THE 1969 MIRACLE METS: THE IMPROBABLE STORY OF THE WORLD’S GREATEST UNDERDOG TEAM (86 page)

The scope of Baltimore’s greatness is
further diminished when one considers a larger time frame between
1969 and 1983. They consistently ran into buzz saws in the form of
Oakland and New York. These were like monumental Presidential
elections in which the Orioles always came close to winning, but in
the end ceded history to the other guy.

In 1977, for instance, the Orioles won 97
games, but it was not enough in a three-way struggle with both
Boston and New York, won by Reggie Jackson’s Yankees. Reggie
himself was an Oriole for a year, playing in his hometown in 1976,
but the bright lights seduced him. Weaver’s Orioles may have been a
dynasty between 1976 and 1982, with Reggie in his prime years
connecting the careers of Jim Palmer and Cal Ripken.

As it was, Weaver never saw the Promised
Land again. His 1979 club won the American League title, but
history repeated itself. Leading out-gunned Pittsburgh, three games
to one, Baltimore took the curious October nosedive that seemed
reserved for them. Willie “Pops” Stargell and the “we are family”
Pirates captured the crown. In 1980, 100 wins were not enough to
get it done in the East. In 1982, a 94-68 mark was not good enough
against Robin Yount and Milwaukee. Weaver then retired.

Second-year star Cal Ripken led Baltimore to
the 1983 title, but Earl was not part of it. He returned to manage
Baltimore in 1985 and 1986 before hanging ‘em up for good, and was
elected to Cooperstown in 1996.

Mike Cuellar was a big league pitcher for a
decade before tasting great success, but when he finally mastered
the mound arts, he became a Da Vinci. 1969 probably was his best
year, but in1970 he was pretty darn good (24-8). He won 20 in 1971
and 22 in 1974. Cuellar pitched in the kinds of post-season games
that Roger Angell always marveled over; taut, tense pitcher’s
duels, with palpable tension building inning by inning. This
described his battle with Tom Seaver in game four of the 1969 Fall
Classic.

In the 1973 play-offs, Cuellar lost a
thrilling 2-1 extra-inning affair against Oakland’s Kenny Holtzman
in which both southpaws went the distance. After beating Jim
“Catfish” Hunter and the A’s, 6-3 in the first game of the 1974
Championship Series, he matched the future Hall of Famer in the
deciding fifth contest at Baltimore. Oakland prevailed 2-1, winning
not just that game and the series, but a higher place in baseball
history because of it. Cuellar retired in 1977, the year he turned
40. His late-blooming success held him to only 186 career wins, not
enough to get him into the Hall, but in his prime nobody outright
saw Palmer as substantially better; at least not more
effective.

Cuellar must have looked upon his Cuban
homeland with whimsy. He got out before Castro, but not by much. He
is an example of the treasure trove of greatness lost by baseball,
just another casualty of Communism. Cuellar obviously never settled
back in Cuba, as so many Dominicans are entitled to do in their
homeland. He became a man without a country, but Baltimore made him
one of their adopted sons.

Dave McNally became a trivia question, but
before that he won 20 games or more four straight years (1968-71).
Had he pitched for Casey Stengel’s Yankees, he would have been in
the Hall of Fame. His pitching style and record resembled
Cooperstown’s own Whitey Ford. He retired in his mid-30s instead of
pitching long enough to win over 200 games, which might have been
enough. McNally’s lifetime earned run average was 3.24. He was 3-2
with a sterling 2.68 ERA in five play-off games; 4-2 with a 2.34
earned run average in nine Series contests.

McNally’s trivia status stems from the fact
that he and Andy Messersmith became the first free agents in
baseball history. It came too late for McNally; his effectiveness
was gone, the status a mere legal technicality that opened the door
for hundreds of multi-millionaires to follow his retirement after
14 years following the 1975 season. He settled back in his hometown
of Billings, Montana. His son was an excellent left-handed pitcher
in his father’s mold, starring at Stanford University.

Don Buford finished his career with
Baltimore in 1972, retiring at the age of 35 after a 10-year career
batting average of .264. He returned to his native Los Angeles, but
his baseball money made it possible to move from the gritty
south-central neighborhood of his youth to posh Sherman Oaks.
There, he raised his son Damon, who followed in dad’s footsteps. At
USC, the younger Buford was a teammate of future big leaguers Bret
Barberie (husband of TV hottie Jillian Barberie), Bret Boone, and
Jeff Cirillo. Then Damon became a Baltimore Oriole outfielder
before moving on to other big league clubs.

Don was an assistant coach under Rod
Dedeaux, aspiring to become the head man, but it never came his
way. Mike Gillespie coached at USC from 1987-2006. Eventually
ex-Dodgers catcher Chad Kreuter succeeded Gillespie in 2007. Buford
preferred the stability of life in Los Angeles to a vagabond
existence, which is what he would have had to endure had he chosen
the path towards big league managing. He opened a baseball school
in Sherman Oaks.

Boog Powell peaked with his MVP performance
of 1970, but slumped to 22 homers and a .256 average in the pennant
winning 1971 campaign. The big first baseman had a powerful,
lumbering swing that required extraordinary explosiveness. When he
lost that split-second power surge, pitchers found a hole in his
swing. He retired after the 1977 season with 339 lifetime home
runs. He batted .306 with four homers in five different
Championship Series; two homers and a .234 mark in four World
Series.

Dave Johnson became a part of history.
Considered the best defensive second baseman in the American League
during his prime years at Baltimore, he slumped to .221 in 1972.
Shipped to Atlanta to play out what was remaining of his career, he
became a remarkable sports story. Prior to 1973, he never hit more
than 18 home runs in a season. After that year, he topped out at
15. In 1973, he hit 43. There are several possible explanations.
One is that he may have corked his bat. He would not have been the
first. Steroids cannot explain it; they were not in baseball at
that time. The most logical answer comes from the fact that he
batted in the middle of an order that included Darrell Evans and
Henry Aaron, playing his home games in a stadium called the
“launching pad.”

Evans was more of a home run hitter than
Johnson, but he only topped 40 one other time in his career. With
pitchers forced to pitched carefully to Evans and Aaron, furiously
chasing Babe Ruth’s all-time record that year (he finished the
season with 713 career homers, breaking the mark the next season),
Johnson saw a steady diet of fast balls. His growing home run count
seemed a fluke most of the season, until it was over and his 43
topped both Evans (41) and “Bad Henry” (40).

Johnson reverted to form (15) in 1974, but
was a teammate of Aaron when he thrilled baseball by slamming
number 715. Johnson retired after the 1978 campaign and went into
managing. A fun-loving partier, he was the perfect manager of the
Dwight Gooden-Darryl Strawberry Mets of the mid-1980s. He led them
to 90-72 and 98-64 records, both good for second place in 1984 and
1985. In 1986 he managed New York to a 108-54 mark and a memorable
World Championship. His teams won 92 in 1987 (second place) and 100
in 1988 (East Division title), but with the club slumping in 1990
he was let go. Johnson had success in Cincinnati, then later
managed the Orioles and Los Angeles Dodgers.

Brooks Robinson hit .276 in 1970, the year
Baltimore redeemed itself with a World Championship. His glove work
in the Series is probably the single greatest defensive artistry
ever performed on any stage. It is a subjective argument, but it
can be validly conjectured that Robinson was the greatest defensive
baseball player who ever lived. Other contenders for that title
include Johnny Bench and Ivan Rodriguez (catchers), Ozzie Smith
(shortstop), Willie Mays, Joe DiMaggio and Tris Speaker (center
field). In Baltimore, it was Brooks. He retired after the 1977
season, replaced by longtime stand-in Doug DeCinces.

One of the great jokes in baseball concerned
the fate of those poor prospects in the Baltimore chain for two
decades, who had the unfortunate luck of being third basemen. That
always meant they had better get a catcher’s glove, a first
baseman’s mitt, move to the middle infield or outfield, maybe even
try their hand at pitching. Robinson entered Cooperstown in
1983.

Frank Robinson mellowed. A little. As a
manager – at least in the beginning - he was even more hard-nosed
than he was as a player. After hitting .281 with 28 home runs and
99 runs batted for the 1971 American League champion Orioles,
Robinson was shipped to Los Angeles. He had worn out his welcome in
Baltimore, where he was considered too outspoken despite his
incredible talent. The O’Malleys found him distasteful in L.A.,
where at that time players conformed to an All-American image or
found themselves on the Harbor Freeway. In Robinson’s case, it was
the Harbor to the Golden State Freeway, then some 30 miles south to
Anaheim Stadium where, in 1973 he teamed with Nolan Ryan on the
Angels.

It was a memorable year. Ryan had his
greatest season and F. Robby had his last really good one, slamming
30 homers with 97 RBIs for the Halos. In 1974 he went over to
Cleveland, and like his namesake Jackie, made history there the
following season, becoming the first black manager in baseball
history. Robinson was a player-manager at first but retired in
1976. His managerial career is hard to judge, because for the most
part he had little talent to work with. The Indians were woeful
during his three-year run at the “mistake by the lake.”

He returned to his Bay Area roots with San
Francisco from 1981 to 1984. Players tell memorable stories of him,
mostly revolving around fear and intimidation of the man.
Robinson’s Giants lacked what it took to contend, but Robinson is
given credit for building what later became Roger “hum baby”
Craig’s 1987 division champions and 1989 league winners. When the
Orioles hired Robinson, his personality changed. The 1988 O’s were
one of the worst teams ever, opening the season 0-21. Instead of
ranting and raving, Frank showed patience with his Baby Birds.
Incredibly, he turned them around and in 1989 Baltimore had a
respectable season.

In later years, Robinson managed in Montreal
and then ushered a successful return to the nation’s capital as
manager of the Washington Nationals. He took to L.A. when he played
for the Dodgers and Angels in the 1970s, settling with his lovely
wife Barbara in swanky Beverly Hills. It was a long way from the
streets of his boyhood Oakland. Robinson became an assistant to the
Commissioner of Baseball.

Jim Palmer won 20 or more games in eight
separate seasons (every year except 1974, when he was injured). His
won-loss records appear to be even more impressive than Tom
Seaver’s in the 1970s, but Palmer played for strong-hitting clubs
that supported him. Seaver’s support ranged from woeful to awful.
Palmer led the American League in earned run average twice (2.40,
1973; 2.09, 1975), winning three Cy Young awards (1973, 1975,
1976).

In 1979, he was the elder statesman of a
staff that included Dennis Martinez, Mike Flanagan, and Scott
McGregor (a high school teammate of George Brett’s in El Segundo,
California, the famed vacation destination of Fred Sanford). When
Flanagan joined Palmer as a Cy Young award-winner, pundits referred
to Cy “Young” and Cy “Old.” Palmer was still around to enjoy the
fruits of Baltimore’s 1983 World Series championship. Even in his
injury-marred 1974 season (7-12), Palmer flashed brilliance.

In game three of the ’74 Championship
Series, he matched up in a memorable pitcher’s duel with Oakland
flame-thrower Vida Blue at Memorial Stadium, won by the A’s by a
1-0 score. Palmer was 4-1 with a 1.96 earned run in eight play-off
games; 4-2 with a 3.20 ERA in nine Series appearances. His career
record was remarkable: 268-152, worthy of Cooperstown in 1990.

Palmer’s place among the game’s greatest
pitchers is strong. Among his contemporaries, he is probably found
in a group that includes Jim Bunning, Don Drysdale, Juan Marichal
and Bob Gibson; above the likes of Don Sutton, Phil Niekro and Bert
Blyleven, although he was not beyond arguing that he should be
rated higher than he is. His personality was not a boastful one,
but if he thought the facts were on his side he verbalized it.

He and Weaver famously argued about
everything
. For years, Palmer increased Earl’s blood
pressure, cigarette and alcohol intake with constant complaints
about his back, his shoulder, his neck, his toe, his headaches. He
never would be ready for his next start, needed to go on the D.L.,
but every fifth day the man was out there throwing pellets.
Weaver’s trips to the mound were ego clashes. Palmer figured the
little manager had never pitched, knew nothing about pitching, and
certainly had no worthy advice for
him
. Unless he was out
there to tell the shortstop where to play – and Palmer knew better
on that score, too – than “leave.” This odd couple’s success cannot
be argued, however. Palmer became a Baltimore broadcaster, a
perfect venue for his opinionated orations. Age never seemed to get
to him, either. At 60 he still made women swoon.

- Tug McGraw, 1973

The New York Mets gave their fans some of
the most wonderful baseball moments imaginable in all the years of
their existence, but they never duplicated the 1969 magic, and
there is a tendency to call them disappointing because of that.
However, their fans would disagree. There was always something
great going on at Shea.