Crosley Field Would Be Called Hudepohl Park Today

When I was a kid, we knew the names of the ballparks in which MLB teams played. For example, if I was asking my friend Al where the Yankees would be the next weekend he would say “Comiskey Park”. Right away, I knew the Yankees were going to Chicago to do battle with the Chicago White Sox.

Today, if we were talking and I asked him the same question, he would say “U.S Cellular Field”. Huh? Let’s see, that is Detroit right? No, wait a minute that’s Comerica. Oh, must be the Giants. Wait, this isn’t interleague time yet. Giants? That is AT&T. Too many phone companies. Do you get my meaning?

Whatever happened to the team playing in the name of the stadium? If I said Briggs Stadium or Tiger Stadium, people knew right away that I was referring to Detroit. If I had said Shibe Park or Connie Mack Stadium they knew I was referring to the Philadelphia Phillies (or A’s). Citizens Bank Park, now that is a name for a stadium isn’t it? Banks, Communication Companies, Automobile Manufacturers, they are all the rage.

Look, I understand that if a big-time company comes into your office with an Armani suit and a leather briefcase with a diamond latch on it, you are going to listen to what they say. Especially if you know that they are willing to part with about $50M, that is 50 million = $50,000,000. A-Rod would actually have to play two years to make that kind of money.

That kind of money for an eight or nine year lease is hard to turn down, I understand.

Just think if Crosley Field or Forbes Field were called something else in the ‘60s. Maybe Crosley Field would have been Hudepohl Park. The Pirates could have played in Atlantic & Pacific Tea Company Stadium.

This name “pimping” isn’t forever either, they are temporary leases. Remember when AT&T was Pacific Bell Park, home of the San Francisco Giants?

One could argue that it has been going on for decades. Busch Stadium in St. Louis has been the home of the Cardinals and former home of the Browns forever. But, old man Busch owns the team, the field and everything. So he has all the advertising built in. You always knew Busch Stadium housed the St. Louis Cardinals.

I think Wrigley Field is going to be Wrigley Field until Jesus comes back. The same thing applies to Fenway Park. These venues have tradition steeped into their very fibers. It would almost be tantamount to sacrilege to any Bostonian to have the sacred place called anything else.

It would be hard to imagine the Yankees playing anywhere except Yankee Stadium, even if it is a modern, home run friendly variation. Could you imagine them playing at the Metropolitan Life Center? Please.

Stadium owners and city managers are so swift to sell-out to the highest dollar that I wouldn’t be surprised to see them start naming streets and avenues after corporations and other local businesses.

Excuse me sir, could you show me the way to Network Associates Coliseum?

© 2009 Clifton Eastham. All Rights Reserved.

The Top 10 Highest Vote % in Baseball's Hall of Fame

The National Baseball Hall of Fame is probably the dream of every kid who puts on a Little League uniform. To someday be standing in front of all the members who are still alive and in decent enough health to make the journey to Cooperstown is a lifelong dream.

Some players got in by the “skin of their teeth”, such as Jim Rice who will actually be inducted in a ceremony in July. He received 76.4% of the votes in his 15^th and final year of eligibility. A player must be named on 75% of the ballots in order to be inducted.

Some have made the grade on their first appearance on the ballot, some with very high percentages.

Some we look at retrospectively and wonder what happened. How in the world can the Great “Rajah” Rogers Hornsby not be a first ballot man? I couldn’t tell you why, but I can tell you that he didn’t make it until his fourth ballot appearance.

In 1936 he garnered not quite half of the votes needed. In 1937 either Hornsby wasn’t on the ballot or he just didn’t get any votes. In 1938, he was down to 17.8%, followed by 64.2% in 1939. In ’40 and ’41 there was no election. He was finally voted in 1942 with 78.1% of the votes.

It is also strange to note that if today’s rules applied in 1945, we wouldn’t have Joltin’ Joe DiMaggio in the Hall of Fame. He received only 1 vote which represented only 0.4% of the ballots. Today, if a player receives less than 5% at any time during their 15 years of eligibility they are discontinued from Hall of Fame voting. DiMaggio finally got inducted in 1955 on his fourth ballot.

So, as you can see it is no disgrace not to be voted into the HOF on your first year of eligibility. A player has 15 years of eligibility to be on the ballot. After 15 years, and not enough votes (such as Tommy John), the only way they can be inducted is through the Veteran’s Committee (such as Joe Gordon on this last class).

Therefore, the player with the highest percentage of votes in the history of the National Baseball Hall of Fame is: a tie between Nolan Ryan (1999) and Tom Seaver (1992) both receiving 98.8%.

I find it truly amazing and mind-blowing that nobody in the history of baseball, including Babe Ruth, Ty Cobb, Lou Gehrig (who was voted in on his first ballot in 1936 with only 22.6%), Hank Aaron, Willie Mays, Sandy Koufax, or anyone else, was elected unanimously.

Here is a table showing the results:

PLAYER	IND/YR	VOTES	PCT.
1. Nolan Ryan	1999	491	98.8
2. Tom Seaver	1992	425	98.8
3. Cal Ripken	2007	537	98.5
4. George Brett	1999	488	98.2
5. Ty Cobb	1936	222	98.2
6. Hank Aaron	1982	406	97.8
7. Tony Gwynn	2007	532	97.6
8. Mike Schmidt	1995	444	96.5
9. Johnny Bench	1989	431	96.4
10. Steve Carlton	1994	436	95.6

SOURCES: The National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum

© 2009 Clifton Eastham. All Rights Reserved.

Was Herb Score The Best Pitcher MLB Could Have Seen?

When I was a seven or eight year-old kid growing up in West Virginia, I was always playing baseball, sometimes with others, and at times alone.

I would go through the motions of pitching, as though I were in a real game. I was actually throwing the baseball at a retaining wall, about four feet tall which was made from cross-ties from a railroad nearby.

Being a natural right-handed person, I taught myself how to throw left-handed. I had it down too, folk. I am telling you, my delivery was smooth. This was just before Koufax hit his stride in LA. I would emulate stars of the time period.

Media was very rudimentary then, almost prehistoric if you compare it with today. There was a game-of-the-week on television. I think I remember Dizzy Dean and Pee Wee Reese doing the announcing.

At any rate, the players to mirror myself after (as a pitcher) were right-hander Early Wynn and southpaws Billy Pierce and Herb Score. I would go through the motions of pitching to every guy in the opposing lineup and scoring it on my unofficial score sheet.

At the time, there was no ESPN, or Fox Sports or any other way a young guy could enhance his baseball fix. Newspapers were about the only thing available, especially if you were financially disadvantaged (cool way to say poor).

News of Herb Score being struck by a line drive didn’t come down to my level until probably a year after the accident. All I knew was that he was one of the best pitchers in the game and I was modeling my young career after him.

Of course, looking back through history I realize one of the most promising major league pitching careers had been ruined by a line drive to they eyeball delivered by Gil McDougald. Not that it was Gil’s fault mind you; he felt so much guilt by it that he promised to retire if Herb lost his sight because of it.

How good was Score? Some have said that he was as good as Koufax ever was, maybe better. That is high praise, indeed.

Herbert Jude Score was 19 when he broke into professional baseball with the Cleveland Indian’s AAA arm team, the Indianapolis Indians of the American Association.

Cleveland Indian’s great slugger Rocky Colavito saw Score for the first time in a 1952 Spring Training Camp in Florida. Herb pitched two innings in that game and nobody hit a fair ball against him.

He and Colavito would become best friends, and Rocky delivered the eulogy as Herb’s funeral in 2008.

Everyone in the civilized world was sure the line drive was what ended one of the most promising careers in history. That is, everyone with the exception of Score and Colavito, who both dismissed the idea that the residual effect of the eye injury caused the demise of Herb’s career. They both attributed it to an elbow injury he suffered through a few years later.

In his first year in the big leagues Herb was named Rookie of the Year and deservedly so. He went 16-10 with an ERA of 2.85 that freshman year. He also led the American League in strikeouts with 245 in only 227 innings pitched. He threw 11 complete games and two shutouts.

If anyone thought the sophomore jinx would rear its ugly head, they had another think coming. He became a 20-game winner, going 20-9 with a 2.53 ERA, 16 complete games and a league best five shutouts. He topped the league again in strikeouts with 263 in only 249 innings.

In 1957 about a month into the season Herb was facing the New York Yankees with a 2-1 record and an ERA of 2.04. At Cleveland Stadium, on May 7 in front of 18, 386 fans, one of the best pitchers in the game began to work against the Yankees.

Hank Bauer led off for the Yankees and Score enticed him to hit a ground ball which third baseman Al Smith fielded cleanly and threw him out at first.

This brought up SS, Gil McDougald. Herb threw a pitch and Gil sent a line drive, faster than it was pitched, into the eyeball socket of Herb Score. The ball bounced off Herb’s face and Smith picked it up and threw to first baseman Vic Wertz, easily throwing out McDougald who was distracted by the fallen pitcher.

Score never lost consciousness but had severe hemorrhaging in the eye and a swollen retina as well as a broken nose. He was carried off the field and spent three weeks in a hospital. His plight brought 10,000 letters with good wishes. People in his hometown, Lake Worth, Fla., sent him a 125-foot-long get-well telegram with 4,000 names, and a California man offered to donate an eye to him.

Bob Lemon would come in and pitch for Cleveland, finish the game ad pick up the victory.

Score was traded to the White Sox in 1960 and was never close to the same pitcher he was prior to the injury to the eye. In fact after 1957 Herb’s totals were 17-26 with an ERA of 4.43, 290 strikeouts in 345+ innings.

Herb retired after the 1962 season and from 1964 to 1997 he became the voice of the Cleveland Indians on the radio broadcasts.

Hall of Fame pitcher and teammate, Bob Feller said of Score, “He would have been probably one of the greatest, if not the greatest, left-handed pitchers who ever lived. Herb Score had just as good a curveball as [Sandy] Koufax and a better fastball."

It is one of the more unfortunate blows that life delivers. Perhaps we could be talking about Herb Score as the best left-hander in history. Who knows?

What we do know is that he was great prior to the accident, and not quite mediocre after.

Herb died in November of 2008. Rocky Colavito, his lifelong friend delivered the eulogy at his funeral.

© 2009 Clifton Eastham

Roger Maris: The Record That Was Almost Prevented

Here is the partial transcript of a journal of Mr. Hiram Jeramiah Whitson, who lived about 10 miles from Brighton, MA. Only the entries which include information about Roger Maris are included. The journal was bought in an estate sale of Polly Whitson, his daughter in 2004.

July 10, 1961

It is the all star break and I am glad because I feel myself getting too attached to the game. I can't seem to quit following it, to a fault. It is cloudy and depressing today in Brighton. These kind of days do me no good whatsoever. I wish it would rain. Maris hit his 33rd yesterday and is on a helluva pace. Everytime you read the papers someone is comparing him to Babe. Ridiculous. Maris isn't half the player Babe was.

July 24, 1961

The sun is shining brightly today, everything is fine. I even cleaned out the gutters this evening. I have to remember to give Jim back his circular saw. Maris is still on a tare (sic). He can't beat Babe's record, he just can't.

August 8, 1961

Cloudy out again, but really hot. Another one of those depressing days, I wish they would go away. Sometimes I would just like to stay in my room and sleep the time away. Roger fu**ing Maris and Mantle both are threatening to break Babe's HR record. I'd sure rather see Mick do it if someone has to. Who the hell is Maris?

August 28, 1961

51 HR's. That sonofab**ch has hit 51 homers. He is going to break the record. I know he is. I don't know if I could stand for that. Babe was the best ever. Maris isn't worthy to tie Babe's shoes. It's raining outside and I hate my life and everybody in it. I saw that same guy at the store yesterday. He seems too friendly. Maybe something is up?

Sept. 20, 1961

I don't feel well at all today. My head aches, my eyes feel like they have a lot of pressure inside. Cloudy and just a little cool today. Too cool for this time in September in Brighton. The damn guy has 58 now and it looks like he's gonna do it. I am at my end with this whole thing. Mantle got hurt and can't break the record so now it's just up to Maris. If he breaks it I don't know what I'll do. He is coming to Boston on the 23rd. So will I. I'll see to it that he doesn't break it. By God, if he would get whacked he wouldn't break it. I'll take my 9mm and pop him right there in right field. I can get a seat just behind Pesky's Pole, put a silencer on it and pick him off like a grouse. He won't even know what hit him.

(According to records, Whitson was killed on Sept. 22 when he was struck by a bus in downtown Brighton at 3:00 in the afternoon.)

Dom: The Other DiMaggio

It is so hard being the runt of the litter. You know, the youngest sibling. You are always striving to outdo the others in at least one thing.

It happens all the time. There have been many brothers who have played in the major leagues, one usually excelling over the other, thus claiming more recognition.

For example, if I say Brett, you don't say Ken, right? Of course not, you say George. Oldtimers, if I say Shantz, you would'nt reply Billy, you would say Bobby. If I say Perry you say Gaylord, not Jim. I say Boyer, you would probably say Ken, not Clete or Cloyd. Dean usually gets the response Dizzy, not Daffy. Tony Conigliaro, not Billy. I could go on and on, but I digress.

When one of your brothers is the great Joe DiMaggio, the stakes go up a good deal. How can you compete with someone who grows up to be one of the best players in baseball history?

Thus, is the plight of being the brother of a superstar. It doesn’t matter that you end your own professional baseball career with a .298 batting average. It matters not that you were named to seven All-Star teams in the 10 full seasons you played.

Throw in all that the fact that you played your career alongside a player some regard as the best hitter ever in baseball, Ted Williams.

All those components together mean that the spotlight was not large enough for all three.

Born in 1917, Domenic Paul DiMaggio, went on to become a very good, maybe not great, centerfielder for the Boston Red Sox from 1940 until 1953.

After missing three years serving in the Navy in World War II, he returned in 1946 with his best season yet, batting .316 to place fifth in the league.

There is always that particular part of the brain that makes one wonder, “what if?”

What if Dom hadn’t given up three years of his prime playing years to Uncle Sam, what more accomplishments he may have made?

You could hit .300 every year, hit 30 HR every year and drive in 100 runs and still not be the best DiMaggio, not to mention the best center-fielder in the American League.

It is very difficult to grow up in the shadow of a brother, especially a successful one. I would imagine all his life Dom was asked, “DiMaggio, are you Joe’s brother?”

Even now every time someone meets me they say, “Eastham. Are you related to Ron?” It gets old, people, it gets real old.

His nickname, “The Little Professor” was very well deserved. Dom wasn’t your stereotypical looking baseball player, he looked more like he was taking Chemistry 101 or studying to become a nuclear physicist rather than being one of the best fielders of his era.

He did not just look like a mathematician, he was one. He utilized his mathematical skills to become successful in the business world after his retirement from baseball, and loved to play the stock market.

In most instances, someone with a 34-game hitting streak on his resume would look very good indeed. However, when you turn the lights on and look around and see ol’ Joe over there with a world-record 56-game hitting streak of his own, your streak quickly diminishes in grandeur.

Ironically, it was big bro Joe who caught a sinking liner to end his streak and keep his own record intact.

He was generally regarded as a better defensive player with a stronger arm, than Joe. The younger DiMaggio led the American League in assists three times, putouts twice and double plays twice.

Dom was also selfless and a very giving person. For years he donated all the money he made from signing autographs to the American Professional Baseball Players Association, an organization that helped support older players not covered by a retirement plan.

Dom passed away on May 8 in his home in Massachusetts after battling pneumonia. He was 92.

© Clifton Eastham 2009. All rights reserved.

Ode to the Umpire

An umpire’s life is not that fun,

Spending four hours in the dry hot sun,

Making calls that half dislike,

Telling rowdy managers to take a hike.

He spends his afternoons or nights

Calling balls and strikes and breaking up fights,

He calls him "out" and the crowd goes wild,

Then the manager tells him he’s nobody’s child.

He makes calls on plays that are lightning quick,

The player’s upset; he has a bone to pick.

"What kind of life is this?" the umpire thinks,

Nose to nose, this whole deal stinks.

The team at bat is a run behind,

Bottom of the ninth, he is in a bind.

Two outs, three on, three balls strike two,

The catcher calls time to tie his shoe.

The umpire hopes the batter swings,

So he doesn’t decide the team that wins.

The pitcher looks in to get his sign,

While the umpire tries to clear his mind.

The pitch comes in and time seems to freeze,

It’s headed for the corner right at the knees.

The batter just looks as the ball goes by,

"Strike three, you’re out!" was the umpire’s cry.

The game was lost by the home team then,

The umpire tried to remember when

He made the choice of this career,

And the clubhouse tunnel was nowhere near.

He ran like the wind to escape the mob,

He knew he should find a different job,

You can’t please them all, he knew that well,

But when the home team loses, it’s just pure hell.

© Clifton Eastham 2009. All Rights Reserved

Open Letter To Roger Clemens

This is a new world you have found yourself in, isn’t it Rog? You still have more money than you know what to do with, but it gnaws at you down deep in the wheelhouse, where nobody can see that things have changed.

It is difficult if not impossible to feel true compassion abut someone who threw their own self under the bus. Yes you did, you know you did.

Take a look out there now Roger. Take a good long look. You actually broke a whole bunch of hearts of the fans who revered you. Mine? No, of course not, I never really liked you anyway. No offense, you have just never done it for me.

I have always been a fan of players who don’t talk a lot but let their craft do their communicating for them. You know, people like Tommy John, Roger Maris, Jim Thome. People who played the game straight up, asking for no quarter and certainly giving none.

Now more about you and your uh, what shall we say, predicament?

You had the world by the onions. You were destined for the Hall of Fame on the first ballot maybe the first 100% ever. And if you had retired when you should have, I wouldn’t be penning this letter just now. You would still be America’s sweetheart, The Rocket! Oh how the mighty have fallen.

The thing that gets me is this. You brought this entire scenario upon yourself. Nobody compelled you to go in and lie to congress. You just couldn’t stand it that you were caught up in the cyclone which I now call Steroidmania. When I say caught up, I mean found out.

Brian McNamee let people know that you weren’t what you were perceived to be. You could have just said, “Hell with him, let people think what they will.” But not you, no, you had to be public, and worse, you had to be a spectacle. I remember when you said, “I don’t give a rat’s ass about the Hall of Fame…”. Remember that? Or did you forget that as well?

I wonder if you will be saying that five and ten years down the line. I bet Mark McGwire regrets telling Congress, “I’m not here to talk about the past.” At last count he has been on two HOF ballots, outvoted on both of them, and actually fell from bad to worse on them.

Does it matter not that you were a hero, a legend, a player kids looked up to for an example to follow? Or are you like Bob Gibson? “Why should I be an example for your kids? Be an example for your own kids.” I thought that was flippant but Gibson was Gibson, and he is a Hall of Famer now.

Lying to Uncle Sugar is serious business son. Ask Barry Bonds. Remember now, they didn’t come after you, you sought them.

Bringing legal action against McNamee was a very bad thing to do. I always use to hear that the more you stirred shit, the more it smelled. I believe that is true, so does anyone else who has fallen down a flight of stairs with a “thunder mug” in his or her hand. But I digress.

The real sad thing is you took part in ruining a whole generation of players who have played clean and above board. We can’t trust anyone anymore. A-Rod fessed up after he got caught, so did Manny, sort of. And you still, still, STILL deny it. What’s up with that? They’ve got DNA on needles with blood that said it belongs to you. Blood doesn’t lie Roger, people do.

Deny on Roger, deny on. I guess you will be like Pete Rose. Do your time, watch your life played on TV, then come out with a best-seller, “I didn’t use ‘roids, bit if I would have….”.

Kids loved you man. They idolized you. What are their parents supposed to tell them? Should they drop a dime on you? I mean what’s next for them? “Here Kids, Daddy needs to tell you something. You know the stuff they said Roger Clemens did? Well, he did it. Oh, by the way, you know what we told you about Santa, the Easter bunny and the tooth fairy……..”

Nothing is sacred anymore. Damnit, you need to confront the issue. There is no healing when pain or disease is not confronted. And between you and me, now it doesn’t even matter if you did it or not. People will always think you did. Just like a person being charged with being a pedophile. Even though they are innocent, the condemnation rages on so far that the truth doesn’t matter anymore.

Tell us the truth Roger. Yes, we can handle the truth. The truth will set you free.

© 2009 Clifton Eastham. All Rights Reserved