THE 1969 MIRACLE METS: THE IMPROBABLE STORY OF THE WORLD’S GREATEST UNDERDOG TEAM (71 page)

“When I was a kid, I was prejudiced,” wrote
Seaver, but his sports relationships with Mike Garrett at USC, and
now with Jones, Agee, Clendenon, and Charles, led him to think of
them not as
“black
Mets. Just plain Mets.”

“Look who’s here,” Clendenon said when he
saw Seaver. “It’s the chubby right-hander, smiling and ready to
go.”

Clendenon had the natural, charming
insouciance of a Jamaican Calypso singer. His first meeting with
the lovely Nancy bordered on a seduction routine. It was not the
kind of thing Vic Power, a black playboy who paid for it in the
1950s, could have gotten away with in his day.

A few cubicles down, Bud Harrelson was
listening to a Johnny Cash tape. “Get a few hits today, Roomie,”
Seaver told him. Seaver’s pre-game routine was to casually get
ready, and included a trip to trainer Joe Deer. He applied tincture
of benzoin and moleskin padding on the top of his foot, protecting
it from scraping during his “drop and drive” deliveries.

Then Tug McGraw approached Seaver with a
pamphlet. “Hey, have you seen this?” he asked him. “They’re giving
it out outside the park.”

The front of the pamphlet showed Seaver with
the legend, “METS FANS FOR PEACE,” with a re-print from a
New
York Times
article headlined, “Tom Seaver Says U.S. Should
Leave Vietnam.” It read:

“BALTIMORE, Oct. 10 (UPI) – Tom Seaver, the
New York Mets’ starting pitcher for the opening World Series game
here tomorrow, believes the United States should get out of
Vietnam. He says he plans to buy an advertisement in
The New
York Times
saying: ‘If the Mets can win the World Series, then
we can get out of Vietnam.’

“
The Mets would have to
defeat the Baltimore Orioles before Seaver could place such an ad,
but the 24-year old Californian who electrified the baseball world
by winning 25 games for the Mets, helping them to the National
League pennant, thinks he can carry out the plan in any
case.

“ ‘
I think it’s perfectly
ridiculous what we’re doing about the Vietnam situation,’ he said.
‘It’s absurd! When the Series is over, I’m going to have a talk
with Ted Kennedy, convey some of my ideas to him and then take an
ad in the paper. I feel very strongly about this.’ ”

According to Seaver, the UPI story “wasn’t
exactly accurate – bit it did reflect my feelings.” Prior to the
play-offs, he was contacted by the anti-war Moratorium Day
committee, asking if he would sign on to an ad stating if the Mets
could win the Series, then “WE CAN GET OUT OF VIETNAM.”

Seaver signed the ad. His opinion, at least
at the time, was that the war was not helping the American image
abroad, was splitting the country apart at home, and was not
“adding much to our national security.”

Seaver was not “opposed to all wars. I
wasn’t a confirmed pacifist,” but Vietnam was in his view wrong.
The Moratorium Day committee wanted to combine Seaver’s star power
with either Senator Kennedy (D.-Massachusetts) or Senator George
McGovern (D.-South Dakota). Seaver was asked to wear a black
armband in solidarity with the process, but declined because it
could disrupt his team. He felt a dual “obligation” to concentrate
on baseball but also express his rights as a citizen.

Seaver was upset about the pamphlet because
he had not authorized use of his name. The Moratorium Day committee
had not issued it. The Chicago Conspiracy, the people currently on
trial in Chicago for starting the 1968 DNC riots, were responsible.
They were headed by self-described “Yippes” Abbie Hoffman and Jerry
Rubin. The pamphlet also showed a B-52 and the Statue of Liberty in
an attempt to paint the portrait of America as warmongers.

“It’s terrible, “ said McGraw. Like many of
the Mets he was a Reservist, but an impish one not likely to hold a
hawkish attitude. Seaver certainly was viewed as a person who was
“qualified” to speak since as an ex-Marine he had not dodged the
draft, as so many of the protestors had. Even Senator Kennedy had
served in the Army, and Senator McGovern was a respected World War
II pilot.

New York state had voted for Richard Nixon
in 1968, but New York
City
had not. By October of 1969, the
Vietnam War was only just becoming truly identified with Nixon, who
campaigned on a “secret plan” to end the war “with honor.” Until
this time, it was seen as a Democrat war, the doing of Lyndon
Johnson in a power grab after John Kennedy’s assassination.

Seaver’s wife called herself a “liberal,”
but that term was a much different one than it is today. He was
probably a moderate Republican, although his desire to speak with
Kennedy may lend to the belief he was not. He was certainly not a
“hawk” or conservative of the “bomb ‘em back to the Stone Age”
mentality. Kennedy was still reeling from his scandal at
Chappaquiddick in July, just a few months earlier, but used the war
as cover to regain public stature.

New York has always been a place with a high
Democrat registration, but a willingness to vote for a certain kind
of Republican, ranging from liberal to moderate (John Lindsay,
Rudolph Giuliani, Michael Bloomberg,). The majority of Mets fans
were sympathetic to Seaver’s views, but probably less so than the
city as a whole. For one, the Mets’ fan base was very suburban
(Long Island, Westchester, Connecticut,
Archie Bunker’s
Queens). Furthermore, the average sports fan is more conservative
and therefore hawkish than most people, just as the average athlete
is.

Among professional athletes, the GOP
registration is probably between 70 and 90 percent, mostly because
of the tax base. Among sports fans, it is likely to be about 60
percent, depending on the city in question. Team sports,
discipline, family support, competitiveness, work ethic; these are
among some of the traits identified with sports, to one degree or
another with conservatism and, by extension, the GOP. They
certainly described Tom Seaver.

Mets fans would likely have been a little
more conservative, and a little more supportive of the war, than
the general population (although in 1969
everybody
was a
Mets fan; a demographic, as Lindsay saw, that any politician would
die for). Seaver might have taken some heat for injecting himself
into the issue, especially at such a crucial time for his club.

Furthermore, a World Series crowd,
consisting of business executives and those with the money and
connections to obtain the tickets, probably was a tad more
Right-wing than a regular season Shea Stadium crowd. That said, the
war was not a popular one, and at that time, Seaver and the Mets
could do no wrong. Billy Martin once said he would play “Hitler,
Mussolini or Hirohito” if they would help him win. Tom’s image was
so All-American that he was on safe ground.

Ray Robinson, the man who wrote that Seaver
was the “24-year old reincarnation of Christy Mathewson, Hobey
Baker, and Jack Armstrong,” stated that he came out “forcefully
against” the Vietnam War. Oddly, when “Number 41, Tom Seaver,” was
announced, Robinson noted that the ovation was not quite as
spectacular as it had been in other games. Seaver wondered whether
his name on the pamphlet had anything to do with it.

In
Baseball Stars of 1970
, Robinson
conjured the headline, “TOM SEAVER, PITCHING FOR PEACE, BEATS
ORIOLES.” The writer said Seaver’s less-than-thunderous ovation
when his name was announced as the game four starter was because
there were “too many hawks fluttering around in their expensive
seats at Shea.”

Robinson added: “By then the romantic
notion, the quiet fantasy of an admirer, that a Tom Seaver victory
would stop the killing and bring a half-million young men home from
an unhappy land, was nothing more than a quixotic yearning,” adding
that Frank, Brooks and Powell, he hoped, “wanted peace as much as
Tom Seaver. And the dismal Vietnam War had absolutely nothing to do
with the issue at hand.”

Seaver asked Gary Gentry, the winning
pitcher the day before, about his approach. He advised keeping the
ball away from Buford, which Seaver already knew from painful
experience, and for some reason to throw curves to Belanger.
Neither had touched Gentry but combined for three hits off Seaver
in Baltimore. He took heed.

Seaver on Gil Hodges: “We were managed by an
infallible genius in the final six weeks of the season. Every move
Gil made worked. If he lifted a starter, the relief pitcher was
brilliant; if he decided to stick with a starter who seemed to be
tiring, the man revived. If he let a weak hitter bat in a critical
situation, the man came through with a hit; if he called on a
pinch-hitter, the man delivered. Gil seemed to have absolute faith
in his own judgment, his own methods, and we came to share it. He
could no wrong. If he had decided one day to have me pinch-hit for
Cleon Jones, I would have hit a home run. No doubt about it.”

Seaver only chewed tobacco on days he did
not pitch, because it had a slight effect on him that he did not
want on the mound. It also did not fit “my All-American image,”
which he said was not entirely right on because “I wasn’t entirely
a choir boy.”

Warming up before game four, Seaver felt
relaxed and smooth for the first time since beating Philadelphia in
his last regular season start. He had been able to run since his
game one start. He was working on four days’ rest, not five, but
had only pitched five innings in Baltimore.

“My timing, my rhythm, seemed perfect,” was
the way he described it. Seaver could tell Rube Walker was pleased.
As was his style, Tom cracked a joke to break the tension. “Hey
Rube, you think the Orioles are taking us seriously yet?” he
asked.

Walker had a sense of humor. He told the
oft-repeated joke about the weather being so hot, “I saw a dog
chasing a cat this morning, and they were both walking.” Once, when
Seaver was too cocky, Walker said, “Seaver, you have as much chance
today as a one-legged man in a butt-kicking contest.”

Finally, Seaver took the mound. Buford
stepped in. Well, if nothing else, this would determine who got the
honor of dinner with Rod Dedeaux. Seaver delivered the same piping
fast ball that had stood him in good stead from July to September.
He was on. His butterflies disappeared. Buford stared at it; not
the same stuff he had seen at Memorial Stadium. Seaver worked the
leadoff man, then struck him out on a curve. In the Baltimore
dugout, a light panic set in. They
had
to won this game, but
any hope that the below par Seaver of Saturday was on the hill
Wednesday disappeared.

Seaver was not just throwing hard, but he
had fabulous movement, mostly sinking action that seemed to flow
perfectly in the cool October air. Blair worked him to a two-two
count. Seaver’s legs felt strong, and with it the confidence to
blow heat past the hitter. Blair managed to connect and singled.
Seaver’s
Perfect Game
was not to be, at least not in the
traditional sense.

Seaver felt he got away with one to
Robinson, who skied a 395-foot out to Agee, but Powell was
helpless, striking out to end the inning. In the Mets’ first, Jones
grounded into a double-play. Cuellar looked to be as strong as he
had been in the opener.

In the second, Brooks Robinson grounded out.
Seaver, who said the first thing on his mind when he woke up that
day was, for some reason, Elrod Hendricks, walked the Orioles’
catcher. Johnson grounded into a force, then was thrown out by
Grote trying to steal.

Trudging in from the mound, Seaver looked
for his family in the box seats. His sister Katie, her husband Mike
Jones and their two sons, Eric and Bryan, lived in Minnesota and
were staying at Croton-on-Hudson. Also in attendance: his other
sister, Carol, her husband, Bob Baker; plus brother Charles (the
East Village sculptor/social worker and teacher in Brooklyn’s
Bedford Stuyvesant section), with his wife Juliette. According to
Tom, Charles was perhaps the most athletic of the Seavers. He was
6-4, an excellent swimmer at the University of California. He often
brought his students to Tom’s games.

The Seaver family was a picture of 1960s
American youth. Brother Charles had lived in Europe for awhile,
studying the art of sculpting. Carol had spent time in Nigeria with
the Peace Corps. Katie had gone to Stanford (Charles Sr.’s alma
mater). Carol went to Tom’s USC archrival, UCLA. “It took a World
Series to bring them all together,” wrote Seaver. Seaver spent
$2,500 on Series tickets.

In the bottom of the second, Clendenon got
hold of one from Cuellar, hitting a monster homer to give Seaver a
1-0 lead. When Seaver went out in the third, he told himself not to
let down, that he was “the best pitcher in baseball.” Seaver threw
a called strike three to Belanger on a pitch Weaver deemed low.
Weaver came out of the dugout to argue with Shag Crawford,
apparently a calculated move since to purposely come on the field
to argue balls and strike is cause for an automatic ejection.
Weaver had seen enough. His team was losing and needed a kickstart.
He was frustrated and let Crawford have it. The fans gave him
what-for, the camera zeroing in on him while legendary NBC
announcer Curt Gowdy described the semi-humorous sight of the
little Oriole manager in the ump’s face.

With Earl left to the visitor’s clubhouse
and his cigarettes, Belanger and Cuellar managed hits off Seaver.
It was a tightrope the pitcher walked throughout the early part of
that game; great stuff when he needed it, but lapses. But Buford
hit a high hopper that Clendenon speared over his head, throwing to
second for a force. Paul Blair tried a surprise bunt but popped it
back to Seaver. Then Frank Robinson was retired to end the
inning.

The TV camera showed Nancy, wearing a tan
tam o’ shanter, almost as much as Tom. She was a sensation. It was
like John Kennedy, who once introduced himself as, “The man who
accompanied Jacqueline Kennedy to Paris.” A large banner was
unfurled for television: “CORTLANT STATE LOVES NANCY SEAVER.”