SI Vault
 
YOU CAN CONSIDER IT CAME FROM ME
Jim Brosnan
March 07, 1960
That's what St. Louis Manager Solly Hemus said (often) at the 1959 training camp. In a rare insider's diary of camp life, Pitcher Jim Brosnan (now with the Redlegs) tells what Solly meant
Decrease font Decrease font
Enlarge font Enlarge font
March 07, 1960

You Can Consider It Came From Me

That's what St. Louis Manager Solly Hemus said (often) at the 1959 training camp. In a rare insider's diary of camp life, Pitcher Jim Brosnan (now with the Redlegs) tells what Solly meant

View CoverRead All Articles View This Issue
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

FEBRUARY 20: From our rented beach house at Indian Rocks I drove to Al Lang Field in St. Petersburg. The first workout was scheduled for 10 o'clock. The clubhouse was filled by 9, and we sat around for an hour, anxious to go. August Busch Jr., the owner of the Cardinals, sat in the background, smoking a pipe. Solly Hemus, the new manager, was understandably nervous. Spring training has a convocation ceremony that follows strict patterns all over the baseball world. Manager speaks: "Wanna welcome all you new fellows; wanna impress on you that you each got a chance to make this ball club. We got a big job to do, and with a couple breaks I think we can win the pennant. These are my coaches; what they say you can consider it came from me."

Solly quickly, and wisely, turned the floor over to Howard Pollet, the pitching coach, a quiet, soft-spoken gentleman. He echoed Hemus' remarks about each pitcher having a chance to win a job. And he reminded the pitchers that they were not going to impress him by throwing hard during the first three days: "All you'll do is hurt your arms and make it harder on everybody. Just be patient and we'll give you a chance to show us what you can do."

Sitting in front of me and spitting tobacco juice into the sandbox was Marv Grissom. I nudged him and asked for a chew as Johnny Keane and Harry Walker, two other coaches, spoke a few words. They had both managed for years in the minor leagues, and since Solly had already used the traditional manager's speech they had nothing much to say. Solly brought it all to a close. He said, "Let's go get 'em!" We charged out of the clubhouse into the sun.

FEBRUARY 24: I was reading the stock-market quotations before the workout when Sal Maglie arrived. He walked down the aisle between the lockers, carrying his duffel bag and shaking hands right and left. The sight of Maglie sidling toward me was worth a fanfare. Sal isn't a pleasant-looking man—he looks like an ad for the Mafia, in fact—but he has a nature that transforms his face in the light of any friendships. If he feels that his troubles also trouble you, he will even listen to you tell them. "Hey, veteran right-hander," I called, "is everything all right?"

"Well, I tell you, driving down here from Clearwater," he said, loosening an impeccably tasteful tie, "that's where I'm staying, with a friend there, I felt my back going stiff on me. Feels like pleurisy, or something. I'm going to talk to Solly about running too much today. How's everything with you, Professor?"

"Sal," I said, " Grissom was right. He said that you and he got it made down here. Train on your own, and all that. Like, you reach 40, and you tell them how much you run. Is that right?"

"Well, Grissom's a lot older than me, you know," said Maglie, referring apparently to the number of hours separating their respective 41st birthdays. "What he says about training wouldn't apply to me too much. He still throws just as hard as he did when Ty Cobb was breaking into O.B. Whaddya say, Griss?"

"Any lies this guy tells I can double," he said, pumping Maglie's hand. The contrast between Grissom's huge, fast-balling meathook and Sal's slim-fingered curve-ball claw pinched my memory. Many suns had set on pitchers' duels that featured Maglie and Grissom. Finesse and Power. With so many young prospects cluttering up the place, these two old gentlemen would add some much-needed balance to the clubhouse picture. There's something to be said for a few less-hungry faces staring at you, avid to take your job away.

MARCH 1: "How can you expect me to run with a foot like that, Doc? Look at the length of those nails, and that little blister there. No, no, next to that soft corn. Could you fix me up in time for the workout, Doc? Ordinary man would be in the hospital."

Doc Bauman's eyes were getting pouchy. During the latest clubhouse convocation he said, "I'll be here from 7 in the morning, and I'll be here as late as you want me."

Continue Story
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11