Son Of 'ball Four'

"Forget it, Meat. You're only pitching because we got nobody else."

John was a wonderful inspiration to young pitchers. I'm glad he wasn't catching that day. He might've told the hitters what was coming. Don't laugh, I've seen that happen in spring training when a game's gone on too long.

When a rookie does well, it fouls up the manager's plans. So he lets you pitch until you have a bad inning, which happens sooner or later. Then he can ship you out as planned. Trouble was, I never had a bad inning. I had about 35 good ones. When spring training was over, the Yankees had no choice. They had to keep me.

Last spring with the Braves , I felt just like I did in '62. I wasn't in their plans. One bad inning, and I'd be history. So what I did was pitch 13 scoreless innings. It didn't keep them from releasing me anyway. The way they did it was typical baseball. It's almost comforting to know that in some ways the game will never change.

It was the morning before our last workout, and we were standing around the clubhouse, waiting to go on the field. I remember looking down at my gray practice uniform, wondering whether I would exchange it for a Richmond (AAA) or Savannah (AA) uniform. Then something funny happened during roll call. They didn't mention my name. This was surprising since I was standing right up front, like I always did. "Hey, you missed me," I said brightly. Coach Ken Rowe stared intently at some microscopic dot on his clipboard. Everybody else's eyes were on me. "Didn't Hank tell you?" said Rowe. Tell me what, I wondered. Hank hadn't told me anything all spring, not even hello. "You better see Hank," said Rowe, still examining his clipboard. Then I knew. Everyone knew. The only thing Hank wanted to tell me was goodby. It was like that old military joke where they break the news from home that someone's mother has died: "Now listen up. All those men with mothers take one step forward. Not so fast, Johnson."

It was the same years ago with the Yankees , who had subtle ways of letting you know your services were no longer needed. You'd come in after a day's workout, and everyone's equipment bag would be packed for the next day's road trip. Everyone's bag, that is, except those marked for extinction. "Hey, how come my bag isn't packed?" It's been nice knowing you.

I should have suspected something when Hank didn't watch me pitch even one inning. The other players told me not to feel bad about that because Hank hardly saw anyone play. He didn't like to watch ball games, probably because he'd played in so many himself. The players said Hank would come to a few of their games during the season and then leave early. Very early, like in the first or second inning. "As soon as he finished his beer." Once, they said, he'd left during the national anthem.

The players said I should be glad that at least Hank knew my name. As a running joke, they did instant replays of meetings with Hank that they swore actually took place.

"I'm sorry you've been released, Bob."

"My name is Pete."