Pursuit Of No. 60: The Ordeal Of Roger Maris

"That's his business," Houk said.

"How come we can't go in and talk to him, and his brother can?"

"Are you trying to tell me how to run my clubhouse?" Houk said, flaring, "Is that what you're trying to do?"

"'But his brother—"

"That's right, he's talking to his brother, and if he had 150 brothers they couldn't all come in, but he's only got one. If that isn't the funniest thing all year, you telling me a man has no right to talk to his brother."

When things calmed, someone said quietly to Houk, "The important thing is for him to make an appearance."

"I know that," Houk said, "and I know Maris, and now is not the time to talk to him. We'll all be more relaxed later on."

Eventually Maris reconsidered, relaxed and emerged.

"Any complaints about the umpiring tonight?" a Detroit newspaperman asked.

"Nope," Maris said, "and you got me wrong. I don't complain about umpiring."