Larsen was perfect for my scorebook

     My baseball travels -- limited but fun -- never put me in the same place as Don Larsen. But he was a big part of my early baseball days.

     Don Larsen and I were scorebook buddies, if you will.

     When he died (of cancer) on New Year's Day at age 90, my first thought was about my little blue-covered baseball scorebook, a birthday present in 1958 when I turned 11.

     I knew, I remembered, that one of the games I scored in that book -- my first efforts at scoring baseball games, something which would become a recurring theme in my sportswriting career -- was Larsen's Game 3 start in the 1958 World Series.

     Dug into the files downstairs for that scorebook and it reminded me of how often I saw him pitch in the late 1950s.

     He won that game 4-0, with seven dominant innings (and two more from fire-throwing, thick-glasses reliever Ryne Duren), both of them hard-drinking Yankees stars of the late 1950s.  

     It was arguably Larsen's second-biggest pitching victory of a 20-year pro career (14 in the big leagues). The Milwaukee Braves, defending World Series champions after their 1957 conquest of the Yankees, had won Games 1 and 2 of the '58 Series, too.

     So they really needed Larsen to come through that October 4 at Yankee Stadium. But, of course, they knew he was capable. He had proven that on October 8, 1956. 

     His perfect game that day -- the greatest game ever pitched in baseball history (and let's not argue about that) -- made him a forever Yankees and baseball legend.

     Legendary, too, is crusty New York baseball writer Dick Young's lead on the game: "The imperfect man pitched the perfect game."

     That fall, '56, we were new to this country; baseball was a new sport to us. But having seen the Yankees on TV a few times that summer, I liked the pinstriped uniforms, I liked the looks of the center fielder wearing No. 7 on his back, I liked the winners. It was the start of a lifelong love affair.

     I remember that the result of that game was the big headline in the Shreveport Journal -- the afternoon paper -- that day, by the time we got home from school. We had begun taking the newspaper not long after arriving in the U.S.; those sports pages helped me learn to read English much more quickly.

     Because World Series games, all in the afternoon, began at noon Eastern time, 11 a.m. Central, and the game  lasted only 2:06, it was over by 1:06, so the Journal got it into its city edition. They slipped Larsen's head shot in at the bottom of Page One.

     I hardly knew how significant it was, did not really understand what "perfect game" meant, but did realize that it gave the Yankees a 3-to-2 games lead in the Series over the Brooklyn Dodgers. 

     And Don Larsen came into my life.

     By 1958, I did know how important his Game 3 victory was. And I knew that just about every time the Yankees were on TV, and I recorded a game in my little scorebook, he was in the lineup one way or another.

     Scored a dozen games in that book, all Saturday afternoon "Game of the Week" television games -- the only baseball game each week on TV in those days, on CBS (Channel 12, KSLA, in Shreveport). Dizzy Dean and Buddy Blattner were the announcers. Simple days.

     What did I know? Had the home team on the left page  of the book (should have been on the right). Didn't have enough space for all the substitutes. Recorded walks with a simple "b" (should have been "bb"); recorded singles with an "h" (should have been 1B).

     Four of those games were Yankees vs. Boston Red Sox (so what's new?) -- and Boston won them all (but the Yankees, winning the American League for the fourth year in a row, finished 13 games ahead of the third-place Red Sox in the standings).          

     In the first game I ever scored, Don Larsen was the losing pitcher with five mediocre innings. 

     He also was the losing pitcher in a significant game I scored on September 20, 1958 -- a no-hitter by Hoyt Wilhelm of the Baltimore Orioles, the most-often-used relief pitcher in baseball history for years and years, the old knuckleball expert making a rare start. 

     (It would be another 45 years before the Yankees were no-hit again, by six Houston Astros pitchers on June 11, 2003.)

     Wilhelm's knuckler was at its dancing best, but Larsen was darned good, too -- a one-hitter for six innings. The Orioles won 1-0 on Gus Triandos' seventh-inning home run off little lefty Bobby Shantz. It's right there in my scorebook.

     In two other games I scored, Larsen did not pitch. But -- because he was one of baseball's best hitting pitchers of his day -- he pinch-hit. He walked and scored vs. the Red Sox in August '58; he struck out against the Cleveland Indians in a May 2, 1959, game.  

     I recall being so happy to have scored his 1958 World Series Game 3 victory. He wasn't perfect -- he gave up six hits -- but he was tough, and so was Hank Bauer at the plate -- a two-run single in the fifth, a two-run home run in the seventh. 

     Larsen was a big, rangy guy for his day, a talent whose reputation was as an often wild character away from the stadium. His nickname: "Gooney Bird." No secret he liked his nightlife and his drinks. 

     He could be luckless -- evidence was a 3-21 record for the  Orioles in 1954 and 1-10 for the Kansas City Athletics in 1960, both awful teams -- and could be lucky, the trade to the Yankees before the 1955 season as part of a historic 17-player deal with Baltimore that also sent fellow right-handed pitcher Bullet Bob Turley to New York.

     Larsen was most often a starter for most of his Yankees time with records of 9-2, 11-5, 10-4, 9-6 and 6-7. 

     He was good enough that manager Casey Stengel turned to him in big games. That start on the day of The Perfect Game was crucial because the Series was tied.

     And the next two seasons (1957, 1958), he started Game 7s for the Yankees vs. Lew Burdette and the Braves.  In '57, it was a 5-0 loss; in '58, it was a 6-2 Yankees victory, although Larsen lasted only 2 1/3 innings and Turley relieved, pitched out of a bases-full jam in the third with the Yankees leading 2-1 and was magnificent for the final 6 2/3).

     Another Larsen contribution to the Yankees, not of his doing: They traded him away before the 1960 season to the Kansas City Athletics, along with Hank Bauer -- a wonderful right fielder for the Yankees for a dozen years -- and others. The main piece the Yankees received in the deal: Their new right fielder, Roger Maris. 

     So Larsen helped bring in Maris. A very good trade.

     In 1962, Larsen pitched in another World Series -- against the Yankees. He worked briefly in relief in three Games (1, 3 and 4), and -- luckily -- was the winner in Game 4, although he pitched only one-third inning and faced only two batters (walked one).  

     After his Yankees career, Larsen pitched for six MLB teams over eight years, but only briefly for more than two years with any one team (Giants, 1962-63-six games in '64). He made only 14 starts after 1960; his last majors stop was with three games with the Cubs in 1967.

May 20, 1968

May 8, 1968, game
in Shreveport

     His final three seasons were mostly in the minors, including Texas League stops (Dallas-Fort Worth in 1967, San Antonio in 1968). A personal memory: Larsen pitching -- in relief -- for the San Antonio Missions against the Shreveport Braves in '68, the year our city returned to the TL. Larsen lost one game to the Braves in the ninth inning; he earned a save at our not-yet-faded old ballpark. 

     A few weeks later, he retired from the game, with an 0-4 record for the Missions. He was 39, a legend forever. 

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     In recent years, our views of Don Larsen was at the Yankees' Oldtimers Day, on his introducting making his way onto the field using a walker. Almost every year, he was greeted by and sat next to Dr. Bobby Brown, the Yankees' third baseman of the late 1940s/early 1950s.

      Dr. Brown, at 95 now the oldest ex-Yankees star at the Oldtimers' Day festivities, resides in our seniors facility in Fort Worth. The gracious, story-telling Doctor was -- like Larsen -- a Yankees World Series star, with key game-tying and game-winning hits in 1947 and 1949.

     His MLB career, interrupted by two seasons in the U.S. Army during the Korean Conflict, ended in 1954, so he was never teammates with Larsen. (Dr. Brown then had a 25-year career as a cardiologist in Fort Worth, followed by 10 years back in baseball as American League president.)

     He and Larsen talked often at the Oldtimers' Day weekends, and had a connection. Larsen lived on a lake in North California where Dr. Brown's brother, a carpenter, built his own home.

     Dr. Brown was a high achiever all his life, in several phases, certainly considered a hero by many people. 

     Don't know that "hero" describes Don Larsen. I would say, was an underachiever for his baseball talent. But no question, he was the ultimate overachiever on one perfect day and he won't be forgotten.

      He was a big man in my scorebook.

San Antonio Express column after Don Larsen's baseball retirement, June 28, 1968

       

One of the most colorful all-time Yankees is ... Brown

     (Note: Wrote this for "Designated Writers," the web site of two longtime sportswriting types with Shreveport ties, Teddy Allen and John James Marshall. So I was a "Designated Contributor," and the intro was written by Teddy.)
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     Nico Van Thyn (former boss and mentor of your DW co-founders) and his forever wife Bea live in a nice retirement spot in Fort Worth. One of his fellow retirement teammates is … a recognizable name. For a New York Yankees fan such as Nico is, it’s like living next door to a boyhood baseball card. He wrote this in July and I read it with joy then and … forgot to post it. Because I am selfish. Unlike former Yankees star infielder and American League President Bobby Brown. The picture is from 2016 at the 70th annual Yankees Old Timers Game; Dr. Brown is in the middle, flanked by Don “Perfect Game” Larsen on the left as you look at the picture and first baseman Eddie Robinson, still the oldest living Yankee at 97).
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     One of the real treats for me here at Trinity Terrace is that Dr. Bobby Brown -- Yankees star third baseman from 1947-54 (with two years interrupted by the U.S. Army and the Korean War), American League president (1984-94) and well-known Fort Worth cardiologist for 25 years -- lives here.
     We see him at breakfast every morning, Bea more than me because don't go down for breakfast too often, but I speak to him in the dining room (he is there almost the same time every night, sitting in or near the same area, by himself).
     I have sat with him several mornings at breakfast, and here are some stories and opinions from Dr. Brown ...
     Dr. Brown mentioned that [the Rangers'] Joey Gallo has something like 200 strikeouts already. I told him that Aaron Judge has 132 and asked what he thought the difference was in today's game.
     He talked about the big swings and lack of sacrifice with two strikes, how emphasis used to be on just making contact. Said he struck out 88 times. I asked, “That was your season high?” His reply: “That was for my career.”
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     He said players asked longtime Yankees third-base coach Frank Crosetti — “a great guy” — for advice. “ 'Until you get two strikes,' ” Cro told them, “'swing from your ass.' That was our hitting coach.” He was laughing. So was I.
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     I was telling Dr. Brown about the YouTube video John W. Marshall had sent me about one of baseball’s best umpire-manager arguments: umpire Jerry Crawford and Cubs manager Don Zimmer. (Look it up; it was quite a scene).
     The mention of Zimmer brought a couple of Dr. Brown stories. They were friends -- Zimmer was a young player late in Dr. Brown’s career, and then they had the late Yankees’ connection when Zimmer was Joe Torre’s bench coach.
     When he was the Cubs’ manager, Zimmer lived on the 60th floor of Chicago's Sears Tower (then the tallest building in the U.S.). He was asked why so high.
     “If the ballclub is going bad, and I feel like I want to jump out the window,” he answered, “I don’t want to be merely wounded.”
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     Zimmer’s daughter was an airline stewardess. When they asked Zim if she looked like him, he replied, “Good God, I hope not. If she does, she is in trouble.”
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     Dr. Brown said Lefty Gomez, long one of the Yankees’ pitching aces and known for his humorous personality, had a ball hit back to him one day with runners on base, and he kind of froze, then threw the ball to second baseman Tony Lazzeri, who had no play anywhere. After the game, Gomez was asked why he threw the ball to Lazzeri. He replied: “He’s the smartest guy on our team, so I figured he would know what to do with it.”
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     Gomez married an actress, June O’Dea, and the talk was that the marriage would not last 30 days. (I looked it up and early on, it was a quite contentious marriage). But when they reached their 55th wedding anniversary, Lefty observed that, “Well, I guess we beat that 30-day mark.”
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     Dr. Brown said he invited Gomez to Fort Worth to speak one day at Shady Oaks CC (where Ben Hogan hung out). Picked him up at airport and they drove past the zoo. It was a very hot day and they heard a loud noise.
     “What was that?” Gomez asked. 
     “Those are the lions,” Dr. Brown told him.
     Another roar. “Must be too hot for them,” Gomez observed. 
     “You know,” Dr. Brown answered, “it gets pretty hot in Africa, too.”
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     Dr. Brown loved Whitey Ford, said he is “a wonderful guy” and he told this story about Ford’s rookie season (1950) ...
     Said Ford came to the majors at the All-Star Game break and he immediately was sensational, something like 10-2 in mid-September when the Yankees were fighting Detroit for the American League pennant and barely had a lead. Three-game series, first two games were split, and Ford was the starter for the third game with first place on the line.
     “We were worried about it,” Dr. Brown said, “and we did not know what to expect from him in a big game.”
     Ford’s mound opponent was Dizzy Trout (I looked this up, and Dr. Brown was correct about most things in his recollection of the game).
     In the middle innings, the Yankees had the lead and Ford was cruising. When he was about to face the Tigers’ catcher — Bob Swift, Dr. Brown said — Ford signaled to Dr. Brown at third base and gave him a “come here” wave. Dr. Brown thought, “Oh, oh, he’s about to let the pressure get to him.”  
     Dr. Brown trotted to the mound. “What’s that guy’s name?” Whitey asked him. Dr. Brown gave him the name.
     “You know, he looks fatter than he did when he batted last time,” Whitey said.
     “I knew then that this kid was going to be all right, and so were we,” Dr. Brown said. “He was not going to get shook up.”
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     He has lots of Yogi stories. Here are a couple of quick ones: 
     Yogi was being introduced as a Houston Astros’ coach in 1985, and at the same time, the Astros had signed a reserve outfielder. When the player was being introduced, his statistics were cited, and the year before he had something like 19 RBI.
     Afterward, Yogi said to this outfielder: “Did they say that you drove in 19 runs last season?” “Yes,” the young man replied. “I drove in 22 one day in Newark,” Yogi told him.
     “And that’s true,” Dr. Brown confirmed. “I was on that Newark team with him, and it was a doubleheader and every time Yogi came to the plate, there were men on base, and he drove them in, so … 22 RBIs in one day.”
     Yogi was at the New York Giants’ press conference when they announced the signing of Paul Giel, a terrific all-around athlete at the University of Minnesota who chose to play baseball as a pitcher (he later was the athletic director at Minnesota).
     It was the off-season and Yogi, who lived across the river, went to Toots Shor’s for the press conference … “he didn’t have anything else to do,” Dr. Brown said, laughing.
     Afterward, Yogi saw Giel and said, “Did they say you are a right-hander?” Yes, Giel confirmed.
     “I murder right-handers,” Yogi told him.
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     I have asked him about various Yankees’ players — Gil McDougald (who platooned with him at third base a couple of years), Vic Raschi, Allie Reynolds, Billy Martin, Mantle.
     On Raschi: “If we got to the seventh inning and we had the lead with him on the mound, the game was over. Every pitch he threw from then on was faster than the one before. He was not going to get beat.”
     On Reynolds, like me, he thinks he belongs in the Baseball Hall of Fame. “The biggest crime in baseball,” he said of his omission.
     “When that Big Indian came in late in game [he often was used as the closer], he did not mess around. It was bang, bang, bang … strike one, strike two, strike three. You’re in the clubhouse.”
     On Martin: “He was impossible. Crazy. You never knew what he was going to do off the field. If they could have put him in a cage right after a game ended and then let him out right before the game the next day, they would have been all right.”
     About Mantle: “Just a great talent. But his brain didn’t work that well.”
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     On Casey Stengel: “I would watch him in the dugout and listen to him," Dr. Brown said. "A guy would go up and swing at the first pitch and Casey would say, “Why does he do that? Why doesn’t he wait and see what this guy is throwing?” Next guy up would take the first strike, “Why doesn’t he swing the bat? The pitch is right in there, that’s a good ball to hit.
     Dr. Brown: “You never knew what he was going to say.”
     I asked if he thought Stengel was a great manager. He was evasive, or diplomatic with his answer. “Well, he had great players,” he said, smiling. “Casey always said, ‘I couldn’t have done it without my players,’ and he was right.”
     I asked him how players felt about being platooned by Stengel. “Well, they didn’t mind,” he said. “We had such great teams, we always had 4-5 guys on the bench who were just as good as the guys on the field. … We had guys who really were better in big games — DiMaggio, Tommy Henrich, Yogi, Johnny Mize, Gene Woodling, me,” (and he didn’t even mention players such as Hank Bauer, McDougald, Martin and, obviously, Mantle.)
     I asked if he ever had contract battles with George Weiss, who was a penny-pinching general manager for the filthy rich Yankees. 
     “I did,” he said. “But they didn’t last long. I had an advantage. I was a medical student and they knew (in the early 1950s) that I eventually was going to have a career in medicine. So I would tell him [Weiss], ‘Look, I don’t need to be playing baseball. If I don’t play, the sooner I can get my medical studies done and go into practice.’ So he would raise the offer some and we would settle on a figure.”
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     About Steinbrenner:
     “A total [bleep],” he said quickly, shaking his head at the thought. “Really, I did not have much to do with him, or him with me.”
     “If he was dealing with a baseball executive who had not been a player, he would say, ‘That guy never played. He doesn’t know anything about the game.’ If he was dealing with a former player or a manager or GM, he would say, “He doesn’t know anything about running a business.
     “He did not know what to do with me — I was a former player and I had my medical practice for all those years. So he left me alone.”
     But, “He loved my wife; she was a really good-looking woman. So we would see him in New York City, and he would acknowledge me, but he always gave her a big hug and he would pay a lot of attention to her. I would just be standing there watching him, thinking, ‘What a guy.’ ”
     He said when Buck Showalter was the Yankees’ manager, Steinbrenner would demand that Buck could not leave the ballpark without talking to him. "Sometimes it would be 2:30 in the morning, and Buck is still there," Dr. Brown recalled.
     “I told Buck -- who came here, Dallas-Fort Worth, often because he had a kid at SMU -- you can’t keep doing this. There are a lot of guys in hospitals with coronary problems because they worked too many hours.’
     "… And the first chance Buck got to leave the Yankees, he took it.”
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     A final story: Dr. Brown's Rangers’ tickets are in row 12, seats 1-2-3-4, in the section just to the first-base side. He was offered tickets behind home plate, but he knows that the scouts like to sit there — they find seats that are empty — and he does not like to ask them to move.
     The man who has seats in the row in the front of Dr. Brown operates a business and they visit a couple of times a season. The man at times brings customers or friends. One night before a game, Dr. Brown was sitting in his seat and  one of the customers or friends noticed a scout sitting down the way wearing a huge ring. He speculated it was a World Series ring, and Dr. Brown confirmed that.
     “Think he’d let me see it,” the guy said. Dr. Brown told him he probably would.
     The scout was Gene “Stick” Michael of the Yankees.
     So Dr. Brown waved to Michael and indicated that the man wanted to see the ring. Michael came over and complied, and the man was oohing and aahing about the ring.
     “He’s got one, too,” Michael said, pointing to Dr. Brown.
     The man was incredulous, and asked Dr. Brown to see it. His 1949 ring — which I have seen him wearing — isn’t nearly as fancy as you can imagine Michael’s was. The man  looked at Dr. Brown and asked, “Who are you?”
     Dr. Brown's answer. "Babe ... Ruth."