Category: MLB

I apologize, but for the second straight week, “Any player/Any era” will be late. The reason for delay is the same. I’ve started doing a bit of corporate freelance again for a client in San Francisco, and I now have assignments due each Friday. Me being me, I tend to procrastinate. The goal for next week is improve on this trend and get my posts here up on time.

In the meanwhile, as a preview, I will say that my subject for this week is my all-time favorite player, Will Clark. I’m projecting him as a 1930s American League first baseman. The thought here is that with his glove, batting average, and power, he could be a legend in that era in the right ballpark. I welcome anyone’s input.

Since I wrote my euphoric blog “Shiver Me Timbers, the Bucs Are in First Place”the Pittsburgh Pirates have come unwound, both as a team and individually.

Ironically, six weeks ago when the Pirates were baseball’s darling, MLB on Fox and ESPN eagerly signed them up for their national games of the week.

So, on August 13, when Fox’s Josh Lewin introduced the Pirates-Milwaukee Brewers game, he hung a lot of crepe. Basically saying that the Pirates had gone straight into the tank since Fox committed to the Brewers game as well as the August 20 contest against the Cincinnati Reds, Lewin reminded pained viewers that no team in major league history has gone from first place to ten games out in less time than the Corsairs. By Sunday night, Lewin had proven prophetic. The Brewers swept the three game series against the Pirates and moved to 36-3 against the Bucs in their last 39 games.

Luckily for Fox, the Saturday game turned out to be a good one. To the Pirates’ fans frustration, however, the Buccos lost 1-0 and scratched out three lonely hits—only one of which came during the five innings tossed by Brewers’ emergency starter Marco Estrada (3-7).

An interesting strategic moment came in the top of the ninth. The Brewers had summoned closer John Axford. The first Pirates’ batter, Xavier Paul, tripled. At that point, the pressure is on Axford—he’s protecting a one run lead with a runner on third, no one out.

The next two batters, Andrew McCutchen (hitting about .200 since the All Star Game) and Matt Diaz (.265 but no home runs in 200+ at bats) both swung at the first pitch. Results: two ground outs, McCutchen to shortstop; Diaz to second. Although there are 25 ways to score from third (read them here), the Pirates couldn’t push across the tying run.

Ted Williams must have been spinning in his grave. The Pirates should have heeded Williams’ long standing advice about swinging at the first pitch: Don’t! In his book, The Science of Hitting, Williams wrote that when a batter faces a pitcher for the first time during a game, as McCutchen and Diaz did with Axford, he should take a pitch or two to evaluate the pitcher’s stuff.

I understand the counter logic. Batters don’t want to fall behind 0-1 or 0-2. And they’re often coached to be aggressive, to look for a pitch they like and to take their cuts.But here are two things I also know. First, when it comes to batting philosophy, I’ll listen to Williams before anyone. Second, the Saturday game ended with the Pirates stranding the tying run on third before losing by a single run. Swinging at the first pitch may work some of the time—but it didn’t that day.In the meantime, through games played Monday night, the Pirates have fallen to fourth place, 13 games behind the Brewers and losers of 14 of their last 18.

I learned a valuable lesson growing up. I found an old San Francisco Giants oral history book at a garage sale, and in the preface, the author spoke of fruitless attempts to interview Willie Mays, noting he had better experiences interviewing many less-famous players. A lot of these former Giants, the author noted, had listed phone numbers and were happy to talk. I took the message to heart, and it’s led to several interviews off cold calls over the years.

I was reminded of this Tuesday evening when I located the number of a former player living in Sacramento, where I grew up and my family lives. At some point, I’ll call this guy as well as the grandson of a Deadball Era star who lives about an hour from me. These calls are rarely bad experiences, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that old ballplayers generally love to reminisce about their careers. I don’t have to do much beyond ask decent questions and listen.

Here are a few players I’ve interviewed after getting their number from the phone book or online yellow pages:

Cuno Barragan: I did my high school senior project on the Sacramento Solons and interviewed Barragan who caught for the team before going on to the Chicago Cubs of the early 1960s. He might have been the first ex-big leaguer I ever interviewed, and I appreciate his willingness to invite me out to his home. If memory serves correct, we sat on bar stools made of baseball bats and base cushions.

Dario Lodigiani: I wrote a college term paper on all the Italian American baseball players who grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area, and I had designs after I submitted my paper of turning it into a magazine story. It never went anywhere, though it gave me an excuse to talk to a few former ballplayers, the most notable Dom DiMaggio, who I tracked down in person at a wharf front memorabilia story. I found Lodigiani through online yellow pages, and I remember the then-87-year-old former third baseman, who played six seasons between 1938 and 1946, as a nice fellow.

Joe DeMaestri, Rugger Ardizoia: Two more nice guys who I called about the Italian American project. DeMaestri, like another of my interview subjects Gino Cimoli, worked for UPS after his playing days. Ardizoia had a one-game career for the 1947 New York Yankees and may be at the upcoming Pacific Coast League reunion.

Art Mahan: I started research in early 2010 on a book on  Joe Marty,who played from 1937 to 1941 with the Chicago Cubs and Philadelphia Phillies. When I began research, Mahan was one of four living ex-teammates, and I didn’t have much luck at first. The Art Mahan in the phone book turned out to be his son, and it sounded as if the senior Mahan didn’t like interviews. Still, the son passed my number on to his sister who in turn called me and gave me an address to send questions to. This led to a call a week or so later from another Mahan who, with his 96-year-old dad standing by and periodically coming on the line, talked with me for two enchanting hours. (Mahan died in December, and I noted his passing here.)

Billy O’Dell: I put together a Where Are They Now?-style piece on O’Dell and made my initial call from home, though I had to do a follow-up from work. I was sitting in the break area on my cell when the CEO of the company my firm was renting space from walked by. He gave me a look that said, Who exactly are you speaking to about the last out of the 1962 World Series? The CEO and I got to talking after I finished my call, and he said he knew former Giants outfielder Ken Henderson. I wound up interviewing Henderson, too.

The passing this week of a truly wonderful human being and a man I was honored and lucky to have called my friend brought a flood of memories back to me of my times with the man we all affectionately called simply “Doc.”

During 2006 and 2007, I had the privilege of calling the press box my home and reporting on each home game and interviewing Ottawa Lynx players and their nightly opponents. Prior to those seasons reporting for the team, my time was spent in the stands sitting with and chatting to a group of dedicated and devoted fans who rarely, if ever, missed a game.

If truth be told, I began to prefer Triple-A to the majors for many reasons. The tickets were very affordable and there was not a bad seat in the park. I was able to see many future major league stars up close and personal and the outcome of the games really didn’t matter that much– everyone there was trying to get to the show, and we fans were having too much fun. Naturally we wanted our guys to win but loses were usually taken with an “Oh well get them next game” attitude.

Many of the managers and coaches were ex-major leaguers I had grown up watching on television or in Montreal and the vast majority were more than happy to sign an autograph or chat about their playing days. The fun was in the ribbing and my comments about watching them play when I was a kid were met with a good hearted laugh or a feigned disgust at how old I had made them feel.

I began my member of the press experience in April 2006, sitting in the press box with all the veteran local scribes and trying to work my way into their acceptance and confidence. Many had been there from the beginning and had their own routines which not all were at first, willing to share with me. Who had time to help a rook when there were stories to write and deadlines to meet? But eventually they seemed to accept me and I became part of the good hearted ribbing and other press box rituals which went on each game.

The first to take me under his wing, and I still don’t know quite why to this day, was a man everyone simply called Doc. I never knew his real name and back then I don’t know if anyone else did either.

Doc would arrive each game about the second or third inning, always wearing a short sleeved collared shirt with shorts, white socks and running shoes. No matter how cold or rainy it might be, Doc always wore those shorts. He would borrow my scorecard to get up to speed and then we would chat about anything and everything. I found out eventually that he had been a surgeon and had delivered countless babies as well.

Some nights he would delight in describing in much more detail than I wanted a complicated surgical procedure with detailed illustrations and a question period afterwards. My comments of “Gee Doc that was more than I needed to know” were met with a sly grin and a feigned apology.

Doc would usually follow us down to the clubhouse and while we conducted our post game interviews, would answer questions from the players about this ache or that pain and recommend various solutions.  The team doctor never seemed to mind and Doc knew every player in the league it seemed.

His advice always seemed to be simple, logical and to the point and usually successful.

Doc’s first love was boxing and he had spent many years as a corner cut man. He had seen all the greats fight, and we were always asking him for a story about this great boxer or that one. Although he certainly knew his baseball, that was rarely a topic of conversation between any of us when he was around. He lit up the room and made the rounds chatting with everyone but he always spent the majority of the game with me.

I’ve thought of him often in those four years since we lost our team but I never saw him again.  He’s surely up in heaven fixing some broken wings or telling God about the greatest Ali fight ever. The phrase great human being is often tossed around in these days of overhype and lowered standards and the truly great often gone unsung. Not in Doc’s case.

What he did: Hugh Casey and his contemporaries belong with Deadball Era home run champions or anyone who won a stolen base crown before 1950. Relievers like Casey, Joe Page, and others in the days before high-powered closers transformed late-inning pitching are like a prehistoric breed today. Casey’s National League-leading saves totals of 13 in 1942 and 18 in 1947 might not even rate in the top 10 these days. It certainly wouldn’t make him one of the most feared hurlers in baseball before and after World War II, able to pitch the Dodgers to two World Series, though it’s rumored a spit ball of his got by catcher Mickey Owen in the 1941 Fall Classic and lost it for Brooklyn.

I have to admit I wonder how much better Casey might fare in the modern game, when he wouldn’t have to be a maverick out of the bullpen and could learn from established relief artists. Baseball’s come a long way since Casey’s time when the bullpen was a secondhand consignment shop for arms not good enough to crack the starting rotation. Casey regularly posted far from mediocre numbers, though, and I like to think a man who went 75-42 lifetime with a 3.45 ERA over nine seasons might do ever better in a more favorable era for his talents.

Era he might have thrived in: Casey was a Southerner by birth who ended his professional career in 1950, a year after leaving the majors, helping his hometown Atlanta Crackers to a Southern Association pennant. I’d like to see what Casey could do for the modern Atlanta Braves, and with his ability to both start and finish games in multi-inning stretches, he might have been Atlanta equivalent of Rollie Fingers or Sparky Lyle in the 1970s or ’80s when great closers routinely went three or four innings.

Why: In a lot of ways, Casey was a victim of his times. Besides coming up in a less-sophisticated era for relievers, he lost three prime seasons in the middle of his career to World War II. He of course played at a point in baseball history decades before the abrogation of the Reserve Clause might have made him a millionaire. And Casey’s strikeout average, 3.3 for every nine innings which would seem to preclude him from closing today, might have been a facet of his time as much as anything– prior to the 1950s, I don’t think batters struck out nearly at the rate they do today.

In any event, he’d appear to be well-suited to close in the ’70s or ’80s, and while this might not be enough to get him in the Hall of Fame, since closers from those days like Lyle, Dan Quisenberry, and Mike Marshall remain under-recognized, it might help Casey’s life play out differently. A year after he last pitched for the Crackers, he committed suicide at 37, unable to return to the majors and apparently distraught over a paternity test. Reportedly, the death came after years of heavy drinking and womanizing. Along with Donnie Moore’s suicide and Rod Beck’s drug overdose, it’s one of the saddest ends I can think of for a once-great closer.

Any player/Any era is a Thursday feature here that looks at how a player might have done in an era besides his own.

Others in this series: Albert Pujols, Babe Ruth, Bad News Rockies, Barry Bonds, Billy Martin, Bob Caruthers, Bob Feller, Bob Watson, Bobby Veach, Carl Mays, Charles Victory Faust, Chris von der Ahe, Denny McLain, Dom DiMaggio, Eddie Lopat, Frank Howard, Fritz Maisel, Gavvy Cravath, George Case, George Weiss, Harmon Killebrew, Harry Walker, Home Run Baker, Honus Wagner, Ichiro Suzuki, Jack Clark, Jackie Robinson, Jimmy Wynn, Joe DiMaggio, Joe Posnanski, Johnny Antonelli, Johnny Frederick, Josh Hamilton, Ken Griffey Jr., Lefty Grove, Lefty O’Doul, Major League (1989 film), Matty Alou, Michael Jordan, Monte Irvin, Nate Colbert, Paul Derringer, Pete Rose, Prince Fielder, Ralph Kiner, Rick Ankiel, Rickey Henderson, Roberto Clemente, Rogers Hornsby, Sam Crawford, Sam Thompson, Sandy Koufax, Satchel Paige, Shoeless Joe Jackson, Stan Musial, Ted Williams, The Meusel Brothers, Ty Cobb, Vada Pinson, Wally Bunker, Willie Mays

When Walter Johnson took the mound for the Washington Senators on August 2, 1907 to pitch the first game of a double header against the Detroit Tigers, he embarked on a baseball journey that before it ended would see him win 417 games, 110 by a shutout including 38 by a 1-0 score, strike out 3,507 and post a 2.07 earned run average. But since 10 of Johnson’s 21 seasons were with losing Senators’ teams, his overall record was hampered by hard luck losses. On 65 occasions, Johnson and the Senators were on the short end of 1-0 scores.

Some of Johnson’s other outstanding achievements include winning five games (three shut outs) during nine days in 1908, recording 16 straight wins in 1912 and pitching 56 scoreless innings in 1913 when he went 36-7 with a 1.09 ERA.

About those nine days…W. W. Aulick from the New York Times, after Johnson’ third shut out, wrote:

We are grievously disappointed in this man Johnson of Washington. He and his team had four games to play with the champion Yankees. Johnson pitched the first game and shut us out. Johnson pitched the second game and shut us out. Johnson pitched the third game and shut us out. Did Johnson pitch the fourth game and shut us out. He did not. Oh, you quitter!

But, as witnessed by the 3-2 defeat Johnson suffered in his debut, he did not become an overnight success. Even in Johnson’s first game, however, his teammates and opponents recognized his greatness.

I’m a little behind on this week’s edition of “Any player/Any era” and will try to have something up this afternoon or evening. Barring that, I should have something up no later than Sunday.

My apologies!

During the 1950s, San Francisco Seals were the most fortunate players in baseball. Paul Fagan, their generous owner, spared no expense to make his squad comfortable. During that era, the Seals had stars-to-be like Ferris Fain, Gene Woodling, Lew Burdette and Larry Jansen to name a few.

Under manager Lefty O’ Doul’s direction, the Seals often (though not always) fielded competitive teams. Fagan, hoping to make the Pacific Coast League the third major league to join with the American and National, kept an eye out for the best players. When he took over the Seals in 1946, Fagan said to previous owner Charlie Graham, “I only know two baseball names—Bob Feller and Joe DiMaggio. I don’t know what they will cost. I want ‘em.”

One of the most innovative minds in baseball, Fagan introduced concession stands, upgraded the Seals Stadium ladies room with a million dollar investment and built a spring training facility on Maui. Fagan, whose personal fortune came from his family’s banking businesses and Hawaii real estate made sure his players always traveled first class. The Seals even had large sleeping quarters, a spacious dining area and a soda fountain where they could get ice cream at any time.

1. 1994-95 MLB strike: Still the gold standard for labor disputes in organized sports, if mainly because the costs were staggering: work stopped for eight months, no 1994 World Series, and a sport with fan appeal so decimated that steroid use was tacitly condoned thereafter. Tell me what this was all about again.

2. 1998-99 NBA lockout: While basketball players and management were midway into a dispute that forced an abbreviated 50-game schedule for the 1998-99 NBA season, Rick Reilly penned a column for Sports Illustrated referencing the plight of striking Peterbilt truck workers. Reilly wrote of blue collar strikers getting by on a few hundred dollars a week compared with basketball players sweating insurance for their fleets of sports cars. “There are two major labor disputes in America right now,” Reilly wrote. “One of them is a joke.”

3. 1982 NFL strike: Besides the 1994-95 baseball strike or 2004-05 hockey lockout, this ranks as the longest work stoppage for a major American sports league, at least proportion-wise. The NFL wound up with a truncated nine-game season that year and 16-team playoff format.

4. 1981 MLB strike: Baseball lost nearly two months of its 1981 season, and though I don’t hear it talked about as conspiracy, popular union leader and Cy Young-winning relief pitcher Mike Marshall couldn’t get a team to sign him until after the strike ended.

5. 1987 NFL strike: This work stoppage lasted a month and featured one week of cancelled games and three weeks of games with replacement players (together with a few picket line-crossing stars like Joe Montana and Steve Largent.) All in all, this ran a bit like the film The Replacements, only without Keanu Reeves.

6. 2004-2005 NHL lockout: This actually led to the cancellation of an entire hockey season, though I’m not sure anyone cared. I don’t know if that merits higher or lower placement on this list.

7. 1972 MLB strike: This was the first strike in the history of major American sports and The Sporting News called the day it began the darkest in the history of sports. Some teams lost six games from their schedules, others seven, and because of the discrepancy, the Boston Red Sox lost the American League East title by half a game to the Detroit Tigers.

8. 2011 NFL lockout: This could’ve been a lot worse.

9. 1990 MLB lockout: Baseball’s equivalent of the recent football lockout in that some training games got cancelled but things fell far short of nightmare doomsday scenarios folks may have envisioned.

10. 1912 Detroit Tigers strike: American League president Ban Johnson suspended Ty Cobb indefinitely in May of 1912 after he beat a fan in the stands for calling him a “half-nigger.” Supportive Tiger teammates struck in solidarity, and to avoid forfeiting its next game, Detroit management fielded a team of replacements, some with baseball experience, others not so much. Any work stoppage that results in a Catholic priest (Aloysius Travers) taking to the mound and surrendering 24 runs, still a modern day record, deserves mention here.

Here it is the first week of August and already we see evidence that all heck is breaking loose in Major League Baseball. From incidents of “sweating” on umpires to multiple ejections to head hunting, baseball is once again living up to the old axiom that August brings out the worst in some players. The dog days, here we are.

Major League Baseball is often a grueling long distance race leaving many players on the Disabled List and some unemployed or in the minors. The promise of the first gentle, warm April days often gives way to the cold hard reality of another long and unsuccessful season wrought with failure, injury and harsh criticism from the media. Even seasoned veterans can fall victim to this seemingly most trying of all baseball months. With each passing day, time to overcome any obstacles seems to be slipping faster and faster away. Time to turn an individual’s season around now seems to be the enemy. For some, the whispers of wait until next year are becoming louder and more direct.

It’s not only the players and coaches who succumb to emotional outbursts. Umpires tend to have a shorter fuse and are less tolerant of questions concerning their competence or general rule interpretations.

Such questions or comments which might have been ignored in the previous four months seem more personal and confrontational now. As umpires seek to maintain control, players seek more and creative ways to bargain their way out of situations or bend the rules. Both seem to be walking that proverbial tight rope when there is only room for one.

One would imagine that the distractions of the July 31 trade deadline might have lessened or even been eliminated for some. The uncertainty of will he or won’t he have to uproot his family, get used to another city or league and fit in with new teammates should have come and gone, having been decided one way or another. Either a new happiness and sense of excitement has set in (going to a contender), disappointment in staying with a hopelessly out of the race team, or a huge sense of relief at not changing teams is now setting in. Certainly the July 31st deadline doesn’t mean the end of player movement as we have so often witnessed in the past. Some players will continue to look over their shoulders, wishfully or otherwise, until the conclusion of the regular season.

The pressure keeps building and something has to give. Players who are normally quiet and businesslike can suddenly explode over previously shrugged off borderline calls. The “gee ump that looked a bit low from here” is now replaced by various colorful metaphors and the questioning of an umpires mothers standing in the community. Such actions which in April, May, June, or July would be dutifully ignored or greeted with a knowing smile, become personal and inflammatory in August. The pen may be mightier than the sword but an umpire’s thumb is the mightiest of them all and if the manager doesn’t like it, he is more than welcome to quickly join his offending player in the showers.

The admiration of a long home run, however brief, is not tolerated in the dog days. The phrases unwritten rule and payback are used to justify mid 90’s fastball aimed specifically at the batter responsible for such a now-dire oneuppance. Naturally this action will justify and cause a retaliatory reaction from the opposition and so forth and so on resulting in warnings/rejections or the meeting near the mound of all players from both teams for an exchange of opinions and suggested solutions.

Normally docile fans can also fall victim to the dog days. The frustration of their team’s failures, the success of the opposition or an umpire’s failure to decipher the strike zone or a missed tag can ignite behavior which wouldn’t be tolerated at the biker bar down the street. Even the gentler sex has been known to become an all seeing and all knowing expert umpire, correcting on field decisions with passionate and explicative filled reports and body language.

Grandmothers and little children beware, lock your doors and turn off the lights. At least until September. At least until the dog days are done.