1959 Yankee of the Past: Clint Courtney

"Few, if any, players in baseball have more drive or a greater determination to win than Clint Courtney. Behind the plate, he's tough and merits his nickname- 'Scrap Iron.'

In 1952 Clint won the Sporting News Rookie of the Year award. In 1956, he was the top defensive catcher."

-1959 Topps No. 483

SENATORS' RUGGED INDIVIDUALIST

Clint Courtney Still Has Tabasco Sauce In His Blood

"Among the last of the rugged individualists is Clint Courtney, the Washington catcher. It wouldn't be surprising if Dr. George A. Resta, the Senators' physician, finds a mixture of Tabasco sauce and hot peppers every time Courtney's blood count is taken.

Somebody said it couldn't be done- but Courtney proved it could. This has reference to eyeglasses. No catcher in big league history had ever worn glasses before Courtney came up with the Yankees in 1951. But it's proved no deterrent to the fiery Louisianan.

It wasn't too long ago that a ballplayer wearing glasses was considered a freak, and this ancient superstition did much to hurt Clint's early career.

'That,' he drawls, 'and the fact that I was tryin' to beat out a pretty good catcher with the Yanks- fella by the name of Yogi Berra.'

Clint is a man of many enthusiasms. His idol has always been Rogers Hornsby, for whom Coutrney played in 1950 when he was at Beaumont with Gil McDougald, who, since then, has made the varsity.

'Why,' says Clint, 'me and that McDougald done tore that league apart. I think by midsummer we drove in 100 runs each.'

The record book says Courtney drove in 79 for the whole season with Beaumont in 1950. Maybe Clint was in 'partnership' with McDougald, who did drive in 115 runs, so between them they almost had 200 runs batted in.

But Courtney's enthusiasms are less boasts than they are signs of his tremendous aggressiveness. He put his aggressive temperament to work several times and was involved in some notable fisticuffs during his early career.

For some reason, Clint always picked on the Yankees. It may have been a subconscious resentment against the champs for not realizing his great value. Courtney retired from the fight business when he tangled with Bob Cerv, the Kansas City muscleman, then with the Yankees.

Courtney always is a man of definite opinions. For instance, the Senators wanted to put him on the grievance committee. He declined with the words: 'If I got somethin' to say, I say it right then. We got too many lawyers in baseball right now.'

Clint has yielded a grudging respect for manager Cookie Lavagetto, who now rates second only to Clint's patron saint, Hornsby.

He was one of the few men loyal to Hornsby when the latter was fired summarily in Boston while managing the sad St. Louis Browns. Ironically, the incident which precipitated the sacking of Hornsby occurred at Yankee Stadium, and involved Courtney's former teammate, McDouglad, who also had been one of Hornsby's boys.

It seemed that McDougald, playing third base, went into the stands for a foul ball. Bill Veeck, then boss of the Browns, was watching the game. He thought McDougald had been 'helped' by a spectator and that Hornsby should protest the game.

The fabulous 'Rajah,' one of the game's immortals, was not a man to take suggestions easily. He icily informed Veeck that he, Hornsby, would decide such things. Hornsby refused to protest and was fired.

'Hornsby was a tough man,' Clint concedes, 'but I never argued with him. I always said 'Yes, sir' and 'No, sir' to him.'

It's a trait of Courtney's character that although he did show his manager respect, he never called him 'Mister.'

Courtney is a shrewd businessman when he isn't playing baseball. Alone, he has developed one of the finest ranches in Louisiana and is a successful horse breeder and cattleman.

One of Clint's particular pets is Pedro Ramos, the Cuban pitcher who also happens to be the fastest runner on the Washington squad. Clint will match his protege against any sprinter in the big leagues, and is always hurling challenges, on Ramos' behalf, to other ball players.

There was the time a couple of years ago when the Senators and Cincinnati Redlegs were traveling north together. Courtney became involved in a friendly argument with Birdie Tebbetts, the Cincinnati manager, who was lauding the speed on his club.

'You pick yo' man,' drawled Courtney, 'and I guarantee my boy Ramos will beat him.'

One word led to several and Tebbets picked his third baseman, Don Hoak. 'Ramos won't have a chance,' commented Birdie. 'Hoak will leave him far behind.'

'If he does,' replied Courtney, 'he's gonna have to put them feet down awful regular.'

The race was held in Chattanooga and Ramos, after a stumbling start, won by something like eight yards."

-Bob Addie, Washington Post (Baseball Digest, May 1959)

1959 Yankee of the Past: Gus Triandos

"Gus shattered his Oriole record for homers last season. As a catcher, he again proved to be one of the best in the business. But during the last month of the 1958 season, Gus played third base and did a good job.

He was in the Yankee organization for six years. He came to Baltimore in a mammoth 17-man trade."

-1959 Topps No. 330

"Gus's 30 homers in 1958 set an all-time Oriole record."

-1959 Topps No. 568, Topps All-Star

TRIANDOS HAS A WORD FOR IT: DESKOLO!

"Big Gus Triandos, the Orioles' Greek catcher, has a word for it: 'Deskolo.'

That's Greek for 'rough' and his way of describing what it's like to handle Hoyt Wilhelm's knuckleball.

Triandos has always insisted that catching is one of the easiest jobs in baseball. Since Wilhelm joined the Baltimore club last August, however, the easy-going, wavy-haired receiver has spent almost as many sleepless nights as a conscience-stricken embezzler on the lam.

'You would, too,' Gus said, following Wilhelm's ninth straight victory this spring, 'if you had to worry about catching the kind of stuff he throws. It's tough enough trying to catch the guy. But now it's getting so where everyone is trying to run on him.

'I have to watch to watch 'em like a hawk. If I'm not careful, some of the guys in this league will steal everything but my shindguards.'

Gus heaved a deep sigh as he picked out one of several catcher's mitts he keeps in his stall.

'I see runners going down to second base in my sleep,' he said, pounding his fist into the pocket of the mitt. 'Passed balls ... stolen bases ... wild pitches. It gets awfully depressing at times.'

Triandos then removed the mitt from his hand and demonstrated its flexibility. 'See this glove,' he said. 'It's a special one I used when a knuckleball pitcher is working. It's much looser than my regular mitts and I don't use a sponge with it.'

Gus pointed out that the glove helped immeasurably in holding on to the knuckler. At the same time, however, he hastened to add: 'Catching the ball is only half the battle. The other half is trying to grab the ball out of my glove fast enough to get a firm grip on it when a runner breaks for second. Fortunately for me, Wilhelm doesn't let too many guys get on.'

Triandos admits he worries more about committing costly passed balls than anything else. He was charged with 11 during the first two months of the season and all came while catching Wilhelm.

'I just hate to think that I'll louse up a good game with one bad inning,' Gus explained. 'I feel bad enough when I butcher things up ... as I did in one game against the Yankees when I was charged with four passed balls.

'Then, to make things worse, I got home that night and even my wife wants to know, 'What happened to you today?'

Skinny Brown is another Baltimore pitcher who throws a knuckler, but he doesn't give Triandos half the trouble Wilhelm does. That's because Brown's knuckleball usually breaks downward.

'At least I have a fighting chance to catch the ball when Skinny is working,' Gus said, 'because I have some idea where it's going. In Wilhelm's case,  your guess is as good as mine.'

As Triandos got up to go, he concluded the interview by saying: 'Everyone's been giving me too much credit for catching Wilhelm. But don't believe it. I'm no genius. Wes Westrum did it for a long time and Joe (Ginsburg) showed he could handle him, too.

'I couldn't hit Hoyt when he pitched against us with Cleveland last year. So I figure I'm pretty lucky just being able to catch him.' "

-Arthur Richman, New York Mirror (Baseball Digest, August 1959)

1959 Yankee of the Past: Sherm Lollar

"Sherm hit more homers and drove in more runs last year than during any other season in his career. He was also the top defender in the American League last year."

-1959 Topps No. 385

"The solid bat in the White Sox lineup in recent years has been the one wielded by catcher Sherman Lollar. Rated as one of the finest receivers in the major leagues, Lollar took over top billing in all departments this season. His consistent clutch hitting pulled many a game out of the fire for the Sox as he led the club in driving in 'winning' runs. Late-inning home runs by Lollar were responsible for more than half a dozen Sox wins as he approached personal highs in such important departments as runs batted in and home runs.

Manager Al Lopez has referred to Lollar's handling of pitchers as 'having a second manager behind the plate.' He has been named to the American League All-Star team in four of the last six seasons."

-1959 Official World Series Program

1959 Yankee of the Past: Jackie Jensen

Boston Finally Recognizes Jackie Jensen As

THE SOLID GOLDEN BOY WITH PLENTY OF BRASS

"Until last midseason, right field at Boston's Fenway Park sounded like a cattle ranch at roundup time whenever Jackie Jensen sprinted out thataway. Now he hears nothing but 'attaboys' and the soft tennis-like applause of appreciation. Has right field been the wrong field?

'Naw, we always liked Jensen out there,' declares one habitue of that location, the r. f. pavilion where he finds the price is right. 'We always knew the guy was a bundle of talent.'

So why the vilification, the bubbling anti-social 'brffsks' each time Jackie reappeared?

'Well, we have to show our dissatisfaction with the Red Sox, and Jensen was the nearest one within reach and so he has to take the abuse for the other eight guys, although it isn't exactly abuse because we really don't mean it at all.

'Someone calls him Mr. Doubleplay and it's a sort of catchy name and it becomes contagious. Mass psychology or something. We all know out there that only the better hitters pile up double plays. Most of them come from hitting the ball hard, right on the button.

'So now we are known, all around the league I guess, as the right field werewolves of Boston, but it ain't quite so. We just had to let off some steam and Jensen was handy. Let this be an apology. I hope Jackie boy, good old Jackie boy, will understand.'

I imagine Jackie has understood all along, since he happens to be one of the most intelligent, least irascible of major leaguers, dozens of whom have sound-detector ears and short tempers.

Once Jensen did dash to the low wall, appearing flushed and maybe eager to flip a handful of knuckles into a particular pest's face. Actually Jensen had his powerful person under control. 'I just wanted to ask this fellow why he kept on me,' explains Jensen, who was intent on argument, not assault.

Now that the wrongoes in right field have been won over to his side, the All-America boy is a favorite in all sectors of Yawkey's green acre- upstairs, downstairs, in the dugout, in the dressing room. He is receiving rightful recognition as one of the best ever to perform in Red Sox flannels. He can run, hit, field, hustle, throw and think. Several times a season runners are hoodwinked by Jackie's histrionics. Where do you get athletes like this? How can you hoot him, get a 'braaack' through your teeth?

One of Jensen's staunchest admirers around Fenway is the trainer, Jack Fadden. There's no drinking allowed on the premises, of course, but Fadden is akin to a bartender in that they all come to sit on the stool in his whirlpool bath and tell him their troubles whilst getting soaked. He gets to know the Red Sox intimately.

'Jensen never makes a project out of an injury and I know he's played many a ball game, and played it up to the hilt, even when he was hurting good,' says Fadden. He always minimizes injuries and is always available.

'A real solid citizen. He never gets involved. He comes to play, and play at his very best, showers, dresses and goes home. He's no clubhouse lawyer. He's a really great kid, a Golden Boy as you writers have christened him.'

This should not be construed to mean that Jackie is a 'loner' or a Pollyanna or a snobby type who will have no association with the other guys. He speaks his piece in firm words when he feels the time has come for him to talk.

Several seasons ago there was a Red Sox movement, the leader of which was thought to be Ted Williams, to have the baseball writers banned from the clubhouse for 30 minutes after the game. By that time a lot of players would be gone from the boudoir and a couple of editions, maybe, rolled off the press.

Jensen heard the Red Sox side. That didn't convince him. He had to hear the other. He visited with a quartet of baseball authors and asked them what a 30-minute waiting period would mean to them and their work. I don't know how Jackie voted on this small matter but the 30-minute referendum was defeated.

On another occasion, in the days before he called a truce and became pals with the press, Williams was blasting out a writer there in the Red Sox room. Williams claimed the writer had cost him a $25 fine for flipping a bat. 'You went to the umpire and told him I should get $25 just because you wanted an item for your (censored) paper. Otherwise, he wouldn't have put me on report,' growled Williams.

Another reporter told Jensen precisely what happened in the umpires' room. Chief Magistrate Charlie Berry had left before the reporters got there but the other umpires related that Berry was going to write the league headquarters and recommend a two-bit tariff on the Kid.

'Ted, you're wrong,' Jackie broke in and presented his information. Imagine telling Ted, in a tempest, that he was wrong. Evidently, Williams has as much respect for Jensen as the rest of the Red Sox. He desisted.

When you go to Jackie's locker after a game, you are always certain of an articulate, completely honest answer. There's neither a hem nor a haw in the handsome Californian. No alibis. 'I should have caught the ball,' he said of a Yogi Berra hoist which was twisted by the wind at Fenway. It accounted for three runs.

Once there was an Alibi Ike of an outfielder who, upon missing a fly ball, went so far to insist that it took a 'bad hop.' They'll go to such ludicrous extremes to escape the fault.

'The wind helped it a lot,' Jensen said after hitting a homer into the nets last summer, telling the whole truth at the cost of downgrading himself.

Picture that. Most of them would have said: 'It was a mean curve but I had my eye on it all the way and hit it one of the goldangest clouts a baseball was ever hit. I'll bet when they pick out of the nets they'll find the cover knocked off it.'

The only athlete ever to play in the Rose Bowl and the World Series, long overdue acclaim is finally catching up to Jackie, a fellow right out of fiction. Rival managers such as Al Lopez are calling him the best right fielder in the league. And his ex-critics in right field are standing up with reverence, as if it were the seventh inning stretch, when he returns to his position.

All this- and he's friendly with the sports writers, too. Why he even lived in a sports writer's house last season, one he rented for the summer right across the street from the eighteenth tee at Woodland in Auburndale, for his dazzling wife, the former Olympic diving champion, Zoe Ann Olsen, and their two golden children.

The Red Sox would be the Dead Sox, but definitely, without Jensen, who at long last has retrieved the 'journeyman' label and achieved the luster of stardom. Hear this from Manager Al Lopez of the White Sox, which I lift unblushingly from the files:

'I know Jensen is not very popular with the fans in Boston but it's time they started to appreciate what they have.

'For the life of me I could never figure out why he hasn't clicked with the customers. He makes a bad play every so often, and it seems to me the fans remember these and forget the good ones.

'Taking Jensen over the season, you won't find a better right fielder in the league. He's a solid player.' That seems to be the word most connoisseurs use, first off, in appraising Jensen: 'solid.'

Now this Jensen fellow never had on the boxing gloves in his life, so far as I know, and he would rather read Poet Robert Frost, his favorite teacher and a good friend, than Shakespeare. Yet there seems to be a striking resemblance between Jensen and Gene Tunney.

Both chose their trades only for money. Jackie is quick and frank to say that baseball, with all its traveling and night work, is not for him. He's only in it for the cabbage (guessed $30,000 a year). Both, while not snobs, carefully avoid the mobs. Tunney married the famous beauty with all the gold. Jensen captured the pin-up girl of the sports pages, the Olympic champion, with all the gold medals.

Only now is Tunney being looked upon with some late favor by the fight crowd. Recently he condescended to get back in the ring, shake hands with a lot of pug-uglies, and take a bow. The mob liked that- even though it took place on the terrace of the fashionable Shoreham Hotel in Washington where they held an unusual fight show for a charity in which Tunney has an interest.

Jackie, an ideal type like Tunney, is a real life Horatio Alger, now is attaining overdue recognition. The werewolves in right field at Fenway are beginning to take off their hats when he sprints out to his position, showing the reverence generally reserved for prelates and potentates. Not so long ago they were mooing him like a herd of Herefords.

How'd this come about? 'I'm sure I don't know,' says Jackie. 'I haven't changed anything except my socks. I'm just doing what I always try to do- hit the ball down the middle. When I first came here I took a look at the wall in left and decided to become a pull hitter but I'm not built to be a pull hitter.'

Jensen long since has stopped pulling for the wall, but General Manager Joe Cronin will never stop pulling for Jensen. It is no secret around Boston that the fans have been flailing Cronin, and they are not all cranks. Cronin must get many livid letters, asking that he do something or get off the swivel chair.

'He's a great one for bringing us  Porterfields and Stones and C. Nottingham Churns,' they complain by phone and salty letter and person-to-person ear bending. 'What did he ever do for us?'

Jensen is the answer. Jensen, who was swindled from Washington in the winter of 1953 for meliflous Maurice McDermott, who shagged the long drives hit by Satchell Paige as an outfielder at Miami, and Tom  Umphlett, who milled around at Minneapolis.

One swallow doesn't make a twister but one good deal can establish a general manager, and Cronin has that one to keep nourishing him. It was, at the time, a risky transcation because Maurice had just won 18 games and was throwing Grovian bolts while Umphlett had hit .285 and was a falcon after a fly ball.

Cronin showed the same fine timing he had when he was hitting pinch homers. Jensen had dropped to .266; Washington needed a left-handed pitcher and, of couse, someone to take Jensen's place, namely Umphlett.

Cronin caught the very Charles Dickens from the fans for letting McDermott go, but he had liked Jackie since his college days in California. Larry Woodall of the Red Sox' espionage staff once went to Oakland seeking Jackie's signature before New York grabbed him.

Intimates say the only player Casey Stengel ever truly regretted losing was Jensen. Stengel knew he was going to be his kind of guy but couldn't play him often enough to keep him from growing rusty.

When Billy Martin was traded, Casey is said to have distorted his rubber face into a mournful mask. But friends report he was more stung by the loss of Jensen. 'He looked like a Yankee more than any of the Yankees,' Stengel once said of Jensen.

Since the advent of the lively ball, third base has become a position to be played only by those a wing, a prayer and a wrought-iron rib cage. A third baseman should be permitted all the 'tools of ignorance' which adorn a catcher, except maybe the mask. A mouthpiece, like a fighter wears on his choppers, would be a suitable substitute. Third base is a position to be despised.

Very few know this, but three springs ago in Sarasota, aware that the Red Sox had a problem at third base where a fellow really exposes himself to the firing squad, Jack Eugene Jensen, although he loves life, went to manager Mike Higgins and volunteered. 'I'll play third. I'll start working there tomorrow,' said Jensen to Higgins, which was like offering to make it 401 for the charge into the versified Valley of Death.

Well, not quite that risky. Jackie, the All-America boy, the real life Jack Armstrong of whom we sing, was willing, yea, even eager, to abandon the rural existence in right field to play in the heavy traffic at third.

Nothing new. There's a heavy quotient of the hero in J. J. Not long ago there was a Golden Gater at Fenway Park and he told us about Jensen playing football for the University of California. 'It would be fourth down and a yard and California always gave the ball to Jensen. The other team knew he was coming and, sometimes, Jackie's opening wasn't there but I can't ever remember failing to get the 37 inches, the extra inch to make sure of the first down. And I never missed a game.'

Another time Jensen was in his restaurant, the 'Bow & Bell' in Jack London Square in Oakland when a customer suddenly got up and ran like sixty out the door. Jensen sprinted after him and, before his detractors have a chance to say he was chasing the guy for the bill, let me tell you that they both had heard a terrible cry for 'help, help.' Two kids had been thrown into the water of Oakland Estuary by the rough wake of a passing fireboat. Jensen and his customer saved two young lives.

Now let me see, what else is there to tell you about Jackie Jensen, the Golden Boy who has participated in the Rose Bowl, the World Series, the East-West Game and has done just about everything in sports except (1) win the Marathon and (2) finish first in the 500 at Indianapolis.

In my meanderings around Fenway Park to learn something about Jensen, both first and second-hand, I stopped for a chat with my favorite player, Jimmy Piersall.

It was between a day-night doubleheader with Detroit, and there was Jimmy with his feet in his locker, resting on two- well, er, foot-rests riveted to the sides. Piersall didn't go down to Kenmore Square to eat. He had only a clubhouse cup of soup and a sandwich, because a meal would make him too heavy, and now he was relaxing his limbs on the foot-rests which Dom DiMaggio first introduced. In his locker, and it's taken me an awful long time to get around to this, was a bat with the No. 4 on the knob.

A Jensen bat. Now it is not telling tales at recess to relate that Jimmy and Jackie are not exactly kissin' cousins. Oh, there not enemies. They just don't hit it off too well. You have guys in your own office like that. Playing center and right they naturally infringe on each other's territories. And Jimmy didn't like it too much a couple of seasons back when Jensen, in his frank and forthright fashion, rated another A. L. center fielder above him as a gloveman. Piersall was entitled to take a little heat.

'I'm trying Jackie's bat in practice,' says Jimmy. Here was another tribute to Jensen. You'd expect Piersall to be experimenting with a Williams willow, or a Mantle model, wouldn't you?

Jackie Jensen should have been christened Frank. While he bends at the waist from admiration of Ted Williams' hitting, Jensen thinks the kid could be a little cuter in left field. He thinks Williams could pretend to catch fly balls that are certain to hit The Wall and thus delude runners, preventing them from sweeping from first to third. 'We could do a lot of that faking, especially with the physical makeup of Fenway.'

The Golden Boy- with plenty of brass and abundant with class."

-John Gilooley, Boston Record (Baseball Digest, December 1958-January 1959)

"R.B.I. leader of the American League in 1958, Jackie was awarded the Most Valuable Player trophy. He had 18 home runs and 54 R.B.I.'s on the road and 17 round trippers and 68 R.B.I.'s at home.

Jackie led the A. L. in stolen bases [22] in 1954."

-1959 Topps No. 400

1959 Yankee of the Past: Lew Burdette

"Up to the last five weeks of the 1958 season, no one would have given Lew a chance to become a 20-game winner. But he got red hot and won nine games to enter the charmed circle. In the Series he beat the Yankees with a neat 7-hitter in the second game. Lew also hit a homer  in the second game of the Series."

-1959 Topps No. 440

NEEDLE STICKS STAN

"Lew Burdette has begun needling Stan Musial, a man who is supposed to have no nerves.

In a recent game, the Braves were protecting a one-run lead, but the Cardinals had loaded the bases with one out. Musial was the batter.

Burdette was called in to face Musial. His first two pitches were balls. Burdette walked in to argue with the home plate umpire.

He yelled, 'Don't be giving a .259 hitter a break,' mentioning Musial's batting average at the moment.

Burdette actually intended the conversation for Musial. He hoped to get Stan off stride.

Burdette's next pitch was on the outside corner but Stan tried to pull it, hit it to the second baseman and into a double play that ended the game. Musial did what Burdette wanted. He became overanxious and swung at the next pitch."

Pat Harmon, Cincinnati Post and Times-Star (Baseball Digest, September 1959)

BURDETTE'S GOPHER HUNT

Suddenly Braves' Ace Righty Finds They Go-For-Four On Him

"Now that speculation over Lew Burdette and his alleged spitball seems to have subsided, conjecture concerning the Braves' ace right-hander centers on the abnormal number of home runs hit off his wide assortment of pitches.

Burdette- who, incidentally, has always denied using the spitter except for psychological purposes- admits being concerned about the so-called 'gopher' pitches but he has a pretty good idea of what causes them and also has some plans for remedying the situation.

Of the 98 runs scored off Burdette during the first two-thirds of the season, 51 were made off home runs. He had given up 29, tops in the league, and they had been directly responsible for five of his ten defeats.

'That's a lot of homers, a lot of runs and too many games lost on one pitch,' the fidgety veteran said after he had scored his fifteenth victory despite two homers that accounted for four of the Cardinals' five runs.

Patiently, Burdette checked over the list of home runs in the scorebook without finding any definite pattern that might give him a clue to a possible solution. Seventeen of the homers, for example, had been hit by left-handed batters but there was nothing particularly significant about that.

'It does surprise me, though, that Gus Bell (Cincinnati) had hit three off me this season,' Lew said. 'That's at least two too many for a hitter like Bell.'

There was some slight reassurance in the fact that 16 of the homers had come with the bases vacant and only one (by Earl Averill of the Cubs) with the bases fully occupied.

The record for games at home and away was indicative of nothing special as to ball parks.

Home runs are ordinarily hit off of poor pitches. The pitcher's 'hanging curve' excuse is traditional. But Burdette has as good control as any pitcher in baseball. He annually is among the stingiest of pitchers in walks allowed. This season was no exception. Deducting intentional passes, he had walked an average of only one a game in his first 25 decisions. Also, his wide assortment of pitches includes such breaking stuff as sliders, curves, screwballs and sinkers.

So how come, Lew?

'It means I'm making my pitches too good,' Burdette said. 'They're not hitting any homers off any particular pitch. But they're hitting almost of them off high pitches.

'Even when I was strictly a fast ball pitcher, I had to keep my sinker low. I still have to. That one Ken Boyer hit today was way too high and the one George Crowe pulled into the right field stands was well below the belt but still not low enough. I wanted it down around the knees like the one he popped up on the time before.'

Burdette then paused and then asked, 'So that makes 29 homers off me? What's the record for a season and who holds it?'

Robin Roberts- 46, he was told.

'Yeah, and the hitters could hardly wait to bat against Roberts after he had lost something off his fast ball,' Burdette said. 'They knew he wouldn't throw at them and they trusted his control.

'Maybe that's what's happened to me. They know my control is good so they take a toe hold and wait for the pitch they want. It could just be that I'm going to make them a little less anxious to hit against me.'

Burdette didn't explain whether he meant to accomplish that by a few 'looseners' high and inside or by a stricter adherence to lower pitches that break even lower. He did give the impression of a pitcher who intended to do something about a situation that has become especially galling to a competitor who will do anything- well, almost anything- to win."

-Clem Walfoort, Milwaukee Journal (Baseball Digest, October 1959)

1959 Yankees Rookies of the Past

"Beginning in 1924, there's been a Yankee dandy in almost every beginning group. The Yankees relied more upon shopping from their rivals than upon minor league resources in winning pennants in 1921-22-23.

Earle Combs, high voltage center fielder, was the first of the new parts when the original pennant machine began to wear out in 1924. Combs suffered a broken leg early that season, so his first big year was 1925, when Lou Gehrig was also launched.

The Yankees needed a midway combination in 1926, so they brought up both second baseman Tony Lazzeri and shortstop Mark Koenig- with championship results. George Pipgras and Wilcy Moore were pitchers who added new strength in 1927, another title year. The veterans were sound enough to keep the pennant in 1928, but cocky young Leo Durocher was fitted into the machine as a spare part.

The Yankees had to make way for the Athletics for the next three years. Meantime, they prepared for a fresh surge by adding Bill Dickey, Sammy Byrd and Lyn Lary in 1929; Ben Chapman in 1930, Lefty Gomez in 1931. Shortstop Frankie Crosetti and pitcher Johnny Allen put the finishing touches on the new championship production in 1932.

There were flaws, though, and the Yankees didn't receive the proper new parts in 1933 to prevent a crackup. Dixie Walker, much later a Brooklyn star, was tried and found wanting; Billy Werber was peddled to the Red Sox.

Then, in '36, their leader was taken to the Yankees. Joe DiMaggio opened the throttle for a run of four consecutive world championships.

Now the Yankee pattern was firmly set: have a minor leaguer ready for any weakness that might develop. So they reinforced with Tommy Henrich and Spud Chandler in 1937; Joe Gordon, Joe Beggs and Steve Sundra in 1938; Charlie Keller, Atley Donald, Marius Russo and Buddy Rosar in 1939.

Demand finally exceeded supply in 1940 when pitcher Tiny Bonham was the only pitcher of worth. The Yanks missed the pennant that year, but shortstop Phil Rizzuto came along in 1941 to touch off a three-year reign. The Yankees hung on in 1942 and '43 without too much new help: pitcher Hank Borowy and pitcher Johnny Lindell in '42, though Lindell's real contribution began when he switched to the outfield the next year. Stepping into the wartime breach in 1943 were Billy Johnson, George Strinweiss and Bud Metheny.

It wasn't until 1947 that the Yanks got their player production line rolling again. Meantime, Joe Page, a rescue specialist who first appeared in 1944, was the only important addition. Since then, except for 1953, when only outfielder Bill Renna showed up, for part-time work, the infusion of new blood into the Yankee dynasty has been steady and abundant:

1947: Yogi Berra, Bobby Brown, Karl Drews, Ralph Houk, Vic Raschi.

1948: Tommy Byrne, Frank Hiller, Cliff Mapes, Gus Niarhos, Bob Porterfield, Steve Souchok (this freshman class was comparatively large, but admittedly not up to Yankee standards and this was the club's only pennant miss in a span of seven years).

1949: Hank Bauer, Jerry Coleman, Dick Kryhoski, Jack Phillips (sold to Pittsburgh in midseason), Duane Pillette, Charlie Silvera.

1950: Joe Collins, Jim Delsing, Whitey Ford, Jackie Jensen, Don Johnson (Delsing and Johnson both sold to the Browns)

1951: Mickey Mantle, Billy Martin, Gil McDougald, Tom Morgan.

1952: Tom Gorman, Bob Cerv, Bill Miller.

1953: Bill Renna.

1954: Andy Carey, Bob Grim, Bill Skowron.

1955: Elston Howard, Johnny Kucks, Tom Sturdivant.

1956: Norm Siebern, Lou Skizas (sold to the Athletics).

1957: Al Cicotte, Woodie Held, Tony Kubek, Jerry Lumpe, Bobby Richardson, Ralph Terry (Terry and Held sold to the A's).

1958: Ryne Duren, Zack Monroe, Marv Throneberry.

And that's how a championship industry is born- and maintained. No other club has had the production consistency of first Ed Barrow and then George Weiss."

-from Can 1959 Match These Rookie Crops?, Bill Bryson, Baseball Digest, March 1959

1959 Yankees World Series of the Past: 1958

SECOND GUESSING THAT EERIE SERIES

"It was a topsy-turvy Series. It was a Series in which the Yankees played like sleep-walkers for two games, and then woke up on the edge of a precipice, locked in a deadly struggle for dear life.

It was a tough Series for the managers. And it was a glorious Series for the second-guessers.

Second-guessing is one of the lesser arts. Anyone can do it. All you need are eyes to see and tongue to let loose. In a seven-game Series in which the victor comes from behind after losing three of the first four games, like the Yankees did, everyone practices it, especially those who supported the losers. That means everyone who lives west of the Hudson River, as well as the experts who picked the Braves to win in six games. Among the latter groups is your reporter, who is heartily happy that he was not managing either of the two clubs.

No sooner had the Series begun than the second-guessers went to work. Hank Bauer singled and Casey Stengel ordered Gil McDougald to try a hit-and-run to right. Gil obeyed but the best he could do on the first two pitches was to slap fouls. Suddenly, Warren Spahn picked Bauer off base and he was caught on a throw from Joe Adcock to Johnny Logan. This was unbelievable- the slick-running wide-awake Bauer nipped on pickoff in a World Series game? To make matters worse, McDougald singled on Spahn's next delivery and took second on a wild pitch. Mantle fouled out, and now looks who's here- not Yogi Berra, but Elston Howard!

Why not Berra? Why is Yogi batting fifth instead of the cleanup spot? What the heck's the matter with old Casey? Is he getting senile?

Howard flied out, the inning was over and, gadzooks, Berra opened the second inning with a single to left.

Obviously, Casey's head need an examination. So did Bauer's- didn't he know that Spahn has the best pickoff move in the majors. And what was the matter with Ralph Houk, the first base coach?

This, dear friend, gives you an idea of how to second-guess. It costs nothing. You can't lose. You can make gross misstatements and get away with it. You can even feel a thrill as Berra, dashing around second in the second inning of the first game on Moose Skowron's single to left, is snuffed out at third on Wes Covington's throw. Who, for example, ever heard of a runner trying to make third on a simple single to left? Why didn't Frank Crosetti, coaching at third, give Yogi the stop sign at second? Ye gods, but the Yankees looked awful.

As a matter of fact, the Yanks didn't look good in the first game. Bauer was overconfident- he let himself get picked off base. And Yogi gambled that Covington would not throw accurately to third. That these two veterans of many Series games should have erred was surprising, but the fact obviously that they were suffering from opening game jitters, an affliction that annoys the coolest heads in baseball.

As for Casey's choice of Howard as his cleanup batter, it may be pointed out that Howard hit hard in the first game, but his blows went directly into the hands of Brave outfielders. And Berra, a left-handed batter, seemed less likely to hit as well as the right-handed Ellie against the clever Spahn.

The Yankees stayed in contention in the ten-inning thriller. They went into overtime, tied with the Braves, 3-3, thanks to homers by Skowron and Bauer. Their real weakness was in the outfield, where fly balls were SLIGHTLY misplayed and where Mickey Mantle looked slow in making up his mind as to which base he should throw to.

Bill Bruton won the game in the tenth with a run-scoring single. But the real key to the Braves' victory was Fred Haney's offensive strategy in the fourth inning.

Whitey Ford had been pitching tight ball until then, with six strikeouts to his credit. The Yankee southpaw walked Hank Aaron to open the fourth, but retired Adcock and Covington on easy grounders. Suddenly, the Braves began to hit first pitches, Del Crandall, Andy Pafko and Spahn singling in succession for two vital runs. Haney had noticed that Ford was sneaking a first strike over, putting his batters in a hole. It was clever strategy- because it worked. If it hadn't, Fred would have been gooseberry pie for the second-guessers.

When a team wins by a 13-5 score, and has a 13-2 lead going into the ninth, as the Braves did in the second Series game, the second-guessers ought to keep their traps shut- but they don't.

Take that first inning for example. Lew Burdette went into it with a scoreless streak of 24 innings, only five shy of Babe Ruth's record set in 1918. And what do the Yanks do? Bauer opens the game with a single. He takes second on McDougald's grounder, and third when Eddie Mathews messes it up, and then Mantle walks, and Bauer tallies on Howard's infield out. True, Berra ends the inning by hitting into a double play, but the Yanks have a one-run lead.

Bill Bruton evened things up with a home run on the first pitch by Turley. And Red Schoendienst doubled. But Turley fanned Mathews, and after Aaron was intentionally passed, Covington singled, scoring Red to put the Braves ahead, 2-1.

And NOW what does Casey do? He removes Turley, his 21-game winner, for Duke Maas! Maas paves the was for a seven-run inning by failing to trap Aaron in a run-down off third, and then gets his brains knocked out.

At that moment the second guessers were spreading through the Braves' fine new stadium that Old Casey was really through. Had Haney panicked when Burdette allowed a run to score? Heck, no! But Casey, lacking confidence in the strongest right-hander on his staff, put Maas, inexperienced in Series play, up there to be shelled in a fare-thee-well.

Would Casey resign after the Braves took four straight? How long can a man keep going? That's what they were asking that night in old Milwaukee.

But in the third game it was Haney who made the boo-boos. Glance at the score: Yankees 4, Braves 0. Don Larsen, the imperfect Perfect Pitcher, yielded seven singles, fanning eight. Bob Rush pitched fairly good ball, but he had a fit of wildness in the fifth, and that was that.

Or was it?

Look back on that crucial fifth inning ... the game still scoreless, Norm Siebern on base as the result of a walk, and two out. Siebern was perched on second, with McDouglald at bat, and not a cloud in sight.

And what does Haney do? He orders Rush to walk McDougald.

Did you ever hear of such nonsense? McDougald bats right, Rush pitches right. McDougald had been a batting slump all year. And the next batter was Larsen, an all-around athlete who can clout a ball to the fences. The keen-eyed Larsen worked a pass to fill the bases, and then Bauer drove an outside pitch to right field for two runs! That, gentlemen, was the ball game!

The Braves went whacky on bases that day. Schoendienst was trapped off third in what might have been a big sixth inning, offering the second-guessers a noble opportunity to pounce on Red, on third base coach Billy Herman, and even on Hank Aaron, who was hung up between second and third like a diabolo on a string.

Yet the real goof the Braves made came in the eighth inning. Stengel had noticed that Larsen was tiring, and sent Ryne Dyren in to relieve him at the beginning of that stanza. The hefty fireballer was so wild at the start that he walked Mathews on four straight pitches.

It was a spot for wait-and see tactics, but Haney gave no wait sign to Aaron, who hit the first pitch for an easy out. Then Covington worked another pass, but again Torre and Crandall failed to wait out the notoriously wild Duren, and the inning ended without a score.

Remember ... it was only 2-0 then, for Bauer had not yet made his two-run homer off Don McMahon. If ... if Haney had onlyl made Duren pitch and pitch and pitch ....

That's what the second-guessers after the dust of battle rose, revealing the wreckage of the Braves' hopes for a four-straight triumph.

The less said the better about the fourth game, which ended with the Braves winning, 3-0.

But the second-guessers never say less than a million words, no matter what happens.

Before play began, it was announced that Howard, who had cut a gash in his knee in the second game, was fit to play. Yet Casey sent Siebern into left field to become the saddest Series flop since Roger Peckinpaugh committed eight errors in 1925, sending the Washington Senators down to an ingnominious defeat.

Why Siebern, a left-handed batter, against the devastating southpaw Spahn? Hadn't the right-handed Howard led the Yanks at bat during the regular season? Wasn't Howard a longer hitter than the poking Siebern?

And shouldn't Ole Case, really old by now, have known that Howard is a cool cookie who may not be the greatest outfielder on record, yet who knows where a ball is going and tries to catch it?

Poor Siebern, a fine boy, misplayed a fly into a triple, let a soft Texas Leaguer fall in front of him, and went blind on a routine fly into the left field corner, adding a cheap double to the Braves' attack.

Of course, Siebern hadn't played that way during the season. He'd had his weaknesses in the field, but he'd been improving, and he hit .300.

In this case, as later events proved, Casey was second-guessed correctly. Howard replaced Siebern; his fielding plugged a hole in the Yankee outfield; his catch on Bruton in the fifth game was the turning point.

But would you have known that in advance?

It was Haney who caught the second-guessers' shafts as soon as the fifth game began. Turley was starting again. He'd looked bad in the second game. He walked Bruton, the leadoff man, in the first inning.

Then Fred ordered Schoendienst to sacrifice. It's true that Mathews and Aaron couldn't bring Bruton home, and Turley was to go on to pitch a classic shutout.

But why hadn't Haney ordered Schoendienst to try the hit-and-run? After all, Red is one of the game's most adept place-batters. Is it possible that Fred noticed that Turley, despite the pass, was about to have one of his best days? Maybe ... 

But there it is- Schoendienst, whose hitting, fielding and savvy gave the Braves that professional look, was wasted on a sacrifice. My, oh my ...

And again Haney's misfired in the fatal sixth, when the Yankees, leading 1-0, suddenly pounced on Burdette and at last got him off their necks.

Singles by Bauer and Mantle and Berra's double had made it 2-0; and then Fred ordered Burdette to walk Howard for Skowron. Let's agree that Haney's first-inning sacrifice of Schoendienst was according to his book, which calls for the bunt when the leadoff man gets on in the opening inning.

But where was his book in the sixth? How come he ordered right-handed batting Howard, batting against right-handed Burdette,  to be walked? And for Skowron, who with seven RBI's was to press Bauer (with eight) for high in that department for the Series?

Skowron doubled into the right field corner, scoring two runs and, man, the game was in the bag.

Or could you have guessed better than Fred Haney?

The sixth game was the key to the Yankees' final victory. It was one of the great games of Series history. It was a heart-breaker for gallant Warren Spahn. It was a field day for second-guessers.

The Braves were now the jittery team. The Yankees were rolling along with rugged determination, their championship chariot now in high gear.

Bauer's homer gave the Yanks a run in the first. Logan's sacrifice with Schoendienst was successful; Red scored on Aaron's single to even things up. Ford didn't have it; three straight singles gave the Braves a precious run in the second, and Whitey, after walking Schoendienst, went out for Ditmar.

The bases were full with one out. Johnny Logan sent a fly to Howard in left and then Billy Herman out-second-guessed himself. It was a medium-distance fly. Andy Pafko, now a slow-footed 37-year-older, was on third. It would have been suicide to have sent Pakfo in to score.

It WAS suicide.

For Herman, recalling that Howard had thrown wildly to the plate in the loose second game, gave Andy the go-sign.

Goodness gracious to Betsy, Herman, what made you do that?

Pafko, of course, was doubled at the plate. The rally was busted up. Ditmar held the Braves until two singles, an outfield fumble and that man Berra's sacrifice fly tied it up, 2-2, in the sixth.

Naturally, the fact that Mathews repeatedly flubbed with men on bases during the Series (and who would have been the next batter if Pafko had stayed on third) must be forgotten. Or that Ditmar and Duren made the Braves look sick at bat as the game went into extra innings.

Then, in the tenth, Haney again became the butt of second-guessing critics. The great Spahn was only human after all. McDougald opened with a home run. Spahn retired Bauer and Mantle, no mean feat, but Howard and Berra chipped singles.

Haney went to the mound. He didn't want to lift Spahn, that was obvious from his attitude. He put McMahon in the box.

And Skowron immediately clouted a single to score Howard with what was to prove the winning run.

Second-guessing is easy here. Why not Rush to relieve, instead of McMahon? Rush had relieved successfully during the regular season. He had held the Yankees to three hits in seven innings in the third game of the Series. The Yanks had shown little respect for McMahon earlier in the Series. Rush, of course, would have easily retired Skowron. Or would he?

And, come to think of it, why not pass Skowron? The Moose, long frustrated in his search for fame, was having a fine Series. The next batter was Duren, the worst hitter in baseball. To have used a pinch hitter would have been to get him and his cannonball out of the game.

Oh, boy, but there's a real second guess!

By the seventh game all Milwaukee, between liebfraumilch, kulmbacher and niblets of landsjagerwurst, was busy second-guessing. For once, errors of commission had put the Braves in the hole, and errors of omission kept them there.

In the first and third innings, the Braves filled the bases, yet scored only once. Meantime, inept fielding around first base gave the Yankees a one-run lead. Del Crandall evened matters with a homer in the sixth, and then Burdette suddenly collapsed with two out in the eighth and went down with colors flying as the Yankees scored four runs. The final score was 6-2. Casey Stengel was still the Little Napoleon, the Master Mind, the Old Perfesser, the Wunderkind; and Fred Haney was good old Fritz, the dunderhead, but a good guy, at that.

Yet even in this sudden-death struggle, the second-guessers could fault the managers. Why had Casey risked victory by starting Larsen, when Turley, as events proved, was to pitch another superb game? And why had Haney started Burdette (who had only two days rest)?

If you choose, you can claim that Casey showed great wisdom in starting Larsen. He got nearly three innings out of Don at the cost of one run, and then could count on Bullet Bob to finish up fresh.

You may say that Haney might have started Rush with the same in mind ... a few innings from him and then as much as possible from the arm of the dauntless Burdette.

But that's water under the dam, Schlitz under the gullet now. The Series is over. What's your guess on who'll be second-guessed when next October rolls around?"

-Charles Dexter, Baseball Digest, December 1958-January 1959