This Guy Can Rise It, Drop It And Pop It At 104 Mph

"They don't say nothing to me directly," says Stofflet, "but I know how they feel. They can't see me out there as good as I am, know what I mean? But what they don't know is what it took for me to get there, how much work, how much traveling. I just go there, pitch my game and go home. I don't stand around for a pat on the back, and maybe that hurts them more."

Stofflet is even thick-skinned enough to continue to pitch once a week in the Allentown City Softball League, which is like Richard Dreyfuss showing up to take the lead in the junior class play. Bergh and some of the other members of the Barbells who live in Allentown play on other teams in the league, too, and they obviously outclass the opposition, even though the league is a strong one. Several years ago, in the interest of competitive balance, a few of the teams tried to keep Stofflet from playing, but there is no legal way he can be stopped. So he still shows up once a week "to get sharp for the weekend games in the Seaboard League."

In 1969 Sal's Lunch won the ISC nationals, and Stofflet, having achieved that goal, jumped to the Rising Sun Hotel team of Reading, the final step up the competitive ladder. The Rising Sun is a little corner bar owned by a guy named John Kramer, who gave up sponsoring the team and sold the establishment in 1976 when he was elected Berks County sheriff. Billard Barbell then took the team over, to be superseded, in turn, by York. Fast-pitch softball was spawned from this kind of one-man sponsorship, but by the mid-60s big business had stepped in and Kramer's world-class team became the exception, not the rule. Stofflet and the Rising Sun Hotel, therefore, often had to compete against teams that had brought in players from around the country and given them jobs. The shift to such big-business sponsorship undoubtedly helped keep fast-pitch softball alive, but it also separated the sport from its roots.

Big business has done nothing for Stofflet. He has been an electrician and fork-lift driver for Mack Trucks of Allentown for 14 years, but Mack has contributed little to the sport in its home area, which is fairly hot softball country. It's a bit surprising that the company has never even mentioned the world's best softball pitcher in its promotions. "Their thing is to build Mack trucks, not Ty Stofflet," says Stofflet with a way-of-the-world weariness. "I'm just a number there. No special privileges. I use my vacation time for tournaments and traveling with the team. It don't bother me."

Rising Sun Hotel came in fourth in the 1971 nationals, Stofflet's second year with the club. The 2-1 loss that eliminated them occurred against the eventual champion, Cedar Rapids, on a run-scoring single and a passed ball in the 15th inning. Stofflet had 33 strikeouts in that game, which established him and his team as among the best in the world.

To fully appreciate Stofflet, you must bat against him or at the very least grab a catcher's mitt and squat down in his backyard. Pick any spot, and Stofflet will quickly stride to another, precisely 46 feet away, and begin limbering up. After a few throws, he asks, with sincere concern, "Are you sure that you've played ball before? I wouldn't want you to get hurt."

The windup seems a little awkward, being performed as it is with both feet on the rubber, as required in softball. The hardball windup has a certain grace and fluidity because only one foot must be on the rubber, with the other being used for balance during the pivot. Stofflet's lifting of both hands over the head is less a windup than merely a way of getting started. When his hands drop back down to his waist, there's no pause as he brings his left arm forward to begin the windmill portion of the windup. He hides the ball as much as possible as he whirls his left arm through a full circle, and releases the ball just as his arm completes the windmill.

My God, it comes in fast! Astonishingly fast. An apparition with seams. The catcher experiences a millisecond of panic before the ball slams into the mitt. He sheds real tears.

"Are you O.K.?" calls Stofflet. "I'm not really poppin' yet. I'd say that was only in the 90s."

To get an idea of Stofflet's velocity, you must remember the first time, in a schoolyard or in Little League, you faced some strange kid who really fogged the ball in there. He was always big, sometimes even fat, and chances are he didn't even make his high school team, but at that younger age, from that distance, he was Walter Johnson. You couldn't even see the ball. How could you hit it?