Johnny Sain died Tuesday at the age of 89. He'd been sick for a long time. He will be missed.
Last year I spoke to some of Johnny's friends, pitchers, and proteges -- Jim Bouton, Hal Naragon (his bullpen coach in Minnesota and Detroit), Denny McClain, Mickey Lolich, and Leo Mazzone. I'd like to share what they said to me -- a tribute to Johnny Sain.
As a pitcher for the Boston Braves, Sain had been famous as part of one of baseball's best rhymes, describing the state of the Braves starting rotation: "Spahn and Sain and pray for rain." Sain missed his prime years while serving in World War II, but after he returned to the mound in 1946 -- at age 28 -- he was one of the game's best pitchers, known for his great control and durability. He was a three-time All-Star, and was named the Sporting News pitcher of the year in 1948. During the five-year stretch between 1946 and 1950, he won 20 games four times, and compiled a 95-61 record.
He was traded to the Yankees in August 1951, and retired shortly after New York traded him to Kansas City in 1955.
Six years later, in 1961, he began his second career, as a pitching coach. In 17 seasons at the major league level, Sain coached 16 20-game winners,more than any other pitching coach in history.
JIM BOUTON
Jim Bouton was a young ace fireballer for the Yankees in the early 1960s. He later went on to write “Ball Four.”
I met John in 1961, after my second year in the minor leagues. I had played in Greensboro, North Carolina, Class B. I made the All-Star team that summer, and so I was rewarded with an invitation to spring training at Saint Petersburg, Florida. This was the Yankees’ last year in Saint Petersburg. Stayed at the old Sereno Hotel. The hotel that had the white players, and the black players had to stay across town in Saint Petersburg in 1961, if you can believe that.
I met John there. When they sent me back down to the minor league camp, after about two or three weeks, I went over to John and asked him about my pitching, and where he thought I needed to spend more time, which pitch. And he talked to me about my most important pitches. And the pitch that was at the bottom of the rankings was my knuckleball, and I would only use it about ten times a game, and I was spending eighty percent of my time on it because I wanted to get it up to the level of my other pitches. But it was taking away from my other pitches.
He would ask, “What do you think is your most important pitch? What’s your second most important pitch? What’s your third? How much time do you have to spend on keeping your pitches sharp?” With those questions you’d realize you’re spending seventy percent of your time on your least important pitch. It would just give you a different perspective about where you were spending your time, and why.
Johnny was a philosopher. He was interested in things beyond baseball. He cared about the players as people. He understood baseball politics. He wouldn’t tell you what to do. His genius was that he would make you think.
Pitchers loved Johnny. He was known as the pitchers’ pitching coach. He had more allegiance to the pitchers than he did to the managers.
He had this practice of not saying anything bad about a pitcher. Even if you got bombed. You’d come in and throw your glove and get all upset. At some point after the game, or maybe the next day in the airplane he’d sit next to you and he’d say, “You know, that was a hell of a curve ball you threw Norm Cash in that fourth inning there. Hell of a curve ball.” He’d pick out some one thing that you did well, and get you thinking about that.
And he always believed in a man’s dreams about himself. "Don’t be afraid to climb those golden stairs." I remember him saying that in 1963. That was just sort of his general philosophy. "Don’t be afraid to climb those golden stairs."
He was there when I won twenty-one games in ’63, my second year in the big leagues. I was really throwing the ball well, and about halfway through the season I sat down next to John. I said, “John, how come you don’t talk to me anymore? Because I see you spending time with the other pitchers.” And he said, “Well, how you doing?” I said, “Well I’m having a pretty good year.” He says, “Well, when you’re struggling I’ll talk to you. I really can spend some time with some other guys.” And that was great. He was the opposite of a front runner.
After the ’63 season he was fired. That was when Yogi was made the manager and Ralph Houk became the general. Houk fired him. They never really had any arguments. But, Houk wanted to control things, and I think he saw Sain as having too much allegiance to the pitchers and not enough allegiance to the management. Especially now that Houk was the general manger, and there was Johnny Sain offering advice to players on how to negotiate their contracts. There were awful contracts in those days.
Whitey Ford was made the pitching coach in 1964. Whitey was not a pitching coach like Johnny Sain was. I mean, Johnny Sain was a pitching coach. Whitey was a pitcher. In those days, pitching coaches weren’t considered valuable. They really weren’t. Except by the players. Management thought pitching coaches are sort of interchangeable.
To me, Johnny Sain belongs in the Hall of Fame because of the combination of being such a great pitcher, and being to me the greatest pitching coach ever. How many people have excelled in two areas like that? Those are completely different skills, pitching and pitching coach. You can look throughout history and most of the great players were notoriously bad coaches. They were great because they had natural ability, or they were instinctive athletes, and they never even thought much about what they did. They just did it. You know, that’s why Yogi was a great hitter, not a great hitting coach. Some guys can do it, and some guys can coach it. John did both.
HAL NARAGON
Hal Naragon played 10 major league seasons as a catcher. After retiring in 1962, he became the Twins bullpen coach.
The first time I met John was when I was a coach with the Minnesota Twins. He came there in '65. I had heard about him, but I never met him. I hit against him once, in Kansas City. John used to have a tongue-in-cheek saying about he only remembers fellows that got a hit off him -- not the ones he got out. So we have a baseball historian here in Barberton at the library. He looked up the record and found out I pinch hit against John and got a base hit. Of course, I never let John forget about it.
Not long after I posted my tribute to the late, great Johnny Sain, I received a wonderful note from Christy Turley, Johnny's niece. I've read so little about the "private" Johnny Sain, and was greatly touched by Christy's note. She's allowed me to share it with you. And I share with her the belief that Sain should be in the Hall of Fame. 
Recent Comments