Anyone who has been around baseball for any length of time knows that a lot of talking goes on. At least some of it is worth remembering — and repeating.
Ted Williams, who played center field for the Boston Red Sox, was known for having a good eye for the strike zone. In one game, his first three at-bats produced a triple, a home run and a double.
In his fourth time up, the count went to 3-2. The next pitch was very close. Williams took it and the umpire called it a ball, giving him a walk. The catcher said, “Ump, you gave him that one,” to which the ump replied, “I may have, but I held him to one base.”
Sam, a fellow I knew, signed a baseball contract right out of high school and played in the low minor leagues for a couple of years before figuring out he was not major league material.
He was at-bat during his first year when the pitcher threw a fat one right down the middle. He froze and couldn’t swing.
When the ump called it a strike, he backed out of the box, looked at the ump, shook his head and said, “Man, I wish I could have that one back.”
The fans thought he was questioning the call and began to razz the ump. Sam learned a valuable baseball lesson when the ump said, “Son, you can say what you want. Just don’t look at me.”
Steamboat Johnson umpired for many years in the old AA Southern League. He got his nickname because folks said his voice was as loud as a steamboat’s foghorn. Everybody in the park could hear his calls. He also was known for his quick wit.
One day he was behind the plate when a pitch came in at the knees on the outside corner. When Johnson called it a strike, the batter said, “Ump, if you’d learn to call that pitch, you could call in the majors,” to which Steamboat replied, “Yep, and if you’d learn to hit it, we could go on the same train.”
The umps are always in charge. Back in the 1940s, this veteran ump was behind the plate. A close pitch came in and the ump did not make an immediate call. The batter asked, “Well, ump, what was it?” The ump answered, “It ain’t nothing ’til I call it.”
Apparently, early in his managerial career (before joining the Yankees), Casey Stengel got tossed out of games on a regular basis.
After a close play in one game, Stengel emerged from the dugout and headed for the ump, who stood with arms crossed awaiting the tirade. But Casey just walked up to him and doffed his cap and a sparrow went fluttering away.
Casey had caught the bird in the dugout before the game and put it under his cap in preparation for just such an occasion.
He turned and walked away after giving the ump a real bird. Even though he’d not said a word, the ump tossed him out anyway.
Back in the 1940s, many major league fields did not have lights. A game was running long and it was getting dark. It was the bottom of the ninth, the home team down one run, two runners on base, two outs and two strikes on the batter.
The catcher called time and went out to talk to his pitcher. He said, “We’ve gotta get this last strike. Slip me the ball. Fake the pitch and I’ll slap the ball in my mitt.”
They did so, and when the catcher popped the ball into his mitt in the strike zone, the ump called it a strike. The batter was irate and said, “Ump, you must be blind. That ball was a foot outside.”
A considerable amount of baseball talk comes from the broadcast booth as well as the field. Larry Munson was a broadcaster for Vanderbilt and the old Southern League before finishing his career with the Atlanta Braves.
One night he was doing a remote broadcast of a Southern League game. The game was a boring, drawn-out affair. In the late innings, Munson was tired and in a break between innings, threw the off switch up so hard that it bounced back open and said, “What a @#$%& way to make a living.”
He saw the sound engineer’s face through the glass as his mouth dropped open and his eyes got large. Munson knew that if the engineer had heard him, his voice had gone out on the air.
He was immediately suspended, but his loyal fans rallied around him. He was allowed back after a reprimand and an apology. Munson was more careful after that.
After a stellar pitching career, Dizzy Dean took up broadcasting. He butchered the English language but knew baseball and did not try to over-analyze the game.
When a manager would go out to argue with an umpire over a call, his booth partner would often ask, “Well, Diz, what chance do you think he’s got on winning that argument?” Diz would reply, “I’d say he’s got two chances — slim and none.”
One night Dean was in the broadcast booth in one of those long, boring games with little action and few fans. The cameramen would scan the seats, trying to find something interesting to show. One found a couple way up in the top row of an otherwise vacant section, hugging and kissing in the semi-darkness. They were oblivious to anything but themselves.
After they came on the screen for about the fifth time, Dean said, “I think I’ve got them figured out. He’s kissing her on the strikes and she’s kissing him on the balls.”
That’s a good one to quit on.
May 06, 2021 at 05:10AM
https://ift.tt/3f0GqQE
Commentary: Baseball is a funny game if you just listen closely - williamsonherald.com
https://ift.tt/3eOfySK
Funny
No comments:
Post a Comment