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<DIV><FONT face=Arial size=2>My husband and I attended the last away from home
game that Stan Musial played before his retirement. It was my first ball
game. I was disappointed that the Cardinals lost to the Cincinnati Reds,
1 to 0. He was a great ball player.</FONT></DIV>
<BLOCKQUOTE
style="PADDING-RIGHT: 0px; PADDING-LEFT: 5px; MARGIN-LEFT: 5px; BORDER-LEFT: #000000 2px solid; MARGIN-RIGHT: 0px">
<DIV style="FONT: 10pt arial">----- Original Message ----- </DIV>
<DIV
style="BACKGROUND: #e4e4e4; FONT: 10pt arial; font-color: black"><B>From:</B>
<A title=dhuff@moblind.org href="mailto:dhuff@moblind.org">Denny Huff</A>
</DIV>
<DIV style="FONT: 10pt arial"><B>To:</B> <A title=chat@moblind.org
href="mailto:chat@moblind.org">'Missouri Chat'</A> </DIV>
<DIV style="FONT: 10pt arial"><B>Cc:</B> <A title=Missouri-L@MoBlind.Org
href="mailto:Missouri-L@MoBlind.Org">'missouri-l'</A> </DIV>
<DIV style="FONT: 10pt arial"><B>Sent:</B> Sunday, July 26, 2009 12:50
PM</DIV>
<DIV style="FONT: 10pt arial"><B>Subject:</B> [Missouri Chat] Stan the Man
Musial</DIV>
<DIV><BR></DIV>
<DIV class=Section1>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>An article about Stan Musial written by Joe Posnanski of
the KC Star.<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P
class=MsoNormal>------------------------------------------------------------------------
<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>Stan Musial never got thrown out of a game. Never. Think
about this for a moment. Musial played in 3,026 games in his career, or about
as many as his contemporaries Joe DiMaggio and Johnny Pesky played combined.
He played across different American eras - he played in the big leagues before
bombs fell on Pearl Harbor; and he retired a few weeks before Kennedy was
shot. He played when Jimmy Dorsey and Glenn Miller ruled the Top 40 charts,
and he played when Elvis was thin, and he played when Chubby Checker twisted.
He played before television, and after John Glenn orbited the earth. And he
never once got thrown out of a baseball game.<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>There was this game, in '52, that year the Today Show came
to television and the Diary of Anne Frank was published, and the Musial's
Cardinals trailed the Brooklyn Dodgers by two runs in the ninth. The bases
were loaded. There were two outs. Musial faced pitcher Ben Wade. The two
battled briefly, and then Musial connected - a long home run to right field.
Grand slam. Everyone in the stadium stood and cheered wildly - what could be
bigger, a grand slam in the ninth to beat the hated Dodgers - and Musial
started to run around the bases in his own inimitable way, not too fast, not
too slow, all class. And it wasn't until he rounded first and was closing in
on second when everyone seemed to notice at once that the third base umpire
was holding up his arms. A ball had rolled on the field just before the pitch.
The umpire had called timeout.<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>Home plate umpire Tom Gorman realized he had no choice. He
disallowed the home run. The stadium went black. The fans went mad. St. Louis
manager Solly Hemus raced out the dugout, got into Gorman's face and called
him every name he could think of. Finally Gorman had no choice and threw him
out of the game. Peanuts Lowrey came in like a tag-team wrestler and picked up
where Solly left off. Gorman tossed him too. <o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>Before it was done, Gorman threw out six Cardinals. He felt
like a cowboy in one of those old Westerns clearing out the saloon, throwing
out people through plate glass windows.<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>And then Musial, who in the confusion had not been told
anything, walked over to Gorman. He calmly asked, "What happened Tom? It
didn't count, huh?" Gorman nodded sadly and said the third base umpire had
called timeout.<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>"Well, Tom," Musial said, "there's nothing you can do about
it."<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>Stan Musial stepped back in the box while fists shook and
boos and threats echoed around him. He promptly tripled off the top of the
center field wall to score three runs and give the Cardinals the victory
anyway.<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>"Stan," Tom Gorman said after the game ended, "is in a
class by himself."<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>* * *<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>Stan Musial grew up in Donora , Pa. , during the
Depression. They were a family of eight in a five-room house. In Donora, the
smoke and fumes from the zinc factory mushroomed so thick and poisonous that
no vegetation could grow on the hill. That barren, brown hillside was a
constant reminder that the air was killing them. Stan's father, a Polish
immigrant, worked in that factory and, not too many years after Stan started
playing ball, died from the fumes.<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>Not that a tough childhood explains everything. Still,
there was something about Stan Musial that did not let him forget Donora, did
not allow him to change ? "I'm so lucky," he used to say every day, more than
once every day, so many times that people would roll their eyes.
<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>But that seems to be how he felt, every day,
lucky.<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>Harry Caray, who of course first gained his fame calling
Cardinals games on KMOX, would tell the story of a beaten down Musial going
hitless in a Sunday doubleheader. The heat was unbearable that day ? Hell
could not be much hotter than a St. Louis summer day and after the game Musial
walked gingerly to his car. He looked beaten down. He looked beat up. Musial
never seemed to think of baseball as a job, but a daytime doubleheader in St.
Louis might be the closest thing.<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>"Watch this," Caray said to a friend as they watched the
scene, and sure enough when Musial got to the car, there were a hundred kids
waiting for him and an autograph. Stan leaned against his hot car and signed
every one.<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>Musial. People like to say that people have changed. I
don't see that exactly. The world has changed. Technology has changed. Movie
and ticket prices have changed. Gas prices have changed,. Many of the rules
have changed; the reserve clause is gone, Title IX is in place, they let
people swear on cable TV, airplanes and restaurants won't let you smoke and
you can no longer hold your infant in your lap in the front seat of your car.
But people? I don't know. I get a little queasy when I hear old time
ballplayers talk about how none of them would have used performance enhancing
drugs, and a little queasier when I hear old-time politicians talk about how
they always reached across the aisle. You will still hear a lot of people
romanticizing America in the 1950s. Those people tend to look a lot
alike.<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>Still, it's probably fair to say that there was something
unique about the time that produced Stan Musial. Maybe in those days people
treasured that thing they used to call class. Maybe they expected their
singers to be dressed in tuxedoes, maybe they admired strong and silent types,
maybe they liked football players who did not celebrate their own touchdowns
or boxers who spoke quietly, maybe they wanted their children to believe in a
world where baseball players drank milk and said "golly" and married their
high school sweetheart. It seems to me that the quintessential hero today is
Josh Hamilton, left-handed power, supremely gifted, fallen from grace, back
from the depths, crushing home runs and driving in runners while covered in
tattoos that represent a time he regrets. That's a story for our time, a story
about a lost soul redeemed, and it touches our 21st Century
hearts.<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>Musial is from his time. He smoked under stairwells to be
certain that no kid saw him doing it. Friends say he drank privately, and very
little; Stan the Man could not allow anyone to see him at less than his best.
He often said his biggest regret was that he did not go to college. And, yes,
he married Lil, his high school sweetheart, on his 19th birthday, almost 70
years ago.<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>He wanted to be a role model. He seemed to need to feel
like he was giving kids someone to respect. That, as much as anything, drove
him. <o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>Teammates had a standing wager on how many times he would
use the word "Wonderful" in any given day. They usually guessed low. He was
terrified of making speeches (this, friends say, is why he started playing the
harmonica in public) and yet he almost never turned down a speaking
engagement. He played in great pain, but nobody ever caught him running
half-speed. When he felt like his skills had diminished, he asked for and
received a pay cut.<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>Joe Black used to tell a story. He was pitching against the
Cardinals, and as usual the taunts were racial. "Don't worry Stan," someone in
the Cardinals dugout shouted, "with that dark background on the mound you
shouldn't have any problem hitting the ball." Musial kicked at the dirt, spat,
and faced Black like he had not heard anything. But after the game, Black was
in the clubhouse, and suddenly he looked up and there was Stan Musial. "I'm
sorry that happened," Musial whispered. "But don't you worry about it. You're
a great pitcher. You will win a lot of games."<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>Chuck Connors, the Rifleman, used to tell a story. He was a
struggling hitter for the Chicago Cubs in 1951. He asked teammates what he
should do. They all told him the same thing: The only guy who can save you is
Musial. So Connors went to Musial and asked for his help. Musial spent 30
minutes at the cage with an opposing player. "I was a bum of a hitter just not
cut out for the majors," Connors said. "But I will never forget Stan's
kindness. When he was finished watching me cut away at the ball, Stan slapped
me on the back and told me to keep swinging."<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>Ed Mickelson only got 37 at-bats in the Big Leagues, but he
has a story too. Musial invited him to dinner. He was always doing that stuff
and there Mickelson explained that he felt so nervous playing ball, that he
could hardly perform. Musial leaned over and said quietly, "Me too,
kid.<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>Me too. When you stop feeling nervous, it's time to
quit."<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>Well, there are countless stories like that, stories about
Musial's common decency and the way he could make anyone around him feel like
he was worth a million bucks.<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>"Musial treated me like I was the Pope," Mickelson said,
and he was still in awe more than 50 years later.<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>* * * Those were the emotions Musial inspired in his time.
He was so beloved in New York , that the Mets held a "Stan Musial Day." In
Chicago , he once finished first in a "favorite player" poll among Cubs fans,
edging out Ernie Banks. Bill Clinton and Brooks Robinson, growing up about an
hour apart in Arkansas , were inspired by him.<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>Of course, it was mostly the playing. Stan Musial banged
out 3,630 hits even though he missed a year for the war. He hit .331 for his
career, cracked 1,377 extra base hits (only Hank Aaron and Barry Bonds have
hit more), stretched out more than 900 doubles and triples (only Tris Speaker
has more) and played in 24 All-Star Games. He had that quirky and
unforgettable swing, that peek-a-boo stance, and he probably inspired more
famous quotes by pitchers than any other hitter.<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>Preacher Roe (on how to pitch Musial): "I throw him four
wide ones and try to pick him off first base."<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>Carl Erskine (on how to pitch Musial): "I've had pretty
good success with Stan by throwing him my best pitch and backing up
third."<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>Warren Spahn: "Once he timed your fastball, your infielders
were in jeopardy."<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>Don Newcombe: "I could have rolled the ball up there to
Musial, and he would have pulled out a golf club and hit it
out."<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>And so on. Maybe pitchers felt helpless because there
seemed no way to pitch him, no weaknesses in swing - fastballs up, curveballs
away, forkballs in the dirt, he hit them all. In 1948, he had his most famous
season, his season for the ages, ..376 average, 46 doubles, 18 triples,
<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>39 home runs, 135 runs, 131 RBIs. And yet, the thing about
Musial, is that for more than 20 years he was pretty much always like that.
Four other times he hit better than .350. Four other times he hit more than
<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>46 doubles. He hit double digit triples eight times in all,
he hit 30-plus homers five times, he walked more than twice as often as he
struck out.<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>I suspect Musial can never be reflected in numbers because
his resume is so diverse and elaborate. It's like Bob Costas said, he never
did just one awesome thing, he never hit in 56 straight games, and he did not
hit<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>500 home runs (never hit 40 in a season), and he did not
get 4,000 hits, and he did not hit .400 in any year. He was, instead, present,
always, seventeen times in the Top 5 in batting average, sixteen times in the
Top 5 in on-base percentage, thirteen times in the Top 5 in slugging
percentage, nine times the league leader in runs created. To me, the best
description of Musial through his stats is to say that 16 times in his career
Musial hit 30 or more doubles. It might not make for a great movie. But it
tells you that all his baseball life, Stan Musial hit baseballs into gaps and
he ran hard out of the box.<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>* * *<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>Here's the thing: A lot of baseball fans have forgotten
Stan Musial. <o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>Anyway, it seems like that. His name is rarely mentioned
when people talk about the greatest living players. He's never had a
best-selling book written about him. A few years ago, when baseball was
picking its' All Century team, Stan Musial did not even received enough votes
to be listed among the Top 10 outfielders. The Top 10.<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>True, he did not play in New York like the baseball icons,
like Ruth and DiMaggio and Mantle and Koufax and Mays. True, he did not break
the home run record like Aaron, he did not get banished from the game like
Rose, he did not break barriers like Jackie, he did not swear colorfully like
Ted, he did not hit three homers in a World Series game like Reggie, he did
not glare like Gibson, he did not throw like Clemente and he did not say funny
and wise things like Yogi.<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>No, Musial just played hard and lived decently. He hit five
home runs in a doubleheader, and had five hits on five swings in a game. He
hit line drives right back at pitchers and then would go to the dugout after
the game to make sure those pitchers were all right. He wasn't perfect, of
course, but he didn't see the harm in letting people believe in
something.<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>And maybe that sort of understated greatness isn't meant to
be shouted from the rooftops. Maybe Musial is just meant to be quietly
appreciated.<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>Every so often, even now, you can read an obituary
somewhere in American's heartland, and you will read about someone who "loved
Stan Musial." Everyone so often you will meet someone about 55 years old named
Stan, and you will know why.<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><SPAN
style="COLOR: #00b050; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Rounded MT Bold','sans-serif'"><o:p> </o:p></SPAN></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>Denny Huff<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>President<o:p></o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>Missouri Council of the Blind<o:p></o:p></P>
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<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
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<P class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></P>
<P class=MsoNormal>DHuff@MoBlind.Org<o:p></o:p></P>
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