Neighbor News
Ted Williams and the Eephus Pit6ch
by Virginia Hanley
This post was contributed by a community member.
... memories of the 1946 All Star Game
Anticipation filled the air on that July day in 1946 as the crowd moved
out of the subway entrances and parking lots and headed to Fenway Park.
The war was over. Most of the men had returned from the various
services. Everyone had a tremendous feeling of relief and happiness. We
had won! It was in this mood of joyful anticipation that Boston prepared
to welcome the elite of the baseball world to Fenway Park to play the
1946 All Star Game.
I had been a Red Sox fan all my life. The day my mother brought me
home from the hospital in 1927 (I was two weeks old) my papa and I
listened to the ballgame on the radio. I started going to the games with
my two older brothers when I was 8 or 9 years old. I missed seeing Babe
Ruth play but my brother Jimmy saw him play for the Boston Braves. I
was there when Ted Williams broke in with the Sox along with Dom
DiMaggio, Johnny Pesky, Bobby Doerr, and the two new pitchers, Tex
Hughson and Dave Ferris.
The sun shone brightly on us as we walked down Landsdowne Street and
entered Fenway Park. The hawkers were out in full force, selling caps
and shirts and programs ("getcha programs here, can't tell the players
without a program.") That was a laugh to us. WE didn't need any
programs. Even if the players didn't wear numbers, everyone who sat in
the bleachers could identify every player on the field. There were not
as many pushcarts as there are nowadays and they did not have as large a
selection of souvenirs but they were a basic part of the baseball
experience.
I
don't remember how we got the tickets. I suppose Jim had just gone in
to Fenway Park and bought them. He had returned from the war in the
spring of '46 and had not yet found a job. The seats were in the right
field bleachers and filled up rapidly. The whole park was sold out; in
those days I think the capacity was just under 14,000. Everyone was in a
relaxed, happy mood. We had won the war and most of our favorite
players had come home safely. The men in the stands had fought in the
same battles as the athletes and shared memories that they never spoke
of to us "civilians". There was a strong feeling of togetherness in the
crowd, both on and off the field.
Among the pitchers on the National League team was a man named Luke
Sewell. He was noted for throwing a particular pitch that he called his
"eephus" pitch. I don't think he ever explained what "eephus" meant,
probably nothing. He would stand on the mound and throw the ball
straight up in the air. It would gradually curve over and float down to
the plate. As the batter watched it, the ball would come down at an
angle over the plate and it was very difficult to swing the bat at just
the right moment to make contact with the ball.
Everyone was looking forward to seeing how Ted Williams would handle
this strange pitch. Since Williams and Sewell played in different
leagues, they would not meet in a regular game during the season. He
already held the record for the highest batting average, .406 in 1941,
and every year he was in contention for the highest average for the
season. It was late in the game when they finally faced each other. Both
players wanted to prove they were equal to the challenge.
Williams settled himself in the batter's box. Sewell went into his
stretch and threw the ball in the air. Williams watched as it began its
descent toward the plate. The ball seemed to hang there forever. Then,
he tensed his arms, swung the bat, and missed! The crowd groaned.
Both players relaxed, stretched a bit, and then settled down.
Sewell threw the ball up. Williams waited, waited, squinted a bit harder
and with a solid whack sent the ball flying out towards right
field over our heads for a home run. No, we didn't catch it. We were too
busy jumping up and down and screaming like madmen.
previously published
July 2, 1999
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