A Memorable Day in Milwaukee (Excerpt from the book)
In 1961, Willie Mays was hoping for a blockbuster start to help his new manager, Alvin Dark, but that caused him to press. At the end of April, the Giants traveled to Milwaukee for three games, and in the opener they faced Warren Spahn. He was 40 years old and in his nineteenth season, but as good as ever. He threw a no hitter. The Giants won the following game, rapping 15 hits, but Mays took the collar and had struck out three times the past two games. He was now in a 10-for-40 rut and was hitting .291. Whenever his batting average fell below .300, it was, in the eyes of some San Franciscans, a national emergency. He only had two home runs for the month.
Mays typically roomed alone, but Dark was allowing no special treatment, so he roomed with McCovey. After beating the Braves - it was a Saturday night game - they took a walk and brought some barbecued spareribs back the hotel, where they ate them for a midnight snack, watched some television, and turned in. But it would be one of Mays's longest nights. He woke up at 3 a.m., vomiting. He collapsed on the floor and briefly passed out. McCovey called Doc Bowman, who soon arrived. "I was really scared," McCovey recalls. "I was pleading not to let him die."
Bowman gave Mays some sleeping pills, and Willie made it through the night fitfully. When he went to County Stadium the next day, April 30, he felt horrible. Joe Amalfitano, a utility infielder for the Giants, saw how bad he looked.
"You going to play today?" he asked.
Mays said no. "I was up all night."
"If you play at 75 percent," Amalfitano said, "you're better than most."
"The way I've been playing, maybe I should take the day off."
Amalfitano had an idea. Each player had his own bats, and Mays's were 34 ounce Adirondacks with a tapered handle and thick barrel with the weight at the end. But Mays had not been using them because he thought they were too light and had been swinging a 35 ounce bat instead. Amalfitano had been using the 34 ouncer in batting practice and thought the ball jumped off the wood. So he handed one to Mays.
"Will, why don't you use this bat," he said. "It's got a lot of wood in it."
Dark then came along and asked Mays how he felt. Mays said not so great, but as long as he had a bat in his hand, he decided to take his cuts in the cage.
It seemed everything he hit went into the stands. "You can always tell if a bat has good wood in it," he later said. "It rings when you hit the ball well." He decided he would play. The game would be his 1,234th of his career, on a sunny day before 13,114 people, and it would be televised on NBC's Game of the Week (though blacked out in San Francisco).
Even if he were feeling well, Mays had no reason to believe he'd have a good day. In addition to his recent struggles at the plate, he never had much luck in County Stadium. Of the opposing ballparks that he'd played at least six seasons through 1960, he had his second-worst home-run total in Milwaukee. Only in Philadelphia had he hit fewer. And County Stadium, at 402 feet to center and 392 feet in the power alleys, was no bandbox.
Starting for the Braves was Lew Burdette, one of the league's better right-handed starters. Over the past three seasons, he had averaged 20 wins. He was a control pitcher who could throw a fast ball, a curve, and a slider. He also had a spitter.
Mays, batting third, faced Burdette in the first inning with the bases empty. Burdette threw a slider, and Mays socked it 420 feet to dead center for a home run. In the bottom of the first, Hank Aaron, the Braves' center fielder, outdid his counterpart with a three-run homer. In the top of the fourth, shortstop Jose Pagan hit his first homer of the year, and then Mays came to bat with a runner on first. This time, Burdette threw a hard sinker, and Mays scorched it 400 feet to left center for a two-run homer, which also gave the Giants the lead.
The Giants' pitcher, Billy Loes, settled down and retired 14 in a row before giving up another hit - a second homer by Aaron. A player who hits two homers in one game might have merited attention, but not on this day.
The Giants went on a long-ball binge in the fourth inning. Orlando Cepeda and Felipe Alou both hit homers, while Pagan knocked his second. Mays led off the fifth against Moe Drabowsky and lined out to center. But in the sixth, he came to the plate with runners on first and third, with Seth Morehead now on the mound. The lefty tried to jam Mays with a slider, but the ball caught too much of the plate. Mays turned on it, and his 34-ounce bat flashed across the strike zone - crack! It did indeed have good wood. The ball traveled over the highest row of the left-field bleachers and landed in a picnic area beyond. The estimated distance: 480 feet. In his game story, Einstein breathlessly described it as "one of the longest home runs any human ever hit." Mays could only remember one other hit, in St. Louis, that might have been farther.
Mays felt as though he were getting stronger as the day progressed. In the eighth, the Braves inserted Don McMahon, a right-hander, and Mays came to the plate with a runner on third. Three years before, when the front-running Giants came to Milwaukee in July, the Braves swept the series, and McMahon had struck out Mays with men on base to help secure one of the wins. He may have been thinking of that at bat when first baseman Joe Adcock called time. "I walked to the mound," Adcock later recalled, "and I told McMahon, "Don't let this guy hit the ball this time.' McMahon said, "Don't worry. I got him.' So I got back to first base and on the next pitch, Mays hits the darnedest screaming line drive you ever saw." The ball sailed 430 feet into the top rows of the bleachers. The Milwaukee fans cheered Mays as he circled the bases.
An announcement came over the loud speaker that with four home runs in one game, Mays had tied a Major League record. Eight other players, including Lou Gehrig, had reached that mark. Mays now knew that he was part of baseball history, but if he got one more chance, he would hold the record by himself.
Mays was due up fifth in the top of the ninth, and George Brunet was pitching. The leadoff hitter, Pagan, singled, but the next two hitters were retired. Jim Davenport needed to reach base, but with Mays on deck, Davenport grounded out. The crowd booed.
The Giants won, 14-4. They hit eight home runs, tying a Major League record. Including Aaron's, there were ten in all, tying a National League record. The lead of the Milwaukee Journal's game story read: "The best thing that could be said about the Braves Sunday was that none of them got hurt." The previous game, the Giants had hit five long balls in scoring seven runs. It was as if the Giants were avenging Spahn's no-hitter to start the series.
Mays's hitting line was 4-for-5, with four homers, four runs scored, and eight RBIs. He also made the best catch of the game. That it was seen on national television added to the moment. In post-game interviews, he could barely contain his joy. "Man, after you get two in a game, you don't start looking for a third one," he said. "I've hit two in a game before, and three once, but that was in an exhibition . . . Sure, this was my best game and it was my biggest thrill in baseball too . . . The biggest day for me before this? What difference does it make. Second best don't mean anything . . . No, [my best game] wasn't one of those catches I made in the World Series because I don't count fielding. That's always been easy for me."
Asked about his near opportunity in the ninth inning, Mays offered a revealing answer. "Honestly," he said, "I might not have done a thing. I knew what I had done. I heard it over the loud speakers. I had the greatest day of my career. I probably will never have another like it. If I'd gone up again, I might have pressed - gone for the home run. And when you press, you're dead."
The day produced two memorable photographs, both from the Giants' locker room. One featured Mays, a huge smile on his face, holding four baseballs in his massive right hand. The other showed Mays eating his post-game meal - barbecued spare ribs.
Mays used the magic bat in the next series in Chicago, but he broke it on a single. Amalfitano grabbed it and put it in his locker, but after the game, it was gone. A search yielded nothing. Someone had stolen the historic bat. Amalfitano blamed himself, though Mays didn't hold him responsible. He was just glad that his teammate had helped him.
More than thirty years later, the two men saw each other at spring training, and while watching a ball game, Amalfitano reminded Mays of the mishap.
"I feel terrible about that bat," he said.
"That's okay," Mays said.
"Hey, what were you going to do with it anyway?" Amalfitano asked. "Give it to the Hall of Fame?"
"No, I was going to give it to you."
In 1961, Willie Mays was hoping for a blockbuster start to help his new manager, Alvin Dark, but that caused him to press. At the end of April, the Giants traveled to Milwaukee for three games, and in the opener they faced Warren Spahn. He was 40 years old and in his nineteenth season, but as good as ever. He threw a no hitter. The Giants won the following game, rapping 15 hits, but Mays took the collar and had struck out three times the past two games. He was now in a 10-for-40 rut and was hitting .291. Whenever his batting average fell below .300, it was, in the eyes of some San Franciscans, a national emergency. He only had two home runs for the month.
Mays typically roomed alone, but Dark was allowing no special treatment, so he roomed with McCovey. After beating the Braves - it was a Saturday night game - they took a walk and brought some barbecued spareribs back the hotel, where they ate them for a midnight snack, watched some television, and turned in. But it would be one of Mays's longest nights. He woke up at 3 a.m., vomiting. He collapsed on the floor and briefly passed out. McCovey called Doc Bowman, who soon arrived. "I was really scared," McCovey recalls. "I was pleading not to let him die."
Bowman gave Mays some sleeping pills, and Willie made it through the night fitfully. When he went to County Stadium the next day, April 30, he felt horrible. Joe Amalfitano, a utility infielder for the Giants, saw how bad he looked.
"You going to play today?" he asked.
Mays said no. "I was up all night."
"If you play at 75 percent," Amalfitano said, "you're better than most."
"The way I've been playing, maybe I should take the day off."
Amalfitano had an idea. Each player had his own bats, and Mays's were 34 ounce Adirondacks with a tapered handle and thick barrel with the weight at the end. But Mays had not been using them because he thought they were too light and had been swinging a 35 ounce bat instead. Amalfitano had been using the 34 ouncer in batting practice and thought the ball jumped off the wood. So he handed one to Mays.
"Will, why don't you use this bat," he said. "It's got a lot of wood in it."
Dark then came along and asked Mays how he felt. Mays said not so great, but as long as he had a bat in his hand, he decided to take his cuts in the cage.
It seemed everything he hit went into the stands. "You can always tell if a bat has good wood in it," he later said. "It rings when you hit the ball well." He decided he would play. The game would be his 1,234th of his career, on a sunny day before 13,114 people, and it would be televised on NBC's Game of the Week (though blacked out in San Francisco).
Even if he were feeling well, Mays had no reason to believe he'd have a good day. In addition to his recent struggles at the plate, he never had much luck in County Stadium. Of the opposing ballparks that he'd played at least six seasons through 1960, he had his second-worst home-run total in Milwaukee. Only in Philadelphia had he hit fewer. And County Stadium, at 402 feet to center and 392 feet in the power alleys, was no bandbox.
Starting for the Braves was Lew Burdette, one of the league's better right-handed starters. Over the past three seasons, he had averaged 20 wins. He was a control pitcher who could throw a fast ball, a curve, and a slider. He also had a spitter.
Mays, batting third, faced Burdette in the first inning with the bases empty. Burdette threw a slider, and Mays socked it 420 feet to dead center for a home run. In the bottom of the first, Hank Aaron, the Braves' center fielder, outdid his counterpart with a three-run homer. In the top of the fourth, shortstop Jose Pagan hit his first homer of the year, and then Mays came to bat with a runner on first. This time, Burdette threw a hard sinker, and Mays scorched it 400 feet to left center for a two-run homer, which also gave the Giants the lead.
The Giants' pitcher, Billy Loes, settled down and retired 14 in a row before giving up another hit - a second homer by Aaron. A player who hits two homers in one game might have merited attention, but not on this day.
The Giants went on a long-ball binge in the fourth inning. Orlando Cepeda and Felipe Alou both hit homers, while Pagan knocked his second. Mays led off the fifth against Moe Drabowsky and lined out to center. But in the sixth, he came to the plate with runners on first and third, with Seth Morehead now on the mound. The lefty tried to jam Mays with a slider, but the ball caught too much of the plate. Mays turned on it, and his 34-ounce bat flashed across the strike zone - crack! It did indeed have good wood. The ball traveled over the highest row of the left-field bleachers and landed in a picnic area beyond. The estimated distance: 480 feet. In his game story, Einstein breathlessly described it as "one of the longest home runs any human ever hit." Mays could only remember one other hit, in St. Louis, that might have been farther.
Mays felt as though he were getting stronger as the day progressed. In the eighth, the Braves inserted Don McMahon, a right-hander, and Mays came to the plate with a runner on third. Three years before, when the front-running Giants came to Milwaukee in July, the Braves swept the series, and McMahon had struck out Mays with men on base to help secure one of the wins. He may have been thinking of that at bat when first baseman Joe Adcock called time. "I walked to the mound," Adcock later recalled, "and I told McMahon, "Don't let this guy hit the ball this time.' McMahon said, "Don't worry. I got him.' So I got back to first base and on the next pitch, Mays hits the darnedest screaming line drive you ever saw." The ball sailed 430 feet into the top rows of the bleachers. The Milwaukee fans cheered Mays as he circled the bases.
An announcement came over the loud speaker that with four home runs in one game, Mays had tied a Major League record. Eight other players, including Lou Gehrig, had reached that mark. Mays now knew that he was part of baseball history, but if he got one more chance, he would hold the record by himself.
Mays was due up fifth in the top of the ninth, and George Brunet was pitching. The leadoff hitter, Pagan, singled, but the next two hitters were retired. Jim Davenport needed to reach base, but with Mays on deck, Davenport grounded out. The crowd booed.
The Giants won, 14-4. They hit eight home runs, tying a Major League record. Including Aaron's, there were ten in all, tying a National League record. The lead of the Milwaukee Journal's game story read: "The best thing that could be said about the Braves Sunday was that none of them got hurt." The previous game, the Giants had hit five long balls in scoring seven runs. It was as if the Giants were avenging Spahn's no-hitter to start the series.
Mays's hitting line was 4-for-5, with four homers, four runs scored, and eight RBIs. He also made the best catch of the game. That it was seen on national television added to the moment. In post-game interviews, he could barely contain his joy. "Man, after you get two in a game, you don't start looking for a third one," he said. "I've hit two in a game before, and three once, but that was in an exhibition . . . Sure, this was my best game and it was my biggest thrill in baseball too . . . The biggest day for me before this? What difference does it make. Second best don't mean anything . . . No, [my best game] wasn't one of those catches I made in the World Series because I don't count fielding. That's always been easy for me."
Asked about his near opportunity in the ninth inning, Mays offered a revealing answer. "Honestly," he said, "I might not have done a thing. I knew what I had done. I heard it over the loud speakers. I had the greatest day of my career. I probably will never have another like it. If I'd gone up again, I might have pressed - gone for the home run. And when you press, you're dead."
The day produced two memorable photographs, both from the Giants' locker room. One featured Mays, a huge smile on his face, holding four baseballs in his massive right hand. The other showed Mays eating his post-game meal - barbecued spare ribs.
Mays used the magic bat in the next series in Chicago, but he broke it on a single. Amalfitano grabbed it and put it in his locker, but after the game, it was gone. A search yielded nothing. Someone had stolen the historic bat. Amalfitano blamed himself, though Mays didn't hold him responsible. He was just glad that his teammate had helped him.
More than thirty years later, the two men saw each other at spring training, and while watching a ball game, Amalfitano reminded Mays of the mishap.
"I feel terrible about that bat," he said.
"That's okay," Mays said.
"Hey, what were you going to do with it anyway?" Amalfitano asked. "Give it to the Hall of Fame?"
"No, I was going to give it to you."
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