The Oldest Face in Baseball

As the sun struggled to break through the morning fog that had descended over the Red Sox spring training facility in Fort Myers, Florida last week, a small 86 year old man with milky white hair, dressed in full uniform, approached newly acquired first baseman J.T. Snow and tapped him on the shoulder. When Snow turned around and looked down at the man, he was greeted with an outstretched hand. “Hi, I’m Johnny Pesky,” the man said. Snow, a 14 year veteran, stood shell-shocked, looking like a child being introduced to his favorite movie star. “Hi, I’m J.T. Snow,” is all he could muster, smiling sheepishly with an “of course I know who you are” expression on his face. All Snow need do is read the sign hanging above the field he was standing on -- Johnny Pesky Field.

Since debuting with the Red Sox in 1942 -- through 3 owners, 4 changes in spring training venue, 9 GM’s, 24 managers, and countless numbers of players, ranging from Yastrzemski to Garciaparra. His job title has also ranged nearly all capacities: player, manager, special assistant, and spring training instructor. In fact, the only years he was not with the team were 1943-45 (WWII), and 1952-54, when he was traded to the Tigers.

One would think that after 63 years in the Red Sox organization, Pesky would have had enough time in the sun, and would slip into obscurity along with other baseball legends of yesteryear. One would think that after the death of Ruth, his beloved wife of 60 years, Pesky would spend the years he has left enjoying his family and mourning the loss of his one true love. One would think that Pesky would finally listen to the brass of Major League Baseball and call it quits after they inexplicably banned him from wearing his uniform and sitting on the bench in 2004, claiming he was not an official coach.

After all, what more does he have to accomplish in the game? He led the American League in hitting the first three seasons of his career (1942-45), managed the Red Sox (1963-64, 1980), the Paw Sox (1990), and was inducted into the Red Sox Hall of Fame in 1995. He also has a piece of one of baseball’s most historic ballparks named after him (Pesky’s Pole), is one of the few people in the world to get close enough to Ted Williams to call the “Splendid Splinter” his friend, and was finally absolved of the “Pesky Held the Ball” incident in Game 7 of the 1946 World Series when the Red Sox buried the demons in 2004. Heck, he was even bestowed the honor of raising the Championship banner in center field during the Ring Ceremony on April 11, 2005 (along with Yaz).

Yet still he stands. And if you head down Interstate 75 to Edison Ave in Fort Myers this spring, you’re sure to see him strolling around, joking and jostling with players half his age, smiling ear to ear, and shaking hands with Red Sox fans of all generations. While the man you see is a far cry from the brashly handsome 23 year old who debuted for the Sox in 1942, don’t be fooled by his white hair, his slow walk, or his shaky voice -- Johnny Pesky’s passion for baseball and his love for the Red Sox is as strong as ever.

The Nine Gloveless Wonders of the World

What do a perennial all-star outfielder from the Dominican Republic, a first baseman with twelve letters in his last name, a veteran outfielder who plays for his dad and pees on his hands, and an outfielder named after a breakfast cereal all have in common? They all have money, fame, and fortune, in addition to their super human athleticism and incredible talent. More importantly, they symbolize four members of a unique baseball clique that seems to be shrinking by the day; a dying breed of ballplayer that prefers their tobacco unflavored, and their uniform left unwashed. The accolades needed to belong are not signified by home runs or RBI’s; but rather by blood blisters, calluses, and swollen fingers. Members of this group include Doug Mirabelli, Craig Counsell, Vladimir Guerrero, Doug Mientkiewicz, Moisus Alou, Jorge Posada, John Mabry, Bobby Kielty, and Coco Crisp. They all share an unspoken brotherhood - none of these nine men wear batting gloves.

First introduced by Bobby Thomson in spring training in 1949, batting gloves burst onto the major league scene in 1964 when Ken Harrelson of the Kansas City Athletics donned them. Designed to give players better grip on the bat while avoiding the painful calluses and blisters that naturally arise from swinging, batting gloves have evolved from a style originally designed for golf, to highly technical hand accessories. They have become essential to players of all ages, and come in every variety of color, and size.

The reasons that these nine particular players choose not to jump on the bandwagon vary man to man. Craig Counsell learned the practice from veteran teammate Mark Grace, while Moisus Alou uses urine to protect his hands rather than wear batting gloves. Some players do it to look tough, while others just never had them around as kids. In Coco Crisp’s case, batting gloves just never appealed to him, and simply are uncomfortable and unneeded.

However, with the growing popularity of batting gloves, sweat bands, Lance Armstrong wrist bracelets, shin guards, elbow pads, body armor, sun glasses, titanium necklaces, “breath-right” nasal strips, face masks and mouth guards, hitters today look more like characters from Transformers than ball players. In fact, any player who doesn’t accessorize sticks out from the rest. Stroll down to your local little league field and take a look for yourself; nearly every kid you see will have miniaturized batting gloves, wristbands, or some other doodad that is “corporation guaranteed” to help them achieve greater success on the field.

Yet, in an era where baseball has been irrevocably tarnished by steroids, bloated contracts, and expansion teams, it is important that the sport salvage some shred of the mystique and aura that have made it America’s favorite pastime. The overuse of these types of “sports accessories” is moving baseball closer to popular culture and farther from the pure game it was so many years ago. For every major leaguer who dons these accessories, hundreds of kids will do the same, thus perpetuating the transformation of baseball from a recreational sport into a sport personified by consumerism and fashion.

Not all wholesomeness has vanished from the game Alexander Cartwright envisioned in 1845. What remains is symbolized in the image of these nine men, stalking up to the plate, their hands as naked as they would have been when the first pitch was thrown in the 19^th century. And while their actual intention for batting barehanded has little to do with this greater cause, their fight is a noble one. If nothing else, they are unique and headstrong; ignoring the constant media blitz prodding them to buy, accessorize, and be cool. These barehanded hitters represent a time in the game that is vanishing as the years slide by.

Sometimes less is more. More glove-less heroes won’t necessarily bring back integrity to the game we love so dearly, but it’s a start.