Ted Williams - The Early Years
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by user The shark
The year was 1936 and millionaire Tom Yawkey celebrated the beginning of his fourth year as the owner of the Boston Red Sox by acquiring right-handed slugger Jimmie Foxx from the Philadelphia Athletics for a mere pittance - two unheralded journeyman and a couple-hundred-thousand in cash. Foxx had won the American League Triple Crown in 1933 and back-to-back AL MVP Awards in 34 and 35. At age 28, he was one of the very best players in the game. And he had 303 career home runs on his resume to prove it.
But 1936 was not to be the Sox' year. By all accounts, team chemistry was terrible. Several players (including Foxx) were rumored to be ruffling feathers of the team's player-manager, Joe Cronin by carrousing to all hours and drinking more than their fair share. And discipline proved tough to enforce as Yawkey himself was reported to be the ring-leader of the debauchery. And to make matters worse, veterans Heinie Manush, Bing Miller, and Cronin were either oft-injured, simply unproductive, or an ugly combination of both. Foxx ended up with decent numbers (.338, 41, 143) but the team finished in sixth place at 74-80 or a country mile behind the 102 wins of the New York Yankees.
Unfortunately for Bostonians, Tom Yawkey's deep pocketbook seemed ineffectual in turning the tide, as 1937 saw more of the same. Bad chemistry, hard drinking, and a team divided - the younger players fell on the side of Joe Cronin, the veterans fell on the side of Yawkee, and general manager Eddie Collins, both of whom found themselves walking a delicate line, trying to keep the peace. While on the field, even the great Jimmie Foxx stumbled, posting a disappointing batting average (by his standards) of .285. Again, October found the Sox making non-baseball arrangements, this time because of a fifth place finish, 21 games behind Gehrig, DiMaggio, and crew.
But there was a series of developments in 1936 that offered a gleam of hope: acting on the rule created by MLB in 1931 that allowed major league clubs to build their own farm systems, Yawkey built a network of working agreements with nine minor league teams across the country. Under the keen eye of an overseer, assisted by a number of scouts, the Sox would purchase, teach, and develop young, promising talent within their own organization.
In June of '36, Eddie Collins traveled to the the West Coast to scout one of their new minor league affiliates, the San Diego Padres of the Pacific Coast League. One afternoon, while watching the team take batting practice, Collins (who, to this very day, ranks 9th in MLB history in base hits) took notice of a tall, skinny seventeen-year-old. That swing captivated Collins. In it, he claimed to see all of the greats who had ever played the game. The youngster was jumpy, nervous, almost ill-at-ease, but as the pitcher wound up, the kid would suddenly focus, seeming to shut everything out but the approach of the ball. Then, with seemingly perfect timing, the bat exploded gracefully through the hitting zone in a blur. Admittedly, the approach and attitude needed polishing, but Collins realized what he saw before his very eyes - the next great hitter. The kid's name was Ted Williams.
Collins immediately took out an option on Williams, against the advice of the San Diego owner, who apparently didn't see the same promise in the youngster, and was wary of injuring his fledgling relationship with the big league club by a facilitating a bad deal. But Eddie Collins held no misgivings. He knew what he had in front of him.
Williams was summoned to Spring Training with the Red Sox in March of 1938 along with second baseman Bobby Doerr, even though Collins felt certain he was still a year or two away from being ready. Williams arrived in camp, his inward insecurity masked by an outward, overt cockiness.
When he met the big-leaguers, one veteran told Ted he should see Jimmie Foxx hit. Eighteen-year-old Ted glared at him and shot back "Foxx ought to see me hit". Everything he did in camp that spring smacked of confidence - "over-confidence" in the opinion of many of the veterans. His disregard for the established order of batting practice, his outspokenness, his tomfoollery with the spectators - all of it caused the vets to despise him. But, to a man, they were all impressed with his talent.
Nonetheless, Williams was optioned to the minor league affliate in Minneapolis for the 1938 season. After being ribbed by three of the vets for his assignment, Williams offered them some stern parting words: "I'll be back, and I'll be making more money than all three of you combined!"
While Jimmie Foxx was setting single-season records for Boston (50 homers, 175 RBI) en route to the 1938 MVP Award, Ted Williams (with the help and advice of batting coach Rogers Hornsby) was busy winning the American Association's Triple Crown. That year, he hit .366 with 42 home runs and 142 RBI. Despite several episodes of "Teddy being Manny" (ie: imitating his swing for fans while in right field, sitting down at times between batters, and failing to go all-out for fly balls), Williams was obviously not long for Minneapolis. In fact, 1938 would be his only year there.
In 1939, despite the fact that he wasn't quite ready defensively, nor in terms of maturity, Ted Williams would get called up to the big club. And the Red Sox fortunes would begin to improve almost immediately. And baseball history would very soon find itself in need of a major revision.
For Part Two: "Ted Williams - Teddy Ballgame (1939-1945)" Click here.
For Part Three: "Ted Williams - The Splendid Splinter (1946-1960)" Click here.
- Source - "Red Sox Century"; Glenn Stout and Richard A. Johnson
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Date
Sat 08/12/06, 6:58 pm EST
