Earl Weaver: Irascible and brilliant

Legendary Orioles manager was the smartest baseball man I've ever met

Updated: January 19, 2013, 6:38 PM
 By Tim Kurkjian | ESPN The Magazine

The last time I spent significant time with Earl Weaver was almost a year ago. He was old and slow and needed a guy to walk with him in case he fell, but mentally, he was still the same Earl. We were watching an Orioles intrasquad game from the first row of seats in Sarasota, Fla., when manager Buck Showalter quietly called me over to alert me to a play, a tribute of sorts to Earl. Seconds later, the Orioles ran a pickoff play, one Earl had invented in the late '60s. "Hey," Earl yelled at me, "that's my pickoff play!"

It was vintage Earl: always ahead of the game, never missed a trick, brilliant, irascible, indomitable, hilarious. He was Mickey Rooney in a baseball uniform. That day in the stands in Sarasota, it was like it was 1979, the first time that I ever met him, only this time, I was sitting next to him as he dissected the game. In 33 years of covering baseball, no one has taught me more about the game than Earl. My most cherished days as a writer were the days before a game, sitting on the Orioles bench, listening to, and watching, Earl.

A case could be made that he is the third-greatest manager of all time, behind only the legendary Connie Mack and Joe McCarthy. In 17 years as a manager, all for Baltimore, Weaver went 1,480-1060 in his Hall of Fame career. He won four pennants and one World Series. He won 90 games in a season 11 times. He won 100 games three years in a row, averaging 106 victories 1969-71. As the Orioles bus left Kansas City after a rare loss in 1970, Earl crackled from the front seat, "Damn, it's hard to hard to stay 50 games over .500!"

He was just smarter, in a simplistic way, than the rest. He built those Orioles teams around pitching, defense and three-run homers because that's how you win games. Mental mistakes infuriated him. You had to hit the cutoff man, and it was imperative to always, always, always keep the double play in order. He hated to bunt because, as he always said, "You only get 27 outs; don't give any one of them away."

It angered him when the other team was trying to bunt and his pitcher wouldn't throw a strike. He would scream, "They're giving us an out, throw the ball over the plate!" In 1986, when Angels manager Gene Mauch bunted in the first inning with his No. 3 hitter [Wally Joyner], Weaver looked at me the next day and said, respectfully but purposefully, "I could lose my next 500 games, and I'd still have a better record than that guy."

Focus On Sport/Getty Images Many loved irascible Earl Weaver, but umpires probably weren't among them. He was ejected nearly 100 times in his 2,541 games as Orioles manager. 

 

Weaver implored his pitchers never to intentionally throw at a hitter because "It might lead to a fight. And if there's a fight, our guys and their guys are going to get ejected, and our guys are better than their guys, so we're going to lose on that exchange. So, don't hit them!" A writer once made the mistake of asking when Orioles outfielder Al Bumbry, whom Weaver loved, was coming off the disabled list. Earl yelled at the writer, "As far as I'm concerned, Bumbry is dead! I only deal with the living! When he's ready to come off the DL, then he's ready. Until then, he's dead!" To Earl, the DL was indeed the "Dead List."

Weaver was the master of when to call a team meeting, and what to say. But there were very few team meetings because his teams were always so good, and because, he once told me, "What if we have a team meeting and we lose? What do I do then?" He was also the master of running a bullpen. He always knew when to bring in a reliever, when to remove a starter; he knew how to protect his pitchers. One night in Toronto, the Orioles were getting clobbered. Weaver called the bullpen in the sixth inning. His backup catcher, Elrod Hendricks, who was warming up the Orioles pitchers, answered the bullpen phone. "You better get ready," Weaver said.

"Earl," Hendricks said, "it's me, Elrod."

"I know who it is; you better get up!" Weaver yelled.

So Hendricks was brought in to pitch the sixth and seventh innings so as not to burn a real pitcher.
Weaver would gladly tell us those stories as we sat on the bench before games, or in his office after games, which is why he had a great rapport with the writers. In the 1970s, when the Orioles were playing a getaway day on the road, he sometimes would supply his beat writers with what they called "if quotes" before the game. "If we win tonight," he would say, "I'll say, 'Well, we won six out of nine on this trip, we're still four games ahead in the division, and now we're going home.'" That way, the writers could have their stories written almost as soon as the game ended, giving them time to get on the Orioles charter. One Orioles beat writer in the '60s, long before computers, occasionally would show Weaver a printout of the story he had written that night as the team was flying to the next city. Weaver looked at one story and wrote on it, "C+. Shows improvement."

The writers loved Earl because he was so quotable, so funny. One day in Detroit in 1986, Orioles starter John Habyan, just up from the minor leagues, walked the first four Tigers he faced, then was pulled from the game. I casually asked Earl after the game, "So, Habyan was a little off with his control, huh?" Weaver said, "Yeah, I guess home plate at Triple-A is 17 feet wide, not 17 inches! I guess every hitter at Triple-A is about eight feet tall!"

Not all the players loved Earl, but they all played hard for him. Terry Crowley was a bench player, a terrific pinch hitter, for Weaver in the 1970s. Weaver once said of him, "I saved his career. If it wasn't for me, Crowley would be working in a beer hall." That quote made it in the newspapers in Baltimore. Crowley was crushed, and, nearly in tears, asked Weaver whether he had said that. Weaver looked at the quotes, and, instead of saying they had been taken out of context, he said, "Yeah, those are my words." Then Weaver took Crowley in his office and smoothed things over because he knew he would need Crowley that night.

Orioles outfielder Pat Kelly decided, while he was playing, that he was going to be a minister. So, he felt he should tell his manager about his plans. So, Kelly waited for the right time, a quiet time, to approach Weaver. "Earl," he said, "I'm going to walk with the Lord."

"I rather you walked with the bases loaded!" Weaver said.

When the Orioles acquired power-hitting catcher Earl Williams from the Braves in the early '70s, Weaver had him start the first four exhibition games that first spring so he could get used to catching the great four starters in the Orioles rotation. Before that fourth game, Williams barged into Weaver's office and said, "Don't we have any more f---ing catchers on this team?!" Weaver later said, "I knew right then that we were in big trouble." Williams played two years with the Orioles, then he was gone, done as a good player.

The players didn't always like the way Weaver dealt with them, but they couldn't argue with his success, or with his logic. The concept of platoon baseball was originally founded in the early 1900s, but Weaver was the first to really popularize it in his 17 years as a manager. He had batter-pitcher matchups on white index cards, always next to him in the dugout so he would always have the right guy for the right spot. In the eighth inning of Game 1 of the 1979 American League Championship Series, the Angels brought in reliever John Montague. He had been acquired late in the season, so Weaver didn't have a white card on him. So Weaver breathlessly called the press box looking for 20-year-old intern Dr. Charles Steinberg, who was responsible for, among other things, the data for the white cards.

"I don't have Montague!" Earl yelled.

A panicked Steinberg worked quickly to look up the Montague numbers, then gave the white card to Earl's daughter Kim, who was an Oriole BaseBell, a person who, among other duties, helped deliver things, such as soft drinks, during games. She had never delivered a key piece of information to her father during a game. So she rushed down from the press box, through the Orioles clubhouse, where she'd never been allowed, past Jim Palmer, who was wearing only a towel, and into the dugout. Weaver saw it: The guy to use against Montague was John Lowenstein, who was 3-for-4 against him with two homers.

When the spot came up, Lowenstein pinch hit, and he hit a three-run homer to win the game.

The umpires hated Earl, and, for the most part, he hated them. On Earl Weaver Day at Memorial Stadium after Weaver retired (for the first time) after the 1982 season, he rode on the back of a convertible around the stadium, waving to the crowd. One umpire said that day, "If there is a god, that little SOB will fall off the back of that convertible and get run over." Weaver was ejected just short of 100 times in his career, and virtually every one of them was volcanic and entertaining. He told me he would turn his cap around backward to argue "so I wouldn't accidentally hit the umpire with the bill of my cap. No contact. With contact, I could get suspended." The crowds at Memorial Stadium went wild when Earl went wild because the fans and players knew he was standing up for them. Mike Flanagan once told me the story that, after an ejection one night in 1986, Earl came back in the clubhouse, where he was met by his father, who said that Weaver had embarrassed himself that night on the field. Weaver never was ejected again.

He retired again, and for good, after the 1986 season. He didn't have a good team that year, and losing really, really bothered him. Early on a Sunday morning in September in Oakland that year, he filled out his lineup card in the midst of a horrible collapse the final two months of that season. "Tim," he said, "this is the worst lineup card I've ever filled out in a major league game." Three weeks later, he would manage his last game, a Hall of Fame career that finished under an avalanche of losses. But that in no way took away from his legacy as one of the greatest managers of all time. And last year, the Orioles dedicated a statue to each of their Hall of Famers. Weaver's statue is great. It stands among those of Brooks Robinson, Frank Robinson, Jim Palmer, Cal Ripken and Eddie Murray, all of whom he managed. They will all tell you: No one knew the game better than Earl Weaver.

Earl Weaver died at 82 on the Orioles Cruise, which is fitting because, 25 years after he retired, he was the highlight of the cruise, the guy all the old Orioles fans -- and the new ones -- wanted to meet.

I had the pleasure to know him well. And that last day I spent significant time with him, at that intrasquad game in Sarasota, was one of the highlights of my writing career. That day, an Orioles outfielder, in a squad game, overthrew the cutoff man, allowing the batter/runner to advance to second base. So, instead of runners at the corners with one out, there were runners at second and third. Weaver was really upset by that.

"Damn it," he growled, "the double play isn't in order! You have to keep the double play in order!"
To the end, he was the Earl of Baltimore, the smartest baseball man I ever met, the great Earl Weaver.

Cardinals Hall of Famer Stan 'The Man' Musial dies at 92

 Cardinals Hall of Famer Stan 'The Man' Musial dies at 92
By Associated Press sports staff
on January 19, 2013 at 9:22 PM, updated January 19, 2013 at 9:28 P

ST. LOUIS -- Stan Musial, the St. Louis Cardinals star with the corkscrew stance and too many batting records to fit on his Hall of Fame plaque, died Saturday. He was 92.

Stan the Man was so revered in St. Louis that he has two statues outside Busch Stadium -- one just wouldn't do him justice. He was one of baseball's greatest hitters, shining in the mold of Ted Williams and Joe DiMaggio even without the bright lights of the big city.

Musial won seven National League batting titles, was a three-time MVP and helped the Cardinals capture three World Series championships in the 1940s.
The Cardinals announced Musial's death in a news release. They said he died Saturday evening at his home in Ladue surrounded by family. The team said Musial's son-in-law, Dave Edmonds, informed the club of Musial's death.

"We have lost the most beloved member of the Cardinals family," team chairman William DeWitt Jr. said. "Stan Musial was the greatest player in Cardinals history and one of the best players in the history of baseball."

Musial was the second baseball Hall of Famer who died Saturday. Longtime Baltimore Orioles manager Earl Weaver also passed away, at age 82.

Musial spent his entire 22-year career with the Cardinals and made the All-Star team 24 times -- baseball held two All-Star games each summer for a few seasons.

A pitcher in the low minors until he injured his arm, Musial turned to playing the outfield and first base. It was a stroke of luck for him, as he went on to hit .331 with 475 home runs before retiring in 1963.

Widely considered the greatest Cardinals player ever, the outfielder and first baseman was the first person in team history to have his number retired. Ol' 6 probably was the most popular, too, especially after Albert Pujols skipped town.

At the suggestion of a pal, actor John Wayne, he carried around autographed cards of himself to give away. He enjoyed doing magic tricks for kids and was fond of pulling out a harmonica to entertain crowds with a favorite, "The Wabash Cannonball."

  A great hitter who had exactly the same amount of hits -- 1,815 -- at home or on the road, Stan Musial carried a .331 batting average over his 22-year major-league career. AP file  

Humble, scandal-free, and eager to play every day, Musial struck a chord with fans throughout the Midwest and beyond. For much of his career, St. Louis was the most western outpost in the majors, and the Cardinals' vast radio network spread word about him in all directions.
Farmers in the field and families on the porch would tune in, as did a future president -- Bill Clinton recalled doing his homework listening to Musial's exploits.

Musial's public appearances dwindled in recent years, though he took part in the pregame festivities at Busch during the 2011 postseason as the Cardinals won the World Series. And he was at the White House in February 2011 when President Barack Obama presented him with the Presidential Medal of Freedom, America's highest civilian honor for contributions to society.

At the ceremony, President Obama said: "Stan remains to this day an icon untarnished, a beloved pillar of the community, a gentleman you'd want your kids to emulate."
He certainly delivered at the plate.

Musial never struck out 50 times in a season. He led the NL in most every hitting category for at least one year, except homers. He hit a career-high 39 home runs in 1948, falling one short of winning the Triple Crown.

In all, Musial held 55 records when he retired in 1963. Fittingly, the accolades on his his bronze Hall plaque start off with this fact, rather than flowery prose: "Holds many National League records ..."
He played nearly until 43rd birthday, adding to his totals. He got a hit with his final swing, sending an RBI single past Cincinnati's rookie second baseman -- that was Pete Rose, who would break Musial's league hit record of 3,630 some 18 years later.

Of those hits, Musial got exactly 1,815 at home and exactly 1,815 on the road. He also finished with 1,951 RBIs and scored 1,949 runs.

All that balance despite a most unorthodox left-handed stance. Legs and knees close together, he would cock the bat near his ear and twist his body away from the pitcher. When the ball came, he uncoiled.

Unusual, that aspect of Musial. 

Asked to describe the habits that kept him in baseball for so long, Musial once said: "Get eight hours of sleep regularly. Keep your weight down, run a mile a day. If you must smoke, try light cigars. They cut down on inhaling."

One last thing, he said: "Make it a point to bat .300."

As for how he did that, Musial offered a secret.

"I consciously memorized the speed at which every pitcher in the league threw his fastball, curve, and slider," he said. "Then, I'd pick up the speed of the ball in the first 30 feet of its flight and knew how it would move once it has crossed the plate."

It worked pretty well, considering Musial began his baseball career as a pitcher in the low minors. And by his account, as he said during his induction speech in Cooperstown, an injury had left him as a "dead, left-handed pitcher just out of Class D."

Hoping to still reach the majors, he turned toward another position. It was just what he needed.
Musial made his major league debut late in 1941, the season that Williams batted .406 for the Boston Red Sox and DiMaggio hit in a record 56 straight games for the New York Yankees.

Musial never expressed regret or remorse that he didn't attract more attention than the cool DiMaggio or prickly Williams. Fact is, Musial was plenty familiar in every place he played.
Few could bring themselves to boo baseball's nicest superstar, not even the Brooklyn Dodgers crowds that helped give him his nickname, a sign of weary respect for his .359 batting average at Ebbets Field.

Many, many years before any sports fans yelled "You're the man!" at their favorite athletes, Stan was indeed the Man.

Dodgers pitcher Preacher Roe once joked about how to handle Musial: "I throw him four wide ones and then I try to pick him off first base."

Brooklynites had another reason to think well of Musial: Unlike Enos Slaughter and other Cardinal teammates, he was supportive when the Dodgers' Jackie Robinson broke baseball's color barrier in 1947. Bob Gibson, who started out with the Cardinals in the late 1950s, would recall how Musial had helped established a warm atmosphere between blacks and whites on the team.

Like DiMaggio and Williams, Musial embodied a time when the greats stayed with one team. He joined the Cardinals during the last remnants of the Gas House Gang and stayed in St. Louis until Gibson and Curt Flood ushered in a new era of greatness.

The only year Musial missed with the Cardinals was 1945, when he was in the U.S. Navy during World War II. He was based in Pearl Harbor, assigned to a unit that helped with ship repair.
Before and after his military service, he was a star hitter.

Musial was the NL MVP in 1943, 1946 and 1948, and was runner-up four other years. He enjoyed a career remarkably free of slumps, controversies or rivalries.

The Cardinals were dominant early in Musial's career. They beat DiMaggio and the Yankees in the 1942 World Series, lost to the Yankees the next year and defeated the St. Louis Browns in 1944. In 1946, the Cardinals beat Williams and the visiting Red Sox in Game 7 at Sportsman's Park.
Musial, mostly a left fielder then, starred with Terry Moore in center and Slaughter, another future Hall of Famer, in right, making up one of baseball's greatest outfields. Later on, Musial would switch between the outfield and first base.

Musial never played on another pennant winner after 1946. Yet even after the likes of Mickey Mantle, Willie Mays and Hank Aaron came to the majors, Musial remained among baseball's best.
The original Musial statue outside the new Busch Stadium is a popular meeting place before games and carries this inscription: "Here stands baseball's perfect warrior. Here stands baseball's perfect knight."

"Everybody's a Musial fan," former Cardinals manager Whitey Herzog once said.

Musial gave the press little to write about beyond his grace and greatness on the field. He didn't date movie stars, spike opponents or chew out reporters or umpires.

In 1958, he reached the 3,000-hit level and became the NL's first $100,000-a-year player. Years earlier, he had turned down a huge offer to join the short-lived Mexican League. He never showed resentment over the multimillion dollar salaries of modern players. He thought they had more fun in his days.

"I enjoyed coming to the ballpark every day and I think we enjoyed the game," Musial said in a 1991 Associated Press interview. "We had a lot of train travel, so we had more time together. We socialized quite a bit and we'd go out after ball games."

He was elected to the Hall of Fame in 1969, his first year of eligibility.

"It was, you know, a dream come true," Musial once said. "I always wanted to be a ballplayer."
After retiring as a player, Musial served for years in the Cardinals' front office, including as general manager in 1967, when the Cardinals won the World Series.

In the 1970s, Musial occasionally played in Old-Timers' Day games and could still line the ball to the wall. He was a fixture for decades at the Cooperstown induction ceremonies and also was a member of the Hall's Veterans Committee. Often, after the Vets panel had voted, he'd pull out a harmonica conveniently located in his jacket pocket and lead the other members in a rendition of "Take Me Out to the Ball Game."

Into the 2000s, Musial would spend time with the Cardinals at spring training, thrilling veterans and rookies alike with his stories.

Ever ready, he performed the national anthem on his harmonica at least one opening day at Busch Stadium. Musial learned his music during overnight train trips in the 1940s and in the 1990s was a member of a trio known as "Geriatric Jazz" and collaborated on a harmonica instructional book.
Stanley Frank Musial was born in Donora, Pa., on Nov. 21, 1920, son of a Polish immigrant steelworker. He began his minor league career straight out of high school, in June 1938, and soon after married high school sweetheart Lillian Labash, with whom he had four children.
Musial fell in 1940 while trying to make a tough catch and hurt his left arm, damaging his pitching prospects. Encouraged by minor league manager Dickie Kerr to try playing outfield, he did so well in 1941 that the Cardinals moved him up to the majors in mid-September -- and he racked up a .426 average during the final weeks of the season.

In his best year, 1948, he had four five-hit games, hit 39 home runs and batted .376, best in the National League. He also led his league that year in runs scored (135), hits (230), total bases (429), doubles (46), and triples (18).

In 1954, he set a major league record with five home runs in a doubleheader against the New York Giants. He hit .300 or better in 16 consecutive seasons and hit a record home runs in All-Star play, including a 12th-inning, game-winning shot in 1955.

In 1962, at age 41, he batted .330 and hit 19 home runs. In his final game, on Sept. 29, 1963, he had two hits at Busch Stadium against the Reds and the Cardinals retired his uniform number.
He was active in business, too. He served as a director of the St. Louis-based Southwest Bank. He was co-owner of a popular St. Louis steakhouse, "Stan Musial and Biggie's," and a bowling alley with former teammate Joe Garagiola (leading to a bitter fallout that eventually got resolved). He later ran Stan the Man Inc., specializing in merchandise he autographed. Musial was known for handing out folded $1 bills.

A prominent Polish-American, he was a charter member of the National Polish-American Sports Hall of Fame and was warmly regarded by his ancestral country, which in 2000 dedicated Stan Musial Stadium in Kutno, Poland. Musial also was involved politically, campaigning for John F. Kennedy in 1960 and serving as Lyndon Johnson's director of the President's Council on Physical Fitness.
Musial's versatility was immortalized in verse, by popular poet of the times Ogden Nash, who in "The Tycoon" wrote of the Cardinals star and entrepreneur:

"And, between the slugging and the greeting,
To the bank for a directors' meeting.
Yet no one grudges success to Stan,
Good citizen and family man,
Though I would love to have his job
One half tycoon, one half Ty Cobb."
The Cardinals said Musial is survived by his four children, Richard, Gerry, Janet and Jean, as well as 11 grandchildren and 12 great grandchildren.

Musial's wife died in May 2012.

Remembering Earl Weaver

ESPN  http://espn.go.com/mlb/story/_/id/8859584/hall-famer-earl-weaver-former-manager-baltimore-orioles-dies-82

BALTIMORE -- Earl Weaver always was up for an argument, especially with an umpire.
At the slightest provocation, the Earl of Baltimore would spin his hat back, point his finger squarely at an ump's chest and then fire away. The Hall of Fame manager would even tangle with his own players, if necessary.

All this from a 5-foot-6 pepperpot who hated to be doubted.

Although reviled by some, Weaver was beloved in Baltimore and remained an Oriole to the end.
 
The notoriously feisty Hall of Fame manager died at age 82 on a Caribbean cruise associated with the Orioles, his marketing agent said Saturday.

"Earl was a black and white manager," former O's ace and Hall of Fame member Jim Palmer said Saturday. "He kind of told you what your job description was going to be and kind of basically told you if you wanted to play on the Orioles, this was what you needed to do. And if you couldn't do it,

I'll get someone else. I know that's kind of tough love, but I don't think anyone other than Marianna, his wife, would describe Earl as a warm and fuzzy guy."

Weaver took the Orioles to the World Series four times over 17 seasons but won only one title, in 1970. His .583 winning percentage ranks fifth among managers who served 10 or more seasons in the 20th century.

Dick Gordon said Weaver's wife told him that Weaver went back to his cabin after dinner and began choking between 10:30 and 11 Friday night. Gordon said a cause of death has not been determined.
"It's a sad day. Earl was a terrific manager," Orioles vice president of baseball operations Dan Duquette said. "The simplicity and clarity of his leadership and his passion for baseball was unmatched. He's a treasure for the Orioles. He leaves a terrific legacy of winning baseball with the Orioles and we're so grateful for his contribution. He has a legacy that will live on."

Weaver will forever remain a part of Camden Yards. A statue of him was dedicated last summer in the stadium's flag court, along with the rest of the team's Hall of Fame members.

Focus On Sport/Getty ImagesEarl Weaver took the Orioles into the World Series four times over 17 seasons, winning it in 1970.

 

"Earl Weaver stands alone as the greatest manager in the history of the Orioles organization and one of the greatest in the history of baseball," Orioles owner Peter Angelos said. "This is a sad day for everyone who knew him and for all Orioles fans. Earl made his passion for the Orioles known both on and off the field. On behalf of the Orioles, I extend my condolences to his wife, Marianna, and to his family."

Weaver was a salty-tongued manager who preferred to wait for a three-run homer rather than manufacture a run with a stolen base or a bunt. While some baseball purists argued that strategy, no one could dispute the results.

"Earl was well known for being one of the game's most colorful characters with a memorable wit, but he was also amongst its most loyal," commissioner Bud Selig said. "On behalf of Major League Baseball, I send my deepest condolences to his wife, Marianna, their family and all Orioles fans."
Weaver had a reputation as a winner, but umpires knew him as a hothead. Weaver would often turn his hat backward and yell directly into an umpire's face to argue a call or a rule, and after the inevitable ejection he would more often than not kick dirt on home plate or on the umpire's shoes.
Orioles programs sold at the old Memorial Stadium frequently featured photos of Weaver squabbling.
He was ejected 91 times, including once in both games of a doubleheader.

Asked once if his reputation might have harmed his chances to gain entry into the Hall of Fame, Weaver admitted, "It probably hurt me."

Not for long. He entered the Hall in 1996.

"When you discuss our game's motivational masters, Earl is a part of that conversation," Baseball Hall of Fame president Jeff Idelson said. "He was a proven leader in the dugout and loved being a Hall of Famer. Though small in stature, he was a giant as a manager."

His ejections were overshadowed by his five 100-win seasons, six AL East titles and four pennants. Weaver was inducted 10 years after he managed his final game with Baltimore at the end of an ill-advised comeback.

In 1985, the Orioles' owner at the time, Edward B. Williams, coaxed Weaver away from golf to take over a struggling squad. Weaver donned his uniform No. 4, which had already been retired by the team, and tried to breathe some life into the listless Orioles.

Baltimore went 53-52 over the last half of the 1985 season, but finished seventh in 1986 with a 73-89 record. It was Weaver's only losing season as a major-league manager, and he retired for good after that.

"If I hadn't come back," Weaver said after his final game, "I would be home thinking what it would have been like to manage again. I found out it's work."

Weaver finished with a 1,480-1,060 record. He won Manager of the Year three times.
"I had a successful career, not necessarily a Hall of Fame career, but a successful one," he said.
Weaver, talking in 2010 about the onset of instant replay in baseball, lamented the fact it wasn't available in his time.

"That would have saved me a lot of embarrassment, very much," Weaver said. "Because each and every time I got thrown out of a ballgame, I had lost my temper and I was embarrassed when I got home."

Weaver came to the Orioles as a first base coach in 1968, took over as manager on July 11 and went on to become the winningest manager in the history of the franchise.

"Earl was such a big part of Orioles baseball and personally he was a very important part of my life and career and a great friend to our family," Hall of Fame shortstop Cal Ripken said. "His passion for the game and the fire with which he managed will always be remembered by baseball fans everywhere and certainly by all of us who had the great opportunity to play for him. Earl will be missed but he can't and won't be forgotten."

AP PhotoWeaver came to the Orioles as a first base coach in 1968, took over as manager on July 11 and went on to become the winningest manager in the history of the franchise.

He knew almost everything about the game. He was also a great judge of human character, and that's one of the main reasons why he was loved by a vast majority of his players even though he often rode them mercilessly from spring training into October.

"Did we have a love-hate relationship? Yes," Palmer said at Saturday's event. "Did he shake my hand after I would win? No. Because he didn't want to be my best friend. At the time maybe I resented that. But I've gotten over it."

Pat Dobson, who pitched two seasons under Weaver, said, "Certainly, the years I played for him were the two most enjoyable years I've had."

During games Weaver smoked cigarettes in the tunnel leading to the dugout and he never kicked the habit. He suffered a mild heart attack in August 1998, and the Orioles' manager at the time, Ray Miller, wondered aloud how his mentor was holding up.

"I wouldn't want to talk to him if he hasn't had a cigarette in 10 days," Miller joked. "They've probably got him tied to a chair."

Weaver was a brilliant manager, but he never made it to the majors as a player. He finally quit after spending 13 years as a second baseman in the St. Louis organization.

"He talked about how he could drive in 100 runs a year, score 100 runs and never make an error," Johnson said. "He said he never got to the big leagues because the Cardinals had too many good players in front of him."
Information from ESPN.com's Willie Weinbaum and The Associated Press was used in this report.

Stan was certainly 'The Man'

Baseball lost a true gentleman and one of its most underrated players

Updated: January 19, 2013, 8:55 PM ET

By William Nack | Special to ESPN.com

Back in the late winter of 1941, a skinny, 20-year-old pitcher named Stan Musial showed up at the St. Louis Cardinals' spring training camp with an aching arm and diminishing hopes that he would ever fulfill his youthful dream of making it to the big leagues.

 

AP PhotoAfter a stint in the Navy, Musial returned to the Cardinals in 1946 -- he's at spring training here -- and hit .365.

Musial, who died Saturday at the age of 92, had come up as an erratic, wild-throwing southpaw -- so wild, in fact, that a scouting report at one point urged his release -- in the Cards' minor league system in 1938. His prospects grew only darker in August 1940 in Orlando, when he was chasing a fly ball in the outfield and his cleats got caught in the turf. He fell hard on the point of his left shoulder, the one to which his pitching arm was attached. With his shoulder injured, he lost the pop on his fastball, and Cardinals hitters began teeing off on him. He later remembered throwing one pitch to his boyhood idol, Cards star center fielder Terry Moore, and then hearing the crack of the bat and watching the ball carry out of the park.

Discouraged as he was, the young man did not quit. As fate would have it, on a day Cards legendary general manager Branch Rickey was watching an intrasquad game in Hollywood, Fla., Musial himself hit a ponderous home run over the right-field fence. This turned out to be, for the Cards as a team and baseball in general, a wonderfully propitious moment. Musial's arm never did completely heal; but at the end of camp, when Rickey heard some sentiment among coaches to send the kid packing, he waved those voices away.

 No one in the annals of the game knew young talent like the Mahatma, as Rickey was known. He saw the kind of potential in young Musial that he one day would see in Jackie Robinson, when he was general manager of the Dodgers and sought to integrate baseball; in a minor league outfielder in Montreal named Roberto Clemente, whom he shamelessly picked from the Dodgers' pocket after he left Brooklyn for Pittsburgh; and in an aspiring young shortstop named Bill Mazeroski, whom he saw turn a few plays at second base, also when he was general manager of the Pirates. "Don't move him," Rickey told Maz's coaches. "He stays at second." The Mahatma thus launched Maz on a career that turned him into a fielder baseball historian Bill James has called "probably the greatest defensive player of all time."

So when Rickey heard talk that sore-armed Stanley ought to be released, he ordered the kid sent to the Cards' Class C affiliate in Springfield, Mo.

"Don't let him go," the Mahatma said. "Put him in the outfield and see if he can hit."
This was, as things turned out, a declaration worthy of enshrinement in the National Baseball Hall of Fame, right next to the plaque honoring Musial himself. Indeed, over the next two decades, his physical presence in the batter's box left a lasting impression on all who saw him stroke a baseball with a wooden bat.

His stance was singular. Musial stood slightly crouched -- "I started to crouch because that way I could guard the plate better," he once said -- with his bat straight up, his feet close together and his shoulders turned so far to the left that the pitcher, Lord help him, could read the "6" on Musial's back. He had learned as a kid how to go with a pitch and how to slap the ball to left field, a talent that gave him an enormous edge and, as can be imagined, drove opposing fielders to distraction unto despair. Managers forever were flummoxed as to how to defend against him. Early in the season of 1951, not long after 20-year-old Willie Mays first was called up to the New York Giants, manager Leo Durocher met with the young slugger to go over the opposing hitters for that day. The Giants were playing the St. Louis Cardinals, and Durocher briefed Mays on the Cards' lineup, telling Mays how to play the first hitter, then the second hitter and then the fourth hitter.

"What about number three?" Mays asked.

"The third hitter is Stan Musial," Durocher told him. "There is no advice I can give you about him."
What complicated things for Durocher and fellow skippers was the fact that Musial was fast on his feet. Stretching singles into doubles or doubles into triples, he could hit another gear on the base paths, prompting one manager to liken Musial at full gallop to "a wounded turkey." They nicknamed him the "Donora Greyhound," a reference to his hometown in Pennsylvania.

Blessed with such an array of talents, Musial became not only one of the dozen or so greatest hitters in the annals of baseball, but he also was clearly the finest left-handed batter who ever graced a box in the National League. In the course of his surpassing career, he hung up such prodigious numbers that James, the eminent guru and muncher of baseball stats, ranked him at the end of the 20th century as the 10th greatest player of all time.

 In his 2000 edition of Baseball Abstract, James put Musial behind Babe Ruth (1), who was followed in order by Honus Wagner, Willie Mays, Oscar Charleston, Ty Cobb, Mickey Mantle, Ted Williams, Walter Johnson and Josh Gibson. Musial was next, directly ahead of such indubitable lights as Tris Speaker (11), Hank Aaron (12), Joe DiMaggio (13) and Lou Gehrig (14), with Mike Schmidt (21), Rogers Hornsby (22) and Frank Robinson (24) further back.

Musial retired at the end of the 1963 season, but nearly a half-century later, he still is second in total bases with 6,134, behind Aaron (6,856) and just ahead of Mays (6,066). Except for that oft-alleged skewerer of stats, Barry Bonds -- whose numbers increased roughly in proportion to his hat size and who now is fourth in total bases with 5,976 -- no active ballplayer is even close, and Musial left the game well ahead of Cobb, Ruth, Pete Rose and Carl Yastrzemski.

In the most important Bill Jamesian category, leaving Bonds aside, Musial is tied with Speaker for 11th in on-base percentage. And he still is tied for 22nd (with Sam Thompson, who played from 1885 to 1906) in batting average at .331, although it should be noted for historical context that seven of the men ahead of him played in the 19th century. Only one player in front of him, Williams (.344), was a true contemporary, and only one retired player with a higher average, Tony Gwynn (.338), played after him.

In the realm of all-time leaders (again discounting Bonds, who is unlikely to play again), Musial is fourth in hits with 3,630, fifth in RBIs with 1,951, eighth in runs scored with 1,949, second in extra-base hits with 1,377, third in doubles with 725 and tied for 19th (with Rabbit Maranville) in triples, although again, it is only fair to point out that 10 of those ahead of him in three-baggers began their careers when triples were as plentiful as buffalo, and no less endangered, in the years immediately following Custer's Last Stand.

 His ratio of at-bats to strikeouts also is among the best in the history of the majors. Here is one you would not have guessed: Musial had 3,266 more at-bats than Williams but 13 fewer strikeouts (696 for Musial, 709 for Williams), and Williams owned a pair of the most famously discriminating batting eyes in the game. And while Musial ranks 28th in home runs, tied with Willie Stargell at 475, his true place in that pantheon is difficult to fathom in the wake of the recent orgies of chemical enhancement.

All that said, the combined weights of the Musial numbers bear James out, and they certainly give powerful affirmation to those many voices along the Mississippi Valley that have been crying for years that Stan was The Man. So it always has been something of a mystery why Musial -- as generous and decent a man off the field as he was brilliant and dependable on it -- has spent so many years sunk in the shadows of baseball history, a giant often either forgotten or dismissed whenever the sports-talk junkies summon the names of baseball's finest hitters and all-around players.
 This unwarranted neglect has become manifest at the game's grassroots. When Sports Illustrated had fans pick a 20th century all-star team at the end of the millennium, they voted Musial 10th among outfielders. ESPN television failed to put him among the top 50 athletes of the 20th century. When MasterCard and professional baseball assembled their All-Century team in 1999, the voting masses virtually ignored Musial; ultimately, an "oversight committee" slipped him onto the roster.
No doubt these embarrassing instances of poor judgment can be traced, at least in part, to the town Musial called home. He played baseball out of St. Louis, not New York, and he did so mostly in an era when that burgh was as far west as baseball reached, on the near edge of the American wilderness known as the Great Plains. No one wrote songs about him. No one penned lyrics invoking his name. No character in a Hemingway novel ever mused about him. And no one made a movie of his life. He often visited the media capital of America, but he never was a creation or a creature of it.
Musial had neither the flair nor the flamboyance of Willie Mays.

No basket catches by Stanley.

He did not crush 500-foot home runs over the white walls of the Bronx, recalling the titanic shots of Babe Ruth and Jimmie Foxx.

 No swilling beer from a bucket for Musial. No swallowing hot dogs in two bites, no open roadsters, no raccoon coats.

Nor did Stanley have Mickey Mantle's awesome speed and ambidextrous power.
He never got into a single drunken brawl at the Copacabana.

In fact, through the 3,026 games he played in his career, he never got kicked out of one. Not a single game. Ken Burkhart umpired scores of St. Louis games behind the plate and said Musial never once complained to him about one of his calls, not even one of those hair-splitting called strikes that might have gone either way.

"In seven years, he never even turned his head to look at me when I was behind the plate," Burkhart said.

Nor did he marry the blonde movie star with the dress billowing above the subway vent, and he never insisted on being introduced at old-timers' games as "the greatest living ballplayer," although you could make a far stronger case for him than you could for Joe D.

No, Musial married the grocer's daughter from Donora, a shot-and-a-beer mill town that lay some 28 miles south of Pittsburgh, on the banks of the Monongahela River. He grew up, one of a family of eight, in a five-room, wood-frame house at the top of a hill. His father, Lukasz, a Polish immigrant, worked in a zinc factory. A hanging blanket of sulfurous fumes killed all the vegetation on the hill and eventually the old man, too. Lillian Labash, the grocer's daughter, first saw Musial in Palmer Park when he was a 14-year-old lad working as a bat boy for the team of zinc workers managed by a neighbor, Joe Barbao. That day, they were playing another team of blue collars from nearby Monessen. Barbao had run out of pitchers, according to the late sportswriter W.C. Heinz, so he threw young Musial into the fray. Musial pitched six innings and fanned 13 hitters.

"Look at that Polish kid pitch against those men," the grocer said to his daughter.

 Lillian and Stanley were married five years later -- on his 19th birthday, Nov. 21, 1939 -- when he was making $65 a month pitching for the Cardinals' Class D minor league team in Williamson, W.Va. At 5-foot-10, 175 pounds, Musial always had been able to hit the ball, a skill he had been practicing since he was a boy. "I learned to hit with a broomstick and a ball of tape, and I could always get that bat on the ball," he said.

It did not take Rickey long to learn how right he had been about giving the kid a chance. At Springfield, in just 87 games, Musial hit 26 home runs and had a whopping 94 runs batted in -- a glorious harbinger of his baseball life. After having hit at an equally torrid clip with the Cards' Double-A Rochester club, Musial was home in Donora in mid-September 1941 when he got that unforgettable telegram. It was from Rickey, ordering him to report to the mother club.

"It was really something," Musial told Heinz. "Imagine a 20-year-old kid who starts the year pitching with a sore arm and can't tell if he's gonna make it anywhere in organized ball and ends up …"
… Stepping into the St. Louis clubhouse for the first time in his life and immediately running into Terry Moore, that outfielder who had been his boyhood idol.

Moore looked at him quizzically. "You look familiar," he said.

"I ought to," Musial said. "You hit a homer off me in an exhibition game this spring."

"Are you that humpty-dumpty, bum-armed kid?" Moore said. "How'd you get way up here?"
That was the question in the Cards' clubhouse that afternoon, and it took Musial no time at all to answer it. That day against the Boston Braves, in his first major league game, he found himself face to face with a knuckleballer, Jim Tobin. Musial had never seen a knuckler, and he sliced under the first one for a pop-up out. Tobin later tried to fool the rookie again, fluttering up another knuckler, but this time, Musial lashed it for a double to right, scoring two runs to help win the game 3-2.
 Musial had 20 hits in 47 at-bats that month, including four doubles and a home run, and ended up hitting .426. He went 6-for-10 in a double-header against the Cubs, leaving Chicago manager Jimmy Wilson to wonder aloud, "Nobody can be that good." Also during that month, the Cards visited the Braves in Boston, and after they left town, the Dodgers showed up, on their way to winning the pennant. Casey Stengel, then the Braves' manager, greeted the Brooklyn writers with this: "Your fellas will win it, but those Cardinals got a young kid in left field that you guys are gonna be writin' about for 20 years."

Leave it to Casey to call that shot, almost to the year. Rarely has baseball seen a more sustained display of excellence, consistency and class than in the 22 years Stanley Frank Musial played baseball. Beyond that brief debut in 1941, he hit no less than .310 for 16 consecutive seasons, a span during which his batting average was .340 and as high as .376 in 1948, his signature year: 230 hits, 46 doubles, 18 triples, 39 home runs, 135 runs, 131 RBIs. It was the year the Phillies' new manager, Eddie Sawyer, was asked what he thought of the National League teams.

"Of all the teams I've seen so far," Sawyer said, "Musial is the best."

It also was the year he won one of his seven batting titles and one of his three MVP awards. By then, he was so feared by pitchers that they began to joke about how they pitched to him.
The Brooklyn Dodgers' pinpoint control specialist, Preacher Roe, once said of Musial: "I throw four wide ones to him and then try to pick him off first."

"I've had pretty good success with Musial by throwing him my best pitch and backing up third," the Dodgers' Carl Erskine said.

As humble as he was, shy to a fault, Musial felt utterly at home between the chalk lines. No one had more confidence in him than he had in himself. In the 1955 All-Star Game, with the score knotted in the bottom of the 12th inning, Musial came to the plate and was greeted by a very tired Yogi Berra, who was catching that day.

"My feet are killing me," Yogi said to Musial.

"Relax," Musial said, "I'll have you home in a minute."

He homered into the seats, winning the game. In fact, the homer became one of a record six he hit for the National League in All-Star games.
 
 Before doubleheaders, shirtless and dressed in only his flannel pants, he would walk around the Cards' clubhouse squeezing the handle of his bat and saying, to no one in particular, "Stanley could have 10 hits today. It is possible for Stanley to have 10 hits. Ten hits for Stanley!" In fact, in one doubleheader, he hit a record six home runs.

And as often as he hurt the Dodgers, they never booed him in Brooklyn, where he became so inspired he seemed to enter a whole new zone as a hitter.

"There was always excitement in Brooklyn," Musial once said. "My adrenalin was always flowing in Ebbets Field. The tension, the atmosphere, the fights -- you knew something was going to happen. … The ballpark was small, so the seats were close to the field, and you could hear just about anything anybody said."

Musial heard plenty in those summers of 1948 and 1949, when he hit .522 in Ebbets Field and appeared, like "The Natural," able to do almost anything he wanted with the bat. It was where they coined his other nickname. "I'd come to the plate and the fans would say, 'Here comes that man again, that man.' A sportswriter picked it up and it became 'Stan the Man.'"

It also was the era when Jackie Robinson integrated baseball, and with Robinson's arrival, the game became rife with rumors that some players were planning to boycott any games involving the Dodgers. The hottest of these beds was St. Louis, where there were a number of Southern players. But Musial openly backed Robinson, and the Cards never voted to strike. Musial had played with and against blacks in high school, and among his teammates was Buddy Griffey -- later the father of Ken Griffey Sr. and the grandfather of Ken Griffey Jr. "I didn't give it a second thought," Musial said.
Indeed. When another black player, Joe Black, came up to play in Brooklyn five years later, in 1952, racial slurs still were being heard in baseball. In one game, with Black on the mound, Musial was in the box and set to hit when he heard one of his own teammates shout from the dugout, "Don't worry, Stan. With that dark background on the mound, you shouldn't have any trouble hitting the ball." After the game, Black was dressing in the Brooklyn clubhouse when Musial sidled up to him.
"I'm sorry that happened," Musial said quietly. "But don't you worry about it. You're a great pitcher. You'll win a lot of games."

AP Photo/James FinleyBaseball fans will always have the statue of Musial outside Busch Stadium by which to remember him.

His baseball prowess aside, Musial was first all-time in decency, affability and charm. He had endless patience for signing autographs, and if he happened to spot a table of little old ladies at a restaurant, celebrating someone's 80th, he would pull from a pocket his well-used harmonica and serenade them with a chorus of "Happy Birthday." He would follow this with a few bars of "The Wabash Cannonball" and finish the show by playing "Take Me Out to the Ball Game."

AP Photo/Ron Edmonds 

Musial was rarely without his harmonica, including at a White House ceremony honoring Hall of Famers in 2001. That's Ernie Banks, right, leading the cheers while, from left, Juan Marichal, Duke Snider, Lou Brock and Al Kaline look on.

Musial always described himself as a retiring man who shied from public appearances, particularly if they involved giving speeches, but he was perfectly at home in social gatherings and loved to party. For years, he was the central schmoozer and greeter at his famous St. Louis restaurant, Stan Musial and Biggie's, serving as the city's informal host in the same way Jack Dempsey served New York from a table at his famous Times Square eatery. He was no shirking violet when it came to public celebrations. One day in 1986, in the week before the Bears-Patriots Super Bowl in New Orleans, a young sportswriter was sitting in a bar in the French Quarter when, suddenly, a conga line came dancing off the street and through the bar. It snaked past the table of the sportswriter, who thought he had to be seeing things through a beery mist. There was Musial, then 65 years old, dancing at the head of the line as he blew the throbbing conga tune from his harmonica.

By this time, of course, Musial long had been an institution in St. Louis -- not only as a Hall of Fame baseball player, but as a roving, sometimes dancing, ambassador for the Cards' franchise, his adopted city and the sport of professional baseball. He visited his father's native Poland several times since 1970, including once to meet with the Polish Olympic Committee, which was striving to build a ball club that would be competitive on the international baseball stage, and another time to attend the dedication of two Little League fields named in his honor and to pass out 250 gloves to all those young, aspiring Musials in cities like Wroclaw and Jaslo. Musial stayed with the Cards long after his playing days were over and was the team's general manager when it won the 1967 World Series.
In many ways, Musial more than served the Cardinals. He was the franchise. A formidable statue of Musial was erected in front of Busch Stadium, and the inscription had it right: "Baseball's perfect warrior, baseball's perfect knight."

He was, and will always be, Stan the Man.

William Nack was a senior writer at Sports Illustrated for nearly 25 years and covered stories in a wide variety of sports and on a wide range of subjects. He is the author of three books: "Ruffian: A Racetrack Romance," "My Turf: Horses, Boxers, Blood-Money and the Sporting Life" and "Secretariat: The Making of a Champion."'
 

Deacon White

http://www.the-leader.com/news/x719501876/-Deacon-finally-gets-in-the-Hall-of-Fame

 

James “Deacon” White, a Caton native who was one of professional baseball’s star players back in the 19th century and is considered a pioneer of the game, was elected to the National Baseball Hall of Fame this week.

White, who died in 1939, will be enshrined during the Hall’s annual induction weekend ceremonies in July in Cooperstown.

White was one of three baseball legends selected from among 10 finalists by the Hall’s Pre-Integration Era Committee, a group that includes former players, executives, media and historians. They are responsible for picking inductees from the era that spans from 1871 to 1946.
The committee met and voted this week at baseball’s winter meetings in Nashville, Tenn.

Along with White, the committee also elected Yankees owner Jacob Ruppert and umpire Hank O’Day. Ruppert bought the Yankees in 1915, purchased Babe Ruth from the Red Sox and built Yankee Stadium, and his teams won seven World Series.

Many baseball observers have said White’s induction was overdue, as many other stars of his era had already been inducted.

White was a talented player and an interesting character who holds a number of distinctions, according to articles and biographical information provided by Tim Wiles, director of research for the National Baseball Hall of Fame.

White was nicknamed “Deacon” because in a rough-and-tumble era of baseball when partying, womanizing and gambling were common, White didn’t drink, smoke, swear or gamble. He read the Bible and attended church regularly.

While he was straight-laced, he was outspoken on politics and other issues, and used to try to convince his teammates that the Earth was flat, according to historian Lee Allen.

Here’s the Deacon’s story, compiled from information provided by the Hall of Fame:
Born in 1847, he grew up on a farm in Caton and attended Caton’s Country Day School. As a teenager, he learned the game of baseball from a Union soldier returning home from the Civil War, where the soldiers often played.

White played for an amateur team called the Corning Monitors, then left the area in 1868 to join a semi-pro team called the Cleveland Forest Cities.

Three years later, that team joined America’s first professional baseball league, the National Association, and White played in the league’s first game, which pitted Cleveland against Fort Wayne.
White thus earned the distinction of having the first at-bat and first hit in the history of professional baseball, as well being the first to ground into a double play.

The following year, he signed with the Boston Red Stockings, playing on powerhouse teams for several years and catching for A.G. Spalding - the future Hall of Famer and sporting goods company founder - during the season Spalding won 47 games.

In 1876, White joined the Chicago White Stockings (now the Cubs) and helped them win the title in the inaugural season of the National League.

While playing for the Cincinnati Reds in the late 1870s, he teamed with his brother Will - also from Caton - to form the first pitcher-catcher battery of brothers in baseball history.

Will “Whoop-La” White, by the way, set major league records for pitching 680 innings and starting and completing 75 games in 1879, with his brother catching for him. Those records still stand.
What was remarkable about Deacon was that he was an outstanding catcher during an era when players didn’t use baseball mitts, meaning he caught barehanded. He later helped develop a mask and chest protector for catchers.

White was also a feared lefty hitter who won several batting titles and RBI crowns.

During his long career, Deacon played every position, though he was mostly a third baseman in his later playing days. Although he pitched only briefly, he created an unusual windup and is credited as one of the innovators of the curveball, teaching it to his brother.

Toward the end of Deacon’s career, he got involved in the fight for players’ rights, and founded a Buffalo franchise in the short-lived Players League. After retiring, he managed several minor league teams, including the Elmira Gladiators of the NY-Penn League.

After his baseball days were over, White lived in Buffalo, where he worked at his brother’s eyeglass company and ran a livery stable. His final years were spent at his daughter’s home in Aurora, Ill.
The Deacon was baseball’s oldest living baseball player at the time of his death in 1939 at age 92. He was said to be deeply disappointed at not being elected to the Hall of Fame, which inducted its first class that year."

White narrowly missed being elected in 2008 by the Veterans Committee.

In July, when he is finally inducted, he will enter the Hall alongside any players picked by the Baseball Writers’ Association of America. Those picks will be announced in January, with Jack Morris and Craig Biggio among the favorites.

Only Jacob Ruppert, umpire Hank O'Day and barehanded catcher Deacon White nominated: A Stand Up Call on Morality and Integrity

Hall of Famers happy that Barry Bonds, Roger Clemens and Sammy Sosa don't get HOF call in their first year on ballot

By Associated Press sports staff
on January 10, 2013 at 5:43 PM, updated January 10, 2013 at 5:54 PM

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Barry Bonds put together some of baseball's most historic individual seasons late in his career, but they're tainted by the belief that he benefited from performance-enhancing drugs. Associated Press  

NEW YORK, New York -- Nobody was happier about the Hall of Fame shutout than the Hall of Famers themselves.

Goose Gossage, Al Kaline, Dennis Eckersley and others are in no rush to open the door to Cooperstown for anyone linked to steroids.

Barry Bonds, Roger Clemens, Sammy Sosa: Keep 'em all out of our club.

"If they let these guys in ever — at any point — it's a big black eye for the Hall and for baseball," Gossage said in a phone interview with The Associated Press. "It's like telling our kids you can cheat, you can do whatever you want, and it's not going to matter."

For only the second time in 42 years, baseball writers failed to elect anyone to the Hall of Fame on Wednesday, sending a firm signal that stars of the Steroids Era will be held to a different standard.

All the awards and accomplishments collected over storied careers by Bonds, Clemens and Sosa — all eligible for the first time — could not offset suspicions those exploits were artificially boosted by performance-enhancing drugs.

"I'm kind of glad that nobody got in this year," Kaline said. "I feel honored to be in the Hall of Fame. And I would've felt a little uneasy sitting up there on the stage, listening to some of these new guys talk about how great they were."

Gossage went even further.

"I think the steroids guys that are under suspicion got too many votes," he said. "I don't know why they're making this such a question and why there's so much debate. To me, they cheated. Are we going to reward these guys?"

Not this year, at least.

Bonds received just 36.2 percent of the vote and Clemens 37.6 in totals announced by the Hall and the Baseball Writers' Association of America, both well short of the 75 percent needed for election — yet still too close for Gossage's taste. Sosa, eighth on the career home run list, got 12.5 percent.

"Wow! Baseball writers make a statement," Eckersley wrote on Twitter. "Feels right."

Roger Clemens was acquitted of perjury charges stemming from congressional testimony during which he denied using PEDs, but many Hall of Fame voters still believe he may have used them. Associated Press  

The results keep the sport's career home run leader (Bonds) and most decorated pitcher (Clemens) out of Cooperstown — for now. Bonds, Clemens and Sosa have up to 14 more years on the writers' ballot to gain baseball's highest honor.

"Even having just been considered for the first time is already great honor, and there's always a next time," Sosa said in a statement. "Baseball has been extremely good for me! Kiss to the heaven! It was an honor just to have been nominated. I'm happy about that."

Bonds, baseball's only seven-time MVP, hit 762 home runs — including a record 73 in 2001. He has denied knowingly using performance-enhancing drugs and was convicted of one count of obstruction of justice for giving an evasive answer in 2003 to a grand jury investigating PEDs.

Clemens, the game's lone seven-time Cy Young Award winner, is third in career strikeouts (4,672) and ninth in wins (354). He was acquitted of perjury charges stemming from congressional testimony during which he denied using PEDs.

"If you don't think Roger Clemens cheated, you're burying your head in the sand," Gossage said.

Sosa, who finished with 609 home runs, was among those who tested positive in MLB's 2003 anonymous survey, The New York Times reported in 2009. He told a congressional committee in 2005 that he never took illegal performance-enhancing drugs. He also was caught using a corked bat during his career.

"What really gets me is seeing how some of these players associated with drugs have jumped over many of the greats in our game," Kaline said. "Numbers mean a lot in baseball, maybe more so than in any other sport. And going back to Babe Ruth, and players like Harmon Killebrew and Frank Robinson and Willie Mays, seeing people jump over them with 600, 700 home runs, I don't like to see that.

"I don't know how great some of these players up for election would've been without drugs. But to me, it's cheating," he added. "Numbers are important, but so is integrity and character. Some of these guys might get in someday. But for a year or two, I'm glad they didn't."

 Gossage, noting that cyclist Lance Armstrong was stripped of his seven Tour de France titles following allegations that he used performance-enhancing drugs, believes baseball should go just as far. He thinks the record book should be overhauled, taking away the accomplishments of players like Bonds, Sosa, Rafael Palmeiro and Mark McGwire — who has admitted using steroids and human growth hormone during his playing days.

McGwire, 10th on the career home run chart, received 16.9 percent of the vote on his seventh Hall try, down from 19.5 last year.

"I don't know if baseball knows how to deal with this at all," Gossage said. "Why don't they strip these guys of all these numbers? You've got to suffer the consequences. You get caught cheating on a test, you get expelled from school."

Juan Marichal is one Hall of Famer who doesn't see it that way. The former pitcher believes Bonds, Clemens and Sosa belong in Cooperstown.

"I think that they have been unfair to guys who were never found guilty of anything," Marichal said. "Their stats define them as immortals. That's the reality and that cannot be denied."

The BBWAA election rules say "voting shall be based upon the player's record, playing ability, integrity, sportsmanship, character, and contributions to the team(s) on which the player played."

While much of the focus this year was on Bonds, Clemens and Sosa, every other player with Cooperstown credentials was denied, too.

Craig Biggio, 20th on the career list with 3,060 hits, came the closest. He was chosen on 68.2 percent of the 569 ballots, 39 shy of election. Among other first-year eligibles, Mike Piazza received 57.8 percent and Curt Schilling 38.8. Jack Morris topped holdovers with 67.7 percent.

None of those players have been publicly linked to PED use, so it's difficult to determine whether they fell short due to suspicion, their stats — or the overall stench of the era they played in.

"What we're witnessing here is innocent people paying for the sinners," Marichal said.

Hall of Fame slugger Mike Schmidt said that comes with the territory.

"It's not news that Bonds, Clemens, Sosa, Palmeiro, and McGwire didn't get in, but that they received hardly any consideration at all. The real news is that Biggio and Piazza were well under the 75 percent needed," Schmidt wrote in an email to the AP.

"Curt Schilling made a good point. Everyone was guilty. Either you used PEDs, or you did nothing to stop their use. This generation got rich. Seems there was a price to pay."

At ceremonies in Cooperstown on July 28, the only inductees will be three men who died more than 70 years ago: Yankees owner Jacob Ruppert, umpire Hank O'Day and barehanded catcher Deacon White. They were chosen last month by the 16-member panel considering individuals from the era before integration in 1947.

Cleveland Indians Prospects 2013

CLEVELAND, Ohio -- The Cleveland Indians haven't had a winning season since 2007, when they were one win away from playing in the World Series.

The Tribe, with Eric Wedge as the manager, went 96-66 to win the American League Central Division. Cleveland then eliminated the New York Yankees, three games to one, in the best-of-five-game American League Division Series. Then, in the AL Championship Series best-of-seven, the Indians went up on the Boston Red Sox, 3-1, before losing three straight games to end their season. Boston went on to win the World Series, sweeping the Colorado Rockies.

Since then, in order beginning with 2008, the Indians have finished with records of 81-81, 65-97, 69-93, 80-82 and 68-94 last season.

That's 363 wins and 447 losses over the last five campaigns, a .448 winning percentage. In those seasons, the Indians have finished a combined 89 games out of first place in the Central Division, and haven't been in serious contention for a wild card playoff berth.

This offseason, the Indians have made all kinds of news trying to improve their fortunes in 2013. The move that made the biggest splash nationally came Sunday, when free agent Nick Swisher agreed to sign with the Tribe, getting a four-year contract worth $56 million. The Dolan family ownership of the Indians is apparently willing to spend more money, in part due to the sale of SportsTime Ohio to Fox Sports Ohio, a deal which includes a multi-million dollars per year boost in rights fees to televise Indians games, as reported on Friday by The Plain Dealer's Paul Hoynes.

But there are other reasons, too, why 2013 has a chance to be a better year than recent ones for the Tribe. Here are several:

1. Terry Francona, accomplished skipper

Francona, introduced as the Indians' new manager on Oct. 8, won World Series with the Red Sox in 2004 and 2007. Following the 2011 season -- after some major player-egos had sabotaged playoff hopes -- the Red Sox let Francona go. He was working as an ESPN analyst when the Indians hired him.

Prior to Francona, the last skipper the Indians brought on with at least one winning season in the major leagues was John McNamara. He managed the Indians in 1990 and for 77 games in 1991, before he was fired and replaced by Mike Hargrove.

Francona is generally held in high regard by big league players. His reputation is considered a plus for the Tribe in any pursuit of free agents, and helped with the Swisher signing.

Francona is familiar with Cleveland and the Indians. The former first baseman-outfielder played for the Indians in 1988, when he hit .311 with one home run in 212 at bats. Francona worked in the Indians' front office in 2001, afer managing the Philadelphia Phillies for four years and before joining the Texas Rangers as their bench coach in 2002.

Tito Francona, Terry's father, was a fan favorite when he played the outfield and first base for the Indians from 1959-64. He hit .363 in 1959, falling 59 plate appearances short of qualifying for the batting championship, and made the American League all-star team in 1961.

 2. Roster makes more sense

It would be an understatement to say the Indians had little right-handed hitting the last two years. They had precious few righty batters, let alone ones who could produce runs.

Cleveland's deep thinkers seemed to shrug off any questions about the oddly constructed rosters, in part due to their affinity for the wave of newfangled statistics that have become popular in a few big league front offices.

As mentioned before, the Tribe has landed free agent outfielder Nick Swisher, a switch-hitter who has averaged 26 home runs, 83 RBI and 83 walks in his eight full major league seasons. Also during the offseason, Cleveland has acquired some right-handed hitters who, interestingly, probably don't fit the profiles favored by the sabermetricians.

Former Baltimore Orioles first baseman Mark Reynolds, signed as a free agent, and outfielder Drew Stubbs, acquired from the Cincinnati Reds as part of a three-way trade, strike out at extraordinary rates and are not going to challenge for batting titles. Shortstop Mike Aviles, landed in a trade with the Toronto Blue Jays, seldom draws a walk.

Each, though, offers important qualities. Reynolds has averaged 30 home runs in six major league seasons. Stubbs utilizes his speed on the basepaths and in the field, and has some power. Aviles has a .277 career batting average and can also play second base and third base.

Even with their flaws, the presence of Reynolds, Stubbs and Aviles helps balance the Indians and means opposing managers won't always be able to create a lefty-pitcher vs. lefty-batter situation when they go to their bullpens -- let alone the edge that southpaw starting hurlers have enjoyed against the Tribe. Swisher, too, as a switch-hitter, helps negate what had been a huge disadvantage for the Indians.

3. Young position players still maturing

The Indians' nucleus includes a few holdover position players who have established themselves to varying degrees as solid players, and still haven't reached their prime

 Shortstop Asdrubal Cabrera, still the subject of trade rumors, will be 27 when the Tribe season begins on April 2 in Toronto. Cabrera tends to get out of shape and seems to lose a little interest once the team's season slips away, but he's made the last two all-star teams and being a switch-hitter adds to his value.

Second baseman Jason Kipnis will turn 26 the day after the season opener. He faded somewhat in the final couple months of last season, his first full one in the big leagues. Yet, he showed he can drive the ball, stole 31 bases and emerged as a standout fielder, even though it hasn't been that long since he made the move from the outfield to second.

Switch-hitting catcher Carlos Santana turns 27 six days into the season. He could become a premium offensive player for his position, as shown by his strong second half in 2012, after a slow start to what was his second full major league campaign. Santana's biggest challenge is to improve his work behind the plate.

Michael Brantley, 25, was first brought up to the Indians in 2009, but for him, too, 2012 was only his second full campaign in the bigs. It was a pretty good one, as he played a solid center field and batted .288 with just one strikeout per every 10 at bats -- though he hit just six homers. Brantley might be moved to left field as Stubbs is considered one of baseball's top defensive center fielders.

Third baseman Lonnie Chisenhall, 24 and considered among the Indians' top couple prospects the last few years, has hit .260 with 12 homers in 354 at bats during parts of the last two seasons with Cleveland. Chisenhall was emerging as a key part of the lineup when he was hit by a pitch last June 29, breaking his right forearm and sidelining him for 10 weeks.

Stubbs, 28, and Reynolds, 29, aren't too old to improve as hitters, too.

4. More money

The Indians' player payrolls in recent seasons have been among the cheapest in baseball, much to the chagrin of their fans.
 Shortstop Asdrubal Cabrera, still the subject of trade rumors, will be 27 when the Tribe season begins on April 2 in Toronto. Cabrera tends to get out of shape and seems to lose a little interest once the team's season slips away, but he's made the last two all-star teams and being a switch-hitter adds to his value.

Second baseman Jason Kipnis will turn 26 the day after the season opener. He faded somewhat in the final couple months of last season, his first full one in the big leagues. Yet, he showed he can drive the ball, stole 31 bases and emerged as a standout fielder, even though it hasn't been that long since he made the move from the outfield to second.

Switch-hitting catcher Carlos Santana turns 27 six days into the season. He could become a premium offensive player for his position, as shown by his strong second half in 2012, after a slow start to what was his second full major league campaign. Santana's biggest challenge is to improve his work behind the plate.

Michael Brantley, 25, was first brought up to the Indians in 2009, but for him, too, 2012 was only his second full campaign in the bigs. It was a pretty good one, as he played a solid center field and batted .288 with just one strikeout per every 10 at bats -- though he hit just six homers. Brantley might be moved to left field as Stubbs is considered one of baseball's top defensive center fielders.

Third baseman Lonnie Chisenhall, 24 and considered among the Indians' top couple prospects the last few years, has hit .260 with 12 homers in 354 at bats during parts of the last two seasons with Cleveland. Chisenhall was emerging as a key part of the lineup when he was hit by a pitch last June 29, breaking his right forearm and sidelining him for 10 weeks.

Stubbs, 28, and Reynolds, 29, aren't too old to improve as hitters, too.

4. More money

The Indians' player payrolls in recent seasons have been among the cheapest in baseball, much to the chagrin of their fans.

 Closer Chris Perez, whose candor sometimes creates controversy, has been an all-star the last two seasons. There has been speculation he could be traded, probably more because of his market value than due to his outspokenness.

Eighth inning specialist Vinnie Pestano and set-up man Joe Smith have both been superb the last two seasons. Pestano's stuff is one reason Perez has been mentioned as a trade candidate.

Matt Albers and Bryan Shaw were obtained from the Arizona Diamondbacks in the three-team trade also involving Cincinnati. They and Cody Allen add to the depth of the right handed relief pitching, while Nick Hagadone and Scott Barnes have the potential to help from the left side.

6. Starting pitchers' youth

Young doesn't necessarily mean good, but all of the pitchers who are locks to be in the starting rotation or have a chance to join it are in their 20s, and have either shown some promise at the big league level or are considered prospects to some degree.

The key offseason acquisition has pitched 16 1/3 major league innings but is considered one of baseball's top prospects, and was the third overall pick in the 2011 amateur draft. That's right-hander Trevor Bauer, who will turn 22 on Jan. 17 and was acquired from Arizona in the three-way trade that included the Indians' move of right fielder Shin-Soo Choo to Cincinnati. Bauer, if he looks good in spring training, has a solid chance to begin the season in the Indians' rotation.

 Holdovers who are virtually assured of starting spots are Ubaldo Jimenez, who will be 29 on Jan. 22, and Justin Masterson, to be 28 on March 22. The right-handers both have above-average stuff, but need to establish consistency. Jimenez, of course, has been a disappointment since the Indians got him in a deal with the Colorado Rockies just prior to the 2011 trade deadline.

Zach McAllister, who hit 25 on Dec. 8, and Corey Kluber, 26, both joined the rotation last season, in part because Jeanmar Gomez, 25 come Feb. 10, didn't take advantage of his opportunity. Gomez, though, remains a rotation candidate, as does David Huff, 28, the lone left-hander in the group.

Carlos Carrasco, who turns 26 on March 21, may be in the running for a starting spot. Carrasco, once considered a top prospect, made several solid starts in 2010 and 2011 with the Indians before having Tommy John surgery on his right (throwing) elbow. He threw well in limited duty at the end of last season for the Class AA Akron Aeros, and the reports on how he recently threw in the Arizona Parallel League were encouraging.

7. So-so Central besides Tigers

On paper, the only imposing team in the Central Division is its two-time defending champion, the Detroit Tigers. The Chicago White Sox led the division in 2012 prior to a late-season collapse. They were one of baseball's biggest surprises over the first few months, and aren't considered among the elite teams.

The Kansas City Royals have a solid young nucleus and have improved their pitching during the offseason, but they haven't won more than 75 games in a campaign since 2003. The Minnesota Twins finished two games behind the Indians, in last place with a 66-96 record.

Looking at the depth of good teams in the AL East and West divisions, it would be a surprise for one of the two wild card teams to come out of the Central Division. The Indians' best hope for the postseason rests on them playing better than expected; for the Tigers to falter as good teams sometimes do, and somehow place below Cleveland; for none of the division's three other teams to play much better than .500 baseball.