CHAPTER VI

What makes the curve balls curve—The fast ball—The “hook”—Freak deliveries—The spit ball—The screw ball—Its purpose—The knuckle ball—Rommel and Pipgras use it best—Curve ball pitchers who have made baseball history—Fast balls that are tricky—A few yarns of pitching greatness.

When amateurs get together to talk about pitching there’s always a lot of conversation about curve balls. Most of it is bunk.

In the old days when pitchers were allowed to use resin, to rough the ball and to pitch dirty, black battered balls the curve meant something. For in those days the smart pitcher, taking advantage of all conditions, could produce some fearful and wonderful “hops” on every pitch.

Given the opportunity, modern pitchers could do the same thing. Give a fellow like Hoyt or Lyons or Alexander a ball that has been roughed a little. They’ll show you plenty. And it’s easy enough to understand.

Air friction on the surface of the revolving ball is the cause of a curve. And it doesn’t take any master mind to know that a rough surface creates more friction than a smooth hard surface.

When I broke into the big leagues most pitchers were cheating a little. I don’t say that as a knock at the pitchers. Perhaps it would be better to say that they took advantage of every opportunity—and there were plenty of opportunities. One of the pet stunts in those days was to load the seams of a ball with dirt to give it added weight on one side. Another popular stunt used to be to work the seams either with finger nails or with some foreign substance like resin or wax. That would tend to raise the seams of the ball a little, thereby giving a better grip at that particular spot.

But the biggest advantage the pitcher had was the fact that umpires permitted them to pitch dirty, battered balls. After a ball has been battered into the dirt a few times, or better still, has been fouled off against a concrete stand, there will be rough spots on the surface. And these rough spots are a pitcher’s magic. They not only give him a purchase at the start of his pitch, but they offer resistance to the wind as the ball travels to the plate as well.

After all, the theory of curve ball pitching is simply to apply added friction to the ball on the side to which you want it to curve. On a curve that breaks down, the friction is applied from underneath at the time the ball leaves the pitcher’s hand. An outcurve finds the friction (the wrist snap) applied on the outside, a fast ball on the inside, etc.

A pitcher ought to be able to throw a ball that would break up to the batter. A fast ball delivered straight overhand with an upward rotation, would do that. There’s one curve though that doesn’t work out, simply because the law of gravity overcomes the friction. The result is that a ball delivered overhand with friction from the top comes as near being a straight ball as any a man can throw. As a matter of fact, there is no such thing as an absolutely straight ball. Every ball that is thrown veers a little bit off its course, either from friction or from the force of gravity.

Now and then a pitcher will come along who has enough speed and enough of a grip to give a fast ball an “upward” hop. Waite Hoyt’s fast one is that kind. And that’s why Waite’s fast ball is particularly effective. But it isn’t an upward curve. Just a slight rise at the end that ball players call a “Hop.”

Ever since baseball became a popular game the newspaper boys have written stories about freak curves developed by this or that pitcher. You still hear about Matty’s “fadeaway,” about Joe Bush’s “fork ball,” about the “screw ball” and the “knuckle” ball and a dozen other freaks of pitching. As a matter of fact there isn’t a whole lot of difference between these so-called freaks and the ordinary curves of the ordinary pitcher. Except perhaps that they break a little more quickly or a little wider.

Most of them break down. That’s natural enough and easy to understand. For the pitcher who pitches overhand or side-arm, the “drop curve” is the natural curve. For in pitching that one he gets assistance from nature. He has the law of gravity on his side to start with. Naturally friction aided by gravity will produce a bigger, wider curve than friction that is working against the law of gravity.

Most of the “freak” deliveries have been developed because of some hunch on the part of the pitcher. For instance, in my pitching days, the balls we used had printed on them the trade mark and the name of the league president. It was my hunch that this ink on the side of the ball gave just an added atom of weight to the printed side. Consequently in pitching a curve ball I was careful to hold the inked side of the ball on the side that I wanted the curve to break. A foolish notion, perhaps, but one that I always followed.

In the course of a season I get a couple of hundred letters from kids, I guess, asking me to explain the difference between the various trick curves. That’s a tough assignment—for, as a matter of fact, they’re all of them pretty much alike.

Take Matty’s “fadeaway,” Bush’s “fork ball,” the screw ball, the spitter and Wilcy Moore’s famous “sinker.” They all break down. They all look much alike as they come zipping up to the plate, and about the only difference is the speed with which they come up.

The theory of the spitter is simple enough. The ball is wet on one side. Naturally that makes a slippery spot which reduces friction and gives added speed to the opposite side where friction is applied. All spit balls break down, but by turning the wet spot one way or the other the pitcher can make the ball break in or out as he desires.

A curve ball from a right hand pitcher, breaks out to a right hand batter usually. Matty’s fadeaway was a pitch which broke in and down to a right hand hitter. In other words it had the same break as a spit ball, but was a “dry” pitch.

The chief difference between the so-called “screw ball” and the spitter, as I see it is that the screw ball can be thrown only overhand, while the spitter can be thrown overhand or sidearm. Neither pitch can be used by an underhand pitcher. The side-arm spitter is by far the more difficult to handle. Allan Russel, the old time Yankee pitcher who was later with the Washington Senators, was the most successful side-arm spit ball pitcher I ever knew. Allan could break that spitter where he wanted it and since he threw it with the same sweeping side-arm motion with which he delivered his fast ball, it was doubly hard to gauge.

Most of the pitchers in the league today have a screw ball of some sort or another. George Pipgras, the youngster who made good with the Yankees last year, has as good a one as any—though George’s knuckle ball is even more effective than his screw ball.

The screw ball like most other pitches, was developed by necessity. After Chesbro and Ed Walsh made the spit ball famous, all the pitchers in the sticks began working to duplicate it. Spit ball pitching was the rage for several seasons. But there were lots of complaints. Catchers complained because they said most pitchers couldn’t control their spitter and it was therefore a hard ball to catch. And the infielders kicked because a sloppy wet ball was hard to handle and frequently caused wild throws.

Heine Mueller, one-time Giant and Cardinal outfielder can testify to that I guess. A spit ball cost Heine his job with the Giants and sent him back to the minors. It happened last summer when Heine was playing the outfield in a game which Burleigh Grimes was pitching. Grimes is an old-fashioned spit ball pitcher, and he wets the ball plenty. The hitter got hold of one of Burleigh’s spitters and sent it on a line to Heine’s sector in center field.

Heinie had been warned about that sloppy ball and he wasn’t taking any chance. He grabbed the ball and deliberately wiped it dry on his shirt while a runner scored from third base. And now Heine is back down in the minors, still trying to figure out what to do with that sloppy ball when he gets hold of it.

Anyhow, the kicking against the “spitter” became so loud and strong that the commission finally ruled it out. They decided that spit-ball pitchers already in the league would be permitted to go ahead and use it but that new fellows coming in would have it barred. Naturally the newcomer began looking around for something to take its place and as a result the screw ball was developed. I don’t know who was the first to use it. A lot of pitchers claim the credit—but regardless of who happened to be the father, most of the boys have taken it for their own now.

The spit ball, of course, is being used less and less. There are not more than a half dozen spit ball pitchers left in the two leagues. Urban Faber, Urban Shocker, and Jack Quinn still use it in our league. Burleigh Grimes is the leading exponent of the “spitter” remaining in the National League. And these fellows are coming along to the end of their string. Another three or four seasons and there probably won’t be a spit ball pitcher left in the majors.

The knuckle ball is another so called “trick” delivery that sounds a lot more dangerous than it really is. The knuckle ball is a slow ball, that comes floating up to the plate without rotating. And lacking that rotation to keep it on a line, it wobbles from side to side. Not far of course, but just enough to throw the hitter off his stride. It isn’t the sort of ball that will fool a hitter enough to strike him out—but it’s a devilish, tantalizing sort of pitch that you’re apt to pop up into the air, or drive into the ground for an easy infield out.

Eddie Rommel was the first man I know to develop a knuckle ball to the point where he really used it as his “ace.” Eddie used to toss “knucklers” until he had the hitters blue in the face and he soon got a reputation as the king of the knuckle ball pitchers. But like the rest of the legitimate pitches, it was soon grabbed by the other pitchers and knuckle balls are common things around the league today. And good as Eddie is, I think George Pipgras of the Yankees has the best knuckle ball in the business.

George’s knuckler is particularly good too because he has something that Eddie never had. George has a good fast one to mix up with it—and after all, the real success of any pitching depends upon the pitcher’s ability to mix up something else with it. The thing that fools a hitter is not the knuckle ball or the screw ball in itself so much as it is having it come floating up there when he expects a fast one or a curve.

At times like that it’s really tough!

Of course, when all is said and done, both the knuckle ball and the screw ball are forms of slow ball pitches. Take Herb Pennock for instance. Herb has developed a screw ball in the last few years and he uses it entirely as a change of pace pitch.

It has only been in the last ten or twelve years that the slow ball has come into real prominence. Pitchers threw them before that. Matty had a good one and so did a lot of the old time pitchers. But in those days when hitters were of the choke type and free swingers were uncommon, the slow stuff didn’t go over so big. Anyhow, in those days, all the trick stuff was permitted and the slow ball wasn’t so badly needed.

But in this day and age a slow ball—“change of pace” the boys call it—is a mighty big factor with most great pitchers. I don’t know who was the first pitcher to develop a slow ball. They were throwing them when I came into the league and long before that, I guess. But the best slow ball I’ve ever looked at was the one thrown by Ray Collins, a big, burly left hander who used to pitch for the Red Sox. Ray threw his slow one with the same identical motion that he threw his fast one and it would come floating up there to the plate without so much as a single revolution. No kidding, a fellow could almost count the stitches on the ball as it came up. And control! Say that Collins had better control of his slow one than most fellows have of their fast ones. He could put that ball right where he wanted it always. I saw him strike Ty Cobb out three times in one game with it, and when a pitcher fans Ty on a slow ball he has to be good. Ordinarily Ty will knock a slow ball right down some infielder’s throat.

Collins had a funny way of throwing one too. He would hold the ball with his thumb and little finger, leaving the three middle fingers sticking straight out in the air and not touching the ball at all. Telling about it makes it sound as though it would be easy to tell just when the slow one was coming, but it wasn’t. For Ray wouldn’t lift those three middle fingers until the very instant he let the ball go.

Waite Hoyt is the only pitcher that I know of in baseball today who throws his slow stuff the same as Collins did. Most of the boys throw knucklers—that is, they double their fingers under and get a grip on the ball with their knuckles. But Waite uses Collins’ old system of gripping the ball with the thumb and little finger and leaving the three middle fingers extended.

Like Collins, too, he conceals his pitch well and unless he wants you to see them, you never get a glimpse of those three fingers until the ball is on the way. Waite goes Collins one better though, sometimes. For frequently when he is pitching he’ll let those three fingers show as though he had made a mistake. The batter seeing them, thinks a slow one is coming, and gets set for it. Then, just as he is about to release the pitch Waite tightens up his grip and sends a fast one zipping through, catching the hitter off balance and making him look mighty foolish. I’ve seen him do it a lot of times. And when he’s having a particularly good day, with all his stuff, he’s apt to pull the stunt a dozen times in a single ball game. And get away with it too. Goose Goslin is one of his pet victims for that sort of pitching.

The greatest trouble with a slow ball for the average pitcher is that it is mighty hard to control. It is pitched with practically no grip on the ball, and anytime you try to throw a ball without gripping it you’re in for trouble. A lot of pitchers, and good ones too, have had to work on a slow ball for years and years before they finally got what they wanted—and even then they’re a little bit afraid to use it in a pinch because they don’t always know where it is going.

Of course the whole secret of a slow ball is in the fact that it doesn’t spin or rotate. It’s that failure to spin which makes it travel slowly and wobble on its way to the plate. And it’s that thing, too, which makes it tough to hit. For a ball that doesn’t spin will never take the “English” from the bat. Hitting a real slow ball is like hitting at a bean bag, or a sack of mush or something like that.

Pitchers, for the most part, can be classified into three divisions. There are fast ball pitchers. These are the pitchers who depend for the most part on a fast ball to carry them through. Then there are “curve ball pitchers” or pitchers who use curves to get past the rough spots. And finally there are what the boys call “mix-up pitchers.” These are fellows who mix up a curve with a fast one. “Change of pace” pitchers I guess you might call them.

From my experience in baseball I would say that there were more fast ball pitchers than any other kind. Walter Johnson, when he was in his prime, was the best example of a fast ball pitcher you could find. Walter didn’t fool around with curves and he didn’t go in for slow stuff. He simply zipped them past so fast that a batter couldn’t get his bat around. Lefty Grove of the Athletics and Rube Walburg and Dazzy Vance are fine examples of fast ball pitchers. So is Charley Root of the Cubs, who made such a great record as an “iron man” last season. Of course these fellows have curve balls too. And good ones. Grove and Walburg both have curve balls that break fast and wide, and they have the added advantage of getting almost as much speed on their curve balls as they do on their fast ones. But just the same they look on their fast ball as their best bet—and always come through with it when they’re in a hole.

A lot of experts maintain that a “fast ball pitcher” will last longer than a curve ball pitcher. They point out that throwing a fast ball isn’t as much strain on the arm as a curve. Which is probably true. Still a lot of fellows who were fast ball pitchers originally, have developed into curve ball pitchers once the hop on their fast one began to leave them. Walter Johnson is a fine illustration of that. In the last few years Walter has been depending on curve balls and a change of pace more and more—and its only occasionally that he sends that old “speeder” zipping through there the way he used to.

Herb Pennock is an example of a good curve ball pitcher. Herb has plenty of other stuff, too, but his curve ball is his one big bet. It’s the ace up his sleeve. Jess Haines of the Cardinals is another chap who depends upon his curve ball to get him out of trouble. So does Johnny Morrison who used to be an ace with the Pirates.

The mere fact that a chap has a good curve ball, however, doesn’t make him a great pitcher. The best curve ball I ever saw was thrown by a fellow who couldn’t even make the big league grade, and perhaps never will. That was Walter Beall, who came up to the Yankees a few years ago, but is back in the minors again now. Beall could make a baseball sit up and sing bass, no kidding. His curve broke down, and I’ll swear he could break it three or four inches. But he never knew whether it was going over the plate or down the left field foul line—and a curve ball isn’t worth a nickle unless the pitcher has control. Maybe some day Walter Beall will get control. When he does, look out for him. He’ll be a wizard.

Bob Shawkey is another one who was almost strictly a curve ball pitcher. Bob had that curve of his fooling batters for a good many years before old Dad Time finally got him. Maybe throwing curves is hard on the arm, but it never seemed to bother Bob much. His career was a pretty long and active one, before he finally came to the end of the trail.

The “mix-up pitchers” include such players as Ted Lyons of the White Sox, George Uhle of the Cleveland Indians, Waite Hoyt of the Yankees and Grover Alexander of the Cardinals. These are fellows who mix up fast ones with slow ones. “Change of pace pitchers” I guess would be another name for them. Hoyt and Lyons can throw curves of course. If they couldn’t they wouldn’t be in the league. But they don’t use them often—and usually when they do come up with a curve they keep it outside or inside, where it can’t be damaged. For real effectiveness they depend upon a change of pace.

To be a good mix-up pitcher, you’ve got to have a corking fast ball as well as the slow stuff. Urban Shocker, in the days when he was with the St. Louis Browns, was a pitcher of that sort. And what a tough baby he was too. But of late years Shock has lost his fast one and now he’s getting by on his knowledge, plus pitching stuff that includes slow, slower and slowest. Tom Zachary of the Washington Senators falls into about the same class.

But don’t think that this classification is absolute. Just remember that the fast ball pitchers all have a curve if they need it and the curve ball boys are apt to cross you up with a fast one anytime.

These I have outlined are the pitches most commonly used by big league pitchers. So far I have made no mention of the trick or freak pitches that come and go with the individual.

In this list come Eddie Cicotte’s famous “shine” ball; the emery ball developed and used by Russell Ford, the famous old-time Yankee pitcher, and all the other specialties of certain pitchers. The less the average pitcher knows about these, the better off he is. For they are barred now and an attempt to use them will only get a fellow into trouble.

There’s no trick in pitching an emery ball. Once the emery is applied and the ball roughened the greenest pitcher can make the ball do all sorts of queer stunts. And with a little practice he can learn to control and use such curves. But don’t do it. It doesn’t pay.

As for the others. Well there’s Wilcy Moore’s “sinker,” for instance. That is a fast ball that falls away from the plate. Cy can’t tell you himself how he pitches it. It’s just natural with him and so far as I know there’s no one else in baseball who pitches a ball quite like it. Its effectiveness of course is due to the fact that it sinks away as the hitter swings with the result that he tops the ball and drives it into the ground. If you watch Cy pitch sometime you’ll notice that there are always a great many infield putouts in his games. That’s the result of the sinker and a mighty puzzling thing it is the first time you face him, too.

Very frequently a pitcher will make a ball “sail” when he pitches it. That usually is due to some unobserved roughness on the cover and is just as apt to be harmful as it is helpful. Now and then however a pitcher will come along with a natural “sailer.” He doesn’t know himself where he gets it or how. It just happens.

In my pitching days I had little hop on my fast one, despite the fact that I was a fast ball pitcher. But I did have a natural sailer. As I said before I used to think that this was in part due to the added weight given the ball by the trademark stamp, and in pitching I was always careful to turn the ink in the direction I wanted the ball to break. Chances are, though, that this didn’t have anything to do with it at all. I’m inclined to think now that it may have been because I gripped the ball very loosely even when pitching my fast one. A lot of fellows will argue that the success of a fast ball depends on the grip and that the fellows with the best fast ones, grip the ball tight. Maybe that’s right, but I had a pretty fair fast one, and I used a loose grip always.

I always managed to get a little “sail” on the fast one but there were times when I got more than others. I’ll never forget a game I pitched in Detroit one day. My fast one was going great that day and I had the Tigers swinging blind.

Finally Cobb came up. Billy Evans was umpiring and on my first pitch Billy called for the ball and threw it out.

“That one sailed a foot!” he said.

The next pitch was a strike and Cobb called for the ball that time.

“He’s doctoring that ball,” Ty complained. “That one sailed eighteen inches.”

Billy threw that one out.

I pitched a third ball and they both squawked, and that one was tossed out too.

All told I pitched six balls to Ty on that one turn at bat. And after each pitch Billy tossed the ball out of the game.

On the sixth pitch Ty struck out. Boy, maybe you think he wasn’t sore.

He walked out past me when the inning was over.

“You’re cheating out there you big bum,” he said. “No one can make a ball sail like that unless he’s doctoring it. But I’ll find out about it and when I do I’ll run you right out of the league.”

As a matter of fact I wasn’t cheating. I was just as puzzled as Ty. And to this day I don’t know what made those balls sail. They broke so wide that Bill Carrigan who was catching, had to hop all over the plate to get them. And I never had so much “sail” before or since.

It was just one of those things. I don’t know why or how I did it. It just happened. Baseball is like that and the longer you play the game the more you realize it.