The Birds Fall Down On Broken Wings

Baltimore is a city rich in history. Some of the best of it happened only last fall:

Oct. 5, 1966. In the opening game of the World Series, Polish-born Moe Drabowsky pitches six and two-thirds innings in relief of Dave McNally and allows the defending champion Los Angeles Dodgers one hit and no runs. The Orioles win 5-2, and the citizens of Baltimore celebrate.

Oct. 6, 1966. Jim Palmer, not yet eligible to vote, outpitches Sandy Koufax and gives up just four hits (Jim explains he eats pancakes on days he is scheduled to pitch, a sort of Popeye-spinach relationship). The Orioles win 6-0. Aunt Jemima sales go up 30%, and the people of Baltimore act a bit daffy.

Oct. 8, 1966. A California-reared right-hander, Wally Bunker, 21, beats the Dodgers 1-0 on a six-hitter. Baltimoreans go crazy.

Oct. 9, 1966. It is hard to believe, but McNally, 23, redeems himself with a four-hit shutout, and the Orioles again win 1-0. End of Series. Happily each player goes home for the winter with more than $11,000 in his hip pocket. The entire population of Baltimore is declared legally insane.

It was a glorious victory, all right, the whole Series taking less time than your average Andy Warhol movie. The four straight wins topped off a season in which Baltimore won the American League championship by nine games and left the impression that one flagpole would not be sufficient to hold all the pennants to come. Third Baseman Brooks Robinson had 100 RBIs and earned his seventh straight Golden Glove award. Boog Powell hit .287 and drove in 109 runs. Drabowsky won six, lost zero—just a sample of the stingy men in Manager Hank Bauer's bullpen. Frank Robinson hit everything he swung at and became the first Triple Crown winner in 10 years.

But all this was in 1966—the Pleistocene Age. Last Sunday, just about midway through this season, Baltimore was in seventh place. On some days the Orioles played so poorly it seemed they would soon drop right through the bottom of the league—like coffee grounds in a wet paper sack—and land somewhere in the Arizona Instructional League. Baltimore fans have sobered up. The souvenir stands in Memorial Stadium are sold out of a book called Birds on the Wing—all about the spirit of '66—and may well start offering Rebecca West's novel, Birds Fall Down. In fact things have gotten so bad that the club's telephone operator has stopped greeting callers with her customary cheery "World Champions, Baltimore Orioles."

"I was taking too much guff from the fans," she said. "They'd say, 'What do you mean, world champions? Have you looked at the standings lately?' So I had to cut it out."

What or who has brought this embarrassing situation to pass? Well, let's begin with Pancake Palmer. For a 20-year-old, Jim had a remarkable season (15-10 plus that World Series win), although good relief pitching helped him considerably. Palmer was bothered even then by a sore right shoulder—specifically, the long head of the biceps tendon—and missed some starts in September, but when he was right he had one of the best fastballs in the league.

His shoulder continued to hamper him in spring training, but when the regular season began he was able to put in impressive appearances against the Minnesota Twins (a complete-game, four-hit victory) and New York Yankees (a one-hitter). Then he was hit hard in one inning by the Boston Red Sox and gave up four earned runs in three innings to the California Angels. Soon after, he was optioned to the Rochester Red Wings.