm just trying to do it day-by-day, game-by-game."

Nobody, Yodice Sr. said, should play baseball to get drafted, only to get better. And to play to fulfill a legacy is equally wrong. Nor can the game encompass his family name.

As quickly as the name Robert "Yo-diss" changed, it has become more than about baseball.

"He's my life," Yodice Sr. said. "Plain and simple."

If Yodice were ever to completely give up baseball, though, and lofty dreams of the draft, Yodice Sr. could respect that. What puts him in the best mood is to see Yodice get "tree" or four hits and see Penn State win, satisfying his son's competitive will.

Then, he said, he'll light up a couple cigars.