Posts Tagged ‘Baseball’

Les Fusselman, Catcher in the Pie.

March 28, 2010

Les Fusselman: Catcher in the Pie.

Les Fusselman of the 1948, 1950-51 Houston Buffs was the personification of what everybody used to think that a stockily built catcher should look like. At 6’1″ and 195 lbs., Les had the physique of a catcher, the posture of a catcher, and the listen-to-me look of a catcher in his eye.

Unfortunately, Les Fusselman also ran and hit like a career minor league catcher who never would be quite strong enough, early enough, to make it for long in the big leagues with a talent-heavy club like the contract owning St. Louis Cardinals, but that’s OK. Les had his place in the higher minors. He was a   steady influence upon the pitching staff of the 1951 Buffs Texas League championship club and he had the catching range and moxie to work with pitchers like wily veterans Al Papai and Fred Martin while also serving as a steady and strong teaching influence upon the up-and-coming lefty star that Wilmer “Vinegar Bend” Mizell was becoming.

Les also hit with some pop for the ’51 Buffs, banging 36 doubles, an incredible 5 triples, and 12 homers for a .444 slugging average and a .255 batting average over the course of that championship season. It was enough to win the Western Illinois University alum a short-term trial with the 1952-53 Cardinals. In his two seasons and 43 games at St. Louis, Fusselman would hit a less-than-Mendoza-meager .169 and be sent back to the minors forever.

Les Fusselman’s rare baseball card is supposedly worth $300.00 today. I’d love to have one for my former Buffs collection, but not at that price. I can remember and appreciate Les Fusselman without his card, if need be, and that does seem to be the state of “need” for me on the card level. Meanwhile, I do think Les is another of those guys who could have had an earlier and longer major league career had he played the game today – now instead of then. He just seemed to be in control of things when he conferred with his pitchers during tight game situations. Maybe his age and veteran experience and persona were the keys that carried with through the gate of peer respect. He was as old as any and senior to most on the ’51 Buffs club.

Over the trail of his nine-season minor league career (1942, 1946-51, 1953-54), Le Fusselman batted .274 with 49 homers and a slugging average of .414. His best hitting seasons for average both came in widely separated seasons for Columbus, Georgia of the Sally League. He broke in with a rookie BA of .303 at Columbus in 1942; he also batted .308 for the 1947 Columbus team. These two full season accomplishments (117 and 129 games) were the only times that Les batted over .300 for a single year.

Sadly, Les Fusselman died early. He passed away in Cleveland, Ohio on May 21, 1970 at the age of 49 and he is buried there in the Acacia Masonic Memorial Park. Cleveland was Les’s late-in-life home, but he was born in Pryor, Oklahoma on March 7, 1921.

As I conclude these thoughts, I’ll add the words that always flow through my brain anytime I write about the members of our old minor league club in Houston: Long Live the Memory of the Houston Buffs!

Fred Martin: Former Buff Fathered Split Finger.

March 27, 2010

Fred Martin: Father of Fame.

Fred Martin holds a distinctive position in baseball history. The twice-blessed as a Houston Buff right-handed pitcher (1941, 1951) was one of those lesser known guys whose innovations helped him make a decent (for the times) living at a job he loved as his ability to teach certain new  pitch skills to others led even one of is students to the Hall of Fame.

You see, Fred Turner Martin (BR/TR), born June 27, 1915 in Williams, Oklahoma, is the almost too quiet inventor of the split finger fastball, a pitch that literally saved some pitching careers as it converted others to levels of performance that echoed all the way to Cooperstown.

Hall of Fame relief pitcher Bruce Sutter learned the split-finger fastball from Martin while the latter was a pitching coach for the Chicago Cubs. Sutter went from being a struggling young pitcher to becoming a virtually unhittable reliever with the new pitch under his belt.

Somewhere along the way too, former Mets pitcher Roger Craig also learned the “splitter” from Martin. He then extended the human chain of special knowledge by teaching the deceptive killer pitch to others during his coaching and managerial career. Craig’s most notable student turned out to be Mike Scott, who went on to win the Cy Young Award as a pitcher for the 1986 Houston Astros.

The list goes on and on. This spring training time in 2010, some coach out there somewhere is trying to teach the killer pitch to some new raw rookie or tired and fading veteran. Their ability to learn the mechanics and then reproduce the pitch will make a difference in the shape of baseball’s history wall in the years to come.

What is the split-finger fastball?

The splitter is a variant of the fastball. It derives its name from the mechanics of how it is held. With the index finger positioned on one side of the ball and the middle finger on the other, this split positioning of the two controlling digits is how the split finger fastball is held through the release point. The splitter will appear to the batter as a straight on fastball that should be hittable at the plane its travelling as it appears in nanosecond sight upon approaching the plate. The batter will be tempted to swing at this appetizing approach and most often will. Reflexes and hit-hunger take over in a flash for most batters.

Here’s the problem: At the last nanosized moment, the effective  splitter will drop as though it is falling off a cliff, often challenging the catcher’s skills by landing in the dirt on a hard skirting sideways skid. To the untrained eye, the batter’s futile swing may even appear as little more than a hapless, poorly executed miss on a very bad pitch. The fact is, when these events come together as described, it was a very good pitch from the pitcher’s and catcher’s point of view. The problem for the batter, as explained, was his inability to resist swinging. It looked just like a hittable fastball, heading toward the fat part of the plate. Then it transformed into the pitch from hell.

And what if it had been a straight fastball? Somewhere in the batter’s mind is this thought: “I’m going to look pretty stupid if I just stand here and take a fat pitch down the middle without swinging at a ball I can juice!”

The similarity of the approaching track and speed as the two pitches, fastball and splitter, hurtle toward the plate is the big factor in making the unhittable splitter the slugger’s irresistible choice to swing. He doesn’t want to look bad taking a hittable fastball, if that’s what it is. What a mind game weapon that is for the pitcher in this never-ending baseball encounter.

The names of David Cone, Roger Clemens, John Smoltz, Curt Schilling, and Carlos Zambrano come to mind as recent masters of the splitter. As long as it can be executed effectively, it will have a place in baseball as an important tool of deception. And that’s still a factor that is so much more important than pure pitch speed or power.

Warren Spahn said it best many years ago. The Hall of Fame Braves lefty put it this way: “Batting is timing. Pitching is upsetting the batter’s timing.” The split-finger fastball upsets timing a whole lot.

Fred Martin’s own career wasn’t bad either. Over a twenty-five year span (1935-60), Fred Martin compiled a 17-season career minor league record of  169 wins and 135 losses. His ERA was 3.38. In his two years with very good clubs at Houston, Martin posted a 23-6, 1.44 ERA record with the 103-win 1941 Buffs and 15-11 with a 2.54 ERA for the Buffs’ 1951 Texas League pennant winners. Martin also had lesser roles with the 1953 and 1959 Buffs.

As a major leaguer (1946, 1949-50), all with the Cardinals, Fred Martin had a record of 12 wins, 3 losses, and an ERA of 3.78. Martin “got in Dutch” with organized baseball when he elected to join several others who fled to Mexico after 1946 in revolt against low paying salaries, state-side. He was punished with the other defectors upon his return with a short ban, but that was only the formal penalty. I’ve always felt that Martin was an example of one player who was punished by having all his major league second chances taken away from him. Fred Martin simply had too many good minor league years beyond 1949 to not get another serious or even slight chance in the big leagues.

I don’t know the story of how Martin learned to throw the split finger fastball. In many other cases, the search for a beginning on new pitches always seems to go back to either or both the great Christy Mathewson or the phenomenal early Negro League pitcher Rube Foster. So, if the splitter also turns out to be traceable to these men, and not original to the mind of Fred Martin, I will not be surprised. In the meanwhile, I will happily continue to give Martin credit until his originality is contradicted with hard evidence. Like so many other things in baseball, the splitter could prove to be simply another evolutionary development that passed through several minds and hands over the past century of experience.

As for Martin, Chicago White Sox manager Don Kessinger brought Fred Martin back as his pitching coach in 1979, but the old workhorse was suffering from cancer by then. Fred Martin died on June 11, 1979 at the age of 63. If any soul ever passed through the Pearly Gates after a lifetime of perfecting and teaching deception on earth, it was Fred Taylor Martin. I saw him pitch many times at Buff Stadium in 1951. And I shall remember him well always as a steady, reliable hope for victory anytime he took the mound. Those old school boys were hard to beat.

The Buffs-Colts-Astros Player Chain.

March 26, 2010

Dave Giusti, P

Aaron Pointer, OF

Ron Davis, OF

If this idea catches on, we may soon be able to use an adaptation of the “Seven Degrees from Kevin Bacon” movie actor test to determine which Astros players are closest to the only three pioneering baseballers who each played for the minor league Houston Buffs and also for the major League Colt .45s and Houston Astros during the specific years the big league club was nicknamed differently. These three Houston big leaguers included successful major league pitcher Dave Giusti and two barely-made-it, short-time outfielders, Aaron Pointer and Ron Davis.

If you are unfamiliar with the Kevin Bacon test, it goes like this. A few years ago, when the Internet Movie Data Base first went online, actor Kevin Bacon was used as the contemporary actor goal line for seeing how quickly players could link other actors, especially from the old days, by the fewest number of links in roles played with other movie performers to Bacon, The theory and game killer rule was that anyone should be able to make the connection between Kevin Bacon and, say, John Barrymore in seven links (degrees) or fewer. Otherwise, you lose.  The link trace here might go something like this: Craig Biggio played with Billy Doran (1 degree) who played with Terry Puhl (2 degrees) who played with Bob Watson (3 degrees) who played with Ron Davis (4 degrees), one of our all-Houston-clubs trio. Maybe there’s an even shorter route to Davis, Pointer, or Giusti that you will find.

Here’s a quick sketch of the Buffs-Colts-Astros Player Chain Trifecta!

(1) Dave Giusti went 2-0 with a 3.00 ERA in his only three games for the 1961 Buffs. He then went 2-3 with the 1962 and 1964 Colt .45s and 45-50 with the 1965-68 Astros before moving on for a long run at Pittsburgh and a closing year split between Oakland the Cubs, Over his full major league career, Dave Giusti compiled a career record of 100 wins, 93 losses, and ERA of 3.60.

(2) Aaron Pointer will always be remembered best as the little brother of the famous Pointer Sisters singing group. After that, Aaron was a 3 for 8 (.375) hitter in four games for the 1961 Buffs and a .208 career hitter in a 40-game, three season big league career as an outfielder for both the 1963 Colt .45s and 1966-67 Astros.

(3) Ron Davis bit .179 in eleven games for the 1961 Houston Buffs before going on to bat .214 in seven games for the 1962 Houston Colt. 45s. Davis completed his Houston baseball nickname trilogy by batting .247 and .256 for the 1966 and 1967 Houston Astros. Over his total five seasons in the big leagues (1962, 1966-69), Ron Davis batted .233 with 10 HR. Sadly, he passed away in 1992.

There is also a shorter, more numerous player chain link between Houston’s minor league and major league histories. The following men either played for or managed both the last 1961 Houston Buffs club and the first 1962 Houston Colt .45s major league team. Except for three aforementioned players, The rest of these guys never completed the trilogy trip as Astros, but these men did each participate officially in both Houston’s last minor league season and first major league season. Aaron Davis is not listed here because he did not make his Colt .45 debut until the second year, 1963 big league season:

Last Buffs/First Colt .45s Club ~ “The Magnificent Seven”

(1) Pidge Browne, 1B: Buffs 1956-57, 1959, 1961; Colt .45s 1962.

(2) Jim Campbell, C: Buffs 1961; Colt .45s 1962-63.

(3) Harry Craft, Manager: Buffs 1961; Colt .45s 1962-64. *

(4) Ron Davis, OF: Buffs 1961; Colt .45s 1962; Astros 1966-67.

(5) Dave Giusti, P: Buffs 1961; Colt .45s 1962, 1964; Astros 1965-68.

(6) J.C. Hartman, SS: Buffs 1961; Colt .45s 1962-63.

(7) Dave Roberts, OF-1B: Buffs 1961; Colt .45s 1962; Astros 1966-67.

* NOTE: Harry Craft took over as the fourth and final manager of the last 1961 Buffs team. Craft was replaced in mid-season by Luman Harris as manager of the 1964 Colt .45s.

Presuming our research is accurate in this matter, we could find no Houston Buffs who jumped over the experience of playing for the Colt .45s to later play for the renamed (1965 or later) Astros. Old Buffs had to play their way through the Colt .45 years and only three of them survived the four-year gap (1961-65) to surface again as Astros – and only one of these former Buffs, Dave Giusti, actually thrived as a major leaguer.

Have a nice weekend, everybody, and take my advice on this one. Give yourselves a little break from small detailed baseball research questions that are the psychological equivalent of blind-stitching or sewing up Nike shoes in Jakarta.

I’ll catch you later. I’m off to the walking track now.

Hail to Houston’s Mancuso Brothers!

March 25, 2010

Gus Mancuso, Born in Galveston, 12/05/1905.

The Mancuso Brothers are two of this area’s deepest blue credits to the talent and character pool of players in Houston baseball history. I was too young to have ever seen older brother Gus play, but I knew of him – and I listened to him broadcasting sports during the time in the early 1950s that he worked for the new Houston television station KPRC-TV as a sportscaster. Younger brother Frank was another story. I grew up watching him play in the Texas League for San Antonio, Beaumont, and, finally, as a time-to-be-cheered-on-for-our-side catcher for the 1953 Houston Buffs.

Frank Mancuso, Born in Houston, 05-23-1918.

Another factor made the Mancuso Brothers special to me in my early life. Their mother lived just five doors east down the block from our house on Japonica Street on the northeast side of the Flowers Street intersection with Japonica. Mrs. Mancuso was one of the sweetest ladies in our Pecan Park neighborhood, an older grandmother who sometimes went shopping with our mom because our mom was younger, had a car, and loved the company of this really gentle widow lady. We also (and I’m talking all the kids in our little Pecan Park Eagle cadre here) were keenly aware that Mrs. Mancuso’s two sons were these awesome baseball catching talents – and that both had risen to the big league levels and actually had performed in separate World Series contests.

Gus Mancuso had been a lights-out baseball star in the amateur leagues around Houston before he began his professional career. He batted .304 lifetime in an eight-season book-ends minor league career that split down into two segments from 1925-29 and 1946-48. In between, Gus played for 17 seasons in the major leagues (1928, 1930-45) for the Cardinals, Giants, Cubs, Dodgers, and Phillies – with most of that time spent with St. Louis and New York of the National League. For his big league career, he batted .265 with 58 home runs in 1,460 games, and also appearing in five World Series for the Cardinals (1930-31) and Giants (1933, 1936-37) – and playing in two All Star Games (1935, 1937).

As a minor leaguer, Gus played parts of two seasons with the Houston Buffs (1925, 1928). As a major leaguer, Gus had his best full season at the plate when he batted .301 in 139 games for the 1936 National League champion New York Giants. He earlier had batted .366 in 76 games for the 1930 National League champion St. Louis Cardinals.

Gus Mancuso became one of the first former athletes to transition successfully into broadcasting and commentary on radio and TV after his career.

Gus Mancuso died in Houston on October 26, 1984, just about six weeks shy of his 79th birthday.

Frank Mancuso is a much more personal memory for me. In his later years, we got to be good friends and one of my main go-to-guys on any fuzzy question that came up for me in my research on Houston’s early baseball history. Between Frank Mancuso, Red Munger, Jerry Witte, Jim Basso, and Larry Miggins, a lot of deep personal experience from these guys saved me countless hours of shoe leather burning, musty page turning research at the downtown library. Now only Larry Miggins remains from my little informal group of original research consultants.

Frank Mancuso’s baseball history is laced with the painful thought of what-might-have been. His early minor league seasons had definitive future big league star written all over them. In 13 seasons scattered over the 1937-1955 era, Frank batted a career .276 with 128 homers. Frank’s record during the pre-World War II years, however, were loaded with .300 plus season batting averages. His potential as top-notch offensive and defensive catcher seemed like a really good bet.

Then came the war and the intervention of unexpected events.

As a US Army paratrooper trainee at boot camp in Georgia in 1943, Frank Mancuso became briefly the “catcher in the sky.” On his first jump, however, his chute failed to open properly and he suddenly found himself hurtling toward earth and what appeared to be a sure end. Miraculously, Frank survived a hard fall, but he broke his back and damaged a number of discs for all time. Incredibly, he wasn’t paralyzed by the near tragedy.

Frank dedicated himself to recovery. No longer able to serve in the military, Mancuso managed to work himself back into shape to play as a rookie catcher for the 1944 St. Louis Browns. Frank only batted .205 with 1 HR in 88 games, but he teamed well with Red Hayworth as receivers for the only Browns club in history to win an American League pennant and reach the World Series. Frank’s defensive skills were still high. He simply couldn’t look straight up to search for high foul tips.

Franks Mancuso’s 1944 World Series action was limited to pinch-hitting, but that action provided him with perhaps his proudest moment in baseball. Frank went two for three as a pinch hitter with one RBI and a .667 World Series batting average that he treasured for the rest of his life.

As a four-season major leaguer with the Browns (1944-46) and Washington Senators (1947), Frank Mancuso batted .241 and 5 career homers.

After baseball, Frank came home to Houston and went into politics. For thirty years, he represented most of the East End as one of the most honest and dedicated people to have ever served on Houston’s City Council, and working hard to make sure that the largely blue-collar residents of the East End were not shortchanged on the distribution of city services. He was especially effective in getting East End parks built and upgraded for youth sporting activities over the years. The City  of Houston and Harris County finally named a complex in his behalf as a sign of their recognition of his service contributions to kids during his retirement years.

I knew Frank as a real gentleman and good friend. He loved baseball – and he loved Houston. There was nothing in his power that ever held him back from quietly doing what he could to help preserve the memory of the game and make it known and available as a sport of choice for the kids of generations to come. Frank was helping me in the early stages of my research on the history of West End Park.

When he died, I lost a good friend. And Houston surrendered an irreplaceable resource. Frank Mancuso was the very heart of the spirit that made this city the place it fought hard to become as a wide-open area of honest opportunity for all who were willing to work to get there. His departure from us is impossible to calculate in the loss column.

Frank Mancuso died in Houston on August 4, 2007 at the age of 88.

Two of Frank’s family survive as my good friends – and also as friends and supporters of Houston baseball history. They are Frank Mancuso, Jr., an executive with St. Arnold Brewery and Shaun Bejani, Frank Mancuso, Sr.’s grandson. Shaun is an up and coming sports talk show host for AM Radio Station 610. I’ve also met the son of Gus Mancuso, a retired military man. Gus, Jr. also loved baseball and values preserving the history of the game. It apparently just runs with gene-power in the Mancuso family.

Long Live the Mancusos! You were the face of the force that made Houston a great city!

Beeville Orange Growers: Another Photo Mystery.

March 24, 2010

1910 Beeville Orange Growers: Photo Courtesy of the Randy Foltin Collection.

Research colleague Randy Foltin sent me this photo yesterday of the 1910 Beeville Orange Growers because he knew I was born in that little South Texas town and that I hold special interests in the baseball history of the area. As often is the case, the photo came with its own historical mysteries. These all mainly spin around the presence of the most famous player in the shot, number 6 on the back row, Beeville native and future major league pitcher Bert Gallia.

First let’s cover a little background on the brief history of the Beeville Orange Growers. They didn’t last very long, but then again, neither did the agricultural course of raising oranges or any other citrus fruit crop in Beeville. Located fifty miles north of Corpus Christi, the Beeville winters were simply too cold and too filled with freezing temperature days ro make the industry practical for that too-far-north region of the state. Still, playing minor league baseball and raising oranges had a parallel run in the Beeville area until both got frosted away in the second decade of the twentieth century.

The Beeville baseball-playing Orange Growers were members of the two-season, six-team Southwest Texas League in 1910-11. Other league members included the Brownsville Brownies, the Corpus Christi Pelicans, the Laredo Bermudas, the Bay City Rice Eaters, and the Victoria Rosebuds. Second Place Brownsville won the first of the league’s only two pennants in 1910 by taking a 3-2 series playoff with First Place Victoria. Third Place Beeville was awarded the other pennant in 1911 when First Place Bay City refused to participate in their scheduled championship playoff series.

After 1911, the Southwest Texas League was no more and Beeville went back to raising cattle, harvesting broom corn, and playing their amateur town ball games of baseball. Make no mistake, the failure of the Southwest Texas League was no barometer on the levels of Beeville’s interest in and talent for baseball. By 1925, this small community of a few hundred people had sent their third native son to the big leagues in the form of Lefty Lloyd Brown. Pitcher Bert Gallia went first, joining the Washington Senators in 1912. Outfielder Curt Walker was second, coming up with the New York Yankees at the tail end of the 1919 season before going on to twelve successful years with the Giants, Phillies, and Reds. Walker’s lifetime .304 batting average helped earn him an induction into the Texas Baseball Hall of Fame back in 2001.

Now to the mysteries.

Bert Gallia is shown in the photo with the 1910 Beeville Orange Growers, but his Baseball Reference minor league record indicates that he did not begin his playing career until 1911, and that he then started with Laredo before shifting over to Beeville before season’s end. The next year, 1912, found Melvin “Bert” Gallia ascending all the way up to the roster of the Washington Senators.

I’ve checked the photos against the team records maintained by Baseball Reference.Com. That’s definitely the 1910 club. Except for Gallia, all of the other players in the photo are represented in the Baseball Reference database as players for the 1910 Beeville club,

The other mystery concerns the ‘S’ letter that appears on Bert Gallia’s jersey. The letter has nothing to do with Beeville – nor with the Laredo Bermudas that apparently broke him in at the start of the 1911 season.

One more incidental comment on the 1911 Beeville club: Ted Schultz began the (63-54, .538) season as the team’s manager, but he was replaced during the year by Billy Disch, a young man who would go on from Beeville to become the baseball coaching icon at the University of Texas.

Any ideas you may have on the subject’s two mystery questions are most welcome as comments here in the section below this article.

Have a nice Wednesday, everybody, and keep the spring hope watered and green. The 2010 baseball season is almost here.

Lou Novikoff: The Mad Russian.

March 23, 2010

His family name earned him “The Mad Russian” moniker, but he may as well have been called “Cowboy” for his October 12, 1915 birthday in Glendale, Arizona, when that place was still a small western town further out on the desert from Phoenix. The place is now just another sun-tea melting suburb of the Arizona capital city, coming complete with its own fancy high-tech load as a National Football League stadium.Like a lot of other places in America, then and now are two different worlds in the history of Glendale, Arizona. Coming of age in the 1930s, the bats and throws right rookie outfielder that was young Lou Novikoff was all baseball. At 5’10” and 185 lbs,

Lou Novikoff

Lou had better than average hitting ability that included greater success with fast balls than it ever did with big league curve balls and other pitches of stealth and surprise. His abilities and World War II were enough to buy him a short career in the major playing for two of the worst franchises from that era. By the time the 1945 Cubs had rallied enough to take the National League pennant, Novikoff was back in the minors, hitting .310 for the Los Angeles Angels of the AAA Pacific Coast League.

Novikoff had several light-out batting years in the minors. He batted .351 in his 1937 rookie season with Ponca City. He followed that whacker of a debut by hitting .367 for Moline in 1938 and .376 for Tulsa, Los Angeles, and Milwaukee in 1939. A .363 mark for Milwaukee in 1940 and a .370 BA for Los Angeles in 1940 were then enough to earn Lou his big time shot. With stats in the stratosphere, it’s hard to conceive that he did not raise a few hopes in Chicago that they might be getting the next Joe DiMaggio or right-handed Ted Williams.

It wasn’t to be, but that’s an all too familiar career-capper, isn’t it?

By the time I ever saw Lou Novikoff during his short time with the 1949 Houston Buffs, he was pretty much traveling on the comical recitation in the newspapers of his “Mad Russian” sobriquet. His reputations as a fun-loving goofball did not disappoint in reality, even though he batted only .230 with but a single homer for the horrendously bad ’49 Buffs. It wasn’t hard to hide mediocrity that season. Lou was surrounded by it in the Buffs dugout.

There was an occasion, in a game against Beaumont, as I remember, when Lou Novikoff seized upon an opportunity to do something on a baseball field that I had never seen before or since. During a late inning pitching change by Buffs manager Del Wilber, Novikoff left his position in left field to take a quick rest room break in the Buffs clubhouse on the other side of the Knothole Gang stands down the far left field line.

Unaware of his departure, Wilber made his change on the mound and the home plate umpire gave the signal for the game to resume … with no one in left field for the Buffs!

Meanwhile, we Knothole Gangers are yelling back at the Buffs clubhouse: ‘HURRY UP, LOU! THEY’RE GETTING READY TO START THE GAME AGAIN WITHOUT YOU!”

All of a sudden, we see Lou Novikoff running out of the clubhouse, trying to fix and button his baseball pants as he runs back to the field. He’s saying something loud, something like, ‘OHHH BOY! OHHH BOY!”

Unfortunately, Lou didn’t make it. Before he could get back on the field, a Beaumont batter had banged a dunk liner into left field. By the time the Buff center fielder had rushed over to pick it up, the very surprised Beaumont hitter had turned it into a two-run triple that would ultimately drive the nail into the Buffs’ coffin for the night.

By the time Lou Novikoff had resumed his position in left after the fatal play, Buffs manager Del Wilber was racing down the line in red-faced

Lou Novikoff as a Chicago Cub

awe, yelling, “WHERE IN THE *&$#** WERE YOU?” As I recall, Wilber pulled Novikoff on the spot and put somebody else in, but that part of the memory blurs. He may have left him in there. The nineteen player roster limits that existed in the Texas League back in that era didn’t allow for a lot of managerial object lesson opportunity. I do recall that Novikoff was soon released after the potty-run incident.

When asked about his decision to leave the field during a game, the Mad Russian had a very simple explanation for the press. “When you gotta go, you gotta go!” Lou exclaimed.

Lou Novikoff passed away in South Gate, California on September 30, 1970, less than a month shy of his 55th birthday. Like it or not, he will be remembered forever by his catchy nickname.

Is Danny Murtaugh Headed for the Hall of Fame?

March 22, 2010

On his big day in baseball, Pittsburgh Manager Danny Murtaugh (L) happily yielded the spotlight to his 2nd baseman, Bill Mazeroski.

Former Pittsburgh Pirate ace reliever Kent Tekulve may have said it best for a lot of Pittsburgh Pirate family members when he offered these choice comments about his former manager, the late  Danny Murtaugh, for two seasons in 1973-74: “”What I know about Murtaugh is there were two things you could count on. He would give you an honest evaluation or an honest answer, and you were rewarded for what you did on the field,” Tekulve said. “It didn’t matter who you were or what you looked like, he would stay with you as long as you performed. You always knew where you stood.”

Honesty, integrity, straight-shooting forthrightness, and a predictable record of rewarding those who got the job done with playing time are all qualities that lace their way through the comments of former Pirate players on Murtaugh – and they are now being heard loud enough to finally lift Danny Murtaugh into serious consideration by the Veterans Committee for future election to the Baseball hall of Fame.

For younger readers, a brief sketch of Danny Murtaugh’s career is in order.

Danny Murtaugh began his nine season Minor League career (1937-41, 1946-47, 1952-53) at Cambridge and concluding at New Orleans. He played second base for two really good Houston Buff clubs in 1940-41, hitting .299 and .317 on his way to the majors and a nine season Major League career with the Phillies, Braves, and Pirates (1941-43, 1946-51).

Murtaugh’s career minor league batting average was .297 with 16 homers. His career major league BA was .234 with 8 HR. Danny was more a speed guy who sprayed hits. As a 1941 rookie, Murtaugh’s 18 stolen bases led the National League.

It was as a manager that Danny Murtaugh stole the hearts of Pittsburgh fans and made his strong case for Hall of Fame consideration. As the Pirate field boss for all or part of 15 seasons over three decades (1957-64, 1976, 1971-71, 1973-76), Danny Murtaugh led Pittsburgh to five playoff contention seasons and two World Series championships in 1960 and 1971.

The 1960 World Series victory in seven games over Casey Stengel and the New York Yankees on the heels of Bill Mazeroski’s extra inning home run at Forbes Field is one of the signature moments in baseball history. It was a strong enough home run to eventually propel Bill Mazeroski into the Hall of Fame as a player – and it may yet have enough glow left about it to help manager Murtaugh be so duly honored too as a manager.

Let’s make this point clear. The 1960 Mazeroski home run to win the World Series may have been the deciding factor in earning enshrinement for Bill Mazeroski, but it cannot have been the only reason he got there. The man was one of the most athletic and sure-handed defensive second basemen in baseball history. He was richly deserving of the honor on these other qualities of talent and skill.

So it is with the late Danny Murtaugh. He doesn’t deserve the Hall of Fame for his shared “1960 Mazeroski Moment” alone, but for all he did as a manager to bring out the best in Pirates baseball for over three decades and twenty-nine total years of service to PittsburghPirates baseball as a player, coach, teacher, manager, and, yes, role model. Danny Murtaugh achieved by playing the game honestly with integrity. As I remember him, Danny also was the antithesis of Leo Durocher’s famously stuff-quoted expression on what happens to nice guys. Sometimes, when you are the kind of guy that Danny Murtaugh turned out to be, “nice guys finish first!”

Last fall, some of the folks in Pittsburgh got behind a movement to support Danny Murtaugh for induction into the Hall of Fame through a vote of support by the Veteran’s Committee. They came close, but walked away with no cigar. Danny Murtaugh received 8 of the possible 16 votes for Hall of Fame election. He needed 12 for induction and, who knows, maybe next year he will receive the kind of honor that this year passed to former manager Whitey Herzog.

Danny Murtaugh’s career managerial record at Pittsburgh is 1,115 wins against 950 losses. His uniform number 40 already has been retired by the Pittsburgh Pirate organization.

Unfortunately, Danny Murtaugh left us many years ago and at far too young an age. He died of a heart attack in 1976 at the age of 59.

Danny's Pirates won World Series titles in 1960 and 1971.

Murtaugh’s granddaughter, Colleen Hroncich, has written a biography on Danny that is supposed to be available now as “The Whistling Irishman: Danny Murtaugh Remembered.”  I have yet to see it, but here’s a website with information on its availablity:

http://dannymurtaughbook.com/

Also, if you have any strong feelings, one way or the other, on Danny Murtaugh’s qualification for the Hall of Fame, please leave a comment here as a reply to this article.

Thank you.

Did Ty Cobb Get Away with Murder?

March 21, 2010

Cobb had an appetite for violence, but did that go as far as murder?

Back on August 12, 1912, Ty Cobb and his wife left their Detroit home in Ty’s Chalmers automobile, making their way to the train depot for a Tiger team road trip. Driving south on Trumbull, Cobb slowed down as they approached the Temple (formerly Bagg) Street intersection. According to researcher Bill Burgess III, it was at this junction that three men appeared suddenly and jumped on the running boards of Cobb’s vehicle. According to Cobb’s report, the men had been drinking and they also spoke to each other in a “foreign language.”  They demanded that Cobb stop the car and give them money.

Cobb stopped the car, alright, but he didn’t give them money. He gave them hell.

Several versions of “what happened next” have come out over the years from Cobb, his wife, police reports, and newspapers, but the common theme over time has remained that Cobb beat them all up, even after being stabbed with a knife. Two supposedly ran away while the third lay on his back while Cobb beat him into a bloody, senseless, unconscious, and non-breathing pulp. In my book, those symptom-descriptors would pretty much put the man somewhere about six feet beyond the pail of death, I do believe.

After Cobb’s superhero mop-up of the bad guys, he and his wife supposedly got back in their car and continued the drive to the depot in time to catch their train, not even reporting what had happened to Tiger manager Hugh Jennings until the next day in Syracuse, where they were scheduled to play an exhibition game. Cobb had the knife wounds and torn clothing as evidence that something bad had happened the previous night.

Well, the short of it is this: No one ever found a body in the street or alleyway back in Detroit, and no researchers have since found any evidence of violent trauma deaths around this time period in Detroit that match any of Cobb’s descriptions of the episode. A fellow name Bill Burgess III, whom I do not know, has done a lot of research on this incident. If you care to read his report, cut and paste the following link to your address line and check out what Burgess has to say.

http://baseballguru.com/bburgess/analysisbburgess01.html

Did Ty Cobb get away with murder? I don’t know.

Was Ty Cobb capable of murder? Most certainly. He just never did it or got caught doing it.

I do not offer my commets lightly. In my earlier career as a clinical faculty member in the Department of Psychiatry and Neurology at Tulane University Medical School in New Orleans, I was in charge of screening and evaluating research volunteers from the Jackson State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. It wasn’t the most pleasant detail of my professional life, but it was certainly one of the most memorable.

The violent personalities I met all had this much in common with Ty Cobb. They each had family histories of violent episodes from childhood forward and personal histories of violence toward others. Ty Cobb’s mother shot and killed his father two days prior to his major league debut. She was originally charged with murder, but then released and the matter closed as a case of mistaken identity. She claimed to have mistaken the elder Cobb for a burglar. The elder Cobb, however, had suspected Cobb’s mother of infidelity and many believed that she “did him in” as the result of a violent quarrel over the fidelity issue.

Cobb never believed his father’s death to be an accident. The untimely death also left Cobb with some powerful unfinished business with a father that Ty had never been able to please. Cobb was supposed to become either a lawyer or doctor. That’s what his father wanted. The elder Cobb was beyond disappointed with his son’s decision to pursue a career in baseball. All he could say to Ty when he left home to join his first team was “don’t come home a failure.”

The traumatic loss of his father left Ty Cobb with an unquenchable thirst for proving his worth by becoming the greatest ballplayer of all time. He was not trying to please anyone, but he was totally dedicated to out-performing everyone. He also hit the field and  streets alike with a tender ego for anything he perceived as a show of slight or disrespect of him by others. He would quickly lash out and fight with anyone, male or female, young or old, able bodied or disabled, who rubbed him the wrong way.

Cobb’s most notorious impulse-to-violence event occurred at the Polo Grounds in New York. A fan was really giving it to Cobb from the third base stands. When Cobb could take it no more, he jumped the rail, ran up to where he sighted the fan and started pummeling the man senseless. Tiger teammates came after Ty, yelling, “Ty! Cut it out! This guy ain’t got no arms!” Ty still had to he pulled away. When asked later by the press about the wisdom of attacking a man with no arms, Cobb said, “well, that fellow should have thought of that possibility before he decided to use rough words on me!”

Ty Cobb gave no quarter in baseball or in everyday life.

Could Ty Cobb have killed a man at some other moment? Yes. The inmates I saw in the hospital years ago either did or tried their best to do so, and their histories of violence were often less numerous than Cobb’s. Those inmates who couldn’t establish insanity as a defense got sent to Angola State Prison. The rest who did establish insanity just ended up in Jackson State Hospital – which really was also a prison that the State of Louisiana officially called a hospital.

Nobody got well there. And the screams in the night at Jackson were bone-chillng. These were all people who suffered from a variety of violent personality disorders that inevitably spread harm, damage, and death upon others.

Ty Cobb also was a violent personality disorder who just happened to have also been the arguably greatest ballplayer of all time. Society just never pinned a murder conviction on him. Even these kinds of people come with variable levels of intelligence. Ty Cobb had the intelligence, power, influence, and money to have bought his way out of much trouble along the way. We don’t know if he did, or not, but the possibility is there. It can neither be proven nor dismissed.

Old Hoss Radbourn: “59 in 84!”

March 20, 2010

In 1884, Old Hoss started and finished 73 games.

There’s a new book out on 19th century pitching phenom Old Hoss Radbourn called “Fifty-Nine in ’84: Old Hoss Radbourn, Barehanded Baseball, and the Greatest Season a Pitcher Ever Had.” It’s by Edward Achorn, a writer who once discovered Radbourn, as did the rest of us, by running across his incredible pitching record back in the 1880s. I haven’t read Achorn’s work, but I ordered it today. I’ve read everything that’s ever been written on Old Hoss so the news of a new work reached me as simply irresistible.

In 1884, McMillan’s Baseball Encyclopedia once listed Radbourn as the winner of 60 games in 1884.. That figure has since been adjusted down to 59, but that’s still an incredible total by today’s standards. The man started and completed 73 games, achieving a record of 59 wins, 12 losses, and 2 ties over 678.2 innings of work for the Providence Grays. Incidentally, Radbourn also registered 441 strikeouts in ’84.

How’s that for some immortally graced rubber armed hard ball chunking? Contemporaries say that Old Hoss pitched with all the steel will and intensity of a win-possessed madman on the mound. He must have had a lot going for him that special year. No one needed nor dared remove him from a single game.

It was rough era. Few players used any kind of gloving in 1884 and Old Hoss wasn’t one of them. Most players drank too much, cheated relentlessly, caroused and drank to excess with loose women, and beat the crap out of each other when disagreements arose over such major issues as who owned the last biscuit on the plate at the boardinghouse. The code of misconduct and egregiously self-serving sub-culture that was major league baseball in 1884 was hardly anything to uphold all of our more fanciful images of baseball as a pastoral paradise in the 19th century. It was a good place to work and get killed. And the club owners and fans cared nothing at all about the players who suddenly failed to produce. “What have you done for me lately?” is a mentality that has been with us forever in America and it didn’t begin with baseball. Just ask George Washington or Thomas Jefferson.

Old Hoss made it to the Hall of Fame in 1939.

The 1884 game of ball was a little different, a little rougher, and a little tougher. Most pitchers were expected to finish the games they started. A pitcher began his motions in the proverbial “pitcher’s box” on flat ground and not from a mound. The edge of the pitcher’s box measured only 50 feet from the front of home plate, and not the 60’6″ it is today. Batters had to be tough too. There was no penalty for pitchers who hit batters with  a hard throw back in 1884. Batters were not awarded first as a result of getting hit. They just had to shake it off and hang in there – and maybe scheme privately on how they would go after the pitcher after the game as a course of revenge. I doubt that “reconciliation” was even passable as a real word in 1884. It certainly wasn’t one you would find in the baseball dictionary.

They say Old Hoss Radbourn was as tough as nails, but tightly strung on an intense wire about winning. A teammate once described Radbourn as bearing the raging glare of a madman after a crucial loss. It was a look that soon melted into tears of accepted condolence and self-forgiveness when another teammate came by his dressing stool and patted him on the back. Radbourn’s will to win only steeled from moments of despair. The cure for disappointment in Radbourn’s heart was to go back out there and reel off another ten wins in a row. How simple a remedy is that?

Old Hoss Radbourn’s 11-season career (1881-1891) with Providence, both Boston clubs, and one year with Cincinnati produced a career mark of 309 wins, 195 losses, and an ERA of 2.67. 1984 just happened to be the most victorious yer in the history of pitching, thanks to Old Hoss Radbourn.

Radbourn became a saloonkeeper following his retirement from baseball, but he died in 1897 at the early age of 43, very possibly from syphilis. Old Hoss Radbourn was posthumously inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame in 1939.

Baseball and the Art of Distraction.

March 19, 2010

August 19, 1951: Bill Veeck sends midget Eddie Gaedel to bat for St. Louis Browns against the Detroit Tigers.

Baseball is the fine game it is because it the only major team sport game in America that allows you time to reflect, think or not think, keep score in riveted attention or simply eat peanuts, drink beer, and lollygag with your neighboring fans as the clock ticks on with no particular relevance at all to what is going on out there on the field.

That is, baseball used to be that way during its pastoral beginnings in the 19th century. Then came the 20th century, the New York Yankee demolition of pennant races in the American League, and the advent of television in post World War II America. Now, all of a sudden, we had owners who worried that fans would leave the ballparks for the very reasons that attracted them in the first place. They detected boredom as the enemy and they embarked upon small to exaggerated measures of distraction as the remedy to falling attendance.

Let’s be clear here before proceeding. It was never baseball and boredom that drove fans away in some markets. It was bad baseball and despair of winning that did the trick. Ask fans of the old St. Louis Browns (while their few in numbers still survive) what drove them home and they will confirm what I’m saying here, but that didn’t matter to people like Browns owner Bill Veeck in the early 1950’s. Veeck knew the truth, but part of the truth was that he had found himself caught up in that familiar ownership hole in the days prior to relative talent parity. – The Browns needed to win to draw fans, but they had a far more pressing need to sell their better players just to pay the bills. As a result, showman Veeck turned to a plan of  distraction in 1951 in the hopes of saving his club in the short-term.

On August 19, 1951, Bill Veeeck successfully began a game at Sportsman’s Park in St. Louis by sending midget Eddie Gaedel into an afternoon game against the Detroit Tigers as a pinch hitter for lead-off batter Frank Saucier. Veeck had given Gaedel strict instructions to swing at nothing. “I’m going to be on the roof with a rifle,” Veeck told Gaedel. “If you swing at anything, you’re a dead man.” Gaedel walked on four pitches and was promptly removed for a pinch runner. Baseball promptly banned the use of midgets and dwarfs. We must only presume that this bias against vertically challenged people remains there in a musty, hastily written page of the baseball rule books, simply waiting for some new and ambitious short person to make a civil rights action case out of it.

Five days later, on August 24, 1951, Bill Veeck staged “Fan Manager Night” at Sportsman’s Park. A group of fans seated behind the thrid base dugout were given color coded placards to signal their preferences for certain choices for player action in the game while Browns manager Zack Taylor sat in a rocking chair on the third base side, smoking his pipe and taking it easy. Even though the Browns defeated the Philadelphia A’s, 5-3, that night, Baseball also quickly put the banishment screws on Fan Management in future games.

Where are you, Donna Summers? Are you OK?

Later, in 1979, another Bill Veeck stunt would literally blow up in his face at Comiskey Park in Chicago. Now acting as owner of the White Sox, Veeck had planned a “Disco Disk Demolition Derby” in which fans were invited to bring their disco “records” for explosion in one big pile on the field. Before that could happen, drunk fans were inspired to sail their vinyls through the ballpark air like so many potentially decapitating frisbees. The places turned into a riot scene, complete with fights, fires, and fan arrests. This time, a ban from Baseball was unnecessary to the fate of these nights in the future.

A's Owner Charlie Finley and Charlie O. the Mule.

Owner Charlie Finley of the Kansas City/Oakland A’s back in the 1970’s was another of Baseball’s bright light believers in distraction. Finley came up with everything from more garish color combinations in team uniforms to the promotion of orange baseballs for better vision, facial hair tonsorial fashion, and team mascot mules that grazed the outfield grass.

To his credit, Finley also put a pretty good baseball game product on the field as well. As you probably know, his Oakland A’s won three World Series titles in a row from 1972 through 1974.

1964: Judge Hofheinz and the Coming of the Big Distraction.

Houston held its own with the rest of Baseball’s great distractors. Judge Roy Hofheinz was the reincarnation of P.T. Barnum in spirit, if not in soul. His introduction of the world’s first domed stadium for baseball stands as the most distracting innovation in the game’s history. Over the course of its thirty-five season history (1965-1999), the Dome helped distract Houston fans from the fact that they had never played in a World Series over the entire course of their 20th century existence.

How was that for distraction?

Was part of the Rome Coliseum wall taken out by some clown slingshoting souvenir Nero togas into the stands?

Some choose to romanize the idea that Judge Hofheinz drafted his ideas for a domed stadium from his fascination with the great Coliseum of Rome. It’s more likely that he copied the earlier failed attempts of the O’Malleys in Brooklyn and Branch Rickey in Pittsburgh. Either way, the deal was fun for Houston, but a distraction, no less, from the leisurely joy of baseball in its pure form.

Somewehre along the way too, some sports marketing group sold baseball teams on the idea that they needed a minion army of young buffoons to run around the stadium firing souvenir tee shirts into the crowd for the sake of keeping the younger fans interested in staying at the ballpark for the length of the game. I hate that stuff almost as much as I do “the wave” as a ballpark distraction.

But what do I know? I’m an old folie. I come to the ballpark to get lost in the game of baseball  and away from the  distractions of international terrorism, the perils of health care, and the apparent failure of integrity among our various elected officials. Neither the wave nor the slingshot tee shirts offer us much to heal those concerns.

Bottom Line: I never liked distractions at the ballpark, even as a kid. I go to the ballpark for the game and I don’t worry about the game running too long. Each game is what it is. It will end when it ends and not a moment sooner. And that’s how baseball should be, I think.

If I had to make an historic exception I would have loved being there for the Gaedel pinch hitting role in 1951, but he’s the beginning and end of my very short list.

1964: Judge Hofheinz and the Coming of the Astrodome