Ted Williams was never an eighty-three-year-old man with a heart condition.
The 'Splendid Splinter'
hit .406 in 1941 – nobody has cracked .400 since. And he gave up
the best baseball years of his life to serve his country.
'The Thumper' never
hit less than .317 (1950) until the year he considered retiring when he
hit 10 home runs and batted .254. Not satisfied with ending his career
on such a down note, he decided to play one more year. In 1960 he batted
.319 and hit 29 home runs (his last came at Fenway Park in his final at
bat).
'The Kid' retired
with a career batting average of .344 and 521 home runs.
Before he died, many
'experts' considered Williams to be baseball's 'greatest living player'.
No disrespect to Mays, Aaron or Musial intended.
But with his passing,
he's now up against the likes of Ruth, Gehrig, DiMaggio et. al. for the
title of 'all-time greatest player'. With his numbers, you can certainly
make an argument for Williams – it's just not as cut and dry.
You can throw out
the stats. Forget about home runs and batting average and World Series
titles. I think the ultimate barometer of a ball player's greatness is
the number of nicknames he acquires during his career.
Babe Ruth had two
– 'The Bambino' and 'The Sultan of Swat' (o.k., three if you want
to count referring to George Herman as 'Babe'.)
DiMaggio was known
as 'The Yankee Clipper' or 'Joltin' Joe' – that's two. And Gehrig
was simply 'The Iron Horse'. (Though I did find a reference that also
listed 'Biscuit Pants' as a nickname – I'd love to find out how
that one originated).
The next time you
see him, 'Say Hey' Willie Mays. In St. Louis, Stan Musial is still 'The
Man'. And I guess when you're the all-time home run king, you –
Henry Aaron – deserve three nicknames ('The Hammer', 'Hammerin'
Hank', and 'Bad Henry').
But I haven't found
a single man with the supporting credentials to be named baseball's greatest
player that can boast four nicknames – except Ted Williams. If you've
been paying attention, I used all four in the opening five paragraphs.
Four nicknames. That,
to me, makes Teddy Ballgame, a.k.a. The Splendid Splinter, a.k.a. The
Thumper, a.k.a. The Kid, a.k.a. Ted Williams baseball's greatest player.
And if his body remains
frozen at a cryonics lab in Arizona, he may be the first player ever to
have a nickname or two bestowed upon him posthumously. Off hand I can
think of two: Iceman and Mr. Freeze.
The way I figure it,
there's really only one reason to freeze Ted Williams. And that is to
preserve his DNA. And I can't think of any reason to do that unless someone
plans to sell it.
I guess if, in twenty
or thirty years, there are a growing number of .400 hitters in the majors,
we'll know what happened to Ted William' DNA. Forget about the steroids
issue, baseball will be dealing with the cloning issue.
On the bright side,
maybe there will be an overwhelming desire on the part of players –
with their best days still ahead of them - to enlist in the armed forces
if the U.S.A. happens to be at war.
You know, I have no
problem with scientists trying to clone a sheep. The more veal I get to
put on my plate the better. But there's something seriously wrong with
trying to create another 'Splendid Splinter'.
Of course, even if
they are able to match his DNA, I doubt they'll ever be able to duplicate
his work ethic, his persistence and his passion – for baseball and
his country.
I have a 1959 SPORT
magazine with a picture of Ted Williams on the cover. I plan on whipping
it out the first time my grandson confuses a future clone for the real
thing.
I'll point to that
picture and tell him: 'this is the one and only Teddy Ballgame'.
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