August 4, 1953—It was bad enough that New York Yankee pitcher Vic Raschi shut out the Detroit Tigers on this date, but it’s even worse for the losing squad because the Yankee righthander drove in nearly half the Bronx Bombers’ 15 runs that day.
The “Springfield Rifle” (named not just for his hometown of West Springfield, Mass., but also for his ferocious fastball) started his big day at the plate by singling in two in the second inning. Later, he doubled home three in the fifth and singled home the final two in the eighth. In tribute, his teammates laid a stack of bats in his locker after the game.
Raschi set a record for most RBIs by a pitcher with his big day. He also provided one of the best arguments against the designated hitter in baseball. I mean really, when you think of it, isn’t the notion of a designated hitter a bit—well, condescending—as if a pitcher can’t walk and chew gum at the same time?
In certain ways, a pitcher is supposed to be the best athlete among a baseball team’s nine starters. Why deprive him of the opportunity to show off all aspects of his game?
We know about what a great hitter that former pitcher, Babe Ruth, turned out to be. Well, with a lifetime batting average of .184, Raschi was not in that league, but neither could he be considered an automatic out. And it’s that element of surprise in a game that the designated hitter innovation has eliminated.
Raschi’s day of hitting glory might have been the most glorious day of his 1953 season, his last hurrah as a player. Called to the majors at the already advanced age of 28, he had proceeded to win 21 games in three consecutive seasons starting in 1951. With Allie “Big Chief” Reynolds and “Steady Eddie” Lopat, he anchored a Yankee pitching staff far more unsung than its famous hitters such as DiMaggio, Mantle, Rizzuto, and company, but, I think, just as essential. And he was as durable as they come, never missing a start despite deteriorating knees.
It’s inconceivable to me that the Yankees could have reeled off five consecutive World Series without him—especially with his clutch pitching (such as beating the Boston Red Sox on the last day of the season in 1949.)
I mean, take a look at the picture accompanying this blog. Would you want that unshaven face scowling past you at the catcher as if you didn’t even exist, knowing that he could a) not only whiz a ball past you, but b) with pinpoint control, he could put it on any part of the plate he wanted so you’d have zilch chance of even getting on base?
After the 1953 season, Yankee G.M. George Weiss--a notoriously unsentimental tightwad who kept the salaries of his agentless players low, he claimed, because it made them hungry for World Series money—wanted to cut Raschi’s salary because the big righty’s record had fallen to 13-6. Raschi resisted, but his negotiating leverage was undercut with the return of the younger Whitey Ford from military service.
Early the next year, Raschi was shipped off to the St. Louis Cardinals for $85,000. Neither he nor the Yankees benefited from the move. Without his leadership, the Bombers did not make it to the World Series for the first time since 1948. Meanwhile, Raschi declined even further with the Cards, slipping to 8-9. He retired from baseball the following season after being traded to the Kansas City A’s.
Raschi died in 1988 at age 69—gone, but hardly forgotten, by Yankee loyalists such as myself, who remember him as a throwback to days when pitchers were as tough as they were versatile.
The “Springfield Rifle” (named not just for his hometown of West Springfield, Mass., but also for his ferocious fastball) started his big day at the plate by singling in two in the second inning. Later, he doubled home three in the fifth and singled home the final two in the eighth. In tribute, his teammates laid a stack of bats in his locker after the game.
Raschi set a record for most RBIs by a pitcher with his big day. He also provided one of the best arguments against the designated hitter in baseball. I mean really, when you think of it, isn’t the notion of a designated hitter a bit—well, condescending—as if a pitcher can’t walk and chew gum at the same time?
In certain ways, a pitcher is supposed to be the best athlete among a baseball team’s nine starters. Why deprive him of the opportunity to show off all aspects of his game?
We know about what a great hitter that former pitcher, Babe Ruth, turned out to be. Well, with a lifetime batting average of .184, Raschi was not in that league, but neither could he be considered an automatic out. And it’s that element of surprise in a game that the designated hitter innovation has eliminated.
Raschi’s day of hitting glory might have been the most glorious day of his 1953 season, his last hurrah as a player. Called to the majors at the already advanced age of 28, he had proceeded to win 21 games in three consecutive seasons starting in 1951. With Allie “Big Chief” Reynolds and “Steady Eddie” Lopat, he anchored a Yankee pitching staff far more unsung than its famous hitters such as DiMaggio, Mantle, Rizzuto, and company, but, I think, just as essential. And he was as durable as they come, never missing a start despite deteriorating knees.
It’s inconceivable to me that the Yankees could have reeled off five consecutive World Series without him—especially with his clutch pitching (such as beating the Boston Red Sox on the last day of the season in 1949.)
I mean, take a look at the picture accompanying this blog. Would you want that unshaven face scowling past you at the catcher as if you didn’t even exist, knowing that he could a) not only whiz a ball past you, but b) with pinpoint control, he could put it on any part of the plate he wanted so you’d have zilch chance of even getting on base?
After the 1953 season, Yankee G.M. George Weiss--a notoriously unsentimental tightwad who kept the salaries of his agentless players low, he claimed, because it made them hungry for World Series money—wanted to cut Raschi’s salary because the big righty’s record had fallen to 13-6. Raschi resisted, but his negotiating leverage was undercut with the return of the younger Whitey Ford from military service.
Early the next year, Raschi was shipped off to the St. Louis Cardinals for $85,000. Neither he nor the Yankees benefited from the move. Without his leadership, the Bombers did not make it to the World Series for the first time since 1948. Meanwhile, Raschi declined even further with the Cards, slipping to 8-9. He retired from baseball the following season after being traded to the Kansas City A’s.
Raschi died in 1988 at age 69—gone, but hardly forgotten, by Yankee loyalists such as myself, who remember him as a throwback to days when pitchers were as tough as they were versatile.
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