Baseball: Past and Present

We, as human beings, are always trying, at least subconsciously, to avoid thinking about the end of our days. Yesterday was the 10th anniversary of the September 11 attacks, a grim and terrible reminder of just how fragile and fleeting our existence here on earth really is. More times than not, it’s simply a matter of good luck or bad and any second could be our last. That’s why we all need distractions. If we thought about our collective fates, suicide might become a viable option. We all need something to hang onto.

For many of us, sports, and more specifically baseball, is that distraction. How else could one explain our passion? It is, after all, only a game which makes a lucky few millionaires and set for life. Sure we all complain about salaries and rightly proclaim that no one is worth that much money. We often complain about ticket prices, concession prices and paying $12 for parking. But we still go to the games.

We often live and die with our team and if they win it all, we feel as if we have won something as well. When our team plays poorly we vow to stay at home instead and watch something else, anything else. But we still go to the games and each spring brings new hope however ridiculous.

We argue over statistics and which player is better and many of us read the disgusting details of the sport’s cheaters. We argue over who should or should not be in the Hall of Fame and who should be the MVP and CY Young winners each season.

The season seems to zip by and the offseason seems to last forever. Then suddenly that first pitch of spring training has arrived life begins to make sense once again. There is nothing to compare to opening day and the World Series is often more like the world serious.

Each of us remember where we were on that terrible day ten years ago and even for those of us who did not lose a loved one or a dear friend, the terror we felt changed our lives forever. The horrors of parts of the world beyond our borders knocked loudly and suddenly on our door, a door which before we could leave unlocked and still feel safe in our beds at night. Life seemed to stop and nothing made any sense. Nowhere felt safe.

Even baseball stopped. It had to. We couldn’t at that moment live with our distraction. Baseball seemed pointless and useless and it seemed disrespectful to care about a game when so many had lost their lives. Discussing who was better or how we had lost a game had lost all meaning. It seemed more trivial than at any other time in our lives.

I thought back to what our fathers and mothers and their fathers and mothers might have been thinking during the Second World War when death could come at any moment and often did. Yet the president at the time insisted that baseball continue. He realized that people needed something to cheer about, something to distract them. They needed something else to think about and talk about.

But baseball did come back after a brief respite. It didn’t seem as important as it once had but it gave us all something to hold onto, something which gradually let us believe that despite the 9/11 attacks, those responsible couldn’t take away our way of life and our feeling of well being. Life would indeed continue even with the changes we were forced to make. The sun would come up the next day and the enormous sacrifices made by those who perished that day would never be forgotten. We just wouldn’t think about them each and every day. But we wouldn’t forget them either amidst our distractions and passions. They were and are, after all, part of who we are.

By the time Herb Score took the mound on September 24, 1955 to face the Tigers in the night cap of a doubleheader in Detroit, the Cleveland Indians season was over. The defending American League champions finished second, 3 games behind the hated New York Yankees. But Rookie of the Year Score, who along with the Yankees “Bullet” Bob Turley was one of the eras great power pitchers, dominated the Tigers. That afternoon, Score notched his 16th victory with a masterful 8-2 victory. Score’s pitching line: 9 IP, 7H, 0 ER, 2 BB and 9Ks.  The Indians swept the doubleheader by taking the night cap, 7-0 Score finished his year with a 16-10 record, a 2.85 ERA and 245 strike outs. The following year Score was even better: 20-9, 2.53 with 263 strike outs. To the delight of manager and former catcher Al Lopez, Score reduced his walks from 154 to 129 and his hits per nine-inning ratio to 5.85.

When Score was at the peak of his too brief career, Boston Red Sox  owner Tom Yawkey offered the Indians $1 million cash for the fire balling lefty. At the time, that was an unheard of sum to be paid to a baseball player—or for that matter, anyone else. The Indians turned Yawkey down cold.

After Score’s sensational 1955 season his career took a bad turn. In an infamous incident, a line drive off the Yankees’ Gil McDougald’s bat struck Score’s eye. Then during Score’s comeback effort, he injured his arm. During the next five seasons with the Indians and the Chicago White Sox, Score won only 19 games.

In an interview years after he retired, Score said:

The last couple of years I pitched, I was terrible. I just couldn’t put it all together anymore. I went back to the minor leagues for a while and tried it there. Some people asked me why I went back to the minor leagues; they felt I was humiliating myself. But I never felt humiliated. There was no disgrace in what I was doing. The disgrace would have been in not trying.

After retiring Score became an Indians’ broadcaster and announced Cleveland’s radio and television games for nearly 30 years. In 1998, while driving to Florida after being inducted into the Broadcasters Hall of Fame, Score was severely injured in a head on collision with a tractor trailer and spent more than a month in intensive care. But Score recovered in time to throw out the Indians’ Opening Day pitch in 1999.

In 2008 Score, after a long illness, died at his home in Rocky River, Ohio.This Sports Illustrated cover is how I remember him.
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“Double the fun” is a Friday feature here that looks at one notable doubleheader in baseball history each week.

What he did: Anyone who reads this site regularly may know that Will the Thrill is my all-time favorite player. I grew up in Sacramento, and Clark was it for my San Francisco Giants when I was about six. Clark’s star began to fade a few years later, and the sweet-swinging first baseman left San Francisco following the 1993 season, but I still get nostalgic thinking of him. I think of one of the best hitters of the late 1980s and early ’90s, likened to Roy Hobbs when he came up. I think of a fierce competitor who wore the black under his eyes like war paint. Detractors have dubbed Clark a “cackling douche” and racist, though I think I could have done worse in the hero department. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s an eventual Veterans Committee selection to the Hall of Fame, though in an earlier era, this might have come sooner.

Era he might have thrived in: Clark was a career .303 hitter playing from 1986 to 2000. Had he played in the 1930s, a Golden Age for first basemen in the American League, I suspect Clark might have hit .325 lifetime and earned his spot in Cooperstown decades ago.

Why: Hall of Fame and other awards selection has become a sophisticated art in baseball in recent years with the evolution of sabrmetrics. In the early days of Cooperstown, though, it was all about simple statistics and positive image. Clark would have offered this in abundance in the 1930s. If he wouldn’t have been a writers pick for the Hall of Fame, that would only have been because the  ballot was glutted with future honorees in the early years after Cooperstown opened in 1939. Even Hank Greenberg needed nine tries with voters to earn his plaque.

Having his career peak in the greatest time for hitters in baseball history, there’s no telling what Clark might have done. Seeing as he inspired comparisons to Ted Williams as a young player for that left-handed swing, I’d be curious to see if he could hit .400 in a season. In real life, Clark peaked at .333 in 1989 when he and Kevin Mitchell led the Giants to the World Series. Running those stats through the Baseball-Reference converter for the 1936 Boston Red Sox, Clark would hit .400 batting average with 29 home runs, 165 RBI, and an OPS of 1.136. Throw in a few more years even close to that, and there’s no way Clark would miss Cooperstown. At worst, he’d be Chuck Klein who had astonishing numbers in the Baker Bowl of the ’20s and ’30s and hit maybe .270 elsewhere, needing until 1980 for the Veterans Committee to sort it out.

It’s worth noting, too, that the things that may have diminished Clark’s star in his day would be non-factors in an earlier era. There’d be no Deadspin for the Jeff Pearlmans of sports media to unload. And Clark’s racial views, while perhaps unenlightened, wouldn’t raise any eyebrows in the 1930s, particularly for him being a Louisiana native. All this and more suggests Clark may have been a man born about 60 years too late.

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, Hugh Casey, 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

Around Pittsburgh, Steve Blass is beloved. Blass pitched two complete games for the Pirates in the 1971 World Series win over the Baltimore Orioles.  His second win shut the O’s down in thefinal seventh game, 2-1.

The Pirates signed Blass in 1960 straight out of his Connecticut high school. Blass was a Cleveland Indians fan, Herb Score his hero. But when the Pirates offered more money than the Indians, Blass didn’t hesitate. Blass has worked for the Pirates—and the Pirates alone—ever since. Only Tommy Lasorda has worked longer consecutively for a single team; Lasorda is now in his sixth decade with the Dodgers.

Blass does the color broadcasts at Pirates’ home games and does spot appearances promoting the Pirates on the local television channel. And it was during one of those spots that Blass told my favorite baseball off the field story.

After the Pirates signed Blass, he was sent to Kingsport, Tennessee in the Class D Appalachian League. Blass had never been away from home before and experienced all the readjustment problems young rookies do.

By the end of his first week, Blass was out of clean clothes. So he went to the laundromat where he found himself somewhat confused as to the proper procedure. The first thing Blass did in preparation was to inventory his dirty clothes: five t-shirts, five pairs of drawers and five pairs of socks.

Blass figured that 15 items would require 15 individual boxes of soap. So he loaded his laundry into the washer, added the soap (all 15 boxes) and put his quarter in. In virtually no time, as Blass recalled, the entire laundromat filled with bubbles and he was beating a hasty retreat before any of the other patrons could link him to the incident. From then on, Blass sent his laundry home each week where Steve’s mother dutifully washed and folded his clothes before sending them back to Tennessee.

As much as Steve enjoys telling his laudromat story, he has another that he likes even more—and it’s not even indirectly related to baseball.

In 2009, Steve recorded two holes in one during a single round of golf. According to his broadcast booth buddies Bob Walk, Greg Brown and Tim Navarrette, everyone Steve knows learned about his incredible feat within minutes after the second ball fell into the hole.

When it comes to female film stars of the 1970s, I have never been able to keep Karen Allen and Karen Black straight. I know that they don’t look especially alike, and they are more than ten years apart in age, but their shared first name has established a mental block for me, and I can never remember which is which. I could tell you now, but only because I just did the Google search. My clarity, however, is certain to be short-lived. Ten minutes after I log off, I might be able to tell you that one appeared in Animal House and Raiders of the Lost Ark and the other in Five Easy Pieces and The Great Gatsby, but I won’t be able to recall which Karen is which.

It’s similar with some ball players. If you mention any of the many hundreds of major leaguers who played from the late 1960s to the early ’80s, there’s a fair chance that an image of the player would come immediately to my mind, thanks to my card collecting and general obsession with baseball in those days. I might even be able to produce a few bare facts, such as position, team and whether the player was a righty or lefty. Naturally, there are some players I simply don’t remember at all, but much worse, there are certain pairs of players around whom my memory has become irretrievably tangled. Maybe they were teammates, or have similar names, or played similar roles. Or maybe they have nothing that connects them other than my confusion. And as with Allen and Black, it doesn’t matter how often I look them up in baseball-reference. Ten minutes later I can no longer tell them apart.

Welcome to the mental shortcomings that are my world. Here are some players that I just can’t seem to keep straight. I hope that the readers of this blog do not share my fate.

Vic Davalillo and Jose Cardenal: Both were good-hitting outfielders. The two were teammates twice, first in Cleveland and later in St. Louis. Just don’t ask me which one was traded for Jimmie Hall and which for Vada Pinson, because I could only guess.

Jim Spencer and Don Mincher: Both were lumbering first basemen cut from the Boog Powell mold. Several years different in age, they were teammates briefly, one succeeding the other for the California Angels. My confusion of these two is further fueled by the fact that both later played for the Oakland A’s, although not at the same time.

Jim Price and Jim French: Both were backup catchers in the late 60s. One played very little because, as a teammate of Bill Freehan, he stood little chance of cracking Detroit’s starting lineup. The other played somewhat more often, not because he was any better, but because the Washington Senators lacked an All-Star backstop. One was a Triple Crown contender, sort of. The racehorse of the same name was one of the chief rivals of Canonero II in 1971.

Von Joshua and Von Hayes: They share an uncommon first name, and each also has something in common with Greg Gross, which is apparently enough to confuse me. One was a teammate of Gross on the Phillies, while the other was the Dodgers’ equivalent of Greg Gross, a utility outfielder and pinch hitter. But which Von is which – it’s a 50-50 proposition in my mind.

Greg Goossen and Mike Cubbage: This one makes perhaps the least sense. Their names don’t sound alike. If you squint, the last names look a bit similar, but then lots of things look alike through squinting eyes. You would have to squint really hard to see any similarity in their playing careers. One was an infielder for the Rangers and Twins in the 70s, the other a catcher and first baseman for the Mets in the 60s and the target of a famous Casey Stengel quip. Earlier this year, when I saw Goossen’s name on the obituary page, I had to pause and think hard: New York catcher or Minnesota third baseman?

Jack Hamilton and Jack Fisher: Along with Steve Hamilton and Eddie Fisher, these two are half of what could be a foursome of 1960s pitching confusion, but somehow the other two are crystal clear in my mind. Steve Hamilton was the lanky ex-basketballer who threw the famed “folly floater” for the Yankees. Eddie Fisher was the mid-60s closer for the Chicago White Sox when closing meant taking the ball in the middle innings and going the distance. Given the possibilities, I feel pretty good that it’s only the two members of this quartet named Jack that I find confusing. Both pitched for multiple teams, including the Mets, and one had the distinction of being a 24-game loser for New York. But ask me which one was on the mound for the Angels and delivered the pitch that all but ended Tony Conigliaro’s career, and mentally I’m tossing a coin.

Joe Pignatano and Jim Pagliaroni:  Both were catchers, although by the time I became baseball-conscious in the mid-60s, one had moved on to coaching, where he remained for more than two decades. I do not recall having had any confusion over these two when I was a youngster. It was only later, with the emergence of Mike Pagliarulo, that they became hopelessly twisted in my mind.

Apart from the all too rare video clips of George Herman “Babe” Ruth, I never had the opportunity to see the greatest of them all play.  What a sight that must have been watching the man who looked like a company three pitch softball player dominate his era both on the mound early in his career and later in the batters box, doing things no one else could match and no one else had ever done.

I interviewed many players during my two seasons covering Triple-A baseball and one beautiful summer evening when the home team were losing badly and the game was still in the early stages we began discussing what it must have been like to interview the Babe.  What would it be like to visit him in that diamond in the sky and get his thoughts on
baseball in the 21st century?

I wonder…..

Babe, you’re looking good these days.

Babe:  Well there’s not much to do here you know.  The old timers and me play everyday but no doubleheaders.  That’s one reason they call it baseball heaven.  Those twin bills on hot days were tough and I didn’t get paid anymore for playing both ends ya know.   We only get wine to drink and the women don’t seem as much fun as down there.

Doubleheaders are pretty much a thing of the past nowadays.

Babe:  That’s good.  Guys these days have it so easy compared to them days.  They’re all makin’ more money than the President and they get that free month in Florida or Arizona in March.  Everyone gets a raise every year and half of ’em miss games with hang nails!

Well it’s a much more demanding game today with all the travel and night games all the relief specialists.  The press is always scrutinizing every pitch and television sets the 162-game schedule and the playoffs get longer every year it seems.

Babe: They have way too many teams. Too many games too.  Where do they find time to play golf?  Half of those guys wouldn’t even be in the bigs in my day.  Too many playoffs too.  In my day you had to finish first or you didn’t make that World Series dough.  We needed that extra money you know, not like today.  I tried watching a game the other day but it didn’t start until 4 PM and it lasted pretty near four hours with all those commercials.  What is all that junk they try and sell you anyway? I already know that beer is good for you and I own a car.  And the broads like ’em both so what else do you need?

What are your thoughts on the steroid era and performance enhancing drugs in general?

Babe: I didn’t need that stuff.  Gimme a few beers, some champagne and as many hot dogs as I could buy during the game and I was ready to play. I mean, I needed that stuff cause I didn’t get to sleep ’til what the boss used to call the wee hours. Ping Bodie said he didn’t room with me, he roomed with my suitcase. Management was always yakking at me for something, either getting in shape or getting my rest or chasing too many women or drinking too much. Hey, I had to do somethin’ between games.

Do you think the home run stats of Barry Bonds and Alex Rodriguez et al should count?

Babe: I don’t know about that et al guy but the only two fellas I’ve seen near good as me would be Aaron and Mays. I played against that Josh Gibson fella a couple of times too and he was might good I’ll tell ya.  I play against them up here and they’re still pretty good.  That Satchel Paige guy I can’t seem to hit at all.  He throws that funny stuff. You know, I hit 715 and that a’int bad. That seemed like plenty at the time.  I can’t speak for those fellas you mentioned.

If you were the commissioner of baseball today what changes or improvements would you make?

Babe: I’d treat the ex players a lot better.  A lot of us were broke when we left the game and a lot of us weren’t offered nuthin’ when we left. I wanted to manage but they said I didn’t have enough experience. Heck, I played enough years, what more experience did I need?  There wasn’t nuthin’ for me after baseball.  What was I gonna do?  Become a bank teller?  I didn’t have no education and baseball was all I knew how to do.  I built Yankee Stadium at least that’s what they said.  That weren’t nuthin!  I wouldn’t pay those rookies all that money either. Let them earn it.  They gotta learn their place.  And stop trying to make baseball like every other sport.  It’s different, that’s what makes it still the greatest game there is.

Anything else you’d like to add?

Babe: Well, I’d like to but the guys are hollerin’ for me to come play ball so I better go.  Tell that Selig guy to stop messin’ around with the game. Tell my fans I miss ’em.

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With that the Babe left me sitting and wondering what it must have been like to see him play. I sure wish I knew.

Anyone who reads this site regularly may have noticed that my creative output has slowed in the past few weeks. I’ve experienced an odd decrease in motivation for writing here and am struggling to keep up and fit this in with my other obligations.

I apologize for anyone who has been missing my posts. I intend to resume them next week.

Coincidentally, if anyone would like to do a guest post here, now would be a great time to approach me about it!

According to one of baseball’s oldest unwritten rules, even though the manager doesn’t hit, field or pitch, he’s the one who gets the axe when the team falters.

But in Boston Red Sox manager Joe Cronin’s case, he did hit—and hit a ton.

In 1943 the Red Sox were, like many of the war years’ teams, awful. Ted Williams, Dom DiMaggio and Johnny Pesky were serving in World War II and adequate—or even inadequate—replacements could not been found.

Al Simmons, the once great Philadelphia Athletics’ slugger was too old. At 41, Simmons hit a meager .203. And George “Catfish” Metokovich (.243) was, at 22, too young.

So it fell to player-manager Joe Cronin to pick up the slack for the struggling seventh place Red Sox.

Shortstop Cronin, 37, appeared in only 59 games with 77 at bats. But he made the most of his limited playing time.

During back-to-back double headers against the A’s on June 15 and 17, Cronin pinch hit four times and slammed three home runs, all with two men on base. The Red Sox, however, dropped three of the four contests.

Cronin had one of baseball’s most productive careers both on and off the field. During his 20 years as an active player that began in 1926 with the Pittsburgh Pirates, Cronin batted .300 or higher eight times and knocked in 100 runs or more eight times. He finished with a .301 average, 170 home runs, 1,424 RBIs and 7 All Star Game selections.

Before Cronin managed the Red Sox (1935-1947), he piloted the Washington Senators from 1928-1934. Although Cronin led  the Senators (1933) and the Red Sox to the World Series his teams lost to the New York Giants and St. Louis Cardinals.

In 1947, the Red Sox promoted Cronin to general manager where his aggressive trading brought the teams stars like Vern Stephens and Ellis Kinder to propel the team into contention. But the Sox never got past contender status. By the early 1950s, the Red Sox entered into a sustained slump. In retrospect, Cronin came under fire for passing up an opportunity to sign Willie Mays, never trading for a black player and for remaining baseball’s last all white team. Nevertheless in 1959, the American League elected Cronin its president, the first former player ever so honored. Cronin remained president until 1973.

The Hall of Fame inducted Cronin in 1956 and, in 1984, the Red Sox retired his uniform number 4.
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“Double The Fun” is a Friday feature here that looks at notable doubleheader in baseball history each week.