Dick Dick Goose
For the seventh straight year, I drove up to Cooperstown to attend the annual Baseball Hall of Fame induction ceremony. This year there were six inductees: Rich "Goose" Gossage, Dick Williams, Barney Dreyfuss, Walter O'Malley, Billy Southworth and Bowie Kuhn.
I lucked out with the weather. Saturday night saw torrential rains in the central New York region. I stayed in Little Falls, a shabby town in the Mohawk Valley, about thirty miles north of Cooperstown. Sunday saw partly sunny skies and a temperature of about 80 degrees.
The event was sparsely attended, especially considering the mob that went to last year's ceremony, which annointed Cal Ripken and Tony Gwynn. That event gathered some 80,000 people, but this one was more like 20,000 (or perhaps even less). People showing up right before the ceremony started could get prime seats (VIPs and members get folding chairs up front, the great unwashed can park a lawn chair some hundred or so yards back, but there is a large video screen so it can be viewed well from a great distance).
I went solo this year, but ended up sitting next to a couple from Long Island. He was a bit of an odd duck--he came for Dick Williams, the itinerant manager. The fellow was once the president of the Dick Williams fan club. Who knew such a thing existed? He was a good fan to talk baseball with, though, and a fellow Yankee-hater.
Of the six inductees, only two are still living. The Veteran's committee, which heretofore had proven a huge obstacle and hadn't voted anyone in under the revised rules, was tweaked, so a bit of a floodgate opened and some real old-timers were put in. Dreyfuss was the owner of the Pittsburgh Pirates back in the Honus Wagner days. His great-grandson gave a nice speech on his behalf. Walter O'Malley was the owner of the Dodgers for many years, and is best known for moving the team from Brooklyn to Los Angeles fifty years ago. This has made him persona non grata in Brooklyn, but it was frequently stressed that he did this because he had no alternative, as a new stadium could not be built in Brooklyn. His son, Peter, gave a short and dry acceptance speech. Billy Southworth was the manager of the St. Louis Cardinals during their glory days during the war years, skippering them to two World Series titles.
The most controversial choice for induction was Bowie Kuhn, the commissioner of the game from the 1969-1984. Kuhn presided over a certain boom in baseball, which included night post-season games, fan voting for all-star games, the designated hitter, teams divided into divisions (and the resulting extra round of playoffs) and an expanded TV contract. He was also an opponent of free agency, which makes him look in retrospect a bit like King Canute talking to the waves. His son gave a long-winded speech that was mostly defensive, answering Kuhn's critics. Many feel he didn't deserve induction, and that all of the improvements to baseball happened in spite of him, not because of him. It was also galling that he got voted in while Marvin Miller, who was the labor representative of the player's union, was passed over, as Miller had much more impact on the game.
Still around to experience his induction was Dick Williams, the manager of several teams over twenty-some years, including the 1967 "Impossible Dream" Red Sox and the Oakland A's team of the 1970s. At 79, one could tell how tickled he was by the whole thing, and if his speech was a bit unfocused it was heartfelt. He was followed by Gossage, the burly relief pitcher for 22 seasons, most notably with the New York Yankees. Gossage, by today's statistical standards, didn't have mind-blowing numbers: he had 310 saves, far down the list among the all-time leaders. But he was a different kind of relief pitcher, often going two or three innings, and coming in with men on base. Of his 310 saves, 52 were seven outs or more, unheard of for today's closer. I have no problem with him being elected, and that he had to wait for nine years made it sweeter for him.
Of course, being a Tiger fan, I can't think of Gossage and Williams without remembering one of my best moments as a fan. It was 1984, and Gossage was pitching for the San Diego Padres, who were managed by Williams. They faced my Tigers in the World Series. It was game five, and the Tigers needed only one victory to win it all. Gossage was on the mound in a game in which the Tigers had a slight lead. Runners were on second and third, and Kirk Gibson was at the plate. Williams came out to the mound to urge Gossage to walk him intentionally to fill the bases. Gossage demurred, saying he owned Gibson (he was right, Gibson was 1 for 9 for his career against Gossage, with seven strikeouts). Williams trusted his pitcher. From the Tigers dugout, manager Sparky Anderson called out to Gibson, "He don't want to walk you!" Gibson nodded dourly, and almost before William could take a seat, deposited Gossage's offering into the upper deck, sending Detroit into bedlam. Gossage, in his acceptance speech, turned to Williams and admitted he should have listened to his skipper, and walked Gibson.
I lucked out with the weather. Saturday night saw torrential rains in the central New York region. I stayed in Little Falls, a shabby town in the Mohawk Valley, about thirty miles north of Cooperstown. Sunday saw partly sunny skies and a temperature of about 80 degrees.
The event was sparsely attended, especially considering the mob that went to last year's ceremony, which annointed Cal Ripken and Tony Gwynn. That event gathered some 80,000 people, but this one was more like 20,000 (or perhaps even less). People showing up right before the ceremony started could get prime seats (VIPs and members get folding chairs up front, the great unwashed can park a lawn chair some hundred or so yards back, but there is a large video screen so it can be viewed well from a great distance).
I went solo this year, but ended up sitting next to a couple from Long Island. He was a bit of an odd duck--he came for Dick Williams, the itinerant manager. The fellow was once the president of the Dick Williams fan club. Who knew such a thing existed? He was a good fan to talk baseball with, though, and a fellow Yankee-hater.
Of the six inductees, only two are still living. The Veteran's committee, which heretofore had proven a huge obstacle and hadn't voted anyone in under the revised rules, was tweaked, so a bit of a floodgate opened and some real old-timers were put in. Dreyfuss was the owner of the Pittsburgh Pirates back in the Honus Wagner days. His great-grandson gave a nice speech on his behalf. Walter O'Malley was the owner of the Dodgers for many years, and is best known for moving the team from Brooklyn to Los Angeles fifty years ago. This has made him persona non grata in Brooklyn, but it was frequently stressed that he did this because he had no alternative, as a new stadium could not be built in Brooklyn. His son, Peter, gave a short and dry acceptance speech. Billy Southworth was the manager of the St. Louis Cardinals during their glory days during the war years, skippering them to two World Series titles.
The most controversial choice for induction was Bowie Kuhn, the commissioner of the game from the 1969-1984. Kuhn presided over a certain boom in baseball, which included night post-season games, fan voting for all-star games, the designated hitter, teams divided into divisions (and the resulting extra round of playoffs) and an expanded TV contract. He was also an opponent of free agency, which makes him look in retrospect a bit like King Canute talking to the waves. His son gave a long-winded speech that was mostly defensive, answering Kuhn's critics. Many feel he didn't deserve induction, and that all of the improvements to baseball happened in spite of him, not because of him. It was also galling that he got voted in while Marvin Miller, who was the labor representative of the player's union, was passed over, as Miller had much more impact on the game.
Still around to experience his induction was Dick Williams, the manager of several teams over twenty-some years, including the 1967 "Impossible Dream" Red Sox and the Oakland A's team of the 1970s. At 79, one could tell how tickled he was by the whole thing, and if his speech was a bit unfocused it was heartfelt. He was followed by Gossage, the burly relief pitcher for 22 seasons, most notably with the New York Yankees. Gossage, by today's statistical standards, didn't have mind-blowing numbers: he had 310 saves, far down the list among the all-time leaders. But he was a different kind of relief pitcher, often going two or three innings, and coming in with men on base. Of his 310 saves, 52 were seven outs or more, unheard of for today's closer. I have no problem with him being elected, and that he had to wait for nine years made it sweeter for him.
Of course, being a Tiger fan, I can't think of Gossage and Williams without remembering one of my best moments as a fan. It was 1984, and Gossage was pitching for the San Diego Padres, who were managed by Williams. They faced my Tigers in the World Series. It was game five, and the Tigers needed only one victory to win it all. Gossage was on the mound in a game in which the Tigers had a slight lead. Runners were on second and third, and Kirk Gibson was at the plate. Williams came out to the mound to urge Gossage to walk him intentionally to fill the bases. Gossage demurred, saying he owned Gibson (he was right, Gibson was 1 for 9 for his career against Gossage, with seven strikeouts). Williams trusted his pitcher. From the Tigers dugout, manager Sparky Anderson called out to Gibson, "He don't want to walk you!" Gibson nodded dourly, and almost before William could take a seat, deposited Gossage's offering into the upper deck, sending Detroit into bedlam. Gossage, in his acceptance speech, turned to Williams and admitted he should have listened to his skipper, and walked Gibson.
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