The Sportswriter (Excerpts)

Tell me sir. What was life like while off the ball field?

You might say that I was a bit of a maverick and a loner, perhaps a lone wolf. I didnʼt hang out with the rest of the team; but instead, spent time by myself, in a shell, in my own space. I put out the do-not-disturb sign and wouldnʼt answer phone calls while dining along in my hotel room. I went to a lot of movies, by myself, and never cared much for the “in-crowd.”

So, ... what did management think of that?

They didnʼt like it and thought I had a bad attitude. Said that I wasnʼt a team man.

And ... were you okay in that situation?

I had no choice. I was born with that attitude. I had and always will have problems. Thatʼs why I couldnʼt leave this game peacefully. For much of my life, Iʼve been a troublemaker and mostly gone my own way. I am what I am and hate the fact that at times, Iʼve let others dictate what has happened to me. People would get nasty and Iʼd shove it right back in their face. Perhaps the war scared me and made me this way. I admit that I was never the easiest man to get along with.

If you had the chance, would you go back and do it over again?

No way. Not with all the pestering and bitterness; that and the feeling that the whole damn world rested upon my shoulders.
 
What part of your game are you most proud of?

My ability to hit the fastball. God himself could have come down from the heavens and not been able to throw the ball past me.

Williams disliked the man in a suit and he especially loathed politicians. Expose a hundred and ninety will appear as pinocchios dangling from strings pulled by the devil. Like Holden Caulfield of J.D. Salingerʼs Catcher in the Rye, Ted Williams had a distaste for phonies. One might wonder if Ted liked anyone at all. He liked the popcorn and ticket vendors. He liked the parking lot attendants and the guys that swept up after the games. He liked the average joe on the street. Teddy was different. “Teddy Ballgame” was a rebel.

My attention regarding the West became aroused after Playboy magazine began publishing articles rating the top “Party Schools” in America with Californiaʼs San Jose State and Chico State taking turns topping the list. Go west young man. After a long flight to Sacramento, I rented a car and headed straight for Joe Martyʼs Bar and Restaurant, downtown Sacto. It wasnʼt the specialty of the house, broasted chicken and a cool glass of Schlitz that drew me to the spaghetti and pizza joint, but Joeʼs wall-of-fame in the bar area -- that huge wall of baseball memorabilia that he had collected while a professional ballplayer -- the old catcherʼs masks, mitts, bats, team pictures, and signed photos; all from the thirties, forties, and fifties.

"When I wish to write a book on some subject, I must first soak myself in detail, until all the separate parts of the subject-matter are familiar, then, some day, if I’m fortunate, I perceive the whole, with all its parts duly interrelated." (Bertrand Russell. A History of Western Philosophy. NY: Simon and Schuster. Pp. 123)

I was sitting at my desk in a state of semiconscious daydream, high-up on the top-floor of Dartmouth Towers, gazing through a large plate window and staring at some distant thought ... barely noticing the cabin cruisers, dinghies, and rowboats that were cruising, sailing, and sculling down the Connecticut. Absentmindedly, but with the skill of a somnambulist, I was contemplating my next book which shall be my magnum opus:

                         THE SPLENDID SPLINTER -- LEAVE ME ALONE AND LET ME PLAY BALL

While preoccupied and besot, somewhat spellbound and lost in thought, I was trying to figure out a man who once said that the best way to hit a baseball was to go up to the plate angry ... go up there mad at the pitcher ... go up there mad at yourself ... go up there mad as hell at the whole damn world. I was attempting to understand the thoughts of a man I once interviewed several years ago: