Ted Williams - The Splendid Splinter (1946-1960)
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by user The shark
The year, 1946. In Spring Training, the Boston Red Sox looked very much like the best team in baseball. Not only were the club's best offensive players (Ted Williams, Dom DiMaggio, Johnny Pesky, Bobby Doerr) returning from active duty in World War II, but for the first time in years they actually had a strong, talented, and balanced pitching staff in Tex Hughson, Joe Dobson, Mickey Harris, Boo Ferriss, and Jim Bagby. Baseball writers of the day also credited the Red Sox with the American League's best bullpen. Joe Cronin was still the team's manager, but no longer played. Gone too were Jimmie Foxx and Lefty Grove. In short, much had changed.
Ted Williams returned a changed man. Not only had his military training whipped him into the best physical condition of his life, but his pilot training and war-time flying had heightened his concentration. And, as if it were necessary, his military experiences had also made him more even confident and self-assured. And, to the chagrin of every team the baseball, these changes in Ted's character would quickly manifest themselves on the baseball diamond.
Williams and his Red Sox got off to a blazing start. By the beginning of June, they had amassed a record of 32-9. By the end of June, Williams had nineteen home runs, prompting talk throughout the media, press boxes, and bleachers of whether Ted may be poised to make a run at Babe Ruth's single season home run mark. And he wasn't just hitting home runs, he was absolutely killing the ball. Ted hit majestic blast after majestic blast, as if he was actually trying to prove himself worthy of the murmurrings - that he was proving his willingness to accept the title of "The Next Great Home Run Hitter."
There was one home run blast in particular that stood out: On June 9, in the first inning of the second game of a double-header against Detroit at Fenway, Ted launched a fastball by 26-year old right-hander Fred Hutchinson so far into the right field bleachers that it hit an unsuspecting chap named Joe Boucher right in the head. Boucher would later admit to not paying the best of attention because "there was no way anyone could hit the ball that far." To this day, that 502-foot blast remains the longest-traveled ball into the right field seats and is marked by a solitary red seat in a sea of green.
Over the entire course of the 1946 season, the pitching proved fabulous. Hughson and Ferriss made up the best pitching duo in baseball, and by season's end would post a combined record of 45-17. Mickey Harris and Joe Dobson added 30 more wins, and the staff in total posted an impressive 3.38 ERA. But as good as the pitching was, the offense was even better, leading the American League in runs, RBI, hits, doubles, walks, batting, and slugging. The Sox finished 104-50, twelve games ahead of the Tigers and seventeen up on the Yankees. In doing so, they guaranteed the team its first trip to the Autumn Classic for the first time since 1918.
Williams finished the season with 38 homers, 123 RBI and a .342 batting average - each of which was good for second in the AL. And either because they felt guilty about the slight they effected on Ted after the 1942 season, or because his stint of service to his country had softened their stances, the sportswriters finally awarded Williams his first ever AL MVP Award.
- Ted Williams' 1946 MVP Numbers:
<stats> Player=Ted Williams Type=Batting Years=1946 </stats>
The 1946 World Series pitted Ted Williams and the Boston Red Sox against Stan Musial and the St. Louis Cardinals who had won the NL pennant with a 98-58 record. The much-hyped matchup of two of the games penultimate hitters was a bit anti-climatic as The Splendid Splinter hit a measly .200 in the series. Musial was only slightly better at .222.
And although Boston's return to the precipice of Baseball Immortality ended sourly (they lost the Series 4-1), the 1946 World Series will always be remembered for what happened in the 8th inning of Game 5. With the score tied, Cardinals right-fielder Enos Slaughter led off the frame against Boston righty Bob Klinger who hadn't pitched in nearly two weeks due to a family illness. Slaughter wasted no time singling to center. The next two batters, however, failed to advance Slaughter, so when left-fielder Harry Walker stepped in to face Klinger, Slaughter was still on first and there were two outs. What was about to ensue would be forever remembered in St. Louis baseball lore as "Slaughter's Mad Dash" or in Red Sox lore as "The Time Pesky Held the Ball Too Long" or, if you prefer, simply a single, solitary piece in a larger body of evidence of the existance of the "Curse of the Bambino."
Klinger, even though he was pitching from the stretch, all but ignored Slaughter, who broke for second at the onset of the pitch. Johnny Pesky broke to cover second as Walker hit a weak bloop just over his head. Center-fielder Leon Culberson broke on the ball, scooped it up and threw weakly to Pesky, the cut-off man. Slaughter, who had been allowed a great break on the ball, made up his mind to race for home while rounding second. Pesky received the cut-off from Culberson with his back to the plate just as Slaughter was rounding third. Every player in the field seemed shocked that Slaughter kept running, and no one seemed to have any idea how to react. First baseman Rudy York stood like a spectator near first base, Ted Williams failed to call out Slaughter's intentions, as did everyone else. When Pesky received the ball, he turned around, admittedly stunned to find Slaughter still running. Instinctively, he fired the ball home, but it was too late, Slaughter had scored. If you have ever viewed the video, it very difficult to say that Pesky held the ball too long. In fact, it appears that he recieves the ball, spins around instantly, and fires home. The bigger questions are these: why did Joe Cronin leave Klinger in to face Walker, especially when he hadn't pitched in two weeks and there were two strong relievers already warm? And why did Culbertson throw to Pesky (a mere twenty-five yards away), and not fire home? Those are questions we'll never have answers to. Long story short, the Sox lost the 1946 World Series.
1947 was a bad hangover for the Sox who never quite recovered from "the one that got away." Early in the season, while enjoying spirits of an alcohic variety with Yankees co-owner Dan Topping, Sox owner Tom Yawkey agreed to trade Teddy Ballgame (who was in his prime and clearly the best hitter in baseball) for Joe DiMaggio (who was declining in productivity and clearly on the downside of his career). After sleeping it off and sobering up, Yawkey asked the Yanks to add a catching prospect named Yogi Berra to even the one-sided deal. The Yankees refused and The Splendid Splinter remained in Beantown.
The only thing that went right in Boston in 1947 was Ted. In the midst of a disasterous season in which they won only 83 games, Williams shone like a diamond in a dung heep. He won his second Triple Crown in the span of only three seasons with a .343 average, 32 homers, and 114 RBI. Although a second Triple Crown didn't necessarily mean a second consecutive MVP Award, as DiMaggio won the hardware again, this time by only one voting point!
- Joe DiMaggio's 1947 MVP Numbers:
<stats>
Player=Joe DiMaggio
Type=Batting
Years=1947
</stats>
- Ted Williams' 1947 Numbers:
<stats>
Player=Ted Williams
Type=Batting
Years=1947
</stats>
In 1948, Joe Cronin stepped down from managing the club to fill the General Manager vacancy. To replace himself, Cronin lured ex-Yankees manager Joe McCarthy out of retirement. The move was seen as a bit of a coup, but by no means were the scores settled from the Ruth deal of 1919.
After a putrid start which found them at 14-23 at the end of May, McCarthy began to settle into his new role with his new team. Williams (who had been hitting well all year) was finally joined by everyone else on the team (who had been failing to hit much of anything all year), and the Sox began surging. By season's end, they found themselves in a first place tie with the Cleveland Indians with 96 wins and 58 losses. A one-game playoff was in order. And a strange turn of events would ensue.
Cleveland manager, Lou Boudreau, decided against using either Bob Lemon or Bob Feller (both future Hall-of-Famers) in this one game for all the marbles, opting instead to use a nineteen-game-winner, and his hottest arm, Gene Bearden one only one day's rest! Strange as that decision may seem, McCarthy's decision was much more sideways. Rather than throw Jack Kramer (18-5, 4.35), Ellis Kinder (10-8, 3.74), or Mel Parnell (15-8, 3.14), McCarthy opted for 36-year-old Denny Galehouse (8-8, 4.01) who had started just 15 games all year. The decision shocked everyone - from Boudreau, to the media present, to 100% of the Red Sox players (including Galehouse).
Galehouse got hit around pretty good and was gone by the fourth inning on the wrong side of a 4-0 score that the team could not come back from. And thus, another "one that got away."
- Ted Williams' 1948 Numbers:
<stats>
Player=Ted Williams
Type=Batting
Years=1948
</stats>
Despite being the heavy pre-season favorite among baseball media types in 1949, the Joe McCarthy-led Red Sox were destined for another second place finish (a recurring theme throughout Williams' Red Sox career - this time only one back of the Yankees). The season ended with back-to-back losses to the Bombers when the Sox only needed to win one game to clinch.
Although the Sox played good baseball by all accounts, Williams was again the story in '49. No matter how the team played or fared, no matter who was hot and who was not, one thing remained constant through the 1949 season: Ted Williams hit the baseball hard and often.
- Ted Williams' 1949 MVP Numbers:
<stats>
Player=Ted Williams
Type=Batting
Years=1949
</stats>
In his last at bat of the season, Yankees pitcher Vic Raschi chose to pitch around the Splinter, despite the 5-0, eighth-inning score. And that one walk would ultimately cost Williams his unprecedented third Triple Crown in just five years, as Detroit thirdbaseman George Kell collected two hits to finish at .3429, mere percentage points better than Ted's .3427. Two ten-thousandths of a point from a third Triple Crown. But that heart-wrenching loss was made slightly more bearable by his second MVP Award.
When the curtains went down on the 1949 season, it went down on The Splendid Splinter's chance to win a World Series as well, as the Red Sox would never seriously contend again for the balance of his Hall of Fame career. Throughout the 50's, the Red Sox fielded some unbelievably bad teams, teams that were hard to watch, hard to follow, and hard to root for. In fact, Boston's immediate future could have been handily deciphered in one move. In 1950, the Red Sox decided to integrate. When offered first crack at a player from the roster of the Birmingham Black Barons of the Negro Leagues (the team shared a field with Boston's Double A farm club), they passed over a nineteen-year-old outfielder named Willie Mays for a thirty-one-year-old shortstop named Piper Davis.
In January, 1952, Ted was recalled into military service as the Korean conflict was escelating. Still a member of the Marine reserves, Williams had no choice. Admittedly, he was against the idea at first, but didn't think it was worthing challenging, though many at the time were of the opinion that had he fought it, he would likely be released from the obligation. Years later, Williams would admit that both his tours of duty were among the greatest things he ever did in his life. And so, on April 30, 1952, the Red Sox once again found themselves without the "Greatest Hitter Who Ever Lived."
In July of 1953 Ted Willaims returned to the Boston Red Sox...again. Unlike his previous return from the military, however, Williams was not in a great frame of mind. He was now 34-years-old, worn down, generally tired, and bitter about the war. Playing baseball did not seem to be what Ted wanted to do when he returned. But, of course, play he did, and he did so...spectacularly. Over the last two-plus months of the season, Williams hit .407 with 13 home runs and 34 RBI.
In the off-season, Williams sent shockwaves through the MLB establishment by announcing his retirement (effective at the end of the following season - 1954). And he did so in the Saturday Evening Post. He claimed that his old friends were gone, the team was getting farther from contention every year, and he disliked new manager Lou Boudreau. Boston beat-writers, perturbed that Williams broke the story with a New York publication pounced on Ted, suggesting he make his "retirement" retro-active and avoid Spring Training, so as to avoid "spreading poison" to the team's youngsters.
In Spring Training, Ted slipped in the outfield and broke his collar bone, causing him to miss all of April and most of May. The Red Sox finished that season an astonishing 42 games behind the Cleveland Indians who won 111 games. After the final game (and what was to be Williams' last game ever), Ted spoke to the media, saying "that's it," then reportedly muttered some sort of apology to the writers, then added "there's only one of you I really hated." One can only assume the reference was to Harold Kaese, the most scathing of Williams' detractors.
- Ted Williams' Numbers (1950-1960):
<stats>
Player=Ted Williams
Type=Batting
Years=1950,1951,1952,1953,1954,1955,1956,1957,1958,1959,1960
</stats>
In 1955, Spring Training came and went with no Ted Williams. April came and went with no Ted Williams. But on May 11, his divorce with wife Doris became final, and he re-signed with Red Sox the next day, narrowly beating the May 15 deadline. The timing of which suggests that Williams retired to keep the money from his next contract from being included in his divorce settlement. Whatever the case, The Splinter was back in uniform.
On July 18, 1956, Williams hit his 400th home run against Kansas City at Fenway. As he crossed home plate, he raised his gaze toward the writers in the press box and spat in their direction. Amazingly, the next day, the press remained silent in response to the incident. Days later, Williams again spat in the direction of the press box a second time. And again, the writers practiced restraint and made no mention of the incident. But Ted was rambunctious. On August 7, after dropping a fly ball, the "Fenway Faithful" booed Ted mercilessly. Then the next batter hit a liner to the gap which Ted hustled and caught, causing the boos to turn to cheers. This fickleness insenced Williams, who spat toward the crowd on both the first base line and the third base line on his way into the dugout.
The press refused to remain silent after these incidents, as did the Red Sox organization, who fined him $5,000. Kaese called for his retirement, claiming that he should "quit baseball before baseball quits him." But Williams refused to apologize. The next day, Williams homered. As he rounded the bases, the crowd silenced in anticipation of his next move, given his actions of the past few weeks. And Ted did not disappoint. As he crossed the plate, he threw his arm out in front of his body, chest-high, then bent his elbow, and brought his hand up to his own face, and clamped the cupped hand across his mouth. The fans went wild with applause and laughter. This was a defining moment between the player and the fans. They were on his side. And now he knew it. And so did the writers. From that point on, Williams never let the writers bother him again. He even coined a nickname for them: The Knights of the Keyboard.
1960, Ted decided was to be his last year in professional baseball. And although he never announced it, somehow, in early September, word was leaked to the press.
And then, on September 28, before the Red Sox final home game of the season, Williams spoke to the fans gathered in the stands:
- "Despite all of the disagreeable things that have been said about me - and I can't help thinking about it - by the Knights of the Keyboard out there, baseball has been the most wonderful thing in my life. If I were starting over again and someone asked me where is the one place I would like to play, I would want it to be in Boston, with the greatest owner in baseball and the greatest fans in America. Thank you."
In the eighth inning, in what would be his final ever Major League at-bat, Ted Williams came to the plate, hitless so far on the day. The crowd cheered for two full minutes as he took his warm up hacks. Finally, he stepped into the box.
After a ball and a strike from Baltimore Orioles' pitcher Jack Fisher, Williams knocked the dirt from his spikes.
Fisher wound up and delivered his third pitch, a belt-high fast ball.
Ted Williams swung, connected. The ball flew high, soared majestically, and came down in the Boston bullpen, on the other side of the fence for his 521st big-league home run.
The crowd went crazy, cheering, laughing, crying, screaming.
Ted Williams circled the bases, head down.
First base.
Second base.
Third base.
And then crossed home plate without ever looking up.
The crowd screamed wildly "We Want Ted! We Want Ted!"
But Ted did not respond.
There would be no curtain call. No wave, no tip of the cap, no acknowledgement whatsoever.
And then the Best Hitter Who Ever Lived rode silently into the rest of his life, leaving behind a legacy that can never be overstated.
And the baseball history books have never been the same.
- Did you miss Part 1, "Ted Williams - The Early Years"? Click here.
- Did you miss Part 2, "Ted Williams - Teddy Ballgame (1939-1945)"? Click here.
- Source - "Red Sox Century"; Glenn Stout and Richard A. Johnson
External Links:
Date
Thu 08/17/06, 2:35 pm EST
And "The Splendid Bat" doesn't sound very good.