The Southpaw

Piersall's Rookie Roomie: "None of us ever suspected how volatile he was."

Mystery Man:
Teammates (Piersall & Lepcio)
by Jeff Merron

(This article appears in the current (Summer 2007) issue of 108 Magazine, which is available at many Barnes & Noble and Borders outlets. You can also find a PDF version of this article, with photos, at the 108 Web site.)

Boston Red Sox rookie second baseman Ted Lepcio walked up the stairs into Westborough State Hospital, accompanied by veteran Sox pitcher Ellis Kinder, a front office worker, and a man who worked in the ticket office. Inside the red brick walls of one of Massachusetts’s oldest institutions for the care of the mentally ill, Lepcio found the room of his roommate with the Red Sox since the 1952 season started in spring training. His roommate was pleasant enough to Lepcio; in fact, later he wrote about the encounter. “I recognized Lepcio from his pictures. I didn’t remember ever having met him. Nice of him to come — but why should he be particularly interested in me? ... As far as I knew, our paths had never crossed. But he acted as if he knew me well, and I greeted him warmly. He must have been close to me while I was sick. I’ll ask Mary.”

Thus, Jimmy Piersall, in his best-selling 1955 book, Fear Strikes Out, describes his first meeting in the hospital with his Red Sox teammate, Ted Lepcio. Memories of his roommate were not the only things lost to the rookie outfielder; he could remember virtually nothing that had happened in the preceding eight months. Piersall was probably the only one who could say that. Certainly no one who was around him would ever be able to forget, especially Lepcio.

***

In 1952, the Red Sox began the season with six rookies, starting a radical retooling of a team that had relied for years on the nucleus of the 1946 pennant-winning team. During the winter of 1951-52, Piersall read an item in The Sporting News reporting that Boston manager Lou Boudreau wanted to convert him to shortstop. The Piersall experiment would be part of this dramatic rebuilding of the team. Piersall, in moving from the outfield to the infield, faced a daunting challenge, to say the least.

The Greatest Upset in Baseball History? Maybe not, but the Mighty Cubs did "learn a lesson or two"

The 1907 Cubs, who played at the West Side Grounds, were a formidable club. In 1906, the Cubs had gone 116-36 before losing the World Series to their cross-town rivals, the White Sox. In 1907, they'd fare better, winning 107 games and sweeping the Tigers in the World Series.

But two weeks before they took on the Tigers, they decided to pick up some extra cash by playing the Quincy Buds, a mediocre (.500) team that played in the I-I (Illinois-Iowa) League. It wasn't like the Cubs called up a bunch of minor leaguers to preserve their starters, like they do these days in such games -- six of their regular eight took the field. And this was saying something, considering the '07 Cubs boasted four future Hall-of-Famers: player-manager Frank Chance, shortstop Joe Tinker, second baseman Johnny Evers, and pitcher Mordecai Brown.

But on one day, in mid-September 1907, the Buds were better than the Cubs. The Quincy Daily Herald headline read: "THE CHAMPIONS EATEN ALIVE BY THE BUDS." The news story that followed began:

The Chicago stars badly beaten on the Quincy diamond and but for errors would have been shut out.

It was a nice tame little bunch of Cubs that the Buds chased around the lot yesterday. They let Mr. Hofer's men lead 'em around by the nose. They climbed the pole, danced, ate out of the hand and rolled over and played dead. Slats Rause's foolers were beyond them and after the first inning it was like taking candy from the children. The Cubs can lead the Nationals, but when they hit the Buds, they can climb a tree for they are out.

Chicago came to the bat first and Shorty Slagle made a safe hit to right field. Hofman the shortstop grounded to Johnson who made a neat and tidy error and gave Plummer a chance to fumble which he immediately proceeded to do and Slagle advanced to third in a hurry. Schulte flew west to Rudd and Patsy Moran hit safe to the left field Fisher fumbled the ball and both runners scored.

You can read the rest of the story at the Historical Society of Quincy and Adams County site.

Following the jump are a photo of the game and a video recounting the events of the day.

Smokin' Hot Disco Demolition Night Footage

It may have been the worst promotional idea in baseball history. It had begun as "Teen Night," taking place during a July 12, 1979 Tigers-White Sox twin-bill at Comiskey. But Mike Veeck had an idea ... to make the promotion even better -- attract even more teens by making a spectacle of it. During "Disco Demolition Night," the heartland's adolescents would be invited to bring their disco albums, to be burned in a massive pile on the field between games.

The White Sox were 22 games out of first place. What could make things worse?

Well, an excess of albums, for one, which became, according to Chicago DJ Steve Dahl, host of the events, "became frisbees." The records were blown up, the field was overrun, the batting cage was destroyed, the playing surface was ripped apart, and it took 40 minutes for Chicago police to restore order. The White Sox were forced to forfeit the second game of the doubleheader.

If you're especially nostalgic about the whole deal, you can download a commemorative poster.

In this video, which includes footage of the action, Keith Olbermann interviews Dahl, who says that a movie is in the works.

A Brief Talk with Dick Sipek, the Third Deaf Player in Major League History

In 1945, at age 22, Dick Sipek played his first, and only, major league season. In 82 games with the Cincinnati Reds, the outfielder batted .244, had eight extra base hits, and drove in 13 runs. Sipek, who died less than two years ago, was only the third deaf major leaguer, and, as he says in the short video profile below, the first not to be nicknamed "Dummy."

It's most likely that Sipek would never have played in the majors if not for World War II -- it's probably no coincidence that among those who made the bigs in 1945 were Pete Gray, who had one arm, and Bert Shepard, who had an artificial leg. In 1944, the Reds had called on 15-year-old Joe Nuxhall for mound duty; eight years later, he would really begin his very good major league pitchinig career. In 1945 the Negro Leagues faced a player shortage, too, and Jess Alexander, who like Gray had only one arm, was a beneficiary.

The most recent deaf player to make the majors was Curtis Pride. In parts of 11 major league seasons the outfielder has hit .250, and in his best season -- 1996, with Detroit -- played 95 games, hitting .300 with 10 homers and 31 RBI. At age 38, he didn't fare well in spring training with the Angels this year, and I'm not sure whether he's still playing.

Here's the Sipek video. He tells some good stories -- too bad there's not more to hear.

George Brett, Billy Martin, and a Seven Minute Video of the Pine Tar Incident

On July 24, 1983 at Yankee Stadium, George Brett slammed what appeared to be a go-ahead homer with two outs in the top of the ninth. The Yankees had been ahead 4-3, and with two outs Royals shortstop U L Washington singled to center. Brett was hot, coming up to face Rich Gossage with two hits already in the contest. The first pitch he hit deep down the left field line, but foul. The second pitch cleared the right field fence by a healthy margin. Home run. Royals up 5-4.

But then the Yankees ask the umpires to examine the bat. And there's pine tar going far up the barrel, which is illegal. When Brett is ruled out, the game is over, and Brett comes storming out of the dugout, seemingly determined to strangle home plate umpire Tim McClelland, who's in the middle of his first full major league season. Talk about trial by fire. Brett's restrained by another ump and then his teammates, but it's not easy.

"We noticed the pine tar on his bat in Kansas City," Yanks manager Billy Martin said after the game, referring to an earlier visit the Bombers had made to Kansas City. "You don't call him on it if he makes an out. After he hit the home run, I went out and said he's using an illegal bat. It's a terrible rule, but if it had happened to me I would have accepted it," Martin said. "It turned out to be a lovely Sunday afternoon."

Said Gossage: "I can sympathize with George, ''but not that much."

The Royals challenged the call and protested the game. Four days later, A.L. President Lee MacPhail, the American League president, did something he had never done before in his 10 years in office: he upheld a protest. The game would resume nearly a month later, with the Royals leading 5-4 and up at bat with two outs in the top of the ninth.

Brett's reaction? "I'm happy," he said, "but I hope it doesn't mean anything in the standings." No worries, George. The Royals finished second in the A.L. West, 20 games behind the White Sox. The Yankees finished third in the A.L. East, 7 games behind the Orioles. The game was finished on August 18, with the Royals holding on to their lead for a 5-4 win.

The Strangest Cancellation in Baseball History

The article below I wrote for the Spring 2007 issue of 108 Magazine. If you like this story, consider picking up a copy at a bookstore -- or subscribing.

-----------------

Spring 2007 Issue
108 Magazine

Attack of the Grasshoppers
No one in Hollywood could have scripted a horror flick with this ending

By Jeff Merron

In the early 1970s, former Cub and Royal Pete LaCock was the leading hitter for the Midland Cubs, spending most of his days and nights prowling the outfield at Christensen Stadium. This was an old ballpark but the new home of the Cubs Double-A affiliate, which was playing its first season in the Texas League.

There he experienced his share of Texas-style wildlife. Outfielders like LaCock especially had to watch out for tarantulas: “They were there all the time,” says LaCock. “We used to stand in the outfield and they used to climb up the walls. We’ d throw balls and hit them.” And as for rattlesnakes: “They had to stop the game a couple of times because rattlesnakes would come up through the fence. And they would run out with a .410 shotgun — BOOM! — shoot it, throw it over the fence, and the game would continue.”

LaCock talks tarantulas and rattlesnakes for only one reason — to put perhaps the strangest game cancellation in minor league history into perspective. LaCock seemed to imply that if a movie script required a baseball game to be called because of a plague of grasshoppers, Midland, Texas, would be a logical choice for the setting.

On August 6, 1972, the Midland Cubs were playing a typically slow Sunday twilight doubleheader. Ted Battles covered the twin bill as sports editor of the Midland Reporter-Telegram. The Amarillo Giants had won the first game, 5-4, in extra innings, and Battles made his way to the clubhouse to get his information in order for the nightcap. “I remember I went down to get the lineups between games and somebody said, ‘Do you think they’ll play the second game?’ And I said, ‘Sure, why not? It’s a beautiful night.’”

Battles hadn’t been aware that just beyond the center-field wall a cluster of grasshoppers had been huddling, trying to stay warm. They’d been out in the fields for weeks, according to Bobby Dunn, who was a spectator that night (he would later become the team’s official scorer). But after 10 days of dry heat, Dunn recalls, “It cooled off, and the temperature went down into the 80s.” Dunn has a good memory — a UPI report that appeared the following day said that the grasshoppers were “chased across Texas by a cool front and farmers’ insect sprays.

”When Christensen Stadium’s mercury- vapor lights were turned on for the second game, at around 9 p.m., the grasshoppers literally leapt up and flew toward the new heat source.

“We began to see these bugs going up into the light fixtures, then they’d dive into the stands, and dive towards the fans,” said Midland manager Al Spangler. “They weren’t hurting anybody, but it was more or less frightening. You’d look up and whole light fixtures would be covered.”

New issue of 108: Attack of the Grasshoppers

It's been a long wait, but the Spring 2007 issue of 108 Magazine is finally on its way to newsstands and subscribers' mailboxes. If you're not familiar with the magazine, you can find a generous helping of article excerpts via the online Table of Contents.

This issue includes a great range of quality material. I've written two articles for the issue: one about the great friendship between Mets teammates Cleon Jones and Tommie Agee, and the second about one of the strangest game cancellations in pro baseball history. That article, "Attack of the Grasshoppers," is available online in PDF format. I enjoyed talking about the game to both Leo Mazzone and Pete LaCock, who played in the game (Mazzone was the starting pitcher), and also to the managers of both teams, who clearly remembered the contest. Because it was, simply, unforgettable.

And if you like what you see, think about subscribing to 108 or buying a copy on the newsstand. It's baseball history the way it oughta be.

When Piersall was KO'd by a revolving door

On Sept. 14, 1962 Jimmy Piersall, then playing for the Washington Senators, charged into the stands to confront a fan who was heckling him. Police arrested both Piersall and the fan. He went to court for a hearing (which was subsequently postponed) and upon leaving the building, he was knocked unconscious by a revolving door. Piersall required three stitches and a hospital stay, and wouldn't play until four days after his encounter with the door.

How Willie Mays inspired "A Charlie Brown Christmas"

PopMatters has a  terrific feature on the making of A Charlie Brown Christmas, which premiered in 1965. Considering Chuck's love of baseball, it's not surprising that there's a baseball connection. San Francisco filmmaker Lee Mendelson tells Brian Heater (perfect byline for the story, huh?) why he decided to work on the special:

“I had done a Willie Mays documentary in 1963, A Man Named Mays, which had done really well. Then I was reading a Charlie Brown baseball strip, and the idea came to me: I’ve just done the world’s greatest baseball player; now I’ll do the world’s worst.”

It took two years, but Coca Cola called Mendelson and asked him to produce the Christmas classic.

Mendelson went on to produce a couple of baseball-themed Charlie Brown specials: Lucy Must Be Traded, Charlie Brown (2003), and It's Spring Training, Charlie Brown! (1992), in which Linus gets a hit while cheering himself on from the bench. That kind of thing always happens in spring training.

Mendelson has written a more complete account about the connection between the Mays documentary and A Charlie Brown Christmas at the Charles M. Schultz Museum Web site.

Steve Hamilton and the "folly floater"

The Eephus pitch, which may have been invented by Pirates pitcher Rip Sewell, is a slow, high-looping toss, the ultimate junk pitch that's sometimes traveling less than 50 mph when it crosses home plate.

I've never seen one thrown -- at least, I can't recall ever having seen one -- but I was probably watching when Bill Lee threw his "space ball" against the Reds in Game 7 of the 1975 World Series.  Other's who've thrown a variation of the pitch include Bob Tewksbury, Orlando Hernandez, and even Mark Buehrle of the White Sox, who tried to fool Ichiro with the pitch in a 2004 game. Casey Fossum of the Devil Rays also throws one; he's got a fastball that averages 90 mph, but his Eephus has been timed at 43 mph.

After watching Fossum throw a 46 mph strike to Mike Sweeney in a July 2005 contest, Scott Kazmir said, "I'll leave it to Fossum. It's hard to throw. I've tried throwing it in the bullpen. You have to keep the same motion."

Steve Hamilton, who had a 12-year major league career, pitched for the Yankees from 1963 to 1970. Hamilton was 6-feet-7-inches tall, so it's easy to imagine him being an intimidating figure when staring down batters from the mound. But he frequently used his "folly floater" with great effectiveness.

Here's the New York Times Leonard Koppett describing a Hamilton outing in the first game of a June 24, 1970 twin bill against the Indians:

In the first game, Sam McDowell pitched a five-hitter and had a 6-0 lead by the middle of the fifth inning, but his performance was completely overshadowed by Steve Hamilton's comedy act. Pitching the ninth for the Yankees, Hamilton unleashed his "folly floater," his stop-action, high-arc slow pitch, twice in a row on Tony Horton, who fouled out on it.

The crowd roared, both benches got hysterical, Horton acted appropriately disgusted, and the whole thing was praised by everyone as good, colorful baseball fun--since it really was an effective pitch, not just a stunt."

Thanks to the wonders of modern technology and a quirky little promotional film entitled "The Bullpen," we can watch the Hamilton-Horton sequence today (and get to hear narrator Lindsey Nelson call a famous Yankee announcer "Bill Rizzuto").

 

Hamilton was very effective with the pitch. About a week after the game against the Indians, he used the folly floater against the Senators in Yankee Stadium, trying it against Frank Howard, who nailed the pitch to left for a single. According to George Minot Jr. of the Washington Post, "it was only the fourth safe hit off the pitch in the two years since the left-hander has been throwing it."

The other three batters to hit Hamilton's floater were Tommie Agee, who succeeded against it in the old Mayor's Trophy exhibition game between the Yankees and Mets; Horton, who managed to single off the pitch, and Tony Conigliaro, who laid down a bunt that baffled both Hamilton and Thurman Munson, who both charged the ball and ended up knocking each other over as Tony C. ambled safely to first. Conigliaro hadn't been fond of the pitch, leaving the batter's box while Hamilton's first lob was on its way (it bounced before reaching the plate), and then getting fooled by a fastball on Hamilton's second pitch.

Dock Ellis and his hair curlers

There's a lot to love about Dock Ellis -- read Dock Ellis in the Country of Baseball and you'll know what I'm talking about. (Written by Donald Hall, our current Poet Laureate, with Ellis, it's one of the best baseball memoirs of all time.) One of the things I like most about Ellis is that he was a true flake, not in the Bill Lee "look at how big a flake I am" style, but he's just Dock being Dock.

And part of Dock being Dock was wearing hair curlers on the field before a 1973 game. For this, Ellis got a warning from Pirate Manager Bill Virdon. "Ellis had contended that the curlers were necessary tohis Afro coiffure and that the anti-curler order smacked of racism," reported the Associated Press. "Nonetheless, he confirmed Monday that he would sidestep controversy and abide by the management order. 'I just don'w want to have to deal with it,' Ellis said with a shrug." Ellis donated the curlers to The Baseball Reliquary, which has more on the story (with photos).

John Paciorek's Perfect Career

On Sept. 29, 1963 was a perfect day for John Paciorek of the Houston Colt .45s: playing right field, he went 3-for-3, walked twice,  and scored four runs as the Colts drubbed the Mets, 13-4, before a crowd of 3,833.

Paciorek never played in the majors again. He suffered back problems, and kept trying to make it back to The Show, but never did. In 1968, he hit .275 with 17 homers for Reno, but retired at 24 after the 1969 season.

So he's got a bunch of career 1.000's to make up for the frustration: 1.000 batting average, 1.000 OBP, 1.000 slugging percentage, even a 1.000 fielding percentage (2 chances, 2 putouts).

Pesky's Pole and the Hot Dog

One of my favorite historical Web sites is Ballparks.com. It's a treasure trove of information about ballparks of the past and present, and provides pretty good updates on new parks being built (usually you can find better updates on team Web sites, though).

I've been to about half of the current Major League parks, and three or four that are no longer used -- Olympic Stadium in Montreal, Veterans Stadium, and the old Busch Stadium come immediately to mind. I've found the information there to be solid and rich in detail, and have used it to research such things as the now-officially-named Pesky's Pole, which Ballparks.com provides just enough background on:

The right-field stands are only 302 feet from home plate at the foul pole. That foul pole was once nicknamed "Pesky’s Pole." Red Sox pitcher Mel Parnell coined the term, after Pesky hit a home run just beyond the famous pole. That home run was one of only six homers Pesky ever hit at Fenway Park, and it won the game for Parnell.

The Braves and the Olympic Javelin Champ

On Sept. 24, Jan Zelezny, who won the javelin gold medal in the 1992, 1996, and 2000 Olympics, will hurl his last spear. Last week he announced he was retiring from the sport.

Zelezny set the javelin world record in 1996 with a toss just over 323 feet.  If he had started his throw from home plate at Turner Field, it would have pierced the right field warning track.  That's about 115 feet short of the world record for the longest baseball throw, held by former Phillie Glen Gorbous. But Gorbous had things a little easier than Zelezny: he was throwing a perfect five-ounce sphere that even a child can heave a decent distance.

The All-Rookie Lineup

Rusty Staub at first. Joe Morgan at second. Jim Wynn patrolling center. Jerry Grote behind the plate. Not a bad place to start for a 1960s lineup, huh?

Those four took the field together on Sept. 27, 1963, playing for the Houston Colt .45s in a home game against the Mets. All were rookies. Actually, every player who started for Houston that night was a rookie. Houston's manager, Harry Craft, thought it was a terrific way to get some publicity out of a game between two expansion losers that meant almost nothing. Maybe the Friday night turnout would have been less that 5,802 if not for Craft's idea. But it's hard to imagine.