Bob Gibson, 84 years young. Fifty-six (!) career shutouts. He was so dominant in 1968 (era 1.12) MLB lowered the mound height the following year. I am a lifelong Cardinals anti-fan, but that cat could throw. Ride the wind, Gibby. <Papa can't seem to get the title -- I think that's maybe a good thing.>
Story: Gibson’s best friend, and roommate on the road, was teammate Bill White. White was traded to the Phillies in 1966. In the first game Gibson pitched against the Phillies after the trade, White crowded the plate and managed to reach a hard-breaking outside slider for a single. The next time White batted, he again crowded the plate. Gibson’s first pitch was a fastball to the rib cage that literally knocked White down. Gibson trotted to home plate, leaned over the prostrate White, shook a finger in his face, and hissed: “The plate belongs to me, you sonofabitch!” My kinda pitcher. RIP. 17 K's in a World Series game. 35 K's in a World Series. 1.12 ERA. 2 Cy Youngs. One of a kind. Cheers, Dave
Dude was a baseball player. He did indeed own home plate and most that played knew this well and feared him enough that they didn't crowd the plate more than once. RIP Hoot.
Someone (Willie Mays maybe?) said he walked up to the plate and spent about 30 seconds digging in one day. Looked dup and saw Gibson, called timeout and filled in the hole.
Came across this account by the inimitable Roger Angell (who is still with us at a hundred years young). It just seems like sports heroes were different back then.
My dad and I went to one Pro baseball game together. He was a Cardinals fan and I was a Cubs fan. Gibson pitched that game and I remember we drove down in a 914 Porsche in either 73 or 74. When we got to Busch stadium my dad asked the attendant if he could park in a different spot as the one they directed us to was pretty narrow and he didn't want a ding on his new car. When we came out "someone" keyed the door. Surprisingly I don't remember him getting very mad about it?
