In some ways, The Bird's coming-out party may have been the last great moment in baseball. The game just hasn't been the same since.
Let's flash back. It's 1976, and I'm finishing high school. My California Angels (OK, this is a real flashback; this was two name changes ago) are in for another lousy year. Things were so bad that their manager said they could stage batting practice in a hotel lobby without breaking anything.
Meanwhile, up in the Motor City there was this goofy-looking kid mowing down the American League's best hitters, and doing it with a sense of style and enjoyment that you just don't see anymore.
Mark Fidrych may be the answer to a trivia question now, but back then he was on a whole 'nother planet. Somehow he cracked the Detroit Tigers' starting rotation, and before long he became the talk of baseball.
It was on a nationally-televised Monday night game that The Bird pitched his best game, and this became his coming-out party. The Tigers beat the New York Yankees, 5-1, but that was secondary. Fidrych had his best stuff, and showed that being special had nothing to do with throwing the ball.
Kind of a goofy-looking guy; tall and gangly, with hair like Harpo Marx, he did look like some character from Sesame Street. He'd start each inning by getting down on his hands and knees, landscaping the pitcher's mound. Getting it just the way he liked it. Then he'd stand up, not much of a windup, rear back, and dial up a 90-something mph fastball. Of course he would lead cheers from the mound, bouncing around after every out. The Energizer Bunny had nothing on this guy.
He explained that his habit of fixing the mound was because each pitcher tended to dig his own hole from which he could push off for maximum effectiveness. The problem was, not all pitchers put that hole in the same place, and Fidrych said he didn't want to fall into some other pitcher's excavation. Which makes sense, by the way, but it was the way he did his landscaping that captured attention. And baqseball is really a conservative sport; anyone who does things just a little bit differently is a flake, especially if he enjoys being different. Fidrych brought enough naivete into the picture to become a real flake -- as if he didn't understand what all this brouhaha was about.
But there was more. Between pitches you'd see his lips move while he was holding the ball in front of him. Fidrych swore he was just vocalizing, reminding himself of what he needed to do next, but it sure looked like he was tallking to the baseball. Of course, with a zany-looking hyperactive guy like him, you're naturally going to believe he was really talking to the ball. In all, he was a refreshing character, an unspoiled kid playing a game while most of the other players acted like they were on the job or something.
After that great game on national TV, the fans called him back onto the field for a curtain call. Fidrych had already taken off his shoes but came back out anyway, in his stocking feet. The TV cameras gave baseball fans a panoramic view of his stockinged feet, adding to the legend of The Bird.
Here's Wikipedia's account of that game:
June 28: Fidrych was in the spotlight, as the Tigers faced the Yankees on Monday Night Baseball. In front of a crowd of 47,855 at Tiger Stadium and a national television audience, "The Bird" talked to the ball and groomed the mound, as the Tigers won, 5-1 in a game that lasted only 1 hour and 51 minutes. After the game, the crowd would not leave the park until Fidrych came out of the dugout to tip his cap. In his book "No Big Deal," Fidrych said: "Everyone picks out that game. Why? Why is that game -- just 'cause it's on national TV and I won? Say it was national TV and I lost. Right?"
Back then, teams used four starters instead of five, and they were expected to finish their games. In his rookie year he threw 24 complete games (with an earned-run average of 2.34) and 250 innings -- now, a pitcher with 200 innings in a season is considered a real horse, and Johan Santana, regarded as a real tough guy among today's pitchers, has thrown nine complete games in his entire career.
In spring training of 1977, he'd blown out his knee while shagging fly balls in his enthusiastic manner. Then later wrecked his shoulder. He stuck in The Show five years, all with the Tigers. His won-loss record in that first year was 19-9; the remaining four years he was able to scrape together another five wins and five losses.
During The Bird's heyday, there were rumblings about changes coming to The Game. The Supreme Court had already dealt a death blow to the reserve clause in the Curt Flood case, ruling that the Cardinals outfielder was free to sign with anyone. Other court decisions made pitchers Dave McNally and Andy Messersmith free agents, and Messersmith signed a scandalously huge contract to pitch for the hapless Atlanta Braves. Already that was high-dollar stuff compared to Fidrych's rookie salary of $16,500. (A man of simple tastes, Fidrych told sportswriters then that he owned three dishes -- a plate, a fork, and a knife.) But it wasn't until the end of 1976 that guys like Reggie Jackson, Joe Rudi, Don Baylor, and Wayne Garland became free agents and, eventually, millionaires. Garland, a young pitcher, built his free-agent case on the strength of one good year, and signed something like a 10-year contract just before blowing out his pitching arm. Prior to the 1980 season, Nolan Ryan signed baseball's first contract calling for $1 million a year, and the game had undergone some real sea changes.
After a few attemped comebacks, Fidrych left the game for good in 1983, taking his damaged shoulder and knee with him. He later owned a trucking business and worked his farm im Massachusetts.
His story wasn't that unique. Baseball lore is full of guys like Herb Score and Karl Spooner, players who were brilliant one minute and gone the next. And back then, pro ballplayers couldn't consider themselves set for life. Most players had some other work that kept the income flowing in the off-season. The Floods, Messersmiths, Jacksons, Baylors, and Ryans saw to it that off-season work became a thing of the past for major leaguers. But for his shoulder and knee miseries, Fidrych would have been at the top of some free agent class, commanding some highly improbable salary. But he wouldn't have fit into baseball's new jet set. He was enjoying himself too much to ever fit in.
Earlier this week, Mark Fidrych was killed in a farming accident in Massachusetts, at the age of 54. From news reports, he was found underneath a dump truck he was working on. Somehow, that seems to be a Bird thing. It's not a way you'd expect to see most spoiled gazillionaire ballplayers go out. I'm even having trouble picturing A-Rod crawling underneath a dump truck.
Here's a Sports Illustrated piece on Fidrych, published in 1986 -- 10 years after his big league debut.
Let's flash back. It's 1976, and I'm finishing high school. My California Angels (OK, this is a real flashback; this was two name changes ago) are in for another lousy year. Things were so bad that their manager said they could stage batting practice in a hotel lobby without breaking anything.
Meanwhile, up in the Motor City there was this goofy-looking kid mowing down the American League's best hitters, and doing it with a sense of style and enjoyment that you just don't see anymore.
Mark Fidrych may be the answer to a trivia question now, but back then he was on a whole 'nother planet. Somehow he cracked the Detroit Tigers' starting rotation, and before long he became the talk of baseball.
It was on a nationally-televised Monday night game that The Bird pitched his best game, and this became his coming-out party. The Tigers beat the New York Yankees, 5-1, but that was secondary. Fidrych had his best stuff, and showed that being special had nothing to do with throwing the ball.
Kind of a goofy-looking guy; tall and gangly, with hair like Harpo Marx, he did look like some character from Sesame Street. He'd start each inning by getting down on his hands and knees, landscaping the pitcher's mound. Getting it just the way he liked it. Then he'd stand up, not much of a windup, rear back, and dial up a 90-something mph fastball. Of course he would lead cheers from the mound, bouncing around after every out. The Energizer Bunny had nothing on this guy.
He explained that his habit of fixing the mound was because each pitcher tended to dig his own hole from which he could push off for maximum effectiveness. The problem was, not all pitchers put that hole in the same place, and Fidrych said he didn't want to fall into some other pitcher's excavation. Which makes sense, by the way, but it was the way he did his landscaping that captured attention. And baqseball is really a conservative sport; anyone who does things just a little bit differently is a flake, especially if he enjoys being different. Fidrych brought enough naivete into the picture to become a real flake -- as if he didn't understand what all this brouhaha was about.
But there was more. Between pitches you'd see his lips move while he was holding the ball in front of him. Fidrych swore he was just vocalizing, reminding himself of what he needed to do next, but it sure looked like he was tallking to the baseball. Of course, with a zany-looking hyperactive guy like him, you're naturally going to believe he was really talking to the ball. In all, he was a refreshing character, an unspoiled kid playing a game while most of the other players acted like they were on the job or something.
After that great game on national TV, the fans called him back onto the field for a curtain call. Fidrych had already taken off his shoes but came back out anyway, in his stocking feet. The TV cameras gave baseball fans a panoramic view of his stockinged feet, adding to the legend of The Bird.
Here's Wikipedia's account of that game:
June 28: Fidrych was in the spotlight, as the Tigers faced the Yankees on Monday Night Baseball. In front of a crowd of 47,855 at Tiger Stadium and a national television audience, "The Bird" talked to the ball and groomed the mound, as the Tigers won, 5-1 in a game that lasted only 1 hour and 51 minutes. After the game, the crowd would not leave the park until Fidrych came out of the dugout to tip his cap. In his book "No Big Deal," Fidrych said: "Everyone picks out that game. Why? Why is that game -- just 'cause it's on national TV and I won? Say it was national TV and I lost. Right?"
Back then, teams used four starters instead of five, and they were expected to finish their games. In his rookie year he threw 24 complete games (with an earned-run average of 2.34) and 250 innings -- now, a pitcher with 200 innings in a season is considered a real horse, and Johan Santana, regarded as a real tough guy among today's pitchers, has thrown nine complete games in his entire career.
In spring training of 1977, he'd blown out his knee while shagging fly balls in his enthusiastic manner. Then later wrecked his shoulder. He stuck in The Show five years, all with the Tigers. His won-loss record in that first year was 19-9; the remaining four years he was able to scrape together another five wins and five losses.
During The Bird's heyday, there were rumblings about changes coming to The Game. The Supreme Court had already dealt a death blow to the reserve clause in the Curt Flood case, ruling that the Cardinals outfielder was free to sign with anyone. Other court decisions made pitchers Dave McNally and Andy Messersmith free agents, and Messersmith signed a scandalously huge contract to pitch for the hapless Atlanta Braves. Already that was high-dollar stuff compared to Fidrych's rookie salary of $16,500. (A man of simple tastes, Fidrych told sportswriters then that he owned three dishes -- a plate, a fork, and a knife.) But it wasn't until the end of 1976 that guys like Reggie Jackson, Joe Rudi, Don Baylor, and Wayne Garland became free agents and, eventually, millionaires. Garland, a young pitcher, built his free-agent case on the strength of one good year, and signed something like a 10-year contract just before blowing out his pitching arm. Prior to the 1980 season, Nolan Ryan signed baseball's first contract calling for $1 million a year, and the game had undergone some real sea changes.
After a few attemped comebacks, Fidrych left the game for good in 1983, taking his damaged shoulder and knee with him. He later owned a trucking business and worked his farm im Massachusetts.
His story wasn't that unique. Baseball lore is full of guys like Herb Score and Karl Spooner, players who were brilliant one minute and gone the next. And back then, pro ballplayers couldn't consider themselves set for life. Most players had some other work that kept the income flowing in the off-season. The Floods, Messersmiths, Jacksons, Baylors, and Ryans saw to it that off-season work became a thing of the past for major leaguers. But for his shoulder and knee miseries, Fidrych would have been at the top of some free agent class, commanding some highly improbable salary. But he wouldn't have fit into baseball's new jet set. He was enjoying himself too much to ever fit in.
Earlier this week, Mark Fidrych was killed in a farming accident in Massachusetts, at the age of 54. From news reports, he was found underneath a dump truck he was working on. Somehow, that seems to be a Bird thing. It's not a way you'd expect to see most spoiled gazillionaire ballplayers go out. I'm even having trouble picturing A-Rod crawling underneath a dump truck.
Here's a Sports Illustrated piece on Fidrych, published in 1986 -- 10 years after his big league debut.
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