Baseball Wisdom Plays Out in Every Field
Joe DiMaggio, Frank Robinson and others told me tips from the game that apply to life in general.
ByFay Vincent
March 27, 2019 7:02 p.m. ET
As the great game shakes off the winter hiatus, I’ve been thinking of the wisdom shared with me by some of baseball’s titans. I have long believed superb ballplayers are so intelligent that their thoughts about how they played the game have broader applications to other fields.
Ted Williams once told me the best hitting advice he ever received was from Rogers Hornsby, the Hall of Fame second baseman for the St. Louis Cardinals. Hornsby counseled Williams never to let anyone change his batting swing, then added: “And kid, remember, do not swing at the pitcher’s pitch. Make sure you swing at your pitch.” Hornsby holds a major-league batting record that will never be broken: He averaged more than .400 over a five-year period from 1921-25, and hit .424 in the penultimate year of that stretch. Bob Feller, who pitched to Hornsby, called him “a hitting machine.” Hornsby’s rule—know what you want and don’t get distracted chasing anything else—can come in handy in life’s other contests.
The smartest player I ever knew was Warren Spahn, the former Boston Braves pitcher who won 363 games in his career, the most by a left-handed pitcher in major-league history. Once I asked who taught him how to pitch, and he looked at me as if it was a silly question. Then he smiled and replied, “Hitters taught me how to pitch.” Who else? He explained that he regularly sat in the stands to watch the opposing team take batting practice. He was hoping to learn something he might use, and when he heard an opponent tell the practice pitcher that he was having trouble hitting in games, Spahn paid attention. In any endeavor, one learns best from clients, customers, patients and competitors.
I asked Joe DiMaggio whether he “guessed” what pitch was coming when he was at the plate hitting. “No. I never guessed,” he said, “but I did calculate the odds.” He knew what the pitcher liked to throw him, and what he had done in their past few matchups. If DiMaggio was ahead in the count, he said he would look for the fastball, but did not guess. “I knew what was likely to come and I was waiting for it.” Again, the great hitter was applying superior intelligence to anticipate his opponents’ behavior.
Back to Bob Feller—another Hall of Famer—who told me how he would have dealt with the 100-pitch rule managers use these days to limit the number of pitches their starter is permitted to throw in a game. Feller told me he wouldn’t waste pitches on the weaker batters hitting at the bottom of the batting order. If his pitches were limited, he would throw them his best fastball, right down the middle, and assume those hitters wouldn’t be able to hit it. The takeaway is to use one’s judgment to work within restrictions.
When I asked Cal Ripken Jr. how he would like to be remembered by baseball historians, he answered immediately: “As a professional baseball player who went out every day to work and performed to the best of my ability in a fully professional manner.” There’s no surprise in the focus on professionalism from the man who played in 2,632 consecutive games, a major-league record.
Another Oriole, Frank Robinson, seemed to me as tough a player as I ever knew, so I was surprised when he teared up suddenly during an interview we did for the Hall of Fame. He told me I had prompted the emotion by asking about his mother. “One time, early in my career, I got thrown out of a game for sassing an umpire, and she called me that night to give me hell. She told me she did not raise me to fight with umpires and that she was embarrassed for me. She said she would come take me home if I did it again. She never had to worry.” Robinson gave her credit for his success. He played her way.
Ralph Branca, the Brooklyn Dodgers pitcher, gave up the most famous home run in history in 1951 when Bobby Thomson hit the “Shot Heard ’Round the World” to win the pennant for the New York Giants and break Branca’s heart. At a sports banquet a few weeks later, a kid asked Branca what pitch he threw to Thomson and why he threw that pitch.
Branca gently explained he knew Thomson couldn’t hit his curveball, so he threw a fastball as his opening pitch to set up the curve. But “the fastball got too far out over the plate, and Bobby hit it out.” Later, at the buffet table, he felt a tap on his shoulder. It was Sal “The Barber” Maglie, a fine pitcher and former teammate of Branca’s: “Ralphie, if you want to get him out with the freakin’ curveball, throw him the freakin’ curveball.” Maglie’s advice is universally relevant.
Mr. Vincent was commissioner of Major League Baseball, 1989-92.
Joe DiMaggio, Frank Robinson and others told me tips from the game that apply to life in general.
ByFay Vincent
March 27, 2019 7:02 p.m. ET
As the great game shakes off the winter hiatus, I’ve been thinking of the wisdom shared with me by some of baseball’s titans. I have long believed superb ballplayers are so intelligent that their thoughts about how they played the game have broader applications to other fields.
Ted Williams once told me the best hitting advice he ever received was from Rogers Hornsby, the Hall of Fame second baseman for the St. Louis Cardinals. Hornsby counseled Williams never to let anyone change his batting swing, then added: “And kid, remember, do not swing at the pitcher’s pitch. Make sure you swing at your pitch.” Hornsby holds a major-league batting record that will never be broken: He averaged more than .400 over a five-year period from 1921-25, and hit .424 in the penultimate year of that stretch. Bob Feller, who pitched to Hornsby, called him “a hitting machine.” Hornsby’s rule—know what you want and don’t get distracted chasing anything else—can come in handy in life’s other contests.
The smartest player I ever knew was Warren Spahn, the former Boston Braves pitcher who won 363 games in his career, the most by a left-handed pitcher in major-league history. Once I asked who taught him how to pitch, and he looked at me as if it was a silly question. Then he smiled and replied, “Hitters taught me how to pitch.” Who else? He explained that he regularly sat in the stands to watch the opposing team take batting practice. He was hoping to learn something he might use, and when he heard an opponent tell the practice pitcher that he was having trouble hitting in games, Spahn paid attention. In any endeavor, one learns best from clients, customers, patients and competitors.
I asked Joe DiMaggio whether he “guessed” what pitch was coming when he was at the plate hitting. “No. I never guessed,” he said, “but I did calculate the odds.” He knew what the pitcher liked to throw him, and what he had done in their past few matchups. If DiMaggio was ahead in the count, he said he would look for the fastball, but did not guess. “I knew what was likely to come and I was waiting for it.” Again, the great hitter was applying superior intelligence to anticipate his opponents’ behavior.
Back to Bob Feller—another Hall of Famer—who told me how he would have dealt with the 100-pitch rule managers use these days to limit the number of pitches their starter is permitted to throw in a game. Feller told me he wouldn’t waste pitches on the weaker batters hitting at the bottom of the batting order. If his pitches were limited, he would throw them his best fastball, right down the middle, and assume those hitters wouldn’t be able to hit it. The takeaway is to use one’s judgment to work within restrictions.
When I asked Cal Ripken Jr. how he would like to be remembered by baseball historians, he answered immediately: “As a professional baseball player who went out every day to work and performed to the best of my ability in a fully professional manner.” There’s no surprise in the focus on professionalism from the man who played in 2,632 consecutive games, a major-league record.
Another Oriole, Frank Robinson, seemed to me as tough a player as I ever knew, so I was surprised when he teared up suddenly during an interview we did for the Hall of Fame. He told me I had prompted the emotion by asking about his mother. “One time, early in my career, I got thrown out of a game for sassing an umpire, and she called me that night to give me hell. She told me she did not raise me to fight with umpires and that she was embarrassed for me. She said she would come take me home if I did it again. She never had to worry.” Robinson gave her credit for his success. He played her way.
Ralph Branca, the Brooklyn Dodgers pitcher, gave up the most famous home run in history in 1951 when Bobby Thomson hit the “Shot Heard ’Round the World” to win the pennant for the New York Giants and break Branca’s heart. At a sports banquet a few weeks later, a kid asked Branca what pitch he threw to Thomson and why he threw that pitch.
Branca gently explained he knew Thomson couldn’t hit his curveball, so he threw a fastball as his opening pitch to set up the curve. But “the fastball got too far out over the plate, and Bobby hit it out.” Later, at the buffet table, he felt a tap on his shoulder. It was Sal “The Barber” Maglie, a fine pitcher and former teammate of Branca’s: “Ralphie, if you want to get him out with the freakin’ curveball, throw him the freakin’ curveball.” Maglie’s advice is universally relevant.
Mr. Vincent was commissioner of Major League Baseball, 1989-92.
