Farewell to a legend

Don Zimmer passed away last night.

It’s difficult to be a baseball fan and never have heard of the man, even if I never did pay very close attention to him.  He’s like the foul pole on the baseball diamond: most of the time, nobody pays attention to it, but everyone knows it’s there, and it stands out and makes its presence known in its own way.  I will forever remember him as the man who sat next to Joe Torre in the Yankees dugout.

Don Zimmer and Joe Torre (New York Times)

Reading the stories about Zimmer this morning, however, has my interest particularly piqued.  He married his wife on a baseball diamond in between the two games of a double header.  He played for the Brooklyn Dodgers World Series championship team and accumulated twelve years in the Majors, primarily as an infielder.  He spent thirteen years as a manager and was named the NL’s manager of the year in 1989, when he led the Chicago Cubs to a division championship.

Zimmer lived and breathed baseball.  Every year, he wore a new jersey number, changing it to reflect the number of years he spent in baseball.  This year, he wore number 66.

As a player, Don Zimmer hit .235 with 91 home runs and 352 RBIs in 1,095 games.  Not stellar numbers, perhaps, but his biggest impact on the game came as a coach and an advisor.  Zimmer’s passion for the game knew no boundaries, and even at the age of 83, he still served as a senior advisor for the Tampa Bay Rays.

It feels strange, now, to be writing this, as if I had always followed the man, because I didn’t.  I guess for me, and for a lot of people, Zimmer was a given when it came to baseball.  For as long as I’ve known about baseball, I’ve heard the name Don Zimmer, and I now find myself struck with the realization that he, too, was merely mortal.

Farewell and rest in peace.

This day in baseball: Family cycles

On June 4, 1951 in Philadelphia, Pirates outfielder Gus Bell hit for the cycle en route to a 12-4 victory over the Phillies.  Bell’s son, Buddy, and grandson, David, would also go on to play in the Major Leagues.  David Bell would join his grandfather by hitting for the cycle on June 28, 2004 in a 14-6 Phillies win over the Expos.

Baseball Almanac

Baseball 101: Eephus pitch

I had to Google this one when I heard about it this morning, because I personally have never seen one in a professional ballgame before (or, really, any ballgame, unless you count Little League).

An eephus pitch, which translates to “nothing” pitch, is a very, very slow pitch with virtually nothing on it.  Supposedly, the pitch received its name from outfielder Maurice Van Robays, who explained, “Eephus ain’t nothing, and that’s a nothing pitch.”  Due to its lack of velocity, the eephus pitch floats to the plate in a high arc, resembling a pitch thrown in a slow pitch softball game, except thrown with an overhand motion.  Since it appears so rarely, by throwing an eephus pitch, a pitcher can catch a hitter off guard.

Last night, in a game between the Hokkaido Nippon-Ham Fighters and the Hanshin Tigers in Japan’s Nippon Professional Baseball, Kazuhito Tadano tossed this doozy of a pitch while facing Mauro Gomez.  The pitch discombobulated the umpire, who called it a ball, in spite of its crossing the plate seemingly through the strike zone.

To watch the video of Tadano’s eephus pitch, click here.

Kazuhito Tadano throws an eephus pitch against Mauro Gomez (New York Daily News)

“Shakespearean Baseball Sonnet #51,” by Michael Ceraolo

If Shakespeare were still alive today, I would like to think he would be a baseball fan.  This piece is a fun read, although it does, unfortunately, remind me of how badly the Royals have been playing lately.

*

Thus can my love excuse the weak offense
Of my hometown team, when the pitching’s good.
No matter the batters can’t reach the fence,
And don’t draw as many walks as they should,
Nor do they blaze the base paths with much speed:
Said offense is a catalog of need.
With good pitching you can stay in the game
And let your weak offense try to keep pace;
Close, low-scoring games have a better name,
Though you’re not any higher in the race
Than a team built the opposite of you;
Both have a similar also-ran view.
And by all except the purist’s measure,
Losing is not an aesthetic pleasure.