A TALE OF THREE CITIES: NEW YORK, L.A. AND SAN FRANCISCO IN OCTOBER OF ‘62 (73 page)

The Giants kept him around. Provincial San
Franciscans found a way to love him, just as they love Bonds. He
offered some helpful hints in Spring Training and some public
relations value, but scribes approaching him do so cautiously,
knowing that his buttocks must be kissed in order to get
cooperation.

The difference between Willie Mays and his
contemporary, Ernie Banks of the Cubs, is a vast chasm as wide as
all space.

Orlando "Cha Cha"
Cepeda never really ceded the first base job to Willie McCovey. The
outspoken Puerto Rican slugger hated playing the outfield. He would
talk to the fans and show little hustle. He was young and
immature.

"When I was with the Giants, I didn't like
playing for Alvin, but I feel much differently today," said Cepeda.
"I was 24, 25 years old and he said certain things to me that got
me very upset. Now, I wish I had paid more attention, because he'd
been through it, he was a good ballplayer, he knew the game.
Instead of fighting him, I should have listened to him and learned
from him.

"Back then, he did some things that were hard to
figure out. Sometimes, I believe he had it out for me personally.
But I wasn't always easy to live with, either. It worked both ways
- my fault, his fault."

Cepeda's best year was 1961, but he was consistent in
1962, 1963 and 1964, hitting more than 30 home runs each season,
and finishing with 97 RBIs in each of the 1963 and '64 campaigns.
His ability was unquestioned, and Cepeda appeared to be a Hall of
Fame contender.

In 1965 he sustained an injury that limited him to 33
games. It probably cost San Francisco the pennant, although the
loss of Tommy Davis around the same time was an "equalizer" for the
Dodgers. After playing 19 games in 1966, Cepeda was traded to St.
Louis for left-handed pitcher Ray Sadecki, a 20-game winner for the
Cardinals who never panned out in San Francisco.

Cepeda hit .301 overall in 1966, but in 1967 he led
El Birdos
to the National League pennant . . . over the
Giants. One of his teammates was Roger Maris. The two stars who had
opposed each other in the 1962 World Series, both of whom had "worn
out their welcomes," found comfort in what many consider the best
baseball town in the Majors. Orlando had better years - he batted
.325 with 25 home runs and 111 runs batted in - but he assumed a
leadership role that he never had before. Playing in the shadow of
Mays, with McCovey battling for his position, at odds with Dark,
and beset by his own youth, Cepeda had not been in this kind of
position in San Francisco. He loved The City, but at the age of 30
in 1967, he reached a comfort level with St. Louis. The Cardinals
defeated the Boston Red Sox in the World Series.

In 1968 the Cardinals came within one game of a
repeat championship, but were beaten by Detroit in a seven-game
Series. Cepeda was traded to Atlanta, and in 1969 helped the Braves
win the National League West. From 1967-69, Cepeda's teams finished
in first place, always with San Francisco in second. It was a
period of vindication for him. He batted .305 with 34 home runs and
111 RBIs in 1970, but Cepeda's legs and various injuries took their
toll on him. Had he remained healthy he likely would have compiled
lifetime statistics worthy of Cooperstown, but it was not to be. He
made a brief return to the Bay Area, along with Matty Alou, when
Charlie O. Finley acquired him for the Oakland A's in 1972, the
year they won the first of three World Series. Injuries prevented
him from making any contribution, but the designated hitter rule
allowed him to make a comeback at Boston in 1973 when he batted
.289 with 20 home runs and 86 runs batted in. After playing 33
games for Kansas City in 1974, Cepeda retired with 379 career
homers and a .297 average.

In 1988 Cepeda and Dark reconciled at an old-timers
game. Dark apologized and Cepeda said he felt it took a big man to
do that. Cepeda, like Mays and McCovey, became a regular at Giants
games. When the club moved to Pacific Bell Park in 2000, they did
an excellent job of paying homage to their history. Rightfully,
Orlando was a big part of that. He maintained a home in Puerto Rico
but also lived in the Bay Area. His identity, despite success in
St. Louis and elsewhere, was with San Francisco.

Cepeda had on occasion brushed with the law, mainly
drug-related. Some speculated that being kept on the Giants'
payroll with little responsibility tended to lead him astray. His
drug problems were said to have kept him out of the Hall of Fame,
but in truth it was his knees, which prevented him from achieving
the 400 career homers that might have made the difference. Had he
batted .300 lifetime instead of .297, that might have helped.

Willie McCovey played 135 games in the outfield, 23
games at first base in 1963, when he materialized as a genuine
superstar with 44 home runs and 102 runs batted in. In 1964 he
played 83 games in the outfield, 18 games at first base, but
slumped badly (.220). In 1965 he assumed the first base position
from the injured Cepeda, hit 39 homers, and followed that up with
36 (1966) and 31 (1967).

Mays's productivity began to tail off markedly in
1967, and McCovey picked up the slack. He was
The Sporting
News
National League Player of the Year in 1968, when the "Year
of the Pitcher" apparently had no effect on him. Willie Mac slammed
36 homers, drove in 105 runs, and had a .545 slugging
percentage.

His best season was 1969, when his two home runs
earned him the MVP of the All-Star Game played in Washington, D.C.,
and he finished with 45 home runs, 126 RBIs, a .656 slugging
percentage and a .320 average. He was widely hailed as the most
feared hitter in baseball, and many felt of all time.

The Giants were a close second in 1969, but were
still second. Late in the season, they were beaten soundly by Tom
Seaver and the New York Mets. Seaver won 10 straight games to
finish 25-7, personally leading the "Amazin' Mets" to the East
Division title, the National League pennant and a World Series
victory. It was nothing less than spectacular. Seaver's season goes
down as one of the greatest in baseball history; his contributions
bordering on the other-worldly. It was considered a
fait
accompli
that he would win the Most Valuable Player award as
well as the Cy Young award, not to mention the Hickock Belt
(Professional Athlete of the Year) and
Sports Illustrated's
Sportsman of the Year honor.

However, two pitchers (Bob Gibson of the Cardinals,
Denny McLain of the Tigers) had won the MVP awards in 1968's "Year
of the Pitcher." Sandy Koufax had won the MVP award six years
earlier and very easily could have repeated the trick in 1965 and
1966. In response to pitching dominance, the mound was lowered in
1969, although it did not stop Seaver.

Many members of the Baseball Writer's Association of
America had been complaining that since pitchers had the Cy Young
award - which in 1967 became an award to the best pitcher in each
league, not just all of baseball - they should be excluded from MVP
consideration. They had "their own award" (the Cy Young) in the
view of some. When the BBWAA voted for the National League MVP in
1969, several excluded Seaver from their ballots entirely. The
system includes votes for one (the top pick) through 10. 10 points
are awarded for the first, eight for the third, one for the
10
^th
, et al. McCovey barely edged Seaver out. All the
Mets' pitcher needed was a couple of seventh or sixth place votes,
which he more than deserved by a long shot, but by being excluded
entirely he lost vital points that he needed to beat out
McCovey.

The vote, despite McCovey's great season, was
considered a fraud, especially from the influential New York media
base. Furthermore, the writers who excluded Seaver remained
anonymous. The BBWAA voted thereafter to publicly reveal the voting
of their members in future ballots, but Seaver was denied what was
rightfully his. A class act, Seaver never complained and had only
kind words for Willie Mac.

In 2001, McCovey and Mays were at Pac Bell Park. Both
displayed zero humility, bragging and talking themselves up like
there was no tomorrow. Mays, asked whether Barry Bonds's recent
500
^th
home run and good reception from the home crowd
reminded him of the moment in 1962 when the Candlestick fans
"warmed up" to him after favoring Joe DiMaggio, veered from the
essence of the question.

"You can't compare Joe to me," said Mays, as if Joe
D.'s World Championships, three MVP awards and general deity status
of the Yankee Clipper meant nothing. Mays went on to repeat his
memorized statistics, indicating he had been making this same
argument to anybody who asked long before this moment.

Then McCovey was asked about the 1969 MVP vote. He,
too, took umbrage at the concept that his obvious greatness should
be questioned. "Of course I deserved that award," said McCovey.
"Seaver had no business winning the MVP. I should have won it in
'68 instead of Bob Gibson, too."

In 1968 McCovey's Giants finished second to Gibson's
Cardinals. That was the year Gibson pitched 48 straight scoreless
innings and compiled a Major League record 1.12 earned run average.
Many consider it the greatest single season pitching performance
ever recorded, and Gibson was so obviously deserving of the award
over all challengers that he won it with 14 first place votes and
242 points. Cincinnati's Pete Rose, not McCovey, was second with
the Giants' first baseman a distant third. Pitcher Denny McLain won
unanimously in the American League.

McCovey was often given cover by the press, possibly
out of a sense of Political Correctness that is especially
practiced in San Francisco. He has always been described as a class
act, and in truth is a decent, enough fellow, but those who have
dealt with him personally have found him to be a piece of work.
When invited to functions such as golf club banquets and the like
he insists on payment, ostensibly referring to his "stature" as a
man. There is a racial twinge to his near-extortions, as if the
prejudice he experienced in the South of the 1950s must be "paid
for" by liberal whites in the Northern California of the 2000s.

McCovey hit 39 home runs and drove in 126 runs in
1970, but by 1971 his knees were aching. The pain had a
considerable effect on his performance, reducing him to 18 home
runs, but San Francisco still won in the West. He made a big
comeback with a 29-home run season in 1973, but was dealt to San
Diego for the 1974, 1975 and 1976 seasons. Early in 1976 he was
traded to Oakland, but in 1977 he came home to the Giants. He
ascended to godlike status, above and beyond anything Mays ever
experienced and was probably even more popular than Barry Bonds
later was. In 1977 McCovey hit 28 home runs, and in 1978
contributed a series of remarkable clutch hits as San Francisco
shocked baseball.

They led the two best teams in the league, Cincinnati
and Los Angeles, well into the summer before fading down the
stretch (with the Dodgers winning). Attendance and excitement
returned to Candlestick after a moribund period, helped by the fact
that cross-bay Oakland was a shell of their earlier dynasty.
McCovey struggled in his last two seasons, 1979-80, as did the
team. Interest again waned and he finally retired with 531 lifetime
home runs, a .270 average, and in 1986, induction to the Hall of
Fame.

The Giants, as with Mays, Cepeda and Juan Marichal,
did a good job of respecting their past, particularly when Pac Bell
Park was built. McCovey became a regular, hob-nobbing with fans,
players and writers. Beyond right field, past a walkway, a part of
San Francisco Bay was named McCovey Cove. Barry Bonds has been
virtually the only left-handed slugger able to reach it, but his
"splash shots" amidst kayakers and boaters have made for
spectacular visuals. A statue outside the stadium was erected for
McCovey, who for the most part has been a class act.

When Juan Marichal came out of game three of the 1962
World Series at Yankee Stadium, there was still some hope that he
might be available to pitch in some capacity later in the Series.
When it shifted to San Francisco and was delayed by rain, the
writers speculated that the "Dominican Dandy" might start game six
or seven.

"He won't pitch again in this Series even if it
rains for a week," Alvin Dark said. While the manager had Billy
Pierce and Jack Sanford ready, Juan took it that Dark was mad at
him, first for the bone fracture in his foot and second for the
hand injury he suffered in game four. The media took Dark to mean
this, too. It bothered Juan all winter. In 1966, a new set of
x-rays found the broken bone that 1962 x-rays had not!

Marichal recovered after 1962 to win 20 games six
times between 1963 and 1969, but in a league dominated by Sandy
Koufax, Bob Gibson and Tom Seaver, never won the Cy Young award. In
1968 he and Denny McLain threatened to win 30 games all summer.
McLain got there but Marichal finished 26-9 with a 2.43 earned run
average. With Gibson pitching St. Louis to the pennant and setting
the ERA record of 1.12, Marichal's best shot at the Cy Young fell
by the wayside.

Marichal was pleasant and intelligent. His marriage
to Alma was a good one and he was a fan favorite. He wrote a book
called
A Pitcher's Story
that, despite being ghostwritten by
Charles Einstein, reflected his unique voice, his Dominican
heritage, and gave insight into the Latino ballplayer's mind.
Still, a dark cloud seemed to hover above him. The controversies
with Dark started it, but when he clubbed John Roseboro over the
head with his bat in 1965, he was demonized, especially in Los
Angeles. He was sorrowful in the succeeding years, made up with the
Dodger catcher and, by 1971 when his 18 wins and victory on the
last day gave San Francisco the division, was as popular as any
Giant.