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markj111
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The Machine DVD Extra: Haddix
26 May 2009 Media Print This Post 30
As the countdown builds to worldwide release of THE MACHINE*, I thought it would be fun to periodically offer up some DVD Extras … that is, stuff that did not make it into the book. Deleted scenes. Director’s commentary. Previews. Stickers. That sort of thing.
*For some reason, people in the publishing business always refer to books in all capital letters like THE MACHINE. This tends to work when talking about, say, THE BIBLE. It’s not quite as effective for THE DIRTY JOKE BOOK or BRITNEY: EVERY STEP OF THE WAY.
Well, today marks the 50th anniversary of Harvey Haddix’s famous perfect-perfect game. The game was played on May 26, 1959. Haddix was pitching for Pittsburgh against a Milwaukee Braves team that had two Hall of Famers in the lineup — Hank Aaron and Eddie Mathews — along with several other excellent players including Joe Ad*ock, Del Crandall, Wes Covington and so on. That Braves team had gone to the World Series in 1958 — lost to the Yankees in seven.
Anyway, Haddix pitched 12 perfect innings against the Braves that day. That’s a 107 Game Score, if you are scoring at home*.
*Though, remarkably, it is not especially close to the greatest Game Score ever achieved. Vern Law rather improbably pitched 18 innings against the Braves in 1955 — that’s a 118 Game Score, the highest achieved since Baseball Reference’s records begin in 1954. Dean Chance threw 14 scoreless innings against the Yankees in 1964 — a 116 game score.
And then, a game that has sadly been forgotten by many: In 1962, Tom Cheney — who won 19 games in his big league career — threw 16 innings at Baltimore, allowed one run, and struck out 21 batters. He won the game when Bud Zipfel hit a solo home run in the top of the 16th, and Cheney finished off the game by striking out Dick Williams. Now THAT game would be worth a book.
You probably know that Haddix lost the game in the 13th. Milwaukee’s Felix Mantilla reached on a throwing error by Don Hoak. After a bunt and an intentional walk, Joe Ad*ock hit a home run, making the final score 3-0. The next day, the score was changed to 1-0 — apparently Ad*ock had passed Aaron on the bases and as such was called out. So, in the final version of scoring, Haddix pitched 12 2/3 innings and was charged only with an unearned run.
Years later, when Haddix was coaching for the Cleveland Indians, I remember my father pointing at him and saying: That man pitched the greatest game in baseball history. And he lost it.
Haddix was an Ohio guy … Will McEnaney, the relief pitcher who would finish out both the 1975 and 1976 World Series for the Cincinnati Reds, grew up near his farm. Will was wonderful to talk with for this book — he has lived a full life, to say the least. In this MACHINE EXTRA, I write about the advice Will got from Harvey Haddix.
* * *
Will is saying that his Florida neighborhood is so safe, he does not have to lock the doors. Of course, he does lock the doors, especially at night, but his point is that he does not have to … the neighborhood is that safe. And quiet. It’s a quiet neighborhood. Of course, it used to be quieter.
“We’re moving,” he says. “When the market comes back. To Tennessee.”
Will does not have a job now, but he thinks he has one locked up with Lowe’s Home Improvement. He just has to talk with the manager. He might talk to the guy next week. Will has experience. He used to refinish bathtubs. He made good money doing that, you would not believe how many people needed their bathrooms refinished. Then the housing market crashed. He’s doing OK, though. He gets his Major League pension. His wife has a good job. He’s pretty happy. He has banana trees in his backyard. The three hurricanes that came roaring through his neighborhood did not do too much damage to his house, except the first one ripped the roof off the top. He’s been married to his second wife for twenty-three years. He drinks a lot of water. His wife, a nurse, says water is good for the prostate. The neighbors don’t really know who he was.
“All the bad things that happened to me in baseball were my own doing,” he says. Will doesn’t talk about that hard time in his life. He got lost there for a few years after he got traded away from the Big Red Machine – he was only twenty four then. His first marriage was crumbling. His promising baseball career was fading into the fog. Will was just twenty-seven when he threw his last Major League pitch. Baseball gave up on him. He kicked around in Mexico for a while, pitching for dollars. Once a guy down there put a gun down on the table and threatened to deport him. Will noticed the gun had no bullets, and he reported the guy, watched him get cuffed and dragged from the bar out into the night. Will saw a lot of stuff down in Mexico.
“I was good,” Will is saying.
He was good. He grew up in Springfield, about ninety miles from Cincinnati, and from his youngest days he could throw baseballs past other kids. Will had a twin brother, Mike, who played catcher, and it was all so easy for them, it was just playing catch. Will struck out twenty batters in a seven-inning high school game. Not long after that the coach threw Will off the team because of some crazy stunt. It was always like that for Will. “I was just a kid,” he said. Only, Will admits, he was more kid than most.
Here’s how it was with Will: After the Reds drafted him in the eighth round of the 1970 draft, he went to visit the great old pitcher Harvey Haddix, who lived on a farm nearby. Haddix had once thrown the most perfect game in Major League baseball history; he had thrown twelve perfect innings. He eventually lost the game, which more or less summed up the brilliant but tortured career of Harvey Haddix. Will asked him for advice about being a Major Leaguer.
Haddix said: “Will, don’t get married until after you finish playing ball. It will distract you, and there are too many women out there anyway.”
A couple of years later, Will had a minor league manager in Indianapolis named Vern Rapp, a generous man who had fought in Korea and had never played in the Major Leagues. One day, Rapp caught Will in the elevator with some woman, and it was long past curfew, and Rapp had finally seen enough. “That’s it, I’m fining you 150 bucks,” Rapp said.
“I won’t pay it,” Will said.
“You broke a rule. You had that woman in your room.”
“I did not,” Will said. “She was banging on my door while I was sleeping, what the hell else was I supposed to do? I had to walk her out of the hotel.”
“You’re a liar. You had that woman in your room.”
“No I didn’t. I won’t pay that fine. You can’t fine me for a woman banging on my door in the middle of the night.”
And so on. After a while, Rapp shrugged. “Will,” he said, “I’m not going to fine you, OK? I know you’re lying, but I know you can’t afford the fine anyway. Would you just do me one favor?”
Will listened.
“Get married, already. Settle down. Get married. You want to play in the Big Leagues, right? Just get married.”
All these years later, Will McEnaney sat on his couch, drinking water, while his two dogs attacked each other in the living room. Their howling and barking almost drowned out his words. “I got married,” he said. “And I made it to the big leagues. But I should have listened to Haddix.”
26 May 2009 Media Print This Post 30
As the countdown builds to worldwide release of THE MACHINE*, I thought it would be fun to periodically offer up some DVD Extras … that is, stuff that did not make it into the book. Deleted scenes. Director’s commentary. Previews. Stickers. That sort of thing.
*For some reason, people in the publishing business always refer to books in all capital letters like THE MACHINE. This tends to work when talking about, say, THE BIBLE. It’s not quite as effective for THE DIRTY JOKE BOOK or BRITNEY: EVERY STEP OF THE WAY.
Well, today marks the 50th anniversary of Harvey Haddix’s famous perfect-perfect game. The game was played on May 26, 1959. Haddix was pitching for Pittsburgh against a Milwaukee Braves team that had two Hall of Famers in the lineup — Hank Aaron and Eddie Mathews — along with several other excellent players including Joe Ad*ock, Del Crandall, Wes Covington and so on. That Braves team had gone to the World Series in 1958 — lost to the Yankees in seven.
Anyway, Haddix pitched 12 perfect innings against the Braves that day. That’s a 107 Game Score, if you are scoring at home*.
*Though, remarkably, it is not especially close to the greatest Game Score ever achieved. Vern Law rather improbably pitched 18 innings against the Braves in 1955 — that’s a 118 Game Score, the highest achieved since Baseball Reference’s records begin in 1954. Dean Chance threw 14 scoreless innings against the Yankees in 1964 — a 116 game score.
And then, a game that has sadly been forgotten by many: In 1962, Tom Cheney — who won 19 games in his big league career — threw 16 innings at Baltimore, allowed one run, and struck out 21 batters. He won the game when Bud Zipfel hit a solo home run in the top of the 16th, and Cheney finished off the game by striking out Dick Williams. Now THAT game would be worth a book.
You probably know that Haddix lost the game in the 13th. Milwaukee’s Felix Mantilla reached on a throwing error by Don Hoak. After a bunt and an intentional walk, Joe Ad*ock hit a home run, making the final score 3-0. The next day, the score was changed to 1-0 — apparently Ad*ock had passed Aaron on the bases and as such was called out. So, in the final version of scoring, Haddix pitched 12 2/3 innings and was charged only with an unearned run.
Years later, when Haddix was coaching for the Cleveland Indians, I remember my father pointing at him and saying: That man pitched the greatest game in baseball history. And he lost it.
Haddix was an Ohio guy … Will McEnaney, the relief pitcher who would finish out both the 1975 and 1976 World Series for the Cincinnati Reds, grew up near his farm. Will was wonderful to talk with for this book — he has lived a full life, to say the least. In this MACHINE EXTRA, I write about the advice Will got from Harvey Haddix.
* * *
Will is saying that his Florida neighborhood is so safe, he does not have to lock the doors. Of course, he does lock the doors, especially at night, but his point is that he does not have to … the neighborhood is that safe. And quiet. It’s a quiet neighborhood. Of course, it used to be quieter.
“We’re moving,” he says. “When the market comes back. To Tennessee.”
Will does not have a job now, but he thinks he has one locked up with Lowe’s Home Improvement. He just has to talk with the manager. He might talk to the guy next week. Will has experience. He used to refinish bathtubs. He made good money doing that, you would not believe how many people needed their bathrooms refinished. Then the housing market crashed. He’s doing OK, though. He gets his Major League pension. His wife has a good job. He’s pretty happy. He has banana trees in his backyard. The three hurricanes that came roaring through his neighborhood did not do too much damage to his house, except the first one ripped the roof off the top. He’s been married to his second wife for twenty-three years. He drinks a lot of water. His wife, a nurse, says water is good for the prostate. The neighbors don’t really know who he was.
“All the bad things that happened to me in baseball were my own doing,” he says. Will doesn’t talk about that hard time in his life. He got lost there for a few years after he got traded away from the Big Red Machine – he was only twenty four then. His first marriage was crumbling. His promising baseball career was fading into the fog. Will was just twenty-seven when he threw his last Major League pitch. Baseball gave up on him. He kicked around in Mexico for a while, pitching for dollars. Once a guy down there put a gun down on the table and threatened to deport him. Will noticed the gun had no bullets, and he reported the guy, watched him get cuffed and dragged from the bar out into the night. Will saw a lot of stuff down in Mexico.
“I was good,” Will is saying.
He was good. He grew up in Springfield, about ninety miles from Cincinnati, and from his youngest days he could throw baseballs past other kids. Will had a twin brother, Mike, who played catcher, and it was all so easy for them, it was just playing catch. Will struck out twenty batters in a seven-inning high school game. Not long after that the coach threw Will off the team because of some crazy stunt. It was always like that for Will. “I was just a kid,” he said. Only, Will admits, he was more kid than most.
Here’s how it was with Will: After the Reds drafted him in the eighth round of the 1970 draft, he went to visit the great old pitcher Harvey Haddix, who lived on a farm nearby. Haddix had once thrown the most perfect game in Major League baseball history; he had thrown twelve perfect innings. He eventually lost the game, which more or less summed up the brilliant but tortured career of Harvey Haddix. Will asked him for advice about being a Major Leaguer.
Haddix said: “Will, don’t get married until after you finish playing ball. It will distract you, and there are too many women out there anyway.”
A couple of years later, Will had a minor league manager in Indianapolis named Vern Rapp, a generous man who had fought in Korea and had never played in the Major Leagues. One day, Rapp caught Will in the elevator with some woman, and it was long past curfew, and Rapp had finally seen enough. “That’s it, I’m fining you 150 bucks,” Rapp said.
“I won’t pay it,” Will said.
“You broke a rule. You had that woman in your room.”
“I did not,” Will said. “She was banging on my door while I was sleeping, what the hell else was I supposed to do? I had to walk her out of the hotel.”
“You’re a liar. You had that woman in your room.”
“No I didn’t. I won’t pay that fine. You can’t fine me for a woman banging on my door in the middle of the night.”
And so on. After a while, Rapp shrugged. “Will,” he said, “I’m not going to fine you, OK? I know you’re lying, but I know you can’t afford the fine anyway. Would you just do me one favor?”
Will listened.
“Get married, already. Settle down. Get married. You want to play in the Big Leagues, right? Just get married.”
All these years later, Will McEnaney sat on his couch, drinking water, while his two dogs attacked each other in the living room. Their howling and barking almost drowned out his words. “I got married,” he said. “And I made it to the big leagues. But I should have listened to Haddix.”
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