ROBBY AND GIBBY
Frank Robinson and Bob Gibson were cut from the same cloth. They thought the same way. Neither one would give you an inch. Robinson owned the right-handed batters box and leaned menacingly over the plate. Gibby, also known as “Hoot,” was one of the most intimidating pitchers in baseball history, willing to attack the hitter with a pitch — literally — if necessary. He had no qualms about sticking one in the batter’s ear or getting mighty close in an effort to mark his territory. Robby thought the plate was his and Gibson believed that he owned it. This mentality greatly contributed to the success each man enjoyed on the diamond.
Robinson’s Hall-of-Fame-worthy numbers included 586 HRs, 1,812 RBI, 2,943 hits and a line of .294/.389/.537 in a 21-year major league playing career (1956-’76). He was fearsome in all aspects of the game and a warrior on the basepaths, breaking up double plays and stealing 10 or more bases ten times. As Orioles teammate pitcher Dave McNally noted in John Eisenberg’s oral history of the team, “From 33rd Street to Camden Yards” (2000): “As good as Frank was, it was how hard he played that really made an impact. The intensity the man had was really incredible.”
In eleven National League seasons spanning 203 games against the Cardinals Robby had 220 hits including 46 home runs and 41 doubles. He drove in 127 runs and had a career batting average of .290 against the Redbirds. In showdowns with fellow HOFer Gibson, the Cardinals ace usually had the upper hand; Robinson hit only .229 (19-for-83) and struck out twelve times. But he also hit 4 dramatic HRs including extra-inning game-tying and ninth-inning walk-off dingers.
Gibson, a fierce competitor who pitched angry to put it mildly, did not like hitters period. He strongly believed that it was counterproductive to become friendly with hitters — not only the opposition’s hitters but all hitters. God forbid he should compromise his bread-and-butter pitch, the high, inside fastball. He once commented to venerable New York Times sports journalist Dave Anderson, “Pitchers ought to stay away from hitters. There’s no way Orlando Cepeda would’ve hit Juan Marichal as well as he did if Marichal hadn’t talked to him so much.”
He meant it.
Knowing a little something about fire in the belly, he also meant this: “Frank Robinson might have been the best I ever saw at turning his anger into runs. He challenged you physically as soon as he stepped into the batter’s box, with half his body hanging over the plate. His fearlessness played a tremendous part in making him the hitter he was. He practically dared you to clip him or knock him down and, when you did, he’d use it as intensity. He seemed to gain strength from it. If you couldn’t drive him off the plate — and you couldn’t — then you couldn’t take away his outside corner. I brought the ball in close to Frank Robinson…although I believe most pitchers tried him outside. The way he crowded the plate, they figured he was waiting to pounce on the inside pitch, but it seemed to me that he beat a hell of a lot of guys who pitched him away.
As a rule, I’m reluctant to express admiration for hitters, but I make an exception for Frank Robinson.”
Two peas in a pod.
Dating back to 1925, Baseball-Reference.com lists 350 instances of a player hitting a walk-off HR while trailing and his team down to their last out. Robinson is the only player in Baseball Reference’s 350-HR data set to accomplish the feat three times. The first time he did it, the pitcher was Gibson.
It came in the first game of a late-season doubleheader on September 19, 1964. One game separated the Cardinals (83–65) and the Reds (82–66) in hot pursuit of the first-place Phillies (89–60) who folded historically by season’s end. With 12 games to play the Phils, in first place since July 16 were 6 ½ games in front. Win and you’re in. They proceeded to lose 10 in a row in every conceivable way beginning with the Reds Chico Ruiz’ theft of home in a 1–0 loss and the “Phold,” as the streak was dubbed became known as one of the most memorable collapses in sports history. St. Louis ended up winning the 1964 NL Pennant with a record of 93–69, one game better than Philadelphia and Cincinnati who finished tied for second with identical 92–70 marks.
Ahead 5–0 after 3 innings with Gibby on the hill, all seemed right with the Cardinals’ world. Perhaps fatigued from his baserunning exploits — Gibson whacked three doubles in the game — he was unable to hold the lead, a rarity. Deron Johnson’s 3-run HR in the sixth trimmed the Cards’ advantage to 5–3 and Marty Keough’s homer in the eighth made it 5–4. Despite loading the bases in the top of the ninth St. Louis could not score and Cardinals skipper Johnny Keane allowed Gibson to try and finish it off; he may have had no choice as Gibson probably threatened to kill Keane if he lifted him. Gordy Coleman doubled to lead off the ninth and a young Pete Rose sacrificed pinch-runner Tommy Harper to third. Gibson struck out the carking pesky Ruiz looking but then walked Vada Pinson on a somewhat controversial 3–2 pitch. Up strode Robinson. It had not been a good day at the plate for him. He was 0-for-4 and had struck out representing the go-ahead run in the seventh. On Gibson’s first offering he blasted a 3-run homer to win the game. Final score: Reds 7, Cardinals 5.
About a month later Gibson found himself on the mound once again trying to gut his way to the finish, this time on two days rest. The final score here would also be 7–5 but the end-result was different. The Cardinals hung up the “7” in the clinching game of their 1964 World Series triumph (4–3) over the Yankees. Gibson (2–1; 3.00 ERA; 27 IP) was named the World Series MVP.
The name “Gibson” in the baseball lexicon evokes images of up-and-in fastballs; violently flying off the first-base side of the mound at the end of his delivery; a batter lying in a cloud of dust and the merciless, glowering figure on the mound never ceding ground and never, ever forgetting; the 1.12 ERA in 1968 with a BA against of .184; the most strikeouts in a playoff game — 17 — Game 1 1968 WS vs. Detroit; a postseason record of 9 GS, 7–2 W/L, 1.89 ERA, 81 IP, 55 H, 17 BB, 92 K; and a mixture of fear and respect.
Not to mention his stunning career numbers: 251–174 W/L; 3,117 K; 2.91 ERA; 9-time All-Star; 2-time WS champion; 2-time WS MVP; 2-time Cy Young Award winner; 1968 MLB ERA leader; 1968 NL MVP; MLB All-Century Team; and Hall of Fame (First Ballot-1981).
The anecdotes and quotes about Bob Gibson — including his words of self-assessment — are also the stuff of legend. To wit:
“Gibson was so mean, he’d knock you down and then meet you at home plate to see
If you wanted to make something of it.”
— Dick Allen
“I remember one time going out to the mound to talk with Bob Gibson. He told me to get
back behind the plate where I belonged, and that the only thing I knew about pitching
was that I couldn’t hit it.”
— Tim McCarver
“The only people I ever felt intimidated by in my whole life were Bob Gibson and my
Daddy.
— Dusty Baker
“Barry Bonds? I’ll tell you what, if he hit a home run off Gibson or (Don) Drysdale and
stood and admired it, they’d knock that earring out of his ear the next time up.”
— NL Umpire Doug Harvey
His disdain for speaking to an opponent well-documented, Hoot talked plenty when he thought the time was right.
“Have you ever thrown a ball 100 miles an hour? Everything hurts. Even your ass hurts.
I see pictures of my face and say, ‘Holy shit,’ but that’s the strain you feel when you
throw. I had one of those faces you look at it, man, and say, ‘Man he’s an ass-hole.’
Could be, depends on if you pissed me off or not.”
“I guess I was never much in awe of anybody. I think you have to have that attitude if
you’re going to go far in this game.”
“I heard he [John Milner] could hit.” (Reply to Hank Aaron when asked why he hit Milner).
“It is not something I earned or acquired or bought (the ability to pitch). It is a gift. It is
something that was given to me — just like the color of my skin.”
“In a world filled with hate, prejudice, and protest, I find that I too am filled with hate,
prejudice, and protest.”
“I owe the public just one thing — a good performance.”
“When I knocked a guy down, there was no second part to the story.”
“When I gave up a grand slam to Pete LaCock, I knew it was time to quit.”
“Why do I have to be an example for your kid? You be an example for your own kid.”
ESPN Senior Writer and foremost baseball authority Tim Kurkjian, was familiar with Frank Robinson’s brand of raging intensity. The 14-time All-Star and the first and only player to win MVP honors in both the National and American Leagues, he was also the first African-American to manage a major league game — April 8, 1975. It was Opening Day of the first of the two seasons Robby served as player-manager of the Cleveland Indians. Kurkjian recounts that when Robinson initially chose not to put himself in the lineup, well that simply wasn’t gonna fly. Phil Seghi, the Tribe’s GM implored Robinson to rethink it and pencil himself in maintaining, “Frank, this is your day.”
So Robby relented and hit second in his batting order. In his first at-bat before a crowd of 56,715 at Cleveland Stadium he fell behind the Yankees’ George “Doc” Medich 0–2. “Then he throws me this bastard slider just off the outside part of the plate,” Robinson recalled. “I thought, ‘This SOB is trying to strike me out on three pitches…on my day! He’s trying to embarrass me…on my day. No one does that to me.’”
On the next pitch, Robinson hit a home run to left-center field. The Indians won 5–3.
This was the essence of Frank Robinson described by Kurkjian to be, “as ferocious a competitor as ever played the game. No one played harder than Frank Robinson; no one valued winning more than Frank Robinson.” After he was traded from Cincinnati to the Orioles in 1966, he won the Triple Crown, the MVP and the World Series in the same season. New teammate and 16-time (consecutive) Gold Glove third baseman Brooks — the other — Robinson remarked, “Frank taught us all how to win.”
Along with winning the MVP in both leagues, Robby finished third in MVP voting twice; fourth twice; and in the top 10 a total of ten times. He won the NL Rookie-of-the-Year Award in 1956 at age 20, hitting .290 with 38 HRs. He led the league in slugging percentage, OPS and OPS+ four times including three years in a row (1960-’62). He also was the league leader in runs scored three times, in being hit by a pitch seven times and in intentional walks four times. Robinson is one of only eight players in the game’s rich history to rack up at least 2,900 hits and 500 HRs; another 14 homers and 57 hits would have placed him with Aaron, Willie Mays and ARod as the only ones ever with 600 home runs and 3,000 hits. Robby was hit by a pitch 198 times and knocked down plenty. His response, undoubtedly fueled by the same kind of anger Gibson harbored was to get up, dust himself off and wreak baseball havoc. Said he, “Pitchers did me a favor when they knocked me down. It made me more determined. I wouldn’t let that pitcher get me out. They say you can’t hit if you’re on your back, but I didn’t hit on my back. I got up.” He always seemed to play his best when he was angry.
Like Gibson, Robinson had a sense of humor under all that seething rage. He managed mostly lousy teams in Cleveland, San Francisco, Baltimore, Montreal and Washington but still posted a 1,065–1,176 (.475) record. Baseball lifer Buddy Bell, one of his former players in Cleveland noted that Robby “was the best judge of talent that I’ve ever seen.” In 1988 Robinson replaced Cal Ripken, Sr. as manager of the O’s after an 0–6 start. The club proceeded to lose the next 15 games and at 0–21 they set the record for most consecutive losses to open a season in baseball annals. Kurkjian recalled that following consecutive loss №20, a heartbreaker on the road to the Twins, Robby took the beat writers out to dinner after the game. Kurkjian asked him if he’d received any interesting calls of support during this terrible baseball siege. “Yeah,” Robinson said. “The president called me today.” “Seriously,” Kurkjian replied. “Has anyone interesting called you?” He repeated, “The president.” Kurkjian challenged him again and Robinson frostily said, “Damn it, I just told you twice. The president of the United States called me today.”
Finally taking the bait, Kurkjian asked, “What did the president say?” “He said, ‘Frank, I know what you’re going through,’” Robinson answered. “And I said, ‘Mr. President, you have no idea what I’m going through.’”
In 1965 when Cincinnati GM Bill DeWitt traded Frank Robinson for pitchers Milt Pappas and Jack Baldschun along with outfielder Dick Simpson, he justified one of the most lopsided baseball deals ever made by describing Robby as “an old 30,” suggesting he was past his prime. We know how that worked out. In his six seasons with the Orioles, he helped lead the team to four AL pennants and two World Series championships.
In the seventeen seasons (1959-’75) Bob Gibson pitched for his one and only team, the St. Louis Cardinals neither Anheuser-Busch, Gussie Busch, Bing Devine, Bob Howsam nor Stan Musial would have ever considered trading him. Anathema. Hell to pay. Rioting in the streets. And Gibby would have vaulted into attack mode.
He would have employed the same strategy all pitchers of the ’60s were reduced to using when bewildered by the prospect of facing Robinson, articulated near-perfectly by Sports Illustrated at the time. “The only way to deal with Robinson is to hit him before he hits you.”
Problem is it didn’t always work.
