Feller
Posted: November 4th, 2008 | Filed under: Baseball, Essays | 47 Comments »
I was 13 of 14 years old the first time I talked to Bob Feller. This was at a baseball card show in North Carolina, and he was sitting behind a table and preparing to sign autographs. In memory, he was charging to sign those autographs, but charging so little that it hardly seemed worth the point — like a dollar or something per autograph. It was at that show that a dealer told me that Feller signed so many autographs, that a baseball WITHOUT his signature on it was more valuable than one with it.
No matter what he was charging, I recall that nobody was standing in line. People would walk by and, on occasion, nod at Feller. Then they kept walking. I distinctly remember how sad it made me feel … I had grown up in Cleveland on the story of Bob Feller. It seems like I had always been aware of him, the outline of story, how he grew up on an Iowa farm, how his father Bill had raised him to be a pitcher, how he threw so hard at a young age that his fastball broke through a board on the family barn like in The Natural, how he came to Cleveland on a train when he was 17 years old and frightened much older men with his untamed fastball and the buzzing sound his curveball made. Now, he sat alone in a dark warehouse in Charlotte, N.C., and he watched people avoid his gaze, like he was homeless and begging for change, or anyway that’s how it looked to a 13 or 14 year old boy.
Funny, though, Feller did not seem troubled at all by the odd circumstances. He looked right at home. He chatted amiably with whoever happened to be standing around the table. I guess he was in his young 60s then, and he still had that vitality — he turned to me and said, “So tell me, who is the greatest pitcher of all time?”
I was shaken. I had not prepared for a pop quiz. Best pitcher ever? I was a kid. Knew nothing about “ever.” I wanted to impress him, though, to say something wiser than a typical 13- or 14-year-old might say, to pick someone from before I was born. I said, shakily, ”Sandy Koufax.“
“Koufax?” he boomed. Feller shook his head in pure disgust. That was apparently the wrong answer.
”How many games did Koufax win?“ he asked, and there was a hard edge in his voice. “What did he win? One hundred fifty games?” I didn’t have the number at my fingertips. Then Feller pulled out a sheet of paper and shoved it into my hands, and he said, “Look at this, kid.”
I looked at it. The sheet of paper looked a little bit like the back of a baseball card — it had all of these statistics on it. The sheet of paper had a title on it that was something like, “Bob Feller’s career numbers had it not been for World War II.” And then it had Bob Feller’s basic pitching statistics year-by-year — wins, losses, ERA, strikeouts, walks, innings pitched — only the numbers from 1942-45, those four seasons, were in bold type. On the bottom, Feller’s new career totals were in bold too. On the sheet of paper, Bob Feller won 373 games in his career. He struck out 3,651 men. He threw five no-hitters. These were mind-boggling numbers.
“I didn’t have anything to do with this; it was figured out by an analyst,” he said, and he made “analyst,” sound like some combination of brain surgeon, rocket scientist and Pope. I nodded. it did not occur me then how odd it was that he said, “I didn’t have anything to do with that.” He obviously had made copies of the analysts work, and he was handing out those copies to people at baseball card shows. He was hardly an unwitting spectator here.
Then, in my fuzzy memory, Bob Feller said that these would have been his numbers had he not been off at war, fighting Germany and Japan — you heard of those countries? — these would have been his numbers had he not volunteered the day after Pearl Harbor and fought so that I could have my freedom. But to be honest he might not have said any of that then — I could be confusing the moment with other times I have spoken with Bob Feller.
I do remember for certain that he took the sheet from me and looked at those numbers again with a look of amazement. The real Bob Feller won 266 games and struck out 2,581 batters and threw a fastball as hard as any man. The other Bob Feller won as many games as Christy Mathewson and Grover Cleveland Alexander. The other Bob Feller, the peacetime Bob Feller, would have retired with the all-time strikeout record. The other Bob Feller might have been though of like DiMaggio and Ruth and Cobb, and he probably would not have been at a baseball card show signing autographs for pennies and working to convince kids with thick glasses of his greatness.
And I realized that the answer he had been looking for — greatest pitcher, ever — was, in fact, Bob Feller.
* * *
Bob Feller turned 90 on Monday, and looking back now I do think Feller has a claim on that best-pitcher-ever title. He did, in fact, lose what could have been his prime pitching years to war. His beloved analyst may have exaggerated Feller’s fanciful numbers or he may have underestimated them, there’s no way to know, but it seems clear that a 23-year-old Bob Feller in a world at peace could have done some remarkable and perhaps unprecedented baseball things.
He led the American league in wins, innings and strikeouts every year he pitched from 1939 to 1947. He finished second in shutouts in 1939, otherwise he would have led the league in shutouts all those years too. He won the 1940 Pitcher Triple Crown — most wins, lowest ERA, most strikeouts — and became the first right handed pitcher to do that in the American League since Walter Johnson. He became the first man to throw three no-hitters; one of those was on an Opening Day which leads to one of those Bob Feller stories that make him such a tough man to pin down.
“Hey, Bob,” a radio talk show caller said — Bob Feller was the guest on the show. “I’ve got a trivia question for you.”
“Go ahead” Feller said.
“OK, can you name the only pitcher who ever went into a game and came out of it with the exact same ERA,” the guy said.
“You asked it wrong!” Feller barked, and he sounded angry. “That’s not how it goes! The question is — and try to remember this for next time — ”Name the only game where everybody on the team came out of the game with the exact same batting average as they had going in.“ That was the Opening Day no-hitter.”
He paused, and you could only imagine him snarling just a little bit.
“And the pitcher that day,” he said, “was me.”
Well, as Feller would tell the crowd the day after I poked a little fun at him in the newspaper, “If you don’t promote yourself, who will?” And I’ve always had an appreciation for that. I suspect that Feller never felt appreciated enough, and I think that, in the end, he’s probably right: People who love baseball have been too willing to forget Bob Feller. People remember DiMaggio and Williams, Mantle and Mays, Koufax and Seaver, but Feller often gets lost in the rewind. The first full season he came back, after more than four years at war, Feller won 26 games, he pumped up a 2.18 ERA, and he struck out 348 batters, one shy of Rube Waddell’s modern record. True that was a great pitcher’s year, certainly compared to the times before the war, but it still left behind lingering dreams of how good Bob Feller should have been.
* * *
“You know what we should do to these countries in the Middle East?” Bob Feller was saying to me. If you have been a collector of prickly Bob Feller quotes, you can surely guess what followed. By then, Feller was in his 70s, and he was reliably quotable any time you wanted to get the coveted and grumpy, “These kids today with their drugs and their rock and roll” quote. You could always call him up and get him to say what was wrong with America today or baseball today or race relations today or politics today — Feller happily spoke out for the Greatest Generation, even if the Greatest Generation wasn’t always happy to have him as spokesman. Along the way, he would not forget to point out that the Bob Feller Museum was up and running Van Meter, Iowa, just 17 miles from Des Moines.
I did not put any of his Middle East advice in the newspaper or use any number of his somewhat inflammatory quotes because I never thought those were the point with Feller. He’s a hard right-winger, that hardly makes him unique in sports. He was shaped by his times, and that hardly makes him unique in manking. Also I have a great deal of affection for the man. He’s been scarred by life, and he feels overlooked, and he has much kindness in him, and he was one helluva pitcher. He volunteered for combat duty during the war, when he could have stayed back and played baseball and lived off his name. “I’m no hero,” he told John Sickels for his excellent book “Bob Feller: Ace of the Greatest Generation. ”Get this straight. The heroes didn’t come back. Only the survivors did.“
The most complete description I ever heard about Feller’s personality came from Buck O’Neil, who actually barnstormed with Feller and Satchel Paige back in ‘46. I asked Buck what he thought of Feller, and he smiled that knowing smile and in his special Buck O’Neil way said, ”Bob’s something else.“ That about covers it. Buck thought that Feller’s feelings about race were as discordant as the man himself. Feller was one of the biggest baseball stars to barnstorm with black players — some say that Feller’s barnstorming brought legitimacy to Negro Leagues baseball and was one big step toward desegregation in baseball.
On the other hand, when Feller was asked by a reporter shortly after the barnstorming tour if he had seen any African-American players good enough to play in the big leagues, he said: ”Haven’t seen one — not one. Maybe Paige, when he was young. When you name him, you’re done. Some are good hitters. Some can field pretty good. Most of them are fast. But I have seen none who combine the qualities of a big league ballplayer.“
There are a couple of unusual things in the statement. You can begin with the pretty obvious bias against the well-rounded skills of black players — Feller had personally barnstormed with Monte Irvin and Roy Campanella, just to name two, who would not only star in the big leagues but would star BECAUSE of their completeness, hitting, hitting with power, defense, speed, whatever you needed. Of course, that was a bias of the time — that black players, talented though they may be, lacked some sort of intangible sturdiness necessary to play in the big leagues — and it would have taken a visionary to see beyond that. Feller as not a visionary. he was a ballplayer.
What seems even more telling, though, is that Feller seemed to be suggesting that every single white player in the big leagues could do it all, that there were no white players in the Majors who could hit but not field, field but not hit, throw hard but without control, pitch with control but without stuff. But that’s Feller, and maybe that’s many men. Feller tends to see the world in plain view, no clouds, no gray, he tends to see things as good or bad, fair or unfair, American or anti-American, Major League or bush league, right or wrong. Feller was raised in Iowa to be a great pitcher, and he became a great pitcher.
* * *
No one day sums up the life of Bob Feller. He has lived a long time. He was born before the Roaring Twenties, just days before Woodrow Wilson sailed off to the Paris Peace Conference. He was raised through the Depression, and he came fought in World War II. He was on the field on Babe Ruth Day — he owns the bat that Ruth leaned on in the famous picture and you can see it at the Bob Feller Museum just 17 miles from Des Moines — and he pitched 570 Major League games, and he spend much of his life after that traveling to the little towns across America to promote baseball and to promote Bob Feller. Well, who else would do that?
But, I do think of one day with Feller. On August 23rd, 1936, Bob Feller made his first Major League start. He was 17 years old — he was still in high school. He had already pitched his famous exhibition game against the Gas House Gang — he had thrown the ball so hard he struck out eight Cardinals in three innings, including the legendary Pepper Martin. When Dizzy Dean was asked to take a picture with the kid after that game, he said, ”Well it’s all right with me if it’s all right with him. After what he did today, he’s the guy to say.“
The Feller story was already known by mot people then then. He had grown up in Van Meter, Iowa — Adelle, Iowa, according to the papers — where he showed an ability to pitch baseballs at a very young age. His father, Bill, built a baseball diamond on their farm, and he worked with Bob every day. In 1928 — in what was the baseball equivalent of Mozart’s father putting his son at a piano — Bill Feller bought a Rogers Hornsby glove, a Ray Schalk catcher’s mitt, some good baseballs and a full baseball uniform, and it was delivered by mail order. Bob Feller was 9. His future was certain.
Still, it was a surprise to many when Cleveland Indians manager Steve O’Neill decided to start Feller in a game. Only weeks earlier, Bob had been selling peanuts at the stadium — the Indians management had wanted to keep an eye on him. Then he pitched for the Rosenblums sandlot team. Then he pitched a few games in relief with mixed results. Feller had never thrown a single pitch in the minor leagues. The Indians were sort of in the pennant race at the time — fading, but not without mathematical dreams — and Feller was a wild kid. Nobody expected Feller to start a game, not for a while yet.
O’Neill grumped: ”We’ve got to start him sometime.“ Truth is, Cy Slapnicka — the grand old Indians executive and lifelong Iowan — loved Feller, and loved the idea of letting a 17-year-old kid start a game. The Indians could use a little promotion — they hadn’t been worth a damn since 1920. Slapnicka asked O’Neill to start the game. O’Neill was skeptical enough that he had Denny Galehouse — a man who would become known for his own reasons — warm up at the start of the game, just in case.
Feller would in later interviews claim to be nervous and claim to not be nervous at all, and that too gets us a little closer to his heart. It’s hard to imagine that he was not nervous, but Feller did have a seriousness about him that cut against his age. This was what he had been built do to. And he was facing an utterly dreadful St. Louis Browns team — though, poetically, the team was managed by Rogers Hornsby, the man behind Bob Feller’s first real baseball glove. Feller struck out Lyn Lary, Moose Solters and Beau Bell in the first inning. Galehouse sat down. It was going to be Feller’s day.
Jesse Owens had only that day gotten back to America after winning four gold medals at the Olympic Games in Berlin. Presidential nominee Alf Landon returned to West Middlesex, Pa., where he was born, to talk about Americanism. Ripley, believe it or not, said that Mrs. Ella Smith of Winfield, Mo., because the great grandmother of three boys on the same day! In Seymour, Ill., one Clarence Keller stepped outside after a hailstorm and counted 560 dead sparrows who had been taken out by the hail.
Feller kept throwing impossibly hard fastballs, and Browns kept swinging late. There is no way to know such a thing, of course, but it’s certainly possible that Bob Feller threw harder that day than any man ever threw, before or since. ”That Feller showed my speed than I’ve ever seen uncorked by any American League pitcher, and that does not except Walter Johnson,“ umpire Emmet Ornsby said after the game.
The Browns were helpless. All but one struck out at least once. Feller struck out 15, one shy of the American League record. Could you imagine it — a 17-year-old kid taken right off the sandlots comes up and strikes out fifteen hitters? This was one of the great myth-making days in baseball history, right there with the called shot and Satchel having his fielders leave the field.
Headline writers went to work.
”Iowa Schoolboy Comes Close To League Record.“
”Gangling Schoolboy Marks 15 Strikeouts For Indian Victory.“
”Fabulous Feller Fans 15.“
”A Fancy Flinger, This Feller.“
.
And the leads from the wire services — The Associated Press: ”Bob Feller, not long out of short pants and with a year of high school still ahead of ohim, gave Cleveland fans something to talk about …“
United Press International: ”A gangling high school boy from Iowa shot across baseball firmament today with a dramatic, masterful performance …
That was one of the greatest entrances in American history, right there with Orson Welles in “The Third Man.” Many years later, I asked Bob Feller if that day was his greatest memory. He said, hell no, he had a lot of great memories, too many great memories to count. He had done it all. He had pitched no-hitters. He had served with brave Americans. He had traveled to every small town in this great country of ours. He had played catch with his father, lots of times. He had lived a good life. A damned good life. And you know what? The numbers could have been even better.
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How does one pitch a no-hitter, yet the hitless still have the same batting average they started with?
Did I read that right or am I missing something?
Shelby,
Since it was the first game of the season every batter came in with an average of .000 and left with the same.
Of course 0/0 does not equal .000 it is an undefined number.
I think it was 1995, July, when I met Bob Feller near his statute at Jacobs Field. I was kinda loitering about as I had some extra time before the game started and a camera crew showed up with Bob Feller to tape some small promo item. Before the crew was ready I approached and received his autograph on my ticket stub. Still a nice memory for me.
Also, when I think of Bob Feller I think of that old hokey film with the motorcycle where they attempted to find out how fast his fastball really was. I always crack up when I see that.
I grew up in Cleveland in the 80s, and have but a single Bob Feller memory.
I have a brother, about four years younger than me. I think I must have been 12 or 13 when he was assigned a class project to try to interview a personal hero. I had the same project a few years earlier, assigned by the same teacher; I think I interviewed my grandfather and also sent a letter to John Glenn or something like that.
My brother was an enormous baseball fan. Huge. I liked the game, but he LOVED it. And he wanted to be a pitcher. My dad pulled some strings, and managed to get my brother a phone interview with Mr. Feller. This was, as far as we (ages 12 and
could tell, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. My brother was overjoyed. He wrote up a lengthy list of questions, of the sort you would expect from an eight-year-old. When the phone rang, and my mother answered it, he was ready.
“Mr. Feller, it’s an honor to talk to you.” (I gave him that one, being a wise 12-year-old). “Thank you for giving me a chance to ask you some questions.” Nervousness crept into his voice. “What was your career won-loss record?”
I wasn’t on the phone; I didn’t hear the exact answer. Next thing I knew, my brother was sitting on the floor, biting his lip to keep from crying. For about five minutes he didn’t say anything, and then offered a weak “Goodbye” before hanging up the phone.
It turns out Mr. Feller had taken that opportunity to absolutely blast my brother. Completely unloaded on him. He “hadn’t done his research”, and Mr. Feller was too busy (and, apparently, too angry) to deal with anyone who didn’t do his research. It apparently never entered Mr. Feller’s mind that he was talking to an eight-year-old kid who, until just minutes prior, had *idolized* him.
Now, it’s true — the question wasn’t a great one. In fact, it was pretty darn lousy. It was also a warm-up question from a kid who had never given an interview before. Perhaps whomever sold Mr. Feller on this interview didn’t properly represent who the interviewer was going to be (I never asked my father how he got the phone time). Perhaps Mr. Feller had a disagreeable breakfast. But I still can’t come up with a single reasonable explanation for why this angry old man felt it justified to completely shred my younger brother.
A lot of people — most people, by far — in Cleveland have good memories of Bob Feller. I wish I could say the same.
My brother went on, years later, to play ball in the Frontier League for the Chillicothe Paints and (briefly) in single-A. As a center fielder. To this day, it’s a bad idea to mention Bob Feller around him.
I was going to defend Feller, and looked at his stats to start doing so. And then I realized I can’t. Taking nothing away from Feller, who is one of the best starting pitchers of all time, but he did get to pitch in a huge stadium and so his park adjusted stats don’t quite hold up, even assuming that the years he missed would have raised his per inning stats (as opposed to total stats) some. He’s only 92nd in career ERA+, which of course tends to favor relief aces (Rivera’s #1). But when Pedro Martinez, Lefty Grove, and Walter Johnson go 2 through 4 in career ERA+, Christy Matthewson and Carl Hubbell are way above him, Cy Young and Mordecai Brown tied at 17, even Gibson and Koufax are much better at ERA+ for his career, it’s hard for me to defend Feller as the best of all time. Even if you remove Feller’s last six years (all of which hurt his per season numbers, such as ERA+) and assume that the four war years would have matched his career aside from the last six, you get a career ERA+ of 130 or so, same as Dean, Hubbell, and Newhouser, behind everybody else I named and lots more. Don’t like park adjusted stats, Jon Heyman? Feller’s best ERA season was 1.59 under the league average. Pedro Martinez did better than that SEVEN seasons in a row. Grove did better than that nine times. Johnson only beat it three teams, but it’s a LOT harder when the league ERA is a run a game lower. I’d play games with percentages of league ERA (Feller’s ERA was never half of his league average or better, Grove managed that once, Johnson four times, Pedro five times) but why bother. Feller can’t reasonably be argued as better than Johnson or Grove when Feller was active, or really Cy Young, or lots of other guys, no matter how many seasons in his prime he lost. And that’s not considering the major dropoff in production Feller faced after his third season with over 300 IP; for the rest of his fairly long career Feller was only above average, as if his arm had lost something (as it probably had).
There’s a place on any all time roster for Rapid Robert, but even when he was pitching, before the days of Koufax and Gibson and Clemens and Pedro, you’d be ignoring a *lot* of results to think he was the best pitcher of all time. Maybe best strikeout artist. But far from best at run prevention, especially when you take Municipal Stadium into account.
Most everybody in Iowa thinks he’s still a priik, too. He’d probably thow it up and in to anybody born in Iowa, including Cap Anson and John Wayne.
Still, though, his museum is still the only tourist attraction I know around these parts minus Adventureland and the Cardiff Giant.
The sports radio station in town still uses a Bob Costas interview in its promo when he told the story (an a VERY Costas way) about how he and his son were driving thru Iowa, saw the exit off of I-80 for Van Meter, and decided to spend the afternoon at the Bob Feller museum.
Feller is still massively under-rated. His dad should have named him “Rube.”
I was an intern for a Texas League team back in the early ’90s and had the privilege of picking up Mr. Feller from the airport for a promotional appearance. I was struck by how jaded he was about his lack of recognition, but how he still trotted himself out there to educate everyone about how great his numbers would have been. I, for one, am grateful for his sacrifice for love of country and pray that one day he’ll find the peace he seemed to lack.
Maybe the time away from the mound did Feller’s arm some good. Perhaps, his arm would have turned to mush in his late 20’s, if not for the break.
I think that it’s more likely, had Feller not missed 1942-1945, that his arm would’ve been blown out by age 30, rather than carry him to ~373 wins.
As it was, he was pretty much finished as an effective pitcher by age 32.
A few comments on Rapid Robert. First, although it is true he lost 4 years to the war and that affected his career numbers, I don’t think we can necessarily just plug in numbers for those years and say he would have done this or that without the war. For one thing, his career was also shortened (a lot) by the abuse Lou Boudreau subjected him arm to in 1946. He threw 371 1/3 innings, by far the most in the majors. He started 42 games, and pitched in 6 more. He completed 36 of those starts. He by far led the ML in walks and strikeouts. He faced almost 400 more batters than any other pitcher in the ML. Given the walks and strikeouts, his pitch counts had to be in the high 100s if not 200s for many games.
No pitcher could have done this, short of Joe McGinnity submarine style, and expected his arm to last. And his clearly didn’t. A year later, his innings dipped below 300 and more telling, his strikeouts dipped below 200. His strikeout totals continued to drop, until at the age of 33, he struck out only 83 batters in 191 innings. At the age of 32 he was pretty much done as a top ML pitcher.
Now, considering his innings totals in the two years before the war topped 300 too, I suspect he would have had a similar decline in numbers even earlier in his career had he continued to log those kind of innings during the war years. In effect, the war saved his arm from 1200+ innings of abuse. I suspect had he pitched in those years, his steep career decline might have started at age 28 instead of age 32.
On the second point I wanted to make, I read somewhere that Feller was deathly afraid of hurting someone with his fastball. I think this is probably true. Despite his wildness (he led the league in walks by a lot many years and holds the post 19th century record for walks in a season at 208), he only hit 60 batters in 18 years. By comparison, Nolan Ryan hit 158 in 27 years and Randy Johnson hit 188 batters in 21 years. I think it is clear that while he didn’t have great control, he made very sure that he wasn’t missing inside with his pitches.
Thanks, Joe. You’re a star.
But come on:
““You know what we should do to these countries in the Middle East?†”
I want to hear the rest of this quote. Don’t tease.
When I played A ball in 1974 in the Midwest League, Bob Feller made an appearance in Decatur, Illinois, to throw a home run-hitting contest. He would have been in his mid-50s at the time, he was pretty fat and hadn’t yet discovered Grecian Formula 16, or whatever it was that he would later shill for. He had a hard time getting the ball to the plate, and guys were having a difficult time hitting because his pitches had the trajectory of a slow-pitch softball. It was kinda sad. The only other thing I recall was him standing in the bullpen down the left-field line, talking to the Decatur Giants pitchers, and how pretty much all of them towered over him.
Bellweather, what’s the Cardiff Giant doing in Iowa? Maybe I’m misremembering my favorite Stephen Jay Gould essay, but I thought it was in Cooperstown somewhere. Or is one of those the “fake” Cardiff Giant PT Barnum made?
Not many remain from that last Indians championship team. Feller, Eddie Robinson, Al Rosen (who had a handful of at-bats during the season but did play in the ‘48 Series) … anyone else?
Here is the post 1920 list of leaders in innings pitched for a season:
Wilbur Wood 1972 376.66
Mickey Lolich 1971 376.00
Bob Feller 1946 371.33
Wilbur Wood 1973 359.66
George Uhle 1923 357.66
Wilbur was a knuckleballer, of course, and I don’t really remember Mickey, but my guess is that he was a David Wells type, big gut and a rubber arm. I don’t know anything about George Uhle at all. But up there with guys with knuckle balls and rubber arms is the guy who some people claim threw harder than anyone.
Interesting that a guy who is so widely respected has to be known as “the best.” (And how odd that a patriot — and I think Feller is — would blame WWII for, well, anything.)
I keep thinking about what you wrote about Stan Musial months ago, as a comparison.
Uhle allegedly invented the slider (I think).
As a comparison, does anyone know why Warren Spahn, the guy who actually did win 363 games, pitched as a 21 year old in 1942 and then didn’t pitch again until 1946 as a 25 year old. I would guess it wasn’t because he was in the minor leagues.
Again had Rapid Robert had a back end of his career like Spahn, he wouldn’t have to complain about losing his war years.
And again, I don’t really think that is his fault either. He was rode into the ground by his managers, basically like no other pitcher ever.
Speaking of Spahn, here might be a more reasonable response to questions re lost stats to war years, courtesy of Mr. Spahn:
“People say that my absence from the big leagues may have cost me a chance to win 400 games. But I don’t know about that. I matured a lot in three years, and I think I was better equipped to handle major league hitters at 25 than I was at 22. Also, I pitched until I was 44. Maybe I wouldn’t have been able to do that otherwise”
(from Wikipedia, quoting Baseball Historian- part of the Sports Historian Network)
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I sure don’t want to hear it. He was a great pitcher, but his views about society aren’t exactly enlightened. That doesn’t stop him from telling anybody that will listen, however. He’s kind of the original Curt Schilling. Only a better pitcher.
First thing that always comes to my mind about Feller is his appearance in the Ken Burns documentary, dismissing Willie Mays’ famous catch off Vic Wertz in the ‘54 Series: “It was far from the best catch I ever saw.” I don’t think I’ve ever heard of him saying anything gracious or positive about anyone except himself.
Brent,
Spahn, like Feller, was in WWII. He was in an engineer unit and was in the Battle of Bulge in December 1944. In 1945, he was wounded in the foot at the bridge at Remagen.
Back about a quarter of a century ago, I carried my young son — who wasn’t walking yet — with me to a card show in which I got a Bob Feller autograph. There really wasn’t much action around Bob, so we got to chatting.
I asked Bob if he would hold my son. Bob was nice enough to do, but after a few seconds my son began to cry. I took my son back and told Bob that some day my son would regret his actions.
Every now and again, when my son starts getting at all too big for his britches, I remind him of the story.
I don’t mind telling you that on that day I was very impressed with Bob Feller, the person. Oh, and my son turned out to be a pretty good kid, too.
[...] Feller would in later interviews claim to be nervous and claim to not be nervous at all, and that too gets us a little closer to his heart. It’s hard to imagine that he was not nervous, but Feller did have a seriousness about him that … Read more [...]
There’s a book called (something like) “When Bullet Bob Came To Louisville” which paints a pretty harsh picture of a decidedly unpleasant Bob Feller. Nothing I’ve ever read anywhere else contradicts that image.
Very good article, Joe.
Ted Williams also lost some of his best years to WW2.
Looking at Feller’s numbers, it would’ve been extremely difficult for him to keep up a 325-375 inning pace for another 4 years. His numbers are very impressive as it is….
It doesn’t seem very surprising Feller’s a bit of a self-promoting curmudgeon. Think about it. Has anyone experienced more success early in life than him? He had to of been a big deal in Van Meter in his early years. He completely skips the minors and experiences unprecedented success in (at the time) America’s #1 sport at the age of 17. At 23 he goes to fight in America’s last popular and completely just war, returns a hero at 26, and pitches the next 10 years as the #1 starter on a damn good Cleveland Team.
Bob Feller’s first 35 years must’ve been extrodinary. How could the last 55 not feel like a letdown? In 1954, he was probably being called the greatest pitcher ever. His career fizzles, the memories of the fastball fade, and the numbers are all most people wil remember him by now. He wants to be sure people know how good those numbers could’ve been. Even if he’s probably wrong, you can’t really blame him.
Wonderful article, Joe. I found it first on BTF, and I’m going to tell all my friends to read it. Extremely well written.
Everybody’s got a ‘what if’ moment, an ‘if only’ life story – or, to borrow from ‘Pee Wee’s Big Adventure’ – “everbody’s got a big but…let’s talk about your big but, Simone.” Of his own accord,
‘The Van Meter Heater’ qualifies.
Bob Feller is old school as his persona and 90 years attest…he is also by most accounts herein as well elsewhere, one ornery cuss. It’s sad indeed when someone feels a need to overtly self promote…in this he is no different or better than several who’ve followed him in various sports…the word ‘bitter’ comes to mind.
I heard Feller get cut off in the middle of a radio interview a few years ago (1990s as I recall) because he was coming across as really bitter & nasty too as in ‘mean spirited.’ A shame, because anyone who’s fan enough to care has done some research on him and the rest of yesterday’s legends – and Bob was a legend in the flesh.
Vis a vis the racial aspect Joe Posnanski mentioned regards a Feller and his sentiments as to black players back in his day, I recall former Chiefs WR Otis Taylor commenting during the off season his aft a spectacular 1971 season- “I’d be so happy to do even a dogfood commercial that I’d eat the dogfood.” Otis was ruing a lack national publicity and too the very little locally he was receiving (he mentioned he’d done something for Gates BBQ but that was more a matter of helping out a friend.)
Otis also said something to the effect of (paraphrasing) “it just eats you up when you see white players getting opportunities, which they deserve…guys like Lenny & Podolak for example – but why nothing for the Lanier’s and Bell’s, etc.?” Taylor was one of my thence heroes and like Otis, Feller was one of the best ever too.
Different particulars, same result; both guys end up looking worse for having opened their mouths – even petty, my opine. Were they being dishonest in each their sentiments? Probably not, but there’s a reason why guys like Barry Bonds (who’s black) and Jeff Kent (white) aren’t embraced universally – they’re not very likeable.
Same thing happened with Jerry Rice when as a 49er, he didn’t get as many commercial endorsements as he thot he should…I recall hearing later that Rice’s personality was not conducive as some other players- not abrasive per se as Feller but just the same not vibrant enough (OJ Simpson proves that being black and having some charisma is the cure – until you become a ‘cut up’ as it were, his case.)
In closing, I remember the pundits back in 1966 saying that then CLEV Indians LH pitcher Sam McDowell was better than Koufax, threw harder, yadda yadda yadda. Hype met reality & Sam went bust aft a few good years which did not (oustide 1-2 seasons tops – this to Koufax 5 remarkable & far more dominating ones) even merit mention in the same breath as Koufax.
Yet another case ‘what ifs’…’if onlys’…big ‘buts’, alcohol perhaps the biggest factor according to Sam. Six of one, half a dozen the other.
Feller also threw hard..so did Koufax, McDowell, Nolan Ryan, and a host of others…no one they say however threw as hard as one Steve Dalkowski, a guy who was always on the cusp early-mid 60s of breaking into MLB (with BALT then) but had his own case of ‘big but’. How fast was Dalkowski? Estimates range from 105-115 mph – ‘big but’ nee his kryptonite being the fact Steve couldn’t find the plate regularly…had home plate been water or radioactive he couldn’t have found said with compass, dousing stick & geiger counter. In 1960, 170 innings pitched netted him 262 strikeouts – and also 262 walks.
The great Ted Williams reportedly said one spring training day aft having faced Dalkowski “I never even saw the ball..I just heard it pop the catcher’s glove.” Ted Williams also said “he’s the fastest ever…I never want to face him again.”
Former Oriole Manager Earl Weaver said: “I know it’s hard for some people to believe but Dalkowski threw faster than Nolan Ryan…a ‘lot’ faster.”
http://www.sportingnews.com/archives/sports2000/players/175838.html
At any, legends are many and come in various shades of recall… so too you Bob Feller, so, rest…both on your laurels and as you approach Nonagenarian status.
In addition to seeming like a jerk, Rapid Robert was awfully good at walking people. 516th in career WHIP is pretty unspectacular, although I guess it’s mitigated by the Ks a bit.
I’ve told it a million times, but at the tail end of his Milwaukee career, Warren Spahn was captured by my dad and me in the runway between the dugout and clubhouse at County Stadium. He, like (nearly) every player I met that day (and I met nearly the whole team, except Hank), was gracious, pleasant and charming. He eagerly signed my yearbook, shook my hand, complimented my dad on his nifty fountain pen, and was like a god to me. Warm and kind, gentle and strong. (I saw him years later at an autograph show, and could not believe how short he was. I would have guessed 6′11″ or so.) It remains one of the best days of my life. Spahn and Mathews–two heroes in the flesh, and nicer than any heroes I’ve ever met since.
And who was that one player who three times said “Catch you later, kid” but never did? A backup rookie catcher, Joe Torre. He gets the Feller Award from me.
The more I’ve thought about it, the more bothered I am by Feller complaining about what he lost in World War II.
It’s stunning that a soldier would say such a thing. It’s stunning that someone alive in 1941 would say such a thing. It’s just stunning, and I can’t come up with a way to rationalize it away. It’s not stunning; it’s horrifying.
Uh… Walter Johnson would like to have a word with you, Joe. His ghost will be meeting with you shortly.
Hear that “flushing” sound? It’s Roger Clemens reputation. 29 out of 315 votes? 7 Cy’s, Couple rings, 354-184 record. 143 ERA+, almost 5000 K’s. 1.17 career WHIP. During arguably the greatest offensive era the game has known…
Will he get in the Hall? Would you vote for him?
Personally my choice for best living right hander was Pedro – I’ve simply never seen anyone throw a baseball from 75-95MPH+ like a whiffle ball with such command.
But it’s interesting that Maddux is suddenly widely recognized as “greater” than Roger. Before the ‘roid revelations I doubt so many would feel that way. I love Maddux too but who would you rather have on the hill in a must-win game in both of their primes?
I wrote this as a comment on your March 25 post about great young pitchers, and I still believe it:
I’m of the opinion that WWII actually lengthened Feller’s career.
He pitched four full seasons prior to entering the service after the 1941 season. In those seasons, he averaged 41 games, including 37 starts, and 309 innings. His workload of innings was actually trending up –
277.2
296.2
320.1
343.
In his first full season back, 1946, he threw an incredible 371.1 innings as a 27-year old, and, sure enough, never again posted an ERA+ over 130, and never again cracked the 300-inning mark. After age 30, Feller never even broke the 250 inning mark, and never broke the 200-inning mark after age 32. His last truly exceptional (ERA+ over 120) AND durable (over 200 innings) year came at age 31.
Now imagine that WWII never happened and he pitched his age 23-26 seasons, throwing his usual workload (at that point in his career) of 330-350 innings in each of them. I’m supposed to believe that a guy who was finished as a HOF pitcher by age 31 would have had a LONGER career if he added 1200+ innings to his arm before turning 27?
I don’t think so.
In 1952 or 53, the Giants and Indians trained in Arizona and played an exhibition game in KC on their way back east. Asked for an autograph before the game, Feller said, not now–wait til the game starts. I thought, yeah. But in the second inning Feller left the dugout, went down to the bull pen and signed autographs for several innings. That’s image I want to remember.
I went to the HOF the year Brett got inducted and went to a card show and paid to get autographs of Feller and Spahn. They were two grumpy chain smoking old men. I paid fifteen dollars for their autographs– it kills me that they are not worth anything. I think Warren Spahn passed so I am glad Feller and Sammy Baugh are still alive.
My vote goes to Greg Maddux. Pedro and Gibson have slightly better adjusted stats, and Gibson’s World Series performance is other-worldly (complete games in EVERY appearance) but Maddux’s full body of work makes him the best in my mind. Here is an awesome article about him:
http://sports.espn.go.com/espnmag/story?id=3336514
Good article.
I think soldiers can complain about how the war screwed them over for one reason or another, they certainly earn that right.
One guy who probably lost a hall of fame career is Johnny Pesky, he was a shortstop who started with 200 hits and an OPS+ of 119. He then went into the service for three years, he came out and had 200 hits for the next two years and an average OPS+ of 109.5 over the next 6 seasons. If you add 600 hits to his career totals he ends up over 2000, he would’ve probably scored over 1000 runs, plus he may have played in more than one All Star game.
I don’t think you’d ever hear him complain about it though. He’s had a pretty good run and now his number’s retired in Boston.
I met Bob Feller a few weeks ago at a card show just outside of Boston. His autograph was only $15. For one of the best pitchers of all time that was a no-brainer. I remember last year Jacoby Ellsbury signed at a show for $125 per signature, talk about crazy.
Joe, great article, and an interesting read on “character”, and commentary on earlier generations. I have a somewhat personal story to share. About 15 years or so ago, I went to a “card show” where Feller and Steve Carlton were signing. I was there with my two daughters; my youngest, about 2, and my oldest, about 8 or so, and in a wheelchair. As we got to the table, I explained to my daughters that Bob had been their grandpa’s (my dad) favorite ballplayer. Bob got up, and came around the tables to where we were standing in line, and gave each of my daughters a big hug, and said something about “loving to meet grandkids of his fans”, and that he bets that they really loved their grand-dad, or something. Anyway, even though he was in his 70’s, and I had heard about his somewhat ‘cranky’ personality, he was very much “grandfatherly’ with my daughters, and something I will always remember.
The comment about Feller being helped by a big park is mostly wrong. Until Veeck came along in 1947, the Indians played most of their games in the bandbox called League Park. Only Sundays and special occassions were played in Municipal.
Here’s my Feller story. In 1992 I was 16 and running the ice cream stand for the Midland Angels (still probably the best job I ever had in many respects) and Feller came to a game to put on a pitching show before it started. We’d been warned by the front office that Feller was old and cranky and to be careful around him. He’s was the complete opposite. He was truly friendly to us and even picked my 14 year-old brother to help him with the autographs at the table. Feller didn’t charge for an autograph and would sign anything and everything. He was selling some 8×10 photos (which he gave my brother one for free.) I remember too he would talk to folks for a long time and seemed to genuinely love being at the ballpark chatting with folks. This was also during the summer of the ‘92 presidential election and he even shared his thoughts on then Gov. Bill Clinton, which I thought was pretty cool. Some of his stories about the Navy were fun to hear as well. Feller is a hero in my book in more ways than one. He might have been rude to others, but when my brother and I met him he was as classy as can be.
Mike Magie, I cannot believe you favor Gibson that highly. Take away his one great season (and take away Blyleven’s best season) and Gibson is clearly not as good as a guy not (yet) in the HOF. His career ERA+ of 127 is well behind a couple of dozen starting pitchers who also had more innings and wins. Remember, Gibson had the benefit of pitching in perhaps the best decade of all time for pitchers, with a wide strike zone, expansion bringing up some weaker hitters, and big new pitcher’s parks in Los Angeles, Houston, and New York. It should not be surprising that his two lowest opponent ERAs are against the two expansion teams. Yes, Gibson, probably had the best single season of all time. And he deserves his place in the HOF. But if I’m making team rosters, pulling 15 hitters and 10 pitchers, from the HOF, Gibson isn’t on my first four teams.
Fezzik, Feller threw more than half his innings from 1947 onwards, and according to you *some* of his innings in Municipal before then. On balance, it seems that Municipal Stadium was his home field.
Justyo, one can never know for certain. But I look at Greg Maddux and Pedro Martinez, and I have a hard time convincing myself either took steroids. I look at Roger Clemens, and given all that I’ve read I have a hard time convincing myself he didn’t. I look at Clemens’ possible roid rage behavior on the field, and think to myself: self, Clemens doesn’t deserve all the credit he gets. I do the same thing for Barry Bonds. Would I vote for Clemens or Bonds for the HOF? First year no, second year yes. Pedro and Maddux, first year yes. Clemens got at least one MVP through chemistry, he got another one because he was a Yankee (Garcia pitched more innings with a better ERA+ for Seattle that year). And if you lop off Clemens’ last five years, when he was juiced, he doesn’t reach 300 wins, and given what Clemens did in 1999, 2000 and 2001 (and the MVP in 2001) also seem suspect. I mean, he was 38 years old, barely average, and suddenly he returns to near form without chemicals? Hard to believe, my friend, and thus less credit for Clemens. Heck, 1998 was the year of Sosa and McGwire; could Clemens’s Toronto MVPs also be tainted? Once you start down that road, it’s hard to stop, and IMO Clemens brought it on himself.
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