THE 1969 MIRACLE METS: THE IMPROBABLE STORY OF THE WORLD’S GREATEST UNDERDOG TEAM (54 page)

Whether the “wrath of Gil” was planned or
not, the event is viewed through the prism of history as a
catalyst, but in reality the team sank further into the abyss after
that.

One of the Mets’ advantages was a loose
clubhouse and a tightnit squad. Practical jokes were a regular
event, as opposed to the Chicago atmosphere. Leo Durocher
apparently was better at managing a team coming from behind than
staying ahead. Joe Pignatano told a typical story. It seems that
one day he came out to the bullpen, only to find a chef with three
buffet dishes out there, with sternos underneath them.

“Who might you be?” Pignatano asked the
chef.

“I’m waiting for Coach Pignatano,” he
replied.

“You found him.”

The chef handed the coach a bill for
$300.

“McGraw said not to worry, that you’d pick
up the tab,” the chef told him.

“I told the guy the game is about to start
and you can take the bill and all the food and you know what you
can do with it,” Pignatano recalled. “I caught McGraw lying on the
floor in the tunnel laughing. We ate the stuff in the clubhouse
that night. By the way, Tug paid the bill.”

Pignatano also maintained a little garden
out in the Shea Stadium bullpen. It produced tomatoes, radishes,
pumpkins, zucchini, peppers and other vegetables. The
groundskeepers looked after it when the Mets were on the road.

Gil’s removal of Jones and the Houston
series in New York was not the low point of the year. Seaver tried
to stem the tide, but his stiffness got worse. Using guile, he held
Houston, but Astros fireballer Larry Dierker dominated New York
with a 2-0 shutout to complete the sweep and put a fourth straight
loss on the Mets. Houston won 10 of 12 from New York on the
season.

The Mets managed to beat the Hank Aaron and
Atlanta three in a row, but the Cubs were hot again so they treaded
water. They traveled to brutally hot Cincinnati. The Reds were and
always have been traditionally tough on the Mets. They were one
team that always gave Tom Seaver trouble, even in some of his best
seasons over the years. In 1969, Cincinnati still played at old
Crosley Field under manager Dave Bristol. They were not yet the
famed Big Red Machine. That occurred the next year when Sparky
Anderson took over, the team moved to Riverfront Stadium, and won
over 100 games en route to the World Series. However, the Reds were
as potent an offensive force as there was in the game.

In 1968’s “Year of the Pitcher,” every team
seemingly was effected except Cincinnati. The Reds’ trouble was
pitching, although they had the hard-throwing Jim Maloney. Johnny
Bench was in his second year, a brilliant superstar whose defensive
abilities were absolutely second to any catcher in all of
history.

Pete Rose roamed left field. He was the kind
of hitter who gave Seaver trouble, getting his bat on the ball and
spraying line drives all over the field. Bench could be challenged.
Either he got Tom or vice versa, but Rose was a different story.
New York came into the Queen City and dropped three of four.

After losing three straight games on August
11, 12 and 13 at the Astrodome, New York was nine-and-a-half games
behind Chicago, with St. Louis moving ahead of them into second. By
August 16, New York’s slump dropped them from 47-34 on July 9 to
64-51. The Cubs were 74-44 (.627), a full 30 games over the .500
mark, eight-and-a-half games ahead of the Mets. Resurgent St. Louis
(66-53) was virtually tied with them.

“But Jesus beheld
them
, and said
unto them, ‘With men this is impossible; but with God all things
are possible.’ ”

- Matthew 19:26

“Journalistically, it’s conventional to want
to look for turning points,” said Ron Swoboda. “In a 162-game
season there’s no single turning point. There are a collection of
things that turn you in another direction, and for us the
collection was Cardwell, Koosman, Gentry, and even McAndrew getting
physically well . . . They all had little things bothering them,
and they didn’t pitch very well in the first half of the year.
Everyone but Seaver. Seaver was the same; dead steady.”

On August 16, Seaver started against San
Diego, the worst team in the league. He told Grote if the Mets
could not get happy against the Padres they did not deserve a
pennant. Warming up Seaver was overjoyed to discover the stiffness
had disappeared as mysteriously as it came. The San Diego series
was a real ordeal: back-to-back double-headers. With Seaver’s arm,
seemingly
touched
by an unseen hand and suddenly as strong
as it had been on July 9, the first-year expansion club was
helpless in a 2-0 Mets win. In the second game, and in both of the
next day’s twin-bill, New York pitching held up in tense one-run
victories: 2-1, 3-2 and 3-2.

Hodges benched Jones. Swoboda took his place
and had a chance to face right-handers over the next few games,
collecting a substantial portion of runs batted in.

“As late as August 19, we were still
nine-and-a-half games back, but then we started to make our move,”
Koosman said. “Seaver and I won our last 15 starts.”

Over the course of mid-August to the last
game of the regular season on October 2, Seaver and Koosman were as
“lights out” a pitching combination as has ever been known over a
similar stretch. This is not an exaggeration, as it takes into
account such stalwart duos as Christy Mathewson and Joe McGinnity
(New York Giants, 1900s), Christy Mathewson and Rube Marquard
(Giants, 1910s), Chief Bender and Ed Plank (Philadelphia A’s,
1910s), Waite Hoyt and Herb Pennock (New York Yankees, 1920s),
Lefty Gomez and Red Ruffing (Yankees, 1930s), Bob Feller and Bob
Lemon (Cleveland Indians, 1940s), Sandy Koufax and Don Drysdale
(Los Angeles Dodgers, 1960s), Juan Marichal and Gaylord Perry (San
Francisco Giants, 1960s), Bob Gibson and Steve Carlton (St. Louis
Cardinals, 1960s-70s), Catfish Hunter and Ken Holtzman (Oakland
A’s, 1970s), and the staffs at Atlanta (Greg Maddux, Tom Glavine,
John Smoltz) and Oakland (Barry Zito, Mark Mulder, Tim Hudson) in
the past two decades.

As for “hot” pitchers over a single year or
partial season, Seaver in 1969 – and in particular after August 5
(his last defeat, 8-5 at Cincinnati) – is matched only by a handful
if any. Old-timers such as Mathewson, Cy Young, Grover Alexander,
Walter Johnson; “one-year wonders” like Jack Chesbro (1904), “Big
Ed” Walsh (1906), and “Smoky Joe” Wood (1912) must have their
statistics viewed in the context of the “dead ball era.” More
recent hot-shots such as Dean Chance (1964), Denny McLain (1968),
even Gibson (1968) and Drysdale (during his 58 straight scoreless
innings in 1968), plus Ron Guidry (1978), Steve Stone (1980), and
Orel Hershiser (1988) are among the few who
might possibly
match up with “Tom Terrific’s” dominance. So, with that in mind, it
must also be stated that as good as Seaver was, Koosman was
just
as good!

The “Tom and Jerry Show” was off the charts.
Their confidence was at such a high level that they simply
determined to do things, then willed it true as if pitching
baseballs to big league hitters was the easiest act in the world.
In many ways, both pitchers ruined it for the rest of their
careers. Seaver’s record of course speaks for itself; a
first-ballot Hall of Famer with the highest percentage of votes in
Cooperstown history. Yet, even in his best subsequent years, it was
always hard work for him. Koosman was an effective big leaguer who
never really repeated his 1968-69 dominance. Certainly he did not
sniff what he did in late August, September and October of that
year.

Both were hard workers, and their careers
reflected success based on that ethic, their talent and
competitiveness, but the pure
ease
with which they mowed
down all comers in the aforementioned period was so spectacular,
and so rare really, that it gives off the unique, unseen,
unexplainable whiff of
miracle.
Was it just good pitching
and some luck? Maybe.

Koosman and Seaver challenged each other,
acknowledging their one-upsmanship with gestures from mound to
dugout: 10 strikeouts would have to be matched with 11; a hitter
sawed off after predicting the count in which it would happen;
“making little bets as to who could get the side out with three
pitches,” said Koosman.

“The difference between the physical
abilities of the players in the Major Leagues is not that great
and, something going hand in hand with that, the difference between
the teams is not that great,” Tom Seaver surmised. “So what it
comes down to is that the dividing factor between the one that wins
and the one that loses is the mental attitude, the effort they
give, the mental alertness that keeps them from making mental
mistakes. The concentration and the dedication – the intangibles –
are the deciding factors, I think, between who won and who lost. I
firmly believe that. I really do.”

This was Seaver’s logical, reasoning mind at
work, and of course each word of it is true. He once explained his
motivation, his desire for perfection, the driving force separating
him from so many others.

“It’s why you run wind sprints in 104-degree
heat in the middle of the afternoon in St. Louis in the summer,” he
said. “In the ninth inning with the game on the line, you draw
strength from that.”

Fair enough, but it does not explain
everything, especially not in 1969. Seaver’s own personal history
was seemingly touched by Providence; from the JV’s to superstar by
way of steady ascent matched by height, weight and strength that
cannot
be explained by summer wind sprints in St. Louis!

Many athletes are mediocre in high school,
mature late, and become solid professionals in various sports. It
is unusual, but not once-in-a-lifetime. There are even some valid
theories –
Sports Illustrated
once examined this – that says
a high school pitching star likely has peaked, matured too soon,
probably burned out by zealous glory-hound coaches. By age 21 the
wunderkinds
are surpassed by those they once towered over. A
fair number of baseball’s best pitchers in recent decades were not
prep superstars. This includes Tom Glavine, Barry Zito, and Tim
Hudson, all of whom
did peak
or started to peak at just the
right time, which can be either the third year in the minors or the
draft-eligible junior year in college (generally at age 21).

Many of the better pitchers – Greg Maddux
and Glavine, certainly – were never overpowering, winning instead
with control, movement, and guile. Dwight Gooden of the Mets might
be the opposite of this coin. A high school phenom in Florida, he
came roaring into the league and was, for a couple seasons,
effective at the level of Seaver at his best. He dropped
precipitously during and after the 1985-86 seasons, although
off-field demons played a role.

Even Texas fireballers like Nolan Ryan and
Roger Clemens, plus California fastball ace Randy Johnson, peaked
anywhere from just in time to a little late. Ryan was said to throw
86 miles an hour by Baylor coach Mickey Sullivan, who scouted him
in Alvin. Clemens had a big record at Spring Woods High School in
Houston, but not so big that he was a first round draft pick or
even the recipient of a full ride scholarship. He went to San
Jacinto Junior College before starring at the University of Texas,
then ascended to greatness at Boston in a manner similar to
Seaver’s rise in New York. Johnson was
fast
and
wild
at Livermore High School. He was mediocre at USC, and took years to
get anywhere in the minor leagues.

Mark Langston threw hard as a college
junior, but too straight: his ERA was over 6.00 at San Jose State,
but he found wood bats less daunting than collegiate aluminum,
becoming an Angels All-Star. Mark Prior was a “can’t miss” high
schooler who wanted the collegiate experience, was among the
greatest pitchers in history at USC, and after setting the league
afire saw his career burned out by injuries. Kerry Woods seemingly
threw too hard for his own good. Numerous Arizona State pitchers
had super collegiate records but short pro careers, probably
because of burnout from their Tempe years (Gary Gentry?).

Bob Gibson was not signed right out of high
school. He played basketball at Creighton University first. Steve
Carlton’s promise took years to flower. Gaylord Perry was almost
released by the Giants. Sandy Koufax was a big league bench rider
for five years before his greatness began to be reached, but he was
a myth; a basketball player whose arm was accidentally discovered
in college. He probably threw too hard for his joints and sinews to
take it beyond 1966.

Wayne Simpson was a
plaque-in-waiting-at-Cooperstown . . . for half the 1970 season.
Had he pitched too much at Compton, California’s Centennial High,
in American Legion ball, and for every scout with a radar gun? Herb
Score’s case was different: a straight baseball injury meant he
would be better known as a broadcaster. Speaking of broadcasters,
Joe Nuxhall was good enough to make his big league debut prior to
the age of 16, but never materialized beyond journeyman status.

There are just not all that many Bob Fellers
out there; high school pheenom, quick rise to The Show, followed by
enduring career-long success. The baseball pitcher is particularly
susceptible to the quirks of injury, development, maturity, luck
and all other manner of strange circumstance, but cases of
basketball and football players exist in large measure, as well.
Bill Russell was an awkward junior varsity player at McClymond’s
High in Oakland. Nobody, at least not the ones who counted, really
saw it coming with Bart Starr, Johnny Unitas or even Joe
Montana.

Tom Seaver’s work ethic cannot explain his
performance down the stretch in 1969. This was “lightning in a
bottle . . . quicksilver.” Many would say it is sacrilegious to
suggest that somehow the deity guided the destinies of Tom and his
teammates. After all, does not the Lord have better things to do?
When George Burns, as God, said the Mets were his
Last
Miracle
, it was played for laughs in
Oh, God!
What is a
baseball season compared to wars, famine, and pestilence? Well, it
sure brought a lot of happiness to a lot of people, and there is
something to be said for
that!