I was pitching against the Athletics one day at Yankee Stadium. It was in the
fifth inning, and we had them 5-2. With two outs, after a bunch of foul balls,
I walked the bases loaded. Gus Zernial is coming up to hit. Well, Casey came
running out of the dugout, and he hadn't even crossed the chalk line yet and
he's waving to the bullpen for the right-hander.
I said, "Wait a minute! Wait a minute!" I'm yelling at him. You know, I felt
great. I had good stuff. They couldn't hit it, so that's the only reason we
hadn't got them out. They'd just walk after they fouled off pitches.
And he says, "No, I'm going to make a change. I'm going to make a change."
I said, "Change, my butt." You know, I very rarely got mad out there.
He said, "Give me the ball."
I said, "No, I'm not going to give you the ball." And I kicked the rosin bag
halfway to second base. And he's following me, see, he's going up on the
mound, now he's going down the mound, and we're halfway to second base.
He says, "You know why I'm taking you out?"
I said, "Heck, no. It was nothing-nothing when we started and we're winning
5-2 now."
And he said, "I'm afraid you're going to hurt somebody."
He thought that was funny, but it wasn't funny to me. I had already hit four
guys, and I had hit Ferris Fain twice. But the point was, he said that
jokingly, thinking that would be something to cool me down a little bit. And I
saw this pitcher coming in-Fred Sanford, coming in from right field, and he
was halfway between [right fielder] Hank Bauer and [second baseman] Jerry Coleman and I threw the ball over Coleman's head and it hit Sanford right at
the belt.
I said, "Did you see that, Casey?"
He said, "Yeah, I saw it."
And I said, "It was a strike."
And I walked off the mound. Well, when I walked off the mound, then he got
real angry.
I went in and sat down in the dugout. It's got numbers where the guys hang
their jackets, you know, and 37 is where he'd sit. Well, I sat in his place,
and he gave Sanford the pep talk. When he came in from the mound, I wouldn't
get up. He sat down right next to me, and I didn't say anything and he didn't
say anything. After a couple or three pitches, Zernial doubled and tied the
score. After that inning was over, I went on in and took my shower and
listened to it on the radio. It went on to the 11th inning and we got beat.
Everybody came in there pretty much upset that we blew the game.
Casey yelled to Pete Sheehy, the clubhouse man, "Call everybody in the center
of the clubhouse."
Casey went in and threw his hat down. He had his shirt half-buttoned,
unbuttoned, his pants half down, and he was mad. But this was good. You know,
you've got to get upset.
He looked around at everybody and he said, "The next time I go to the mound
and make a pitching change, the guy I'm taking out, we'll both walk in
together." And I didn't get the inference to that, other than the fact that I
did act like an idiot.
But what probably happened was that the fans evidently applauded some for me
when I came off the field, maybe because I was showing my butt, I don't know.
But then when he came in, they obviously booed; but sitting back in the
dugout, I didn't hear it. I mean, ballplayers don't think of that, or don't
hear that, you know, but Casey could hear it. And he was telling me in a nice
way that we weren't going to do any of that crap again.
But Casey was a good man. We got along fine. He was left-handed and I
understood him and he understood me.
From Tales from Baseball's Golden Age by Gene Fehler.
Copyright © 2000 by Gene Fehler. Reprinted with permission.