THE 1969 MIRACLE METS: THE IMPROBABLE STORY OF THE WORLD’S GREATEST UNDERDOG TEAM (42 page)

In San Francisco, the Mets held a team meeting to
address the issue of brushback pitches. Seaver and Koosman stepped
up and responded when the other team tried to pitch New York tight,
and “that sent a message that the Mets wouldn’t be intimidated . .
.” recalled Ed Charles.

“Koosman would throw a baseball right through you,”
recalled Swoboda. “Seaver would hit you, and Gentry was
fearless.”

As the season played out, Ron Swoboda dealt with the
frustration of platooning with Art Shamsky, while Rod Gaspar would
come in as a defensive replacement. He felt the best way to deal
with the situation was through action, not words. Rather than
complain to Hodges, he asked Eddie Yost to hit him countless balls
in the outfield in an effort to improve defensively. Yost would
tire of hitting liners, sinkers, wall-bangers, stinging grounders
and high pops to Swoboda, who worked on positioning, dealing with
sunglasses, and setting up for throws.

It was an example of true professionalism on
Swoboda’s part. He was willing to work hard in order to improve.
Yet somehow in the strange, cliquish world of big league baseball,
Hodges and his coaching staff did not see it that way. They thought
Swoboda was trying to show them up, that his willingness to pay the
price was like telling them what to do, to force their hand. It was
a “Joe college” move. “High school Harry.”
Attaboy, attaboy
.
The code of conduct on big league teams has seen some changes over
the years, mainly because so many players are now collegians, but
in 1969 there was still some of the same rough “tobacco juice”
world John McGraw once defined.

On the other hand, Hodges went against the grain
when he found out Don Cardwell threw a spitball, ordering the
veteran to cease and desist. Most managers awarded cheating, in all
its varied forms; the spitter, the “phantom swipe” of second on a
double-play, stealing signs, picking up on what pitch was coming.
Leo Durocher treated cheating like a religion.

Amos Otis, a hotshot prospect who had been forced
out of position – to third base – was sent back to Tidewater in
June. According to Ron Swoboda, Otis “never got a chance.” Also in
June, the Mets pulled off a very important trade, acquiring
power-hitting first baseman Donn Clendenon, 33. Clendenon had been
a staple in Pittsburgh but recently dealt to Montreal as part of
the expansion shake-up, then to Houston. It was the culmination of
a long process that originally ticketed Atlanta third baseman Joe
Torre for New York. Murphy went after Richie Allen of the Phillies
but Philly wanted too much in return. Montreal then offered
Clendenon for Gentry and McAndrew, but Murphy declined. Atlanta
offered Torre, a native New Yorker who would have been a natural
Met. Braves’ GM Paul Richards wanted Kranepool and Grote, but New
York refused to let them go.

Torre would have solved the “third base problem” of
39 players at the “hot corner” since 1962. Many youngsters had been
tried at third base without success, including a prospect named
Danny Napoleon.

“Danny was no better at third than the real Napoleon
was at Waterloo,” wrote Jack Lang of the
Long Island Press
(also
The
Sporting News’
Mets beat writer).

Clendenon was considered a malcontent in Houston,
where as a black man he did not feel comfortable. On the June 15
trading deadline Houston all but dumped him to New York for Kevin
Collins and three minor leaguers (one of whom, Steve Renko, had a
creditable career).

“With one swing of the bat he could put us in the
game or put us ahead,” said Koosman.

He was “loud and boisterous,” and it “didn’t take
long for him to be a team leader,” acknowledged the man who now had
to platoon with him, Kranepool.

“He became the first legitimate guy who could turn
the game around for us with one swing,” said Bud Harrelson.

Clendenon knew Hodges. Prior to an exhibition game a
few years earlier between his Pirates and Hodges’s Washington
Senators, Clendenon sought out Hodges for advice because “he’s the
best guy for any right-handed first baseman to copy . . . he will
give you all the help he can. I had ‘stiff hands’ and was always
told to use both hands when taking throws. Gil said it wasn’t
necessary and showed me how to relax my hand and catch the ball
with the glove.”

“Donn was not only a clubhouse lawyer, he was a
lawyer,” said Swoboda. “He was a member of the bar, an
off-season lawyer for Scripto. Donn was a very educated guy. And he
had a big mouth, he was always talking, always giving you
(expletive deleted) about something, but it was wonderful, all good
(expletive deleted).”

With Clendenon hitting from the right side, it
allowed Hodges to platoon Kranepool against right-handed pitching.
Clendenon was a clutch RBI man, and seemed to be the missing piece
on a club already coming together. His addition to the team also
seemed to provide social cohesion. Agee and Jones felt slightly
isolated as black players. Clendenon was the kind of black athlete
who seamlessly straddled the white and black worlds, and through
him players mixed. Swoboda started to invite the three of them to
his home. His wife would cook and they would “drink beer, eat
crabs, and tell stories.” Seaver and his wife welcomed Donn to the
Mets’ family.

Relief pitcher Ron Taylor was an electrical engineer
who went on to become a doctor. Koosman had studied engineering. It
was an educated group and they found kinship with Clendenon. The
more educated Mets had the ability to communicate without flaunting
their book smarts at those with less schooling.

Seaver, like many Mets, went to an all-white high
school, but met blacks in Alaska and at USC. “On the Mets, I saw no
racial friction at all, never a slur, never an insult,” Seaver
recalled. “During the 1969 season, Cleon Jones, Tommie Agee, Ed
Charles and Donn Clendenon each made significant contributions to
our pennant drive. I didn’t think of them as
black
Mets.
Just plain Mets.”

Clendenon took to Seaver immediately. When he saw
him arrive in the clubhouse on game days he called him “the chubby
right-hander.” Seaver would laugh and reply that he was still
“growing” and the veteran Clendenon was just “jealous.”

Nancy Seaver reached out to the 6-4 first baseman,
too. “I know who you are,” she told him when she first saw him at
Shea Stadium. Clendenon was wearing a Jamaican shirt and vest.
Clendenon pretended to put the moves on her. On another team, in
another year, not long before that, it could have been big trouble;
but Tom and Nancy thought he was the coolest dude they had ever
seen.

Life was good, and it was great to be a Met.

This was a group of guys who symbolized the new era,
what with a war going on and people thinking in different ways.
“God, it was exciting, stimulating,” recalled Swoboda.

****

On June 27, the cops raided gay bars in Greenwich
Village. Seven plainclothes and one uniformed police officer
entered the Stonewall Inn near Sheridan Square. The bar was cleared
out amid much anti-gay slurring. The atmosphere became tense, and
in the street a confrontation ensued. Cops took to their
nightsticks and started beating on the gays. A chant of “Gay Power”
began. The protests went on for five days.

****

With Clendenon making an immediate offensive impact
and, perhaps just as important solidifying the team socially, New
York continued to play good ball throughout June. He drove in the
leading or winning run in his first 16 games. New York took three
of four from Philadelphia, three of four from St. Louis, then lost
four of seven to the Phillies and Pittsburgh. They split a
four-game set with St. Louis and finished the month with a 19-9
mark. Pittsburgh trailed them by three, the Cardinals by six.

The Pirates certainly posed a threat. They were led
by the great Puerto Rican Hall of Fame right fielder Robert
Clemente. When Walter O’Malley forced Rickey out of Brooklyn, he
took over in Pittsburgh. One of the first things he did was bring
in Clemente, one of the very first Latino players. It started a
flood of great players from south of the border; Puerto Rico,
Venezuela, the Dominican Republican and Mexico, among other
countries.

Clemente was proud and sensitive. In 1960 he led
Pittsburgh to the pennant and a thrilling World Series victory over
the New York Yankees. When teammate Dick Groat won the Most
Valuable Player award, Clemente ruffled feathers by accusing
writers of not voting for him, presumably the more deserving
choice, because of his race. In 1966 Clemente did win the MVP
award. He was good for 200 hits a year despite being a
hypochondriac, a source of amusement really since he always had a
physical ailment of some kind, then delivered four sizzling line
drive base hits.

As a right fielder, Clemente is probably without
equal in baseball history. His throws from the right field corner
to nail runners at third base, often on a direct line, are the
stuff of legend. He could play the vines at Wrigley Field like
nobody else. Because he toiled in out-of-the-way Pittsburgh before
ESPN and cable sports, Clemente was not as ballyhooed as sluggers
who hit more home runs: Mantle, Mays, Aaron, and Frank Robinson, to
name a few. Carl Yastrzemski was never really at Clemente’s level,
but being a white superstar in Boston during this time, he enjoyed
fame that eluded Clemente.

First baseman/outfielder Willie “Pops” Stargell
hailed from Encinal High School in Alameda, California. He was
younger than Stargell, but a fan favorite who hit monster home
runs, including one all-time tape measure job at Dodger Stadium.
Stargell alternated between first and the outfield with Al Oliver,
another major power hitter.

Outfielder Matty Alou was, like Clemente, always
good for 200 hits, contending for the batting championship. He was
a singles hitter from Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic, where he
grew up with two other big league ballplayer-brothers, Jesus and
Felipe; as well as pitching great Juan Marichal.

On the mound, Steve Blass had a below-average fast
ball but above-average control and guile. Bob Veale was a big,
overpowering left-hander. The Pirates had the tools to enter the
race at any time.

On June 29, Seaver held all their big bats in check
to run his record to12-3. He had not lost a game in over a month
and was the best pitcher in either league so far. At career victory
number 44, he now was the winningest pitcher in the club’s
history.

Pittsburgh’s hopes took a big dive when New York
swept them, 11-6 and 9-2, in a double-header to improve the Mets’
record to 45-34, 11 games over the .500 mark. New York City was
swept up in Mets fever. A new report had recently indicated that
the city was the center for severe inflation in America. Mayor
Lindsay was in trouble, his city teetering towards economic
freefall. But so much attention was diverted by the Mets that he
was able to maintain optimism that, against all odds, he could win
re-election in the fall.

“At the beginning of the season I thought it might
be the same old stuff again,” recalled Kranepool. “But, when we won
11 in a row against some good teams I knew things were
changing.”

The Jones-Agee show was paying off big time, as
well. “We put in a lot of work over the winter working on our
hitting,” said Jones. “I started watching Tommie. There were no
films then, but I watched him and figured out what he needed to do.
All I had to do was holler at him when he was hitting and tell him
to kick his foot toward the plate so he could stay back. That was
the only time he ever listened to me.”

The platooning was working out. “A baseball player
wants to play – all the time,” was Art Shamsky’s feeling on the
matter. “While you might have some personal feeling about the
situation, most of us back then never complained. I didn’t,
although I was frustrated at times.”

A Spring Training injury had set Shamsky back, but
by June he was just happy to be part of something that looked to be
very special. Clendenon “didn’t like” platooning. “Once you platoon
you get labeled. It’s a difficult way to play. Hodges knew how I
felt, and I respected his honesty when he and I talked about it.
But no player I knew liked it.”

Hodges did not want or need them to. He had not
platooned with the Dodgers. He knew his guys wanted to play the
game and would have been disappointed if they enjoyed sitting on
the bench. He also knew they were maximizing efforts in
righty-lefty and situational match-ups. He had key pinch-hitters,
pinch-runners and defensive replacements at the ready. Over the
course of the long, hot summer they would be refreshed.

Meanwhile, as the delightful Chicago spring was
turning into the broiling hot, humid Midwestern summer, the Chicago
Cubs were playing the same nine guys nine innings day after day;
pitching the same four guys as many innings as they could go, nine
if possible. Leo the taskmaster was prodding them like a slave
overseer.

The first crucial day

On July 8, 1962, the New York Mets made three
throwing errors in one inning, allowed five unearned runs in an
inning, lost to St. Louis by 14 runs, and in the process allowed
41-year old Stan Musial to hit no less than three home runs against
them. They were 25-59 (.280).

Precisely seven years later, on July 8, 1969 the
Mets woke up with a 54-34 record, five games back of the Chicago
Cubs. The rest of the National League East was effectively out of
it, in small measure because in head-to-head games with New York,
they had fared poorly. St. Louis, the pre-season favorite, suddenly
looked old at 40-44, seven and a half back of the Mets. The Mets
had knocked Pittsburgh off. The Pirates were floundering at 38-43.
The Phillies and Expos were playing out the string.