Category: Intimidation

Intimidation, Umpires Knowing the Code

Homer, Homer, Homer, Plunk: What Else can an Ump Assume?

Posted on by Jason Turbow

Hamels homer collageSometimes, intent doesn’t matter.

When Orioles starter Jason Hammel drilled Detroit’s Matt Tuiasosopo on Saturday, nobody on either team felt strongly that he did it on purpose. The fact that there is no such thing as an 82-mph purpose pitch—which is where Hammel’s fateful offering clocked in—did not dissuade plate ump Hunter Wendelstedt from ejecting the right-hander on the spot.

It being the first pitch after back-to-back-to-back home runs, not to mention its location up near the batter’s head, will put a ballpark in that kind of mindframe. After all, the reasoning goes, even if Hammel didn’t mean to drill Tuiasosopo, perhaps he should have—especially after Victor Martinez, Jhonny Peralta and Alex Avila just went deep. When one’s strategy as a pitcher isn’t working out quite as one had hoped—and make no mistake, three straight bombs under any circumstance will make a pitcher question his strategy—the only prudent plan is to change things up.

Put another way: If a team is getting far too comfortable at the plate, make them less comfortable. Starting immediately. (Watch the drilling here. Watch the homers here.)

So when Hammel’s actions followed the script—even if, in retrospect, his intention appears to have been elsewhere—an umpire can hardly be faulted for ignoring the finer points of the situation. After all, there is plenty of historical precedent on which to build. A small sampling, culled from a long-ago post detailing four straight homers hit by the Diamondbacks (which focused more on the outdated unwritten rule of restraint from swinging at the first pitch after back-to-back—or more—home runs):

  • In 1944 Cardinals Walker Cooper, Whitey Kurowski and Marty Marion hit consecutive homers against Reds pitcher Clyde Shoun. The next hitter, Marty Marion, was knocked down.
  • In 1991,Angels pitcher Scott Bailes hit Randy Velarde of the Yankees after giving up consecutive home runs.
  • In 1996, after the Red Sox connected for three home runs against the Angels, reliever Shawn Boskie threw a pitch behind Jose Canseco’s back.
  • In 2003, Astros pitcher Shane Reynolds gave up three home runs to the Pirates, then put a pitch under the chin of Brian Giles.
  • Mike Hegan, addressing the mindframe if not the actual scenario: “In April of 1974, I hit behind Graig Nettles the whole month. Graig hit 11 home runs, and I was on my back 11 times. That’s the kind of thing that happened.”

Former reliever and longtime pitching coach Bob McClure put it this way, in an interview for The Baseball Codes:

We were in Yankee Stadium one time, and I gave up back-to-back home runs to two left-handers. I’d given up back-to-back home runs before, but not to two lefties. Dave Kingman was up next, and I remember [catcher] Charlie Moore calling for a fastball away. He knew better—he was just going through them all. He called fastball away. No. Curveball. No. Changeup. No. Fastball in. No. And then he goes [flip sign—thumb swiped upward across index finger, indicating a knockdown] and I nod. So I threw it and it was one of those real good ones—it went right underneath him and almost flipped him.

He was all dusty and his helmet was over here and his bat was over there and he grabbed them and got right back in there. I threw him a changeup and he popped up to first base. And as he made the out, he rounds first and is coming toward the mound, and I’m trying to get my glove off because I’m figuring to myself, if I’m going to die, I’m getting the first punch in. [Kingman, one of the game’s premier power hitters, stood 6-foot-6, 210 pounds. McClure was 5-foot-10, 170.]

He came right up to the dirt, then went around it, pointed at me and said, “There’ll be another day, young man.” And he just kept on going. I saw him about 10 or 12 years later and asked him if he remembered that incident. He looked me right in the eye and said, no. Just like that.

All of which is a long way of saying that back then, we were taught the 0-2 up and in. Home run, next guy: boom! Knock him down.

All of which goes toward the near certainty that Wendelstedt knew what he was going to do with Hammels in the case of a hit batter before the ball even left the pitcher’s hand.

“[Hammel] had probably 10 to 12 balls slip out of his hand today,” said Orioles manager Buck Showalter, defending his pitcher in the Baltimore Sun. [With a] breaking ball, it’s tough on umpires trying to judge intent, but they get a lot of pressure from the major league offices. … I understand what the umpire’s trying to do, but it’s very tough for them to judge intent.”

“They claim there was no intent,” responded crew chief Jerry Layne. “Three home runs and a guy gets hit. You’re an umpire, what do you do?”

In many ways, the Code is not nearly as prevalent as it once was. But there are times when people—sometimes even against their better intentions—make sure that it stays at the forefront of people’s minds. Welcome to the milieu, Jason Hammels, even if you didn’t mean to be here.

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Intimidation, Retaliation

Chapman Goes Top Shelf, Twice; Cleveland Not Intimidated

Posted on by Jason Turbow
Nick Swisher
Nick Swisher: Not delighted.

Head-high fastballs from Cincinnati pitchers were the order of the holiday weekend. First came Johnny Cueto on Sunday, riling up Chicago’s David DeJesus. A day later, Aroldis Chapman sent a 100 mph offering past—and well above—Nick Swisher, all the way to the screen. He followed that with an equally hot pitch that ran considerably closer to Swisher’s noggin.

Swisher can be seen on the telecast repeating the phrase, “Don’t do that” to the pitcher. After he flied out to left field, Swisher and Chapman exchanged words as he passed by the mound on his way back to the dugout. (Watch it all here.)

“The first one I saw go by and I was like, ‘Wow, that was pretty quick,'” Swisher said in a USA Today report. “And then that second one was a little too close for comfort—100 mph at someone’s head? Let’s be honest. That’s not exactly the best thing.”

Reds manager Dusty Baker wrote it off to wildness—“Is that the first time you’ve seen Aroldis throw one to the screen?” he asked—but it’s also plausible that it was Chapman’s version of strategic intimidation. (Last season Chapman struck out 122 while walking 23. Wildness does not appear to be an integral part of his makeup.)

Yes, even guys with 100-mph fastballs like to give themselves an extracurricular edge now and again. Just ask Nolan Ryan.

The first game in which Bobby Grich ever faced the flame-throwing strikeout king, in 1973, he laced a ball down the right-field line and made the mistake of verbally urging it to stay fair. The ball went foul, however, and Ryan ensured that Grich remembered the at-bat by putting his next pitch, a Chapman-esque fastball, up near his head. “I got the message,” Grich said.

During his rookie season, B.J. Surhoff took a big swing against Ryan, and ended up on his back as a result of the right-hander’s next offering. Mike Devereaux, same thing. Mike Aldrete bunted against him and was subsequently knocked down on consecutive pitches. Milt Thompson bunted and was hit in the ribs. Doug Jennings faked a bunt and was drilled. After avoiding an inside pitch, Bert Campaneris motioned for the pitcher to throw it over the plate, and was rewarded by being hit in the knee. The list goes on and on.

The purpose, primarily, was to keep the opposition uncomfortably on its toes. “The intimidation factor,” said Chris Speier, who wracked up 45 plate appearances against Ryan over the years, “was so high.”

“Quite honestly, there were a lot of guys who wouldn’t even play against [Ryan],” said Jerry Remy. “They’d just bail out. It was funny when you saw the lineups—there were a couple guys who, when he was pitching, you knew would not be in that lineup. They’d come down with a mysterious illness. I think because he was the most intimidating pitcher in the league.”

Dusty Baker not only acknowledged that syndrome, but labeled it: “Ryanitis.” It’s still unclear whether his closer is trying to foster his own brand of Chapmanitis, but it’s as good an explanation as any.

The modern game, however, holds far less tolerance for those willing to place a ball near a hitter’s head than it did during Ryan’s era.

Swisher handled things well, not even moving his feet before re-setting after the first wild pitch, then responding to the second one by putting good wood on a ball that was ultimately caught at the wall. The Indians as a team comported themselves accordingly when interviewed after Monday’s game, and on Tuesday responded on the field, with starter Zach McAllister drilling Brandon Phillips in the ribs in the fifth inning, an apparent response to Chapman’s antics.

Intimidation, after all, is in the eye of the beholder.

“You’re only intimidated if you allow yourself to be,” said Andy Van Slyke, about his showdowns with Ryan. “It’s really that simple. If he hit me, I’d go take first base and steal second base and tell him to go fuck himself. That’s how you’ve got to play this game.”

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Intimidation, Pedro Martinez

Et Tu, Pedro? Well, Yeah, of Course Et Tu.

Posted on by Jason Turbow

First, Lance Armstrong admitting to doping, and now this. Remember all those guys Pedro Martinez intimidated with inside fastballs over the years? (He hit 141 hit batters over 18 seasons, finishing in the top three in the category five times; only one man ahead of him on the career HBP list from the modern era, Jamey Wright, hit more batters per nine innings.)

Turns out that he meant almost every one of them.

Pedro Martinez

Yesterday, Peter Abraham of the Boston Globe tweeted that “Pedro just admitted that 90 percent of the guys he hit were on purpose.”

Well, of course they were. During Martinez’s heyday, no American League pitcher was close to him in terms of command. He complemented a darting fastball with the game’s best changeup and an array of devastating breaking pitches—and didn’t stop there. He also took a page from Nolan Ryan’s playbook, turning the brushback, the knockdown and the hit batter into valid parts of his repertoire. As if trying to adjust from a low-90s fastball to a changeup in the mid-70s wasn’t tough enough, hitters also had to deal with the idea of staying light on their feet.

Sometimes, of course, this reputation was detrimental—Martinez engendered no shortage of opponents who much didn’t care for him, as this excerpt from The Baseball Codes will attest:

Take Reggie Sanders, who charged the mound in 1994 after being hit by Pedro Martinez. That the pitcher was trying to protect a 2–0 lead in the eighth inning was one clue it might have been unintentional; that it was an 0-2 count was another. That Martinez was in the middle of throw­ing a perfect game should have put to rest any lingering doubts. Without a shred of hyperbole, Sanders was the most obviously unintentionally hit batsman in the history of the game.

Still, it wasn’t enough to keep him in the batter’s box. Martinez had been brushing back Cincinnati batters, including Sanders, all afternoon. After one such pitch in the fifth inning, Sanders gave the pitcher a long, angry glare, which Martinez returned in kind. After he plunked Sanders three innings later, Martinez even went so far as to raise his arms in frus­tration before realizing that it would be a good idea to defend himself.

It takes a special kind of pitcher to pull off something like that. Martinez has just rejoined the Red Sox as a special assistant to General Manager Ben Cherington, where he will hopefully continue to lend insight into the machinations that made him such a force of nature. Welcome back to the big leagues, Pedro.

(Via Yahoo.)

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Intimidation

Chuck Tanner Not One to be Taunted During his Day

Posted on by Jason Turbow

When longtime Pirates manager Chuck Tanner passed away last week, most of the obituaries focused on his years as a manager, particularly the time he spent at the helm of the Pittsburgh Pirates—whom he guided to a championship in 1979.

Tanner was also a player, however, and though his star never shone bright in that role, the lessons he learned during those years informed his managerial decisions for the rest of his career.

I spoke to Tanner over the phone in 2008, expecting a 15-minute conversation in which he would answer a number of specific questions I had compiled. Instead, we talked for close to two hours, during which it became clear that at his essence, this was a guy who simply loved baseball, who jumped at the opportunity to talk shop.

It was a fantastic conversation, which led to two stories in the original manuscript for The Baseball Codes. Unfortunately, both were excised due to space considerations. In honor of Tanner, however, I present them here.

Long before Chuck Tanner went on to win the 1979 World Series as manager of the Pittsburgh Pirates, he was a scrappy outfielder with the Milwaukee Braves. In 1955, Tanner’s rookie season, he was on first base in a game against the Phillies when Hank Aaron hit a shot to the left side of the infield. The feed went to second baseman Granny Hamner, who eyed the young Tanner barreling toward him.

At 28, Hamner was only three years older than Tanner but had already been in the big leagues for 12 years and possessed a veteran’s bag of tricks. He sidearmed the relay to first, aiming the ball at Tanner’s forehead. The runner was forced to hit the dirt in order to avoid being brained, and Hamner was spared a potential collision.

As Tanner lay on the ground trying to figure out what had just happened, Hamner approached, with words of wisdom. “Hey kid,” he said, “this is the big leagues.” Tanner never forgot.

Two years later Tanner was with the Cubs, and again found himself on first base against Philadelphia. Again a ground ball was hit to the shortstop, Chico Fernandez, who juggled it for just a moment, giving Tanner the extra time he needed. He barreled into Hamner, spiking him hard in the knee—an act that drew denunciations from many of the Phillies players.

After the game, Tanner went out to get some food. He was eating by himself when Hamner surprised him by showing up in the same restaurant, not hesitating to limp toward his table. He sat down and ordered a beer for each of them.

“He said, ‘You know, Chuck, when you hit me I remembered what I said to you when you were a rookie,’ ” Tanner recalled.

Tanner’s retaliation was taken as exactly that, and although physical damage was done, Hamner bore no hard feelings.

In 1959 Tanner was sold to the Cleveland Indians—and one of the first players he saw upon entering the clubhouse was none other than Granny Hamner, who had joined the team just weeks earlier. Tanner warily eyed the players in the clubhouse, guys like Johnny Temple, Billy Martin and Vic Power—“a bunch of tough guys,” he said—wondering what Hamner might have had in store for him.

“I walk in the door, (Hamner) sees me, and I said, ‘Hi, Granny,’ ” said Tanner. “He said to the guys, ‘Hey, be nice to that guy. He never forgets.’ They all laughed when he told them what happened. It took me a couple of years to get him, but I never forgot it. That’s the game. That’s the way the game is.”

The next story took place when Tanner was a member of the Chicago Cubs.

Leaving the ballpark after a game in which he hit a home run against St. Louis’ Sam Jones in 1957, Tanner said the pitcher went out of his way to flag him down. “Hey Chuck,” said Jones, “the next time I see you, you’re going to have to take one out of your ear.”

It was either misguided banter or a clear attempt at intimidation. Either way, it didn’t sit well with Tanner.

“I was in the middle of a conversation with somebody and I said, ‘Just a second, I need to say something to this guy,’ ” said Tanner. “I took about five steps toward Jones and said, ‘Hey Sam, I just want to tell you something ahead of time. If I go down, fine. But if I can get up, you’re going in the hospital for three months. Remember that.’ ”

Tanner didn’t make a habit of digging in against pitchers, but the next time the two squared off, about two weeks later, he did just that, then hit a shot that was caught by left fielder Del Ennis. “He just looked at me,” said Tanner. “He never threw at me. If I hadn’t said anything when he said it to me, who knows what would have happened. . . . I have to say something back. The hell with you, you know.”

That’s about as old-school—and beautiful—as it gets. Chuck Tanner will be missed.

– Jason

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Intimidation, Ryne Duren

Ryne Duren and his Unique Powers of Intimidation

Posted on by Jason Turbow

Relief pitcher Ryne Duren, who pitched for eight teams over his 10-season career—but who’s best known for his stint with the Yankees in the late-1950s and early ’60s—passed away Thursday at age 81.

He was known for throwing hard, and he was known for seeing poorly. It was a terrific combination for intimidating the opposition.

He merited a passage in The Baseball Codes, which didn’t make the final edit. In honor of Mr. Duren, here it is, straight from the cutting-room floor.

New York Yankees reliever Ryne Duren, a three-time All-Star who led the American League in saves in 1958, didn’t have to wave his arms or act intimidating on the mound—all he needed was to warm up. Duren had one of the league’s most potent fastballs, paired with one of the league’s worst senses of where his pitches were going. (He twice finished among the American League’s top 10 in hit batsmen, despite starting only one game each season.) That, combined with Duren’s poor eyesight—his eyeglass lenses might have been the thickest in major-league history—was enough to keep batters perpetually ill at ease. The right-hander knew this, and did what he could to perpetuate their discomfort.

Duren would often hit the backstop with at least one of his warm-up pitches, buttressing the perception of his wildness. In “Ball Four,” teammate Jim Bouton wrote that “Ryne Duren was a one-pitch pitcher. His one pitch was a wild warm-up.”

Joe Nossek remembered a spring training game against Duren in which the pitcher had on sunglasses and spent an undue amount of time digging at the pitching rubber. “The first pitch,” said Nossek in the Chicago Tribune, “was right at my gourd. The next pitch he’s doing the same thing, looking at the mound, digging around with his foot. The catcher, Ed Fitzgerald, said, ‘Look at him, he can’t even find the pitching rubber.’ Aah, just what I needed to hear. I was up there for three more pitches, and I whiffed.”

Broadcaster Tim McCarver once told a story to partner Ralph Kiner about Duren hitting a batter in the on-deck circle. Kiner said he already knew the story.

“That batter,” he said, “was me.”

– Jason

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David Bush, Don't Swing on the First Pitch After Back-to-Back Home RUns, Intimidation

D’Backs Go Deep Again and Again . . . and Again . . . and Again

Posted on by Jason Turbow

In June, we declared the antiquated unwritten baseball rule mandating that hitters take the first pitch after back-to-back home runs to be unequivocally dead.

It’s not that most hitters don’t abide by it—it’s that most hitters haven’t heard of it.

If more proof is needed, look toward the Arizona Diaondbacks’ efforts last night, when Adam LaRoche, Miguel Montero, Mark Reynolds and Stephen Drew took Milwaukee right-hander David Bush deep, all in a row, in the fourth inning. (Watch it here.)

Reynolds, batting after back-to-back homers, swung at (and missed) the first pitch he saw.

Drew watched one, but that’s because it was out of the strike zone.

The guy who followed them all, Gerardo Parra, swung at the first pitch, singling to right field.

The true Code violation here was Bush’s refusal to take advantage of the stipulation allowing him free reign to knock somebody down. The Arizona lineup had become all too comfortable at the plate, a development that Bush did nothing to discourage.

It’s another example of how the game has changed. Bob McClure recalls giving up back-to-back homers while pitching for the Brewers in the 1980s, and knocking down the next hitter, Dave Kingman, in response.

“The catcher, Charlie Moore, called for a fastball away, but he knew better,” he said. “He went through them all. He called for a fastball away. I said no. Curveball. No. Changeup. No. Fastball in. No. And then he goes (flip sign), and I nod. I threw it, and it was a good one. It went right underneath (Kingman) and almost flipped him. He was all dusty and his helmet was over here and he was grabbing at his bat and his helmet. . . . Back then, we were taught the 0-2 up and in. Home run, next guy: boom! Knock him down.”

It’s about more than respect. It’s about pitchers utilizing the tools at their disposal to better insure their own success. Angels pitcher Paul Foytack, the first pitcher to ever give up four consecutive homers also failed to utilize those tools, going down nearly as meekly as Bush.

It was 1963, and Foytack started by allowing consecutive home runs Cleveland’s Woody Held, pitcher Pedro Ramos (batting a robust .109 at the time) and Tito Francona. At that point, he said, he decided to send a message by knocking down the next hitter, rookie Larry Brown. Even that didn’t go quite as planned, however; Foytack missed his spot, left the ball over the plate, and Brown hit his first career home run—and the fourth in a row for the Indians.

That’s how it’s not supposed to go. Here’s a small handful of examples of more successful operations:

  • In 1944, Cardinals Walker Cooper, Whitey Kurowski and Danny Litwhiler hit consecutive homers against Reds pitcher Clyde Shoun. The next hitter, Marty Marion, was knocked down.
  • In 1991,Angels pitcher Scott Bailes hit Randy Velarde of the Yankees after giving up consecutive home runs.
  • In 1996, after the Red Sox connected for three home runs against the Angels, reliever Shawn Boskie threw a pitch behind Jose Canseco’s back.
  • In 2003, Astros pitcher Shane Reynolds gave up three home runs to the Pirates, then put a pitch under the chin of Brian Giles.
  • Mike Hegan: “In April of 1974, I hit behind Graig Nettles the whole month. Graig hit 11 home runs, and I was on my back 11 times. That’s the kind of thing that happened.”

None of this is intended to suggest that success merits retaliation. (The Commissioner’s office agrees; for his actions against New York, Bailes was ejected and fined $ 450.)

There is, however, importance in a pitcher’s ability to keep hitters light on their feet, and wondering at least a little about what his intentions might be on any given pitch. The more they think about their own safety, after all, the less they think about the act of hitting.

The Diamondbacks didn’t wonder about any of that with David Bush last night. Perhaps they should have.

– Jason

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Francisco Rodriguez, Intimidation, Willie Harris

Minor Dustup Refreshes Code Tenets (or, Don’t Mess with K-Rod)

Posted on by Jason Turbow

So Francisco Rodriguez hit Willie Harris on the arm, an act for which Harris didn’t much care. The Nationals outfielder spouted some choice words on his way to first, offering a brief glance toward the mound en route.

That was all it took to elicit K-Rod’s full attention. The reliever strode with purpose toward first base, apparently ready to settle whatever grudge Harris may have been fostering.

(For what it’s worth, the pitch did not appear to be thrown with intention—Harris said as much later—and the hitter barely moved to avoid it.  Watch the video here.)

The unwritten rules involved here are subtle, but readily apparent:

  • If you have something to say to a member of the opposing team, come out and say it. It’s not so different than a spousal relationship; indignancies muttered under one’s breath are often more inflammatory than venom spewed at top volume. (This is really more an unwritten rule of life than of baseball.)
  • If you don’t make an effort to get out of the way of a pitch, you don’t have much to complain about.
  • Intimidation is everything. While Harris said all the right things after the game—“I ain’t no little boy or no punk, either,” he told reporters after the game. “I’m a man just like he is, I ain’t scared of him”—his reaction on the field as Rodriguez approached looked to be anything but aggressive. If one of them is to devote extra consideration to the possibilities of another showdown the next time they face each other, the smart money’s on Harris.

    The nature of Rodriguez’s job description means that he’s almost exclusively used in tight games, so the chances of him exacting further retribution this season are slim. And considering that Mets pitchers have yet to do anything about the parade of inside fastballs sent toward David Wright leads one to believe that they’re not going to pick up the torch on behalf of their closer, either.

    Stay tuned.

    – Jason

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    David Wright, Intimidation

    Wright Learning a Powerful Lesson on Intimidation

    Posted on by Jason Turbow

    Last August, David Wright was hit in the head by a 94-mph fastball from Matt Cain, and hospitalized with a concussion. After sitting out 17 games, he missed only one more over the season’s final month, but was never truly tested during that span

    As in, no balls were intentionally thrown toward his head.

    That changed Monday, when Cardinals pitcher Eduardo Sanchez sent two breaking balls toward Wright’s noggin, just to see if he’d flinch before they fell away toward the strike zone.

    He did. Twice.

    They might have been Sanchez’s own doing, or were perhaps ordered by Cardinals manager Tony La Russa (who, if he didn’t order the pitches directly, at least has a reputation as somebody who would). And they were not in any way out of line with baseball’s code.

    A large part of professional sports is about finding weakness in the opposition, then exploiting it. Rookies are constantly probed for chinks in their armor, as are veterans returning from injury.

    Look no further than Ted Williams, who as a 20-year-old rookie in 1939 was immediately tested by Browns manager Fred Haney, who knew him from their days in the Pacific Coast League. When the teams met in St. Louis, the first pitch Williams saw knocked him to the ground. It didn’t have the effect for which Haney had hoped, however, as Williams slugged the next offering off the wall in right-center field for a double. In his next at-bat, Williams was again thrown at and again hit the dirt. Again he responded, blasting a home run to right on an ensuing pitch. It wasn’t long before word circulated around the league that such tactics only made the slugger better, and pitchers quickly abandoned the strategy.

    Wright was clearly upset at Sanchez’s pitches, and eventually struck out on a fastball. With that as the result, he can expect similar treatment throughout the year. It will serve as an easy way to take the Mets’ best hitter out of his game.

    The only way it’ll stop, of course, is for Wright to disprove the theory. A gapper or two following a pitch similar to those from Sanchez would be a good start.

    – Jason

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    Barry Latman, Intimidation, Stan Williams

    What Happens in Vegas Doesn’t Always Stay in Vegas

    Posted on by Jason Turbow

    The Las Vegas Convention and Visitors Authority has announced an upcoming spring game between the Dodgers and Reds. It’s not particularly noteworthy news, but it was enough to remind me of a story that began during another spring training game in Sin City, and which also involved the Dodgers.

    It featured Stan Williams, who is, hands down, my favorite crazy person in big league history. At 6-foot-5 and 230 pounds, and with a red-hot fastball, Williams was not only willing to throw baseballs at hitters, he seemed to enjoy it.

    The right-hander enjoyed moderate success over a 14-year career, but it was his utter devotion to the art of intimidation that set him apart. He and Don Drysdale alone made the Dodgers of the early 1960s one of the most terrifying pitching staffs ever assembled.

    The Baseball Codes devotes nearly 2,000 words to Williams, but we’ll focus here on the List, a collection of names he kept in a notebook, which he updated whenever a hitter offended his baseball sensibilities. Once noted, a name stayed put until Williams was able to exact on-field revenge, at which point it was crossed off, case closed.

    The best List story started in Vegas, during a spring training game in 1961 between the Dodgers and Indians, when Williams was 24 years old and in his fourth year in the National League.

    Suffice it to say that the pitcher cared less about a noon exhibition than about enjoying the fruits of Las Vegas the previous night, into the dawn.

    When it came time to take the mound, Williams was far from sharp—so much so that when he bounced a pitch off the helmet of Cleveland’s Bubba Phillips, it was one of the few times in his career that such a result was not what he had intended. (Not only that, Williams told us, he was throwing so softly that “I wouldn’t have hurt him if I’d hit him in the neck.”)

    Still, Cleveland pitcher Barry Latman took up for his teammate and drilled Williams in response. Tempers flared, and when Williams was quickly removed from the game by Dodgers manager Walter Alston, he wasted little time adding Latman’s name to the list.

    Because they played in different leagues, however, Williams never got his chance to retaliate. As his career progressed, more names got crossed off than were added, until finally Latman’s was the only one left.

    I’ll leave it up to readers of the book to find out what ultimately happened between Williams and Latman, but will offer this detail: The next time they met was a dozen years later, as teammates on the Triple-A Seattle Angels — the final stop for each in his respective playing career.

    The early line here says that the upcoming Vegas game, to be played March 31, won’t offer anything nearly so entertaining.

    – Jason

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