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By way of contrast to the Jim Colborn card I posted yesterday, which featured a sun-drenched photo that stands as one of the most aesthetically pleasing displays in my entire shoebox of messages from the gods, here is what may well be the ugliest card I own.
Centering the ugliness is the bright red blob mushing down one of history's more ill-advised perms while also somehow (the cap seems brimless and even hyper-real, as if it’s a smudge of card-doctoring Day-Glo paint) shadowing the unappealingly sharp, avian features of the subject’s ashen face, his smile strangely off-putting, verging on an acidic grimace, his neck wrinkled, the top of his chest appearing clammy, clinging uncomfortably (one can’t help but imagine) to the chafing polyester of the cheap candy-striped uniform.
From there it just gets worse. The blur of gray sky behind him, such an awful contrast to the spring blue most often seen in my other cards, seems less like sky than hardened Kaopectate. The green border of the card furthers the dismal effect. The drab block lettering along the top of the border somehow sucks all the joy out of the all-star distinction it proclaims, and the yellow block lettering of the player’s name along the bottom turns what could have been a moment of gleeful recognition of a superstar into a vague but visceral yellow-green unease. The bulbous, crudely-rendered cap icon on the lower left, a leaden image made even less appealing by the joyless block lettering jamming the crown, helps drag the overall impression of the card into that of a senseless dumping ground. This impression is clinched by the presence of the baseball icon in the lower right, a brand new lawyerly blight on the cards that season, 1981, when Topps by court order relinquished its benevolent monopoly on baseball cards, the icon signaling that everything—even baseball cards, those potent symbols of innocence—is a fight, a grab for power, that the noise and clutter of the real world is going to start encroaching on the realm of the Cardboard Gods.
And though I’m sure the odd ugliness of the card surely undermined any excitement I might have had at finding an all-star in a pack—it may be no accident that it was the last all-star card I would ever receive, my buying of cards dropping off precipitously that year—the ugliness has increased over the years with further knowledge about the reclusive man pictured in the card. As reported in a 1994 article by Pat Jordan, Steve Carlton believed, among other things, that world events were heavily influenced by “12 Jewish bankers meeting in Switzerland” and that the AIDS virus was created "to get rid of gays and blacks.” Carlton denied that he made these claims, but because of Jordan’s journalistic reputation it’s hard not to add at least a dash of execrable wing-nut seasoning to the rancid stew presented in this card.
* * *
Today the promising new Virile Lit website is featuring my review of the great recent Pete Maravich biography by Mark Kreigel. In the review I pose the following question: If you could have the skills for one day of any athlete from any time in history, which athlete would you choose?
My answer, given the subject of the review, will not surprise you. But it got me thinking about limiting the question to baseball. And while nobody from the world of baseball sprung immediately to my mind upon reshaping the question, my first thought on the subject rendered one certainty:
Left-handed. I’d want to be left-handed.
This fascination with the southpaw has been with me since I started following and playing baseball. Many a time I went into a windup in front of a mirror just so I could watch myself as a lefty. Lefties were different from me. Lefties were more graceful and smooth, their bodies seeming to more fully and deeply hew to the demands of whatever motion the game they were involved in required. I saw this in the whipcrack serve of John McEnroe, in Fred Lynn's ability to in one smooth motion catch a flyball over his shoulder on the run and whirl to throw it back to the infield, in the fast, balanced, lethal swing of Ted Williams. But nowhere was the uncommon grace of the left-hander more apparent than on the pitching mound.
Oddly enough, though I don’t have a distinct memory of Steve Carlton’s windup, I do not associate it with the symmetrical poise and balance of, say, a Ron Guidry windup. When I think of Carlton the pitcher I recall first his brutal training regimen, which included most notably him churning his arm around for hours in a vat of rice, then I think of his most renowned pitch, a nasty slider, and the general impression in my mind is not of effortless grace but of grunting herky-jerky exertion leading to the stinging pain of a bat sheared off at the handle. And even though in the terms of today’s Nagging Question I’m not imagining myself into the batter who would feel that pain (and failure) in his palms, I still don’t want to dream myself into a situation including that pain.
In other words, I’d want to be a lefty, just not the permed Lefty pictured above, even though he’s probably the second-best Lefty in the history of Lefties (after Grove). I considered choosing Sandy Koufax, but there, too, is pain, all those stories of him having to slather himself with scalding balm before games and plunging his throbbing arm in ice for hours after games. Grove himself might be a good choice, but I associate him with ferocious intensity that at times boiled over into locker-wrecking post-game tirades, so as good as he was I’d want to avoid spending my one day with legendary skills in a fugue of blinding, volcanic anger.
Instead, I’ll go back even further, to the very first great lefty, one who didn’t clutter up his prodigious gift with any apparent anger or even much effort. He just wound up and fired and blazed pitches past batters at a rate so far above that of other pitchers of his time that even without looking I feel fairly certain that, in a historical context, he was the greatest strikeout pitcher who ever lived. And by what little I’ve read about him, he was not an unhappy fellow, and certainly would never have thought to spend hours gruntingly churning his arm around a vat of rice or devising Jew-related world conspiracy theories. He’d rather run after firetrucks! Yes, if I could be any baseball player from history for one day, I’d be that long gone simple-minded left-handed marvel Rube Waddell.
And now, finally, I’ll pass the question on to you:
If you could have the skills for one day of any baseball player from any time in history, which baseball player would you choose?
my maternal grandparents were both lefties, as is my older brother and his youngest son. my portside jealousy runs strong on a daily basis.
i have tried to become more ambi-dexterous on many occassions, only to fail miserably.
without giving it much thought, in relation to baseball, i guess if i could have skill for one day, i'd wanna swing the bat like Ken Griffey, Jr. his swing is still the sweetest to mine eyes (the left of which has been giving me problems all year. go figure...)
At first, though, I thought you were asking about skill, in the singular. As if you were asking, OK, you can have Steve Carlton's slider, but you'd still have Ken Arneson's fastball. If that's the case, I don't think there's ever been a more effective single pitch than Mariano Rivera's cutter. If you had his cutter and Ken Arneson's fastball, you'd still have a hall-of-famer.
6 : Plus, if Robin Ventura chose that day to storm you on the mound, you'd be well-equipped to deal with the situation.
And yeah, I can't think of another one-pitch pitcher with the success of Rivera. I wonder what pitches Waddell threw, if anything besides pure simple-minded heat.
A few years ago I was walking down the street about two blocks away from Coors Field and I walked past a guy. I thought to myself, hey, that guy looks exactly like Steve Carlton. And then about fifteen seconds later I remembered reading somewhere that Steve Carlton lived near Denver, and I realized it was Steve Carlton.
Seriously though - power, speed, he could play the OF well (enough), and what an eye! Rickey is the second greatest non-pitcher, and third greatest player, of the last 30 years.
FYI: A nice little-league home run story has recently been added to the comments for the Hank Aaron, 1976 post (Brewers)
11 : Age is one big reason why I'm such a Tim Wakefield fan. There's still hope!
Inside baseball:
If we couldn't choose the day: Ted Williams for that inner certainty of having mastered everything he did (other than being a decent human being) and knowing it.
If we could choose the day: Kirk Gibson, you know, that day.
The discussion of lefties raises another question that's been nagging me for years: why on earth should lefties be low-ball hitters? I mean, what is there about batting left-handed that leads to an affinity for low pitches? Is it even true in the first place?
http://www.boston.com/sports/baseball/redsox/articles/2004/10/31/varitek_was_most_invaluable/
how about this game: October 8th, 1956.
and this man: Don Larsen.
Everything about the man was physical--speed, strength, throwing arm, an unreal bat and he played a mean shortstop.
I was a sluggardly slugger if I was anything at all on the diamond. Wagner was everything else.
28 : It'd also be really fun to be a legendary shortstop. I think if I had to choose one I'd go with Ozzie Smith. I can barely do a somersault, so the pregame backflip alone would be a revelation.
Adcock also broke up Harvey Haddix's twelve-innings-plus no-hitter on May 26, 1959, with a homer in the thirteenth that became a double when Hammerin' Hank, who had walked after Felix Mantilla had reached on an error (ending Haddix's perfect game), walked off the field, since Mantilla had already scored the game winner.
Personally I would probably take on the contact-hitting gifts and perserverance of ex-Met and present Camden Riversharks catcher/first baseman Jason Phillips; to go with the slowness, goatee-growing abilities, and myopia that I already possess.
http://www.baseball-reference.com/boxes/CHN/CHN199707221.shtml
...at a glance, it appears to be a very good but not exceptional performance by Maddux, a few years past that high peak that he sandwiched around the strike. But look at the pitch count. And look at how he picks up steam through the later innings. I remember watching that game on TV and it was utterly absorbing as he sent the Cubs lineup down over and over with what appeared to be to minimum effort.
Then again, I might change my mind, go for utter dominance, and be Kerry Wood for the 20 strikeout game, partially because he was so young. It'd be fun to just annihilate the opposition the way that he did but almost as good to sit around after the game and think "oh man, I'm gonna do this again and again for years and years." Plus, it's only for one day so I wouldn't have to stick around through all the injuries and frustration that have followed.
So Hank's problem was poor eyesight, not stupidity.
(FYI: Ramblin' Pete traces the exact moment when Rock gave way to New Wave in a new comment attached to the Tony Solaita and Craig Kusick post from a couple days ago)
33 : The hyper-cerebral Greg Maddux is a great choice. It's kinda the exact opposite of the Rube Waddell route.
Here's the box: http://www.baseball-reference.com/boxes/NYA/NYA199909100.shtml
It looks like tremendous fun to go to the mound, armed only with this evanescent unpredictable flutterball, and drive big bad major-league hitters absolutely batshit with frustration.
That might even be more fun than blowing them away with a 100-mph fastball.
It's like, would it be more fun to win a NASCAR race driving Jeff Gordon's car, or driving a '75 Valiant?
(If you made me pick someone with genuine athletic talent, I might pick either Doc Gooden or Darryl Strawberry, before the drugs.)
http://sports.espn.go.com/espnmag/story?id=3336514
Ceding those two, I'd "settle" for being a great catcher like Johnny Bench. Good hitter, solid behind the plate, and involved with every pitch. Heady stuff.
To be one left handed player..
Juan Marichal. The way he literally threw the ball coming up off the back of his knee with that massive leg kick, it was a thing of beauty.
One "skill", to swing the bat like Gary Sheffield against a fastball.
It would have to be a pitcher. What's the hitting equivalent of a perfect game? A 4 home run game? Does anyone remember Mark Whiten?
Here's a link to the discussion:
http://tinyurl.com/6zjnwe
I would love to see the fear in batters' eyes as I prepared to throw them some real heat.
From Jonah Keri writing for ESPN.com: "When the Cards faced the Detroit Tigers in the 1968 World Series, Willie Horton tried to get the best of Gibson. Apparently seeking retaliation for some perceived slight, Gibson threw a pitch right at Horton. The Tigers outfielder, a feared slugger in his own right with 36 homers in that offense-challenged year, looked terrified as the pitch bore in on him. Turning away from the plate, he winced. When he turned around again, the ball was nestled in McCarver's glove -- it had veered its way over the plate for strike three."
Now, that would be sweet...
C: J. Gibson, Varitek
1b: Adcock, Jason Phillips (who could also be the third catcher) (Pujols also mentioned but see below)
2B: Morgan
SS: Wagner
3B: Until someone mentions a true 3B-man, Pujols or Sheffield would have to man the position
LF: Rickey, T. Williams, Barry Bonds, Bo Jackson
CF: Griffey (or Kotsay), Reiser, Mantle, Mays
RF: Ruth, Clemente, Straw, Reggie
P: Maddux, Ryan, Gooden, Waddell, Marichal, Pedro, Larsen, Wilhelm or W. Wood
Why?
And I guess if you're picking one day, didn't Nate Colbert have a ridiculous doubleheader day sometime in 1973 or so? (I can remember the record-breaker card, featuring faux newsprint.) And Mark Whiten had that 4hr, 12rbi game that was pretty amazing too.
So, to cut to the chase, hitting the long ball is important to me. But so is making the occasional spectacular pick, or gunning down a runner at third or home. I guess Andre Dawson comes to mind.
At his best, Schmidt had a smooth, powerful stroke, aiming for line drives rather than towering bombs. And incredible range at third until age caught up with him.
I was kind of late to baseball - I was 10, and this was one of the first games I watched all the way through on TV. Carlton and Schmidt were the silent, emotionless heroes to a kid with a silent, distant father and a silent, distant older brother. Man, Josh, now you've got all of us psychoanalysing ourselves.
51 : When I was pondering the question for myself I wasn't thinking about particular days. If I had one day with the skills of my choice, I actually wouldn't want to know how it all was going to turn out. But if I had to pick anyone's day, I'd probably go with the 3 HR, 10 RBI game Fred Lynn had in '75, though I might be tempted to go with the night Lynn's heir in left-handed crimson-hosed centerfieldness had just last night: Jacoby Ellsbury homered twice, then with the score tied in the 8th bunted his way onto first, then rattled the pitcher into grooving a pitch to Pedroia, who drilled one down the leftfield line, allowing Ellsbury to fly all the way from first to home with the winning run.
53 : Yeah, all that and Marilyn Monroe, too. That might be the topper if not for the prohibitive (for me) presence of pinstripes.
54 : Yeah, what a game. Schmidt talked about that one in a recent hour-long interview on XM, an interview in which he got choked up a couple times. For a guy who seemed emotionless back in the day, he sure developed into a softy.
Josh - just read your Maravich review. Great stuff - really gets at the tension we all feel between achieving serenity and, well, achieving. But who's Charlie Kondek?
http://www.baseball-reference.com/bullpen/Nate_Colbert
According to the box scores, he went 7 for 9 in the two games, scoring seven runs and recording 21 putouts at first base. Now that's a good day.
Charlie Kondek is the creator of that site. He also does another blog--I Am Caine (see link in sidebar)--that is mainly devoted to the following the path of Kwai Chaing Cane (David Carradine's character on Kung Fu, probably my all-time favorite TV character, or at least tied with Coolidge from The White Shadow).
or, as pointed out earlier...joe dimaggio if only for having had the opportunity to sample Marilyn Monroe and to love her for eternity. i wonder if he's the guy in the newly discovered Monroe sex tape that's been in the news?
rgds
will
My image of the "sweet" lefty swing is the bottom hand leading the bat through the swing on a low inside pitch -- the bat becomes a full extension of the right arm. Think Strawberry. Right handed batters rarely extend the left arm fully and let it lead the swing -- it's more of a muscling effort led by the right arm. Maybe?
Pitching:
23-12, 2.77 ERA, 308.1 IP, 210 SO
Hitting:
130 AB, 4 2B, 7 HR, 19 RBI, .300 BA
... Yeah, Don Newcombe had a season like that in 1955.
20-5, 3.20 ERA, 233.2 IP, 38 BB on the hill
117 AB, .359 AVG, 7 HR, .632 SLG in the box
67 , 68 : Too lazy to look for the exact year, but I think Walter Johnson hit over .400 during one of his customarily dominating pitching seasons.
- Jackie Robinson, for his ability to joyously upset the applecart, especially on the basepaths;
- "The Bird," 1976. Again, it's the joy thing that's the draw.
- Bob Gibson
- The Goose. (I couldn't actually pull the trigger on this one if I'd wanted to, due to pinstripe prohibition.)
- Rollie Fingers
- El Tiante
- Jim Rice (even more than the tape-measure shots, Monster-denting ropes, checked-swing bat-breaking, and penitentiary-face batter's-box ability to intimidate, O to be Jim Rice legging out a triple. I loved his triples.)
Then the memory of the millenial Pedro Martinez resurfaces. Damn, it must have been fun to have total command of all that junk, and, when bored with toying with someone, dismiss him with a 97-mile-an-hour tailing fastball with insane movement, thrown to within millimeters of the intended location.
Then, finally, the topper: All that Pedro had, plus measureless joy. Satchel Paige.
I wanted to say Magic Johnson, but then I realized we were only talking baseball so i'll say Kerry Wood in October of 2008. But I thought it was funny that you mentioned you uh, channeled Doc Ellis while playing pickup ball because I bet you felt a little like Magic himself that night. Eyes in the back of your head, putting the ball wherever you wanted it, creativity flowing through your fingertips like Jimi at Woodstock. That childlike enthusiasm, that incredible improvisation, that contagious creativity, where has that gone in professional sports?
72 : Kerry Wood in October '08: The first choice that looks to the future! Very interesting. (I think it's going around. This morning my co-worker, a Cubs fan, said that the "weirdest thing" was that when the Cubs fell behind yesterday he had no doubt they'd come back and win.)
Magic's a great non-baseball choice. I have to say I wasn't very Magical on the night in question. I only had (laser) eyes for the basket.
Ken Griffey, Jr. at his youthful peak
I'm not a Reds/Mariners fan, but I'd get to feel not only that effortless swing - seeing the ball explode off the bat into the right-field seats, but I'd also glide smoothly and swiftly to track down any ball hit anywhere near my zone. What a day that would be.
In real life (softball or lineball games), I love playing the outfield, have great instincts of where the ball is going off the bat, and catch absolutely everything I can get to - even on dives/slides/Willie Mays-style over-the shoulder catches. The problem is: I'm painfully slow, so I just don't get to nearly as many balls as I'd like.
My day as young Griffey couldn't go long enough. I'd want to play two extra inning doubleheaders.
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