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BaseballLibrary.com
Copyright © 2002
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All rights reserved.

My Turn at Bat
The Story of My Life
by Ted Williams with John Underwood
Fireside, 1988 | Buy the book

« 1|2|3|4|5|6|7|8|9 »

From Part Two

Nobody has it all. A guy's got good looks, he might weigh only 120 pounds. Or he's got a brilliant mind, and bad breath. I don't know what limitations there have been that have made it impossible for other guys to hit .400. Carew was the best hitter-for-average in the big leagues for a number of years there, and because of his lack of power he didn't seem that impressive, but you don't have to hit boomers to hit .400. Lately, it's been Mattingly and Boggs, having great high-average seasons without being what you'd call power hitters.

As I've said, there are more important factors, and circumstance is one. Good hitting always runs in cycles, rising or falling with the quality of the pitching, and it doesn't take a Boston writer to outline the factors that have contributed to the current upswing. For almost 20 years the big leagues have been trying to find ways to help hitters, mainly by lowering the mound and reducing the strike zone, so that pitchers have less leverage. The American League put in the designated hitter, and in recent years I heard a lot of talk about the "livelier" ball -- an evaluation that also runs in cycles, rearing up every time the hitting gets better.

But most important, they have expanded the league three times since I retired as a player in 1960, and they're talking seriously about expanding again. The record of every good player should be helped by expansion. I'm not going to blow a lot of hot air about the pitching today but, together with the decline of the minor leagues, there is no escaping the mathematics. There are simply fewer pitchers pitching in pro ball, and more pitchers in the big leagues -- 50 or so starting who would have been in the minors were it not for expansion.

When I was managing the Washington Senators/Texas Rangers, I saw pitchers who impressed me, and I saw pitchers who looked lovely to hit, guys who were supposed to be pretty good and looked like lambs. I still see that. But lambs have a nice comfortable way of making You go 0 for 4 if you're not careful. For myself, I always preferred to hit against pitchers I had worked up a reference on, whether they were good or bad. But I would have to think that a Carew or, now, a Boggs or a Mattingly, would rather not have to face the equivalent of a Roger Clemens or a Dwight Gooden or a Nolan Ryan that often. With expansion they don't have to.

Night games. The longer season. Coast-to-coast travel. A lot of things have been blamed for the disappearance of the high-average hitter. I'm not so sure. I always felt Yankee Stadium and the ball parks in Baltimore, Kansas City and Cleveland were actually harder to hit in during the day because of the shadows and the backgrounds. In any case, I think I always hit as well at night, though I admit to conceding the long ball a little.

It's true that routines get broken up traveling crosscountry and mixing night and day games. Everybody complains about jet lag and time zones. But I have to think the speed of travel has more than kept pace with the distances covered. We used to board a Pullman in Boston on Sunday night, ride all night and all the next day and get into St. Louis on Tuesday morning for a game on Tuesday night.

There's no doubt, too, that an extended season increases the possibilities for fatigue and the threat of bad weather on either end. But if that's an excuse, it doesn't explain why so few guys manage to hit close to .400 for the first 100 games, or even the first 75. So, outside of the obvious -- that hitters just aren't capable enough -- I can't give you any more logic as to why there hasn't been a .400 hitter in 45 years.

Willie Mays should have hit .400, with his speed. Or Hank Aaron. I always envied guys like Mays and Mantle who might get thirty or thirty-five infield hits a year without any sweat while I was puffing for my ten. Mantle got forty-eight leg hits the year he hit .365. That kind of speed does things for you: It forces the opposition to play you a littler shorter at third base, a littler shorter at first. They've got to be faster making a play, they've got to worry about being faster. Lou Brock was a hell of a base runner, half again as effective because he got the pitcher and the catcher and the rest of the infield all on edge worrying about him stealing a base.

With the infield shortened up, the hitting angles from home plate become wider. The infielder hasn't the time to cover as much territory on a hard-hit ball. It's by him before he can react. So speed is a big factor. And bat control. Roberto Clemente could have hit .400 because he had such good bat control. He had sense with the bat. He protected the plate with two strikes. I used to think Al Kaline could hit .400, or Mantle. But Mantle missed the ball too much. Too many strikeouts. He was forever going for the long ball, even with two strikes. Not quite enough finesse. And time ran out on Kaline and Mays.
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From My Turn at Bat by Ted Williams with John Underwood.
Copyright © 1969, 1988 by Ted Williams and John Underwood. Reprinted with permission.