Greed and amusement KO good judgment [A Mike Tyson piece]

By Gerry Trzupek
His story has all the makings of one of those deals with the devil; with the inevitable ironic and tragic outcome. "He" is George Edward Waddell, whose baseball talent earned him immortality in the Hall of Fame, but as his Cooperstown plaque forever attests, only under the undignified nickname of "Rube."

Rube pitched in the big leagues right after the turn of the last century. He had a devastating fastball, and set strikeout records that survived a good bit longer than Rube, who was buried in 1914. He was one of the first (if not the first) to employ the ultimate in-your-face pitcher's maneuver. He would send all his teammates (save the catcher) off the diamond and then attempt to strike out the side. However, since the rules dictate you must have nine players on the field Rube could only pull this stunt in exhibition games.

But those who know of the legend of Rube Waddell recall his erratic behavior as much as the lefty's prowess on the mound. Rube was, to say the least, a colorful character. He would chase fire engines, shoot marbles with kids outside the park, and wrestle alligators. His roommate once refused to sign his contract until a clause was added that banned Rube from eating animal crackers in bed. Talk about the bad old days - teammates back then not only shared rooms, but even a double bed.

But many of Rube's actions pointed to some flavor of mental disorder. Opposing coaches could distract Rube by placing toys and shiny things along the baseline, or with the simple promise of a hunting dog. Rube loved fishing so much he often would disappear for days at a time. He loved the bottle too - and eventually the Philadelphia A's tried to keep him from burning through his salary by doling out his pay a few dollars at a time.

Even though Rube was a wickedly effective pitcher, his antics grated on his teammates. He wore out his welcome after a few seasons at best, and found himself traded more than once. He left the game early, at the age of 33 after 13 seasons. Rube died at 39, catching pneumonia while helping sandbag a town against a flood.

Baseball Historian (what a great job!) Bill James once wrote that Rube was likely affected to the degree that he would probably be institutionalized today. At best, James said, Waddell's competitition would be "limited to heaving a rubber-tipped javelin in the Special Olympics." James ponders the wisdom of society's decision to protect modern day Waddells - keeping them from the responsibility for caring, or mis-caring as was often the case with Rube, for themselves. Rube's life, James points out, was not much different from a "normal" person's - just with many more "adventures," be them good or bad.

Today we often choose to medicate, or institutionalize, or both, people with as little ability to control themselves as Rube. We do so under the auspices of concern for these individuals, and one can argue the relative merits of the approach. And perhaps we can at least take pride in a societal decision based upon well-meaning intentions.

This weekend there will be a scarier freak show visiting Memphis than the usual musical disciples making their pilgrimage to their king's Graceland. The city, in its infinite wisdom, has opened its (creaky rusty screen-) door to Mike Tyson.

Not too long ago our nation nearly earned yet another reason to stand proud. It seemed Tyson was not welcome to fight in the U.S. Even Las Vegas itself, the grand capital of all things sleaze, told him to move along. Others followed suit, and although Washington D.C. wavered, this hardly came as a shock for a city that prides itself on crackhead mayoralty.

But Memphis broke the chain. Memphis Mayor Willie Herenton claims "In Memphis, we respect women and children. We don't condone inappropriate behavior or language."

With the other side of his mouth Herenton welcomed Tyson, the once convicted, oft-accused, rapist. The flesh-tasting Mike Tyson. The same Mike Tyson who said "I normally don't do interviews with women unless I fornicate with them. So you shouldn't talk anymore ... Unless you want to, you know, " and added "I wish that you guys [media-types] had children so I could kick them in the (expletive) head or stomp on their testicles so you could feel my pain because that's the pain I have waking up every day."

Why do we - the same culture that today would probably voice a monstrous uproar to prevent a ball team from exploiting Rube Waddell's arm at the expense of his mental well-being - allow Mike Tyson out on the streets? The answer turns out to be a sad indictment of ourselves. There is simply too much to milk off of the Mike Tyson cash-cow. The thugs he hangs with take their share - enough to eventually bleed him dry, necessitating his next fight. Promoters and the other boxer earn a fortune off him as well, as do the cities that house his fights, and the media that broadcast them.

Given the opportunity today, we may well turn our back on the lovable Rube, telling him it's in his best interests to not embarrass and endanger himself in public. Yet we encourage the hateful, frightening, animalistic Tyson.

You can't find the old-fashioned freak shows at county fairs anymore - they are far too un-PC. But that doesn't mean they aren't still our guilty little pleasure. We continue to gawk at freaks, and dish out good coin for the privilege. Now we just do it in the privacy of our homes, via pay-per-view. It's hardly progress.

Says the author: Given the opportunity today, we may well turn our back on the lovable Rube, telling him it's in his best interests to not embarrass and endanger himself in public. Yet we encourage the hateful, frightening, animalistic Tyson.

Say I: The worst you could have said about Rube Waddell was that in more ways than one he was as his nickname implied. The best you can say about Mike Tyson is that he is a thug.

In the revised edition, The New Bill James Historical Baseball Abstract, James retells the story Christy Mathewson told of a dogs, Waddell, and Fred Clarke, left fielder:

Rube Waddell, the simple-minded pitcher, was warned before the game not to let Clarke distract him from his pitching. Clarke, from the third base box, tried every kind of abuse he could imagine, without effect, until he switched suddenly into Rube's best friend. "Why don't you come out to my ranch in Kansas after the season, George?" Clarke asked. "I've got a pup out there you can train, and you can have him if he takes a fancy to you."

"They all do," replied Waddell. "He's as good as mine."

The next inning, as Christy tells it, Rube was still thinking about the dog - and the Pirates scored five runs.

Then there was Casey Stengel, putting it this way about how good Sandy Koufax was: You can forget that other fella. You can forget Waddell. The Jewish kid is the best of any of them. ("That other fella" was Walter Johnson.)

Sometimes I'm afraid of what some people today would do with the like of such baseball flakes as Juan Marichal (he was famous for substituting stink bombs for perfume in perfume bottles), Moe Drabowsky (his best gag: he did such a dead-on impression of then-A's manager Alvin Dark that he once phoned the A's bullpen in Dark's voice ordering a reliever to start warming up - while starter Jim Nash was pitching a no-hitter! Nash saw the bullpen action, lost his concentration, and got shelled), Lefty Gomez (they didn't call him Goofy because he resembled the Disney character), Roger McDowell (he was renowned as "The Met Most Likely To Be Committed" - it was he who first rolled out the upside-down uniform gag), Rick Dempsey (you remember his rain-delay gag of stuffing his jersey with a pillow and water and doing a burlesque pantomime of running the bases and sliding home, usually in a huge sploosh! of water), Jay Johnstone (it would take a book - and, come to think of it, he wrote two!), Pete Richert (he and his Oriole bullpen mate Eddie Watt were notorious for sneaking tropical fish into enemy bullpen water coolers), Warren Spahn (believe it...or not; Spahnie apparently had a reputation as the best practical joker on the old Milwaukee Braves, with his running mate Lew Burdette), Bill (Spaceman) Lee, Leon (Daddy Wags) Wagner, Mickey Rivers, Don (Stan the Man Unusual) Stanhouse, et.al...These guys would be psycho ward candidates while Mike Tyson is merely "misunderstood"...

Muchas gracias for the ping!

Rube Waddell was likely one of the greatest pitchers of all time....and likely got to that position because of his erratic behavior and crazy attitude. Had he been sane or under control...the effect of his fastball would not have been appreciated.

Bill James, in The New Bill James Historical Baseball Abstract, ranks Waddell at number 53. A very reasonable assessment, that. But I don't think it is necessarily a truism that his erratic behaviour made him a great pitcher. An awful lot of very sane and normal men have proven hell on wheels with power pitching; there was probably no more sane man in baseball in his time than Sandy Koufax, and Casey Stengel - who saw both men pitch and knew the art as well as anyone - swore Koufax was better. Bob Gibson off the mound was a very normal man. Nolan Ryan epitomised normalcy off the mound. Maybe the effect of seeing one too many flaky relief pitchers with Mach 1 fastballs has something to do with it, but the idea that insanity breeds fastballs is, really, a canard. Rube Waddell had a devastating fastball and just so happened to be considered off the wall, though I wonder - was he off the wall crazy, or just a simple minded and slightly flaky fellow?

And to fully understand his ability, after being traded from the A's, he had a chance to pitch against his old team. He struck out 16 of them in a game.

I have two problems with that assessment. 1) The 1908 Athletics weren't the team they had been when Waddell was pitching for them; they had a team .223 batting average and would finish sixth in an eight-team league that season; it was not exactly unrealistic for a pitcher of Waddell's ability to punch out sixteen players on a team that feeble in the lineup. 2) I don't believe for final conclusion that how you do against your former team is a way to "fully understand" a pitcher's ability. As many pitchers resemble Sandy Koufax when pitching against their former teams as resemble Boom Boom Beck. And, as many top-of-the-line pitchers have one or even two teams against whom he is as effective as a baby in a carriage, even as as many top-of-the-line teams look like the 1962 Mets against certain pitchers. (Consider: The Yankees were, by and large, putty in the hands of a Detroit Tigers pitcher named Frank Lary in the late 1950s and early 1960s - Lary's nickname, in fact, was The Yankee Killer - but Lary was no further going to the Hall of Fame, though he was a good pitcher for a few seasons, than the Yankees were going to blow more than one pennant in a row in those years.) For that matter, how many pitchers, even Hall of Famers, look like Boom Boom Beck against certain hitters who otherwise couldn't get a base hit if they swung an airplane hangar gate? Bob Uecker - Bob Uecker! - owned Sandy Koufax (The Ueck hit, you can look it up, .400 lifetime against Koufax). And I have a recollection that if there was one hitter Juan Marichal couldn't stand to face, it was a barely-there Chicago Cubs outfielder named Don Landrum.

The man had absolute control and was the dominate pitcher of the American league in the 1900-1910 period.

Rube Waddell was actually just shy of being the most dominating pitcher in his league. Waddell's ERA for the decade: 2.15. Cy Young's: 2.13. Young, however, won 20 or more six times (and two of those seasons he won 30 or more); Waddell, four 20-win seasons. Waddell probably should have won more - his teams, except for the 1901 Chicago Orphans (soon to become the Cubs) and 1909 St. Louis Browns, never finished lower than fifth, and two of them won the pennant (the 1902 and 1905 Philadelphia Athletics). The two men were probably of near-equal ability, but Cy Young, even as he aged, was a slightly more dominating pitcher than the Rube - and, for two seasons, was considered the most dominating pitcher in his league. Waddell wasn't considered that for any one season in the decade. It wasn't Waddell's fault, of course, that there were other pitchers having more dominant seasons than he season by season (think of Juan Marichal, again, having the best seasons of his career during seasons in which Sandy Koufax was just that much better), and it doesn't diminish his greatness that there were.

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