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Ruling Over Monarchs, Giants, and Stars:
Umpiring in The Negro Leagues and Beyond
EXCERPT
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| Ruling Over Monarchs, Giants, and Stars by Bob Motley and Byron Motley |
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EXCERPT: Satchel Paige
By the time I started umpiring, Satchel Paige only pitched the first three innings of a game, and then he was done. He was the biggest name in the league: his name alone assured owners and promoters of sell-out crowds. He pitched often, but only for those nine (usually quick) outs. Most typically, “Satchel’s caddies” were workhorse relievers like Hall of Famer Hilton Smith and hard-throwing right-hander Booker McDaniel. Smith, who was as close to perfection as you could get this side of Satchel, would come on after Paige’s three innings were up. He was just as effective as Satchel, except he didn’t have the showmanship or personality. On the mound, Satchel entertained the fans—a showman, yes; a showoff, no. He was cocky, self-assured, and conceited, which was fine by me, because at least he had the stuff to back it up. He was just a hell of a pitcher and he knew it.
In my career, I had to throw quite a few pitchers out of games for cursing me and questioning my calls. But I never threw Satchel out, although I did come close one particular game at Blues Stadium. Satchel had thrown one of his nasty drop pitches, and it barely missed the inside part of the plate. Satchel thought everything he threw was a strike, and most times he was right—but not this time. Unhappy with my call, he walked halfway toward home plate and glared at me like he wanted to rip my eyes out. Not one to be intimidated, I yanked off my facemask, walked around in front of the catcher, and shot my meanest Dick Tracy-esque stare right back at him.
Satchel snapped, “Did you miss one, ump?”
I snapped right back, “Naw, I didn’t miss nothing.”
Our intense stare down continued a few seconds more until Satchel whisked around and went back to the mound, as if to say, “Okay you blind bastard, I’ll show you!” Satchel hurled a blistering fastball that made a beeline down the heart of the plate for a called strike three, then looked at me as if to say, “Uh-huh, I thought so. Ain’t no maybe so about it!”
My first time calling balls and strikes for Satchel, I wasn’t as nervous as I was anxious before the game. I had seen him pitch a dozen times or so from the stands and while umpiring the bases, but being behind the plate was a whole new ballgame. I considered calling balls and strikes for the master to be a true test of my ability. As the umpires took the field, umpire Frank Duncan hollered at me in a most mischievous tone, “Kid, this is Satchel. Keep your eye on the ball!” As Satchel’s first pitch came sailing toward the catcher’s mitt, I began to appreciate Duncan’s message. The pitch zigzagged across the plate in a way I had never seen a baseball move. It all happened so fast; I was stunned, and so was the batter. For a split second I was caught off guard, then realized I had yet to make the call. I bellowed, “S-T-T-T-R-R-R-I-I-I-K-E,” proudly calling my first Satchel Paige pitch.
As the first inning progressed with Satchel continuing to hurl heat at batters, I noticed that his pitches seemed to pick up more speed and movement. I again thought back to Duncan’s comment and the first rule of the Ten Commandments of Umpiring: “Keep your eye on the ball.” The pitches were so dodgy that I thought Duncan must have meant that Satchel might be throwing some tricky balls. I thought to myself, “He must be doctoring the ball, because what I’m seeing ain’t humanly possible.” Thinking I was on top of my game, I called time to check a thrown ball for cuts or nicks. The sucker was clean as a whistle.
In the second inning his pitches were dipping and darting even more. It seemed Satchel was just now getting loose. The movement on each pitch was inconceivable, so again I checked the ball to see if it had been tampered with—and found it clean. A couple batters later, I checked the ball yet again, this time looking down the third-base line at Duncan, who was obviously tickled by the naiveté of this young ump. I then glanced back at Satchel, who upon catching my eye quipped, “Hey, rook, you ain’t use to ol’ Satch yet. But you will be.” From then on I never checked another ball thrown by Satchel Paige.
Satchel was very crafty and clever when it came to the art of pitching. As a batter, the trick to keeping up with him was not to take your eyes off his pitching hand during his wind up and delivery. He knew how to deceive batters with body motion alone. In his wind up, he would try to confuse the hitter by the movements of his long, lanky frame and his size-14 shoes. Some batters figured this out, but most were just screwed.
But deception wasn’t Satchel’s only weapon. He also had a full repertoire of pitches, each of which had different movements. In addition to his fast and curveballs, he had other “specialty pitches” that were just as deadly, including: the 4-Day-Rider, the Ally-oops, the Bat Dodger, the Step ‘n’ Pitch It, the Midnight Creeper, the Drop Ball, the Jump Ball, the Wobbly Ball, and the Be Ball (named so because he said the pitch would “be’s where I throws it”). But none was more wicked than his infamous hesitation pitch, in which he would kick his long, thin leg sky high, twist around toward second base, wind back around toward home plate, plant his foot, pump his arm, hesitate … and then hurl! Batters had a tough time getting around on it because, like his body motion, the ball was off speed—seeming to slow up, and then take off. After he made it to the majors, the hesitation pitch—or more appropriately his delivery—was outlawed. The rulebook states that once a pitcher starts his wind up he cannot stop his motion toward the plate. The rule wasn’t made specifically for Satchel Paige’s unhittable hesitation pitch, but it sure did take one of his best pitches out of his arsenal.
There were no radar guns in those days, but even into his 40s, Satchel was likely throwing around 100 miles per hour. There’s no doubt in my mind. The only starting pitcher I would possibly compare him to today would be Randy Johnson in his prime, but that’s being generous to Johnson. Johnson’s physique and form are very similar to Paige’s, but even as overpowering as he is, Johnson is missing some of the zip and accuracy.
Because gloves were not as high quality in those days, catchers in the Negro Leagues used all types of items to pad the inside of their mitts as protection. Otherwise, a catcher’s hand would get eaten up by the ball. Sponges, raw meat, rags, and newspapers were some of the more common objects that helped soften the blow of oncoming pitches. That worked some of the time, but not when Satchel was on the mound. I felt sorry for Monarchs catchers Elston Howard and Earl Taborn, as they winced each time one of Satchel’s stinging fastballs landed in their glove. Satchel threw so hard that many times the catcher literally fell back into me due to the force of the pitch.
Negro League catching and pitching star Ted “Double Duty” Radcliffe, who I got to know later in life, had the gnarliest, ugliest, most deformed fingers I have ever seen. His catching hand had been bent and battered from—as he said—“catching Satchel’s heat for over 20 years.” Duty once told me, “Catching Satchel is like trying to catch a freight train barreling at you with the brakes gone bad!” And from what I saw, he was hardly exaggerating.
The “brush back” pitch was common in the Negro Leagues. Not only did many pitchers brush ’em back, they’d knock ’em down if necessary. I saw quite a few guys get cold cocked (and this was in the days before the batting helmet). It was nothing to hear a manager yell from the dugout, “Knock his head off!” There was nothing in the rulebook that stated it was illegal, so it was fair game. Unlike in today’s baseball, I never once had a fight break out over a pitcher brushing someone back; it was all part of aggressive Negro baseball. As a matter of fact, many times after games I’d overhear opponents teasing each other about how they had to duck and dodge pitches trying to get out of harm’s way. But unlike many of the league’s best pitchers, Satchel never used such bullying tactics.
He may not have been book smart, but Satchel knew how to use psychology to mess with the hitter. He was legendary for calling his outfielders in to the infield and having his entire defense lounge around the infield as he’d mow down batter after batter. I had heard about this tactic for years and finally bore witness to it for the first time at a game in Indianapolis. In the second inning, Satchel beckoned for me to come toward the mound. “Hey ump,” he said to me, “these guys ain’t no match for Satchel. I’m gonna get ’em all out. I’m calling in my players.” Astonished, I regained my composure and replied, “Satch, that’s fine. But you know the rules state you must have nine men on the playing field at all times, otherwise your pitch doesn’t count.” I continued, “You can call them in, but they must remain inside the white lines in fair territory.” Obviously well aware of the rules after having done this numerous times, Satchel turned around and motioned his players in. As his teammates sat around the infield as if they were at a Sunday picnic in the park, Satchel threw nine straight jacks, and, as easy as counting from one to three, struck out the side!
When he wasn’t having his way with opposing hitters or putting on a show for the fans, Satchel was quite a poet in his own right. Much like baseball legend Yogi Berra, he possessed incredible wit and wisdom. Some of his more infamous quips or “Satchisms” are: “You have to believe in yourself. When you believe, you do.”; “Avoid fried meats which angry up the blood.”; “Ain’t no man can avoid being average, but ain’t no man got to be common.”; “Age is a question of mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it don’t matter.”; “Don’t look back—something might be gaining on you.”; “My pitching philosophy is simple: keep the ball away from the bat.”; “Don’t pray when it rains if you don’t pray when the sun shines.”; “Too many pitchers got the hurry-ups. Slow down, you last longer.”; “Throw strikes. Home plate don’t move.”; “If you can’t overpower ’em, outcute ’em.”; and “We don’t stop playing because we get old. We get old because we stop playing.”
Satchel was particularly aware of that last one. That’s why he pitched for so long.
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