Sixty Feet, Six Inches

by Bob Gibson

  Reggie Jackson

  I wouldn’t think of doing to Gibson what I did—or started to do—with John Verhoeven.

  And then there are guys you try to intimidate and just can’t. For me, that was Mike Caldwell of the Brewers. Caldwell had my number, and frankly, it made me mad. Once, after I popped out, I tried to get to him by cutting across the pitcher’s mound on the way back to the dugout, which you’re not supposed to do. The next time I came up, he knocked me down. The pitch after that was a fastball and I popped it up again, only this time I tossed my bat about halfway to the mound. After the ball was caught, Caldwell walked over, picked up my bat, and snapped the handle off. That started the brawl.

  On that occasion, I’d say there was a personal element to it. Caldwell and I fought for a long time. I damaged something in his rib cage, and he was out for six weeks. But he still wasn’t intimidated.

  Bob Gibson

  To me, it was almost never personal. People thought I had some kind of grudge against Jim Ray Hart of the Giants, but that was just the press carrying on.

  I happened to hit Jim Ray in the shoulder once. The book was to pitch him inside. He was a guy, like Reggie, who’d kill you if you got the ball away from him, which was another reason to pitch him way inside—to keep him from diving. So I was making sure that he wasn’t going to kill me. I went up and in, and he was leaning and it broke his shoulder. After that, word got out that I was throwing at him, which I wasn’t.

  Years later, I was playing in an old-timers game in Montreal and Jim Ray was on the same team. Those games sometimes end sooner than you expect, and when it looked like we were going to cut it off before I got into the game the manager sent me in to pitch for the other team, just so I could make my appearance. Well, of course Jim Ray was the first guy up, and he was going, “Whoa! Hold up here! I’m not gonna hit against him!”

  I said, “Oh, get in there. I’m not gonna hurt you.” He actually thought I wanted to get into the game just to throw at him one more time.

  Reggie Jackson

  See, that goes even beyond reputation. It’s that air of mystery. Once you establish it, it keeps working for you.

  There were times when I lost my cool and was out of bounds with my behavior. I acknowledge that. But the fact is, I didn’t mind if pitchers thought I was a little crazy. It could only help me, just like it helped Gibson.

  Bob Gibson

  Guys like Reggie couldn’t be intimidated. But there were hitters who could. If not intimidated, at least thrown off their game, like Clemente.

  The Cubs had a skinny outfielder, Adolfo Phillips, whom I could get to. I’d knock him down in the first inning and he’d be done for the day. As good as Ron Santo was—and he hit three home runs against me—he was a guy who didn’t like to be brushed back.

  More than being afraid, guys like that get angry and they’re going to show you. They get overanxious and swing at things they shouldn’t swing at. There it is—go right ahead. Once they start that, you’ve got them.

  Reggie Jackson

  It can work the other way, too. Hitters can intimidate pitchers, or at least get in their heads.

  Darrell Jackson was a 150-pound left-hander who also pitched for the Twins. He’d knocked me down during a game in Minnesota, and when the writers asked him about it afterwards, he’d made a statement that if Reggie Jackson does so-and-so, I’m gonna do such-and-such. So the next time they came to Yankee Stadium, we were taking batting practice—I always went last, which meant the other team would be taking the field as I hit—and Minnesota’s pitchers were running in the outfield. When I was finished hitting, I strolled out to left field and walked right up to Darrell Jackson to see if there was something he cared to discuss. He Mister-Jacksoned me for the next five minutes.

  I like telling that story.

  Bob Gibson

  I’ve even had a manager try to intimidate me. Gene Mauch.

  Mauch was always doing something or other to get under my skin. In May of 1964, we were beating up on the Phillies early in the game and Mauch had their starter, Dennis Bennett, throwing at our guys, trying to get me to retaliate. By the fourth inning, Jack Baldschun was pitching in relief for the Phillies, and before I came to bat Mauch called down to the bullpen to have somebody ready in case Baldschun got thrown out. The first three pitches almost hit me and the fourth one got me in the thigh. That was excessive. I flung my bat toward the mound and then headed to the Phillies’ dugout, looking for Mauch. Baldschun didn’t get ejected, but I did. It cost me a victory, and as it turned out, that would have given me twenty for the first time.

  Reggie Jackson

  We all understand when a knockdown pitch is part of the game—at least we did—and we all get angry when it crosses the line. At my best, I turned that anger into focus. It was an I’m-gonna-get-this-guy mentality. Get him paid back.

  My model was Frank Robinson. He fed on getting thrown at. You hit Frank Robinson and all he’s thinking about is murdering that next pitch.

  Bob Gibson

  Frank Robinson was a pain in the butt. The records show that I hit him one time, but that can’t be right. I hit him a lot. I must have hit him twenty times, about sixteen of them on that left arm of his that hung out into the strike zone. It made me mad, because the pitches that hit him weren’t that bad. I remember yelling at the umpire, “He’s standing on the plate! That’s a strike!” Of course, it wasn’t a strike. It would be four or five inches inside, but that shouldn’t hit anybody. And Frank would be jogging down to first base.

  A few years ago, I asked him about it. I said, “As much as I hit you, how come you never got mad?”

  He said, “Because you weren’t throwing at me.”

  He was right. I wasn’t throwing at him. But I hit him all the time anyway, and there wasn’t much else I could do. I pitched him away once at Crosley Field and he took it out of the park, so after that I just threw him fastballs to the elbow. If he couldn’t hit it with his bat, he’d hit it with his elbow. Drove me crazy.

  Reggie Jackson

  Frank Robinson could intimidate equally well at home plate or on the bases. He was a hero of mine. He taught me a lot about how to play the game to win.

  Bob Gibson

  The way baseball is played today, there aren’t many Frank Robinsons anymore. There aren’t many Don Drysdales, either.

  The changes in the game have not all been for the better, in my estimation. These days, if you throw the ball in and off the plate—not trying to hit anybody—the umpire’ll yell at you and the batter’ll come out and beat you up. If the ump thinks you’re intentionally throwing at a guy, he can kick you out; he can kick the manager out; they can fine you, suspend you, take away your Blockbuster card, whatever.

  The reality is, the ball’s going to hit somebody now and then. You throw 125 pitches a game and there’s a pretty good chance you’re going to hit somebody even if you’re not throwing at him. And when the batters are not expecting it—when they think they’re protected and get too comfortable in there—they can be hurt really badly. You’ve got to watch for that ball in on your body, and the hitters today don’t. They’re constantly looking for something they can hit with their arms extended. I’m afraid that somebody’s going to get killed because they don’t look for the ball in on them anymore.

  Reggie Jackson

  Maybe Frank should be in charge of discipline in the commissioner’s office. Sometimes they forget that this is good old hardball.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SCENARIOS

  Bob Gibson

  Most of the time, I was happy to see a little guy up at the plate. I wasn’t going to walk him, because there was no reason to. Throw him strikes. The worst he could do was hit a single.

  But now and then you find yourself in a spot—with the bases loaded, or with a runner in scoring position late in a tie game—when the little Punch-and-Judy hitter is just the guy you don’t want to deal with. In that situation, I might actually rather pitch to Willie M
cCovey than Pete Rose, or to A-Rod than Ichiro.

  Reggie Jackson

  In a spot like that, a home-run hitter might have to make himself a singles hitter.

  Bob Gibson

  As much as I respected a big guy like McCovey, and went to great lengths to prevent him from hurting me, that situation calls for a strikeout, and I had a better chance of striking him out than Rose. Maybe, with McCovey or Reggie, I don’t have to be quite as accommodating in the strike zone. Maybe I don’t have to throw a strike. They’re not looking for a strike; they’re looking for a ball they can hit. They’re not quite as particular. A power hitter might swing at a pitch that he really shouldn’t swing at, because there’s always the chance that he’ll hit it, and if he hits it there’s always the chance it’ll leave the park. In some circumstances, those guys can be easier to handle than the irritating hitters who are going to hold out for a nice little pitch right where they want it.

  When I’ve got really good stuff, I’d rather take my chances in that situation with a guy who swings at a lot of pitches. I need that strikeout.

  Reggie Jackson

  I loved to hit with the bases loaded, but there’s some merit to Bob’s argument. I always felt that I was the guy who should drive in the runs. For that reason, if there were men in scoring position I’d sometimes expand the strike zone. That’s what Bob’s hoping for.

  At the same time, I didn’t want to do it selfishly. I wasn’t interested in handicapping my team with a dumb, self-defeating at-bat. So I’d try not to go out of the strike zone too far. I didn’t want to look foolish and play into the pitcher’s hands by taking a bad swing. I’d also know who was on the mound, who was on the mound for us, what the game situation was, how important the run was, and who was hitting behind me.

  It’s all about circumstances. You might have the prettiest swing on the planet—you might have the quickest hands, the sharpest eye—but you can’t be a great hitter unless you understand circumstances. As strange as it sounds, hitting is a team sport.

  It’s not enough just to recognize your circumstances. You also have to understand the pitcher’s. This isn’t the backyard, and we’re not playing for a beer. We’re professionals. If he has a cozy lead and time is running short, he may give up a run in exchange for an out. His priority then is to make sure I don’t keep the inning going: Don’t worry about the guy on third; let’s just get Reggie to hit the ball on the ground. That tells me I might see a breaking pitch in the dirt, or a two-seamer at the knees.

  The situation is fluid. It might change in the time it takes me to get from the on-deck circle to home plate. There’s a lot going on for me, and a lot going on for the pitcher, too—what he’s got working that day, what he doesn’t have working that day. Maybe the first two times up I’ve gone boom, boom, two seeds, on a slider and a fastball; so he may have a different plan in mind this time. Every little nuance has the potential to change both his approach and mine.

  Bob Gibson

  That right there tells you why Reggie was a great hitter.

  Reggie Jackson

  When you get into the situation where he needs a strikeout and I need to strike a blow, that’s when it really gets fun. Now he’s going to give you all of it. He’s going to step off the mound, grab the resin bag, and pull his hat down. The guys in the dugout are saying, “Uh-oh, don’t let the man pull his hat down now.”

  Bob Gibson

  If my back’s to the wall and I can’t walk him, he’s going to get the fastball, and it’s got to be over the plate. You just try to make sure it’s not over the plate and at the belt at the same time.

  With a guy like Reggie …

  Reggie Jackson

  I’m a tough situation, aren’t I? I can end the game. You can think strikeout against me, but at the same time you don’t want to make a mistake and give up two runs. Or four.

  Bob Gibson

  With a guy like Reggie, that might be the only time all night I try to strike him out. But it’s just so hard to generalize. It depends so much on your wiggle room. It depends so much on the score.

  There’s some satisfaction in striking out Willie Stargell with the bases loaded, but for the most part you really don’t go out there to strike people out. At least I didn’t, unless there was an important run at third that could score on a fly ball or groundout. Or unless I got two strikes. With two strikes, yes, you do think strikeout. But there were times when I had the bases loaded with nobody out and struck out the side, and it wasn’t because I was trying to but because the situation called for my best fastball and it happened to be good enough to strike people out.

  I was considered a strikeout pitcher, and I struck out more than two hundred batters nine times, but you know who I’d strike out? I’d average about eight a game. I’d get the seven, eight and nine hitters twice each. That’s six right there. I lived to get the pitcher and those two guys in front of him. I’d swallow them whole. That’s who you strike out. The bottom of the lineup and whoever comes up with a man on third and less than two outs.

  Reggie Jackson

  I certainly contributed my fair share to the strikeout totals of a whole lot of pitchers. Most home-run hitters do.

  That was hard for me to accept at first. Early in my career, striking out would infuriate me. Then Dick Allen told me not to worry about it, because it was going to happen. Frank Robinson told me the same thing, and Carl Yastrzemski told me the same thing, as well. I wished I had struck out less, but eventually I learned not to obsess over it. It came with the territory.

  When all was said and done, I had struck out nearly 2,600 times. I’d covered a lot of territory. Too much, really. I definitely struck out more than I should have.

  Bob Gibson

  Everybody loves to watch the big matchups when the strikeout pitcher is throwing as hard as he can and the home-run hitter is swinging as hard as he can. It’s great stuff—power against power, Hall of Famer against Hall of Famer and all of that—but I never had the kind of ego that made me want to get Hank Aaron out when the game was on the line. I was a little more practical than that. I gave those guys a wide berth in those situations. I’d rather end the game against somebody I knew I could get out. Hey, let’s try Joe Adcock.

  Reggie Jackson

  It’s too bad, but you just don’t have many high-profile, Hall of Fame showdowns anymore. Not with starting pitchers. Back in the day, you could face Gibson in the ninth inning with everything on the line. You could take on Jenkins, Palmer, Seaver, Carlton—any of the great ones—in that scenario. But how many times will Johan Santana still be around at the end of the game? How many times will Josh Beckett, C. C. Sabathia, Brandon Webb, or Jake Peavy come out for the ninth inning?

  Even when I was playing, the big confrontation late in the game would usually come against a reliever—for me, usually a lefty reliever. The percentages were with that move, but I liked my odds anyway. The tighter the spot, the better for me.

  Think about it. The manager just brought the dude in to face a left-handed hitter, handed him the ball, and slapped him on the butt with a big “go-get-him.” That’s why the guy’s on the team. Okay, kid, there’s Reggie, do your thing. More than likely, he’s going to grit his teeth, throw a fastball, and throw it for a strike, if he can. I’ll get one whack at it, maybe two.

  I’d look for a ball to hit early in the count, and I would put that baby in play. I would not foul it off.

  Bob Gibson

  A left-hander would come in and throw you a fastball? Damn. I would have thought you’d see a breaking ball ninety percent of the time.

  Reggie Jackson

  Nope. I looked for a fastball. I didn’t want to take too big of a swing and foul the sucker off, because I was going to get a cookie in the first two pitches. The reliever comes into the game to pitch to you. I tried to take advantage of that. That would be my best shot.

  I was going to run right into it. All my timing, everything, was set up for a fastball to hit to left center. If I
could get it in the air and square it, I had an opportunity for four “steaks” (rib eyes). I didn’t want to get complicated or fancy. Don’t overswing. Don’t try to hit it over the fence. Don’t pull it over the dugout. Don’t foul it back and have it rolling up the net behind you. Don’t wind up making frustrated gestures that everybody in the ballpark can read. Don’t end up thinking, “Oh man, that was the one! How could I miss that? I shouldn’t even be here!”

  None of that. Put it in play. Square the ball.

  Bob Gibson

  If Reggie Jackson is going to beat you with a bases-loaded, ninth-inning single, more power to him. It’ll happen, because he’s a good hitter and you have to throw him a strike.

  But if he hits a home run to beat you leading off the ninth, or with two outs and nobody on, there’s no excuse for that.

  Reggie Jackson

  There would be games when not much was going on for either team, we’d get to the late innings, and the great pitchers I played behind—Catfish, Guidry, Palmer, Kenny Holtzman—would tell me, “I don’t want you going for no single now. Give me a whack at it. You got one in you?”