The Futility Infielder

The game of baseball lost one of its more endearing personalities yesterday when Tug McGraw died of brain cancer at age 59. I have fond memories of Tug as a Phillie, the ace reliever for the loyal opposition to my Dodgers in the late '70s and early '80s. I enjoyed pulling for the Phils in the 1980 postseason; McGraw's triumphant, arms-up celebration after striking out Willie Wilson to win the World Series is one I and every baseball-loving kid my age re-enacted countless times in our own yards and imaginations. Now, like his opposite number in that Series, the Royals' zany reliever Dan Quisenberry, McGraw's been taken from us too soon.

In 1969, McGraw was part of the amazin' crop of young Mets pitchers -- along with Tom Seaver, Jerry Koosman, and Nolan Ryan -- who helped to turn the game's laughingstock into a World Champion. Perhaps most famously, he coined the rallying cry, "You gotta believe," which inspired the pennant-winning 1973 Mets. On August 20 of that season, the team stood at 55-67, in last place and 7 games out of first in a tightly-bunched NL East. Over the next six weeks, McGraw reeled off 5 wins and 12 saves while allowing only four runs in 41 innings. At 82-79, the Mets won their division by 1.5 games, upset the heavily-favored Cincinnati Reds in the NLCS, and lost a seven-game World Series to the defending-champion Oakland A's.

McGraw went on to pitch ten years for the Phillies, a span during which they won six division titles, two pennants, and their only championship in franchise history. As the man attached to the team's defining moment, McGraw is being mourned as royalty today, his passing front page news in the Philadelphia Inquirier, with about a dozen features attached to the story. Dave Anderson of the New York Times has some fond memories of McGraw's time in New York, while Frank Litsky has the Times obituary, which includes some touching words from the late, great Red Smith: "He is a beautiful guy, a sensitive, emotional, demonstrative, genuine, outgoing, affectionate, exuberant, sad and sometimes irresponsible human being... left-handed and lighthearted and not necessarily more predictable than the screwball he throws, but he is no dummy."

McGraw was one of the game's eminently quotable players, coming up with some beauties:

• On the difference between natural and artificial playing surfaces: "I don't know, I never smoked Astroturf."

• On his physique: "I have no trouble with the twelve inches between my elbow and my palm. It's the seven inches between my ears that's bent."

• On signing a new contract: "Ninety percent I'll spend on good times, women and Irish Whiskey. The other ten percent I'll probably waste."

• On pressure: "Ten million years from now, when then sun burns out and the Earth is just a frozen iceball hurtling through space, nobody's going to care whether or not I got this guy out."

• His fastballs, which he named: the Peggy Lee (which had batters asking "Is that all there is?"), the Bo Derek ("the one with a nice little tail on it"), the John Jameson (straight as Irish whiskey), the Cutty Sark (it sailed), and the Titanic (it sank).

It's rare when a sports figure can be recalled with affection by fans in two cities with such a heated rivalry. But today we all agree on something: Tug McGraw was a rare individual.