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Authors: Dallas Green
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plan worked. Sawyer died in 1997 at the age of 87.
To the surprise of many, the Phillies went outside the organization to replace Sawyer, bringing in Gene Mauch, who had been managing the Red Sox’s Triple-A affiliate in Minneapolis.
Mauch, a former journeyman infielder who played for six major league teams, had no experience as a major league manager. With his hiring, he became the youngest skipper in the game. The 1960 season marked the beginning of his 26-year managerial career with four different teams.
When I got called up to the Phillies in mid-June, the team was already 16 games out of first place. In light of the team’s woes, general manager John Quinn figured he’d give some younger players a shot. To make room for me, the team demoted veteran right-handed pitcher Ruben Gomez. I narrowly missed out on becoming the first Delaware native ever to play for the Phillies. About a year earlier, pitcher Chris Short, who hailed from Milford, had earned that distinction.
With the Phillies bound for another losing season, I got a chance to prove myself as a starting pitcher.
In the first inning of my major league debut in San Francisco, I faced Willie Mays—and walked him, the second of three walks I yielded that inning. My wildness led to two Giants runs. By the time I struck out Mays in the fourth inning, we trailed 5–0. I took the loss that day.
Five days later, I started against the Cubs and gave up three runs in 6⅔ innings. I left with the game tied and got a no-decision in a 4–3 Phillies win.
I had yet to embarrass myself. I had also yet to dazzle anyone.
On June 28, 1960, I went to the mound at Connie Mack Stadium for my third major league start against the defending World Series champion Los Angeles Dodgers. As in my previous two outings, my goal was to keep us in the game and avoid an early hook from my manager. But after two walks and an error loaded the bases in the first inning, it looked like Gene might be getting some exercise. But a fly out by John Roseboro ended the threat.
It was smooth sailing from there—until the ninth inning. We led 2–0, and I had surrendered just two hits. But I gave up a hit and a walk with only one out.
Though I had thrown more than 130 pitches, Gene stuck with me. I got Roseboro to fly out and Charlie Neal to ground out to end the game. With that, I became the first Phillies rookie in more than two years to throw a shutout.
“Yes, sir, he pitched a nice game,” Dodgers manager Walter Alston told reporters in the visitors’ clubhouse. “He deserved to win. Only three or four foul balls were hit good.”
That game boosted my confidence. On a good day, when I hit my spots, I could hold my own in the big leagues. On a bad day, when I couldn’t locate my pitches, it was like I was throwing batting practice.
For the remainder of the season, I split my time between starting and relieving. I finished the year with a 3–6 record and a 4.06 ERA on a Phillies team that finished in the National League cellar.
My arm felt fine as long as I did resistance exercises and long tosses that helped improve my range of motion and arm strength. But that regimen didn’t help me rediscover my good stuff. It was frustrating knowing my right arm would never be the same as it was in the minor leagues.
I had reached the majors, and my next challenge was to stay there. I knew my sore arm would make that a daily struggle. Would I be in the big leagues for one year? Five years? Ten? I had no idea. I wish I could say I was simply enjoying the moment, but in reality I walked around with the anxiety that comes with knowing you’re a borderline major leaguer.
*
Gene came up with the brilliant idea of rooming me on the road with Turk Farrell. Turk was a decent pitcher, but his true love was the nightlife and all that came with it. Turk, Jim “Bear” Owens, and Jack “Bird” Meyer were known as The Dalton Gang. Compared to Turk and his buddies, I was a real goody-two-shoes.
After
To the surprise of many, the Phillies went outside the organization to replace Sawyer, bringing in Gene Mauch, who had been managing the Red Sox’s Triple-A affiliate in Minneapolis.
Mauch, a former journeyman infielder who played for six major league teams, had no experience as a major league manager. With his hiring, he became the youngest skipper in the game. The 1960 season marked the beginning of his 26-year managerial career with four different teams.
When I got called up to the Phillies in mid-June, the team was already 16 games out of first place. In light of the team’s woes, general manager John Quinn figured he’d give some younger players a shot. To make room for me, the team demoted veteran right-handed pitcher Ruben Gomez. I narrowly missed out on becoming the first Delaware native ever to play for the Phillies. About a year earlier, pitcher Chris Short, who hailed from Milford, had earned that distinction.
With the Phillies bound for another losing season, I got a chance to prove myself as a starting pitcher.
In the first inning of my major league debut in San Francisco, I faced Willie Mays—and walked him, the second of three walks I yielded that inning. My wildness led to two Giants runs. By the time I struck out Mays in the fourth inning, we trailed 5–0. I took the loss that day.
Five days later, I started against the Cubs and gave up three runs in 6⅔ innings. I left with the game tied and got a no-decision in a 4–3 Phillies win.
I had yet to embarrass myself. I had also yet to dazzle anyone.
On June 28, 1960, I went to the mound at Connie Mack Stadium for my third major league start against the defending World Series champion Los Angeles Dodgers. As in my previous two outings, my goal was to keep us in the game and avoid an early hook from my manager. But after two walks and an error loaded the bases in the first inning, it looked like Gene might be getting some exercise. But a fly out by John Roseboro ended the threat.
It was smooth sailing from there—until the ninth inning. We led 2–0, and I had surrendered just two hits. But I gave up a hit and a walk with only one out.
Though I had thrown more than 130 pitches, Gene stuck with me. I got Roseboro to fly out and Charlie Neal to ground out to end the game. With that, I became the first Phillies rookie in more than two years to throw a shutout.
“Yes, sir, he pitched a nice game,” Dodgers manager Walter Alston told reporters in the visitors’ clubhouse. “He deserved to win. Only three or four foul balls were hit good.”
That game boosted my confidence. On a good day, when I hit my spots, I could hold my own in the big leagues. On a bad day, when I couldn’t locate my pitches, it was like I was throwing batting practice.
For the remainder of the season, I split my time between starting and relieving. I finished the year with a 3–6 record and a 4.06 ERA on a Phillies team that finished in the National League cellar.
My arm felt fine as long as I did resistance exercises and long tosses that helped improve my range of motion and arm strength. But that regimen didn’t help me rediscover my good stuff. It was frustrating knowing my right arm would never be the same as it was in the minor leagues.
I had reached the majors, and my next challenge was to stay there. I knew my sore arm would make that a daily struggle. Would I be in the big leagues for one year? Five years? Ten? I had no idea. I wish I could say I was simply enjoying the moment, but in reality I walked around with the anxiety that comes with knowing you’re a borderline major leaguer.
*
Gene came up with the brilliant idea of rooming me on the road with Turk Farrell. Turk was a decent pitcher, but his true love was the nightlife and all that came with it. Turk, Jim “Bear” Owens, and Jack “Bird” Meyer were known as The Dalton Gang. Compared to Turk and his buddies, I was a real goody-two-shoes.
After
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