THE 1969 MIRACLE METS: THE IMPROBABLE STORY OF THE WORLD’S GREATEST UNDERDOG TEAM (36 page)

St. Louis came to town. For the proud, defending
champion Cardinals, it was just another early season series. Other
than the two losses to New York before finally getting the last
needed win, earning the 1964 pennant, there was no sense of rivalry
with the Mets. That said, the Cardinals had a long history with the
city
of New York. They had battled for the pennant in many a
year with the old Giants of Bill Terry and the Dodgers of Leo
Durocher. They had beaten the fabled Yankees in three out of four
World Series (1926, 1942,1964). St. Louis and Los Angeles were the
National’s League’s dominant teams of the decade.

Sports Illustrated
ran a feature on the
Cardinals. Next to photos of each key player posed in a group photo
was their salary, which by 1968-69 standards was extraordinary.
Owner August Busch was not afraid to pay a player $25,000, $50,000,
even $90,000. The leader of the pack was the great Bob Gibson, a
seminal figure in baseball history. As a pitcher, he was in 1968-69
the best of the best: the previous year, a 1.12 ERA, 13 shutouts,
22 wins, a record 17 strikeouts vs. Detroit in the World Series,
dominant
. History records that others were better over time.
Seaver would finish with more lifetime wins, strikeouts and a
better ERA. Most give Koufax an edge, too. In the all-time
pantheon, Gibson is there with Jim Palmer and Juan Marichal, but
slightly below Walter Johnson, Christy Mathewson, Roger Clemens,
maybe even Greg Maddux. But all of that was immaterial, especially
in 1969.

As a clutch performer, Gibby is without equal. The
list of World Series pitchers mentioned in the same breath is a
short one: Mathewson, Babe Ruth, Lefty Gomez, Whitey Ford, Koufax,
perhaps Catfish Hunter and Curt Schilling. Johnson, Lefty Grove,
Seaver, Palmer, Clemens, Maddux; in the Fall Classic, Gibson was
better than any of them. But this still did not tell the whole
story. Bob Gibson was a mythic hero. He was to black athletes what
Nordic or Valkyrie legends were in the tales of old. The so-called
“blacksploitation” movies of the 1970s featured modern
African-American stars taking on corrupt white cops, gang menaces
and drug lords. Gibson was the real thing, a diamond version of
Black Gunn
or
Shaft
.

It started in 1964. It was Gibson who manager Johnny
Keane turned to when the Mets threatened to rock their world. In
the World Series, he beat the vaunted Yankees twice. A former
basketball player at Creighton who made a brief stint with the
Harlem Globetrotters, “Bullet Bob” made one of the best defensive
plays any pitcher ever has. Jumping to barehand a high chop along
the third base line, he twisted in mid-air, firing a strike before
his feet hit the ground, nabbing the batter at first base in a key
moment. In game seven, he was exhausted in the ninth. Keane left
him in to win the Series. Afterwards, the manager told the writers,
“I had a commitment to his heart.”

If a pitcher was ever better in the World Series
than Gibson in both 1967 and 1968 (even though a defensive lapse
cost him game seven in ’68), I am not aware of it. This includes
Mathewson’s three shutouts in 1905; Koufax against the Yankees in
1963 and the Twins in 1965; Catfish Hunter during Oakland’s heyday
of the 1970s.

As the 1960s developed, and the civil rights
movement turned up the heat, Gibson became an outspoken black man,
to the consternation of some. Jackie Robinson had been told he
needed to have “the guts not to fight back.” Over time he became
forceful and verbal. But the “black athlete” was supposed to know
his place. Elston Howard of the Yankees was an example of what was
expected of him; Christian, family man, quiet and respectful.
Gibson would say something like, “Not a day goes by I’m not
reminded I’m black.” A man like that walked a fine line in sports,
and still does. Controversial black boxer Jack Johnson was drummed
out of boxing, with the full weight of the Federal legal system
used against him, 60 years earlier.

But Gibson, like Robinson before him, was just too
impressive
to really find fault with. His pitching record
was impeccable, but his athletic gifts, his sheer power, his
presence, size and strength, were intimidating to say the least. He
was a known “head hunter” who could back it up, but played by the
accepted code of the day. He was college-educated, a family man
whose tender love for his little girls made him human. He was
highly articulate, intelligent, a team leader on the best club in
the league. He was a competitor
par excellence
who never
gave in, not even playing ping-pong or tiddly-winks with his
daughters.

Gibson’s Cardinals were the “new breed.” St. Loo was
an old-time baseball town, in a border state famed for the
“Missouri Compromise,” which meant that although they did not take
to slavery, they accepted it. No town gave Robinson a harder time.
When the rest of the National League integrated wholesale in the
1950s, the Cardinals were slow about it and paid the price. Branch
Rickey returned to St. Louis after the Continental League did not
materialize, immediately making them the most diverse team in
baseball. They had blacks like Gibson, left fielder Lou Brock, and
center fielder Curt Flood. The Cards also featured Latino players,
like second baseman Julian Javier, one of the many, many stars from
the Dominican Republic. Role players included Dal Maxvill and Mike
Shannon.

In 1964 Bill White had been their star first
baseman. White was another stalwart black player and man whose
impressive qualities played a great role in the advancement of his
people. White had the intelligence and bearing of a college
professor, and later became President of the National League. He
was gone by 1969, though.

Pitcher Steve Carlton was about to have a breakout
season. The 6-4 left-hander from Florida was the essence of what a
big league pitcher looks like; his height, physical size, massive
strength, perfect bow-and-quiver pitching motion delivering
sizzling heat and
impossible to hit
sliders. He made it look
easy (although his workouts were legendary) as opposed to Seaver,
who always seemed to be expending his last gasp of energy as he
dropped, and drove, and dropped, and drove . . .

Carlton seemed normal enough in the beginning. He
had the looks of a movie star, but was quiet. He seemed to get
along with teammates. Eventually he forged a career even better
than Gibson’s, but developed a policy of not saying
one single
word
to reporters. Upon retirement, he was sought out for an
interview. He lived in some kind of geodesic dome on a remote
hilltop in the middle of no where, a separatist from society who
had odd conspiracy theories about Jewish bankers, the Rothschilds,
the Tri-Lateral Commission, the Bohemian Grove . . .

Star catcher Tim McCarver symbolized the new
sensibilities. McCarver hailed from Memphis, Tennessee, where his
affluent family employed black servants. He grew up with
segregation and did not question it. In a story detailed in David
Halberstam’s
October 1964
, McCarver was on the team bus
drinking a Coke when Gibby walked by. Like Samuel L. Jackson in
Pulp Fiction
, he asked McCarver if he could have a sip. He
was not thirsty. It was a move. McCarver gave it up. Gibby took a
big old honkin’ sip, half-belched, and gave the can back to
McCarver.

“Thanks, bro.”

McCarver was a rookie, Gibby a star. The rules had
changed and McCarver, a sharp rookie cookie, learned to live with
it. They became partners, classic batterymates, and friends. It was
the story of America.

But there were fissures in the St. Louis juggernaut
in 1969. Roger Maris, the one-time Yankee home run king, had been a
key player, a defensive star, on the 1967-68 champions. He retired
after the 1968 campaign and his presence was missed. Then there was
the Curt Flood case.

Flood was, like Gibson, the “new breed” of black
athlete. In 1969-70, these guys included Bobby Bonds of San
Francisco, Richie Allen of Philadelphia, and Reggie Jackson of
Oakland. In basketball, Bill Russell of Boston, and in football,
former Cleveland star Jim Brown of Cleveland, had symbolized this
type. White fans were not sure what to make of them. They were
smart, out-spoken, and truth be told they had legitimate
grievances, but in 1969 the civil rights movement was moving from
Dr. King’s Christian non-violence to Black Panther militancy. The
Black Muslims and their separatism, the angry voices of H. Rap
Brown and Stokeley Carmichael, were frightening to many, many white
people.

Flood was not loud, just proud. He was an
artiste
at heart, a canvas painter of noted skill. Born and
raised in Oakland, he was part of an extraordinary “flood” of black
East Bay sports talent in the 1950s and 1960s: Bill Russell, Joe
Morgan, Frank Robinson, Vada Pinson, and Willie Stargell. He was
stunned to discover the racism of the American South as a minor
leaguer. Then he and his wife bought a home in a fashionable
neighborhood across the bay in the most liberal city in America,
San Francisco. The Floods were aghast when petitions and legal
action were brought about to try and keep them out of their
lily-white midst. He became disillusioned by just about
everything.

By 1969, Augie Busch was getting tired of his
negativity. He traded him to Philadelphia after the season. Flood
refused to report. When asked he said that, “I’m a slave; a $90,000
slave but still a slave.” Most people found little if any sympathy
for him. Other players, even blacks, separated themselves from him.
Later, he sued baseball. Ultimately, his case went to the Supreme
Court and he lost, but in losing the court ruled the Reserve Clause
invalid, opening the door for free agency and multi-millionaires.
Flood made a brief comeback, his skills gone, and never saw any of
the money he helped make possible for others. He became a recluse
and died too young, a tragic figure.

When St. Louis entered Shea Stadium on April 11,
1969, the loss of Maris did not seem to deter their chances at a
third straight pennant. Key stars Gibson, Carlton, McCarver, and
Brock were all in their prime. Flood was still towing the company
line. General manager Bing Devine, back with the Cardinals after a
productive sojourn in New York, told the writers in Spring Training
that the Cardinals were “so good it scares me.” As for the Mets,
manager Red Schoendienst may as well have announced after the
three-game sweep,
“
Veni,
vidi, vici”
("I came, I saw, I
conquered").
They beat both Koosman and Seaver. The third
game was a classic Gibson-Seaver duel. Brock and Flood manufactured
two runs off Seaver in the first. The two settled down after that,
but Gibson was untouchable in the 3-1 complete game victory. It ran
his lifetime record vs. New York to 22-3. The Mets were 2-4, with
Pittsburgh leading the East at 5-1.

“Early in the season we realized we had to win
low-scoring games,” Koosman said. If the Mets scored two runs,
“then you
had
to win.” This would be the formula eventually,
but in the beginning the Mets were inconsistent. There was
improvement over the 1968 offensive numbers, but the rest of the
league was better with the bat, as well.

Koosman certainly was not up to par in the early
going. Pittsburgh’s “Lumber Company” batted around on him in the
first inning. Nolan Ryan had no more luck in relief. The Pirates’
Bob Moose shut the door and won, 11-3. That was followed by a 4-0
shutout at the hands of the veteran former Tiger and Phillie Jim
Bunning, now with Pittsburgh. The Mets had lost seven of their
first 10. Then on April 19, Seaver went up against Gibson again in
a key game at Busch Stadium.

Ron Swoboda would complain that over his career
Seaver’s starts always fell on the fifth day regardless of
rain-outs or double-headers; that other pitchers had to accommodate
their schedules to his. There was a reason for this: the man was a
superstar. Swoboda also would say that Seaver was withheld from
opposing the other team’s ace because the Mets did not want to
“burn” their best guy up. This was both “sour grapes” and
illogical. Since he went every fifth day no matter what, Seaver
dealt whatever hand he was given. Nobody could predict when ace
pitchers went up against him; he just answered the bell every fifth
day. He faced many, many aces, and over the years was given poor
run support. He never complained.

Seaver was the ultimate “stopper,” and he was
against St. Louis when he out-dueled Gibson in their re-match, 2-1.
Ryan completed the sweep of the two-game series in St. Louis, which
served notice. Koosman got on track with a 2-0 home win over
Bunning on April 23.

On April 25 the Chicago Cubs entered Shea Stadium.
For the first time in
years
, in decades, since 1908, the
’30, the Cubs had
swagger
. They had once been an elite team.
In 1906, the Cubs set the all-time record with a 116-36 record (an
incredible .763 percentage). They were led by the indomitable Los
Angeleno, manager Frank “the Peerless Leader” Chance. Poems were
written about their double-play infield of “Tinkers to Evers to
Chance.” In both 1907 and 1908, Chicago knocked off the heralded Ty
Cobb and Detroit in the World Series. In 1908, they benefited from
the “Merkle Boner” to break the heart of Christy Mathewson, John
McGraw and the New York Giants.

There were World Series appearances in 1910, 1935,
1938 and 1945, but they lost each time. Mobster Al Capone like to
come out to Wrigley Field, where nervous players smiled and took
pictures with him. According to lore, some fan’s billy goat was not
allowed inside Wrigley Field and a “curse” was placed on the Cubs.
They have never been to, least of all won a World Series since
then. Of course, their previous World Championship prior to that
event had been in 1908.