High Heat Page 7

  With a new season set to unfold, the last glimpse many had of Price was of him celebrating on the mound, the fans at Tropicana Field ringing their cowbells after the last out against Boston. After such a marquee performance ESPN: The Magazine ranked Price, along with Matt Ryan in football and Ricky Rubio in basketball, as the top new faces in sports. But as spring training drew to a close in 2009, Price was having difficulty winning a spot on Tampa Bay’s major-league roster.

  It wasn’t that he was pitching poorly. It was just that others were arguably pitching better. And there were also complications. Two of the Rays’ other pitching prospects—Jeff Niemann and Jason Hammel—were out of options, meaning if they were designated to the minors another team could pick them up. Price didn’t fall into that category. So despite all the success of the previous season, not to mention his meteoric rise to the majors, it appeared Price would be opening the season back with the Triple-A Durham Bulls for more seasoning.

  “All I can do is throw well,” Price told MLB.com after his initial spring training appearance. “There’s a bunch of different stuff going on with that, so [I have to] just go out there and have fun.”

  Having fun can be difficult, however, when so much is on the line. Despite a maturity well beyond his 23 years, Price did let it slip how much he wanted to stick in the major leagues for good. Perhaps his patience was wearing thin after his success at the game’s highest level. Soon after arriving in camp, he told the St. Petersburg Times, “I want them to not be able to look me in the eyes at the end of spring training and tell me I’m going to Durham.”

  Yet, as the weeks passed under the Florida sun, that’s precisely where Price was headed to start the new season.

  Sometimes, late in the afternoon, the home phone will ring and I’ll know it has to be Phil Pote. Parson Phil, as he’s known to his friends, has been a professional scout for more than 40 years. He’s the guy who discovered such big leaguers as Bobby Tolan, Willie Crawford, and Bob Watson. Pote loves to talk baseball, especially about pitchers who can throw hard.

  “Where you heading next?” he asks. “Your grand tour of everything fastball?

  “Looks like to Durham, North Carolina,” I reply. “David Price isn’t going to make the big-league club.”

  “You had to except that.”

  “Why?”

  “It will take him longer to pick up major-league time beginning this season at Triple-A,” Pote says. “That will help when it comes to contracts and those types of things, which I don’t know anything about.”

  “But he’s been throwing great. You have to agree, he’s the next great phenom.”

  “Hey, partner, all young pitchers struggle,” Pote says. “Unless they’re Fernando Valenzuela. And you and I both know those kinds of arms come along once in a blue moon.”

  Pote’s right. Circumstance had placed David Price at a crossroads all too familiar to fireballers dating back almost to the game’s origins. No matter how great the gift, the potential that’s seemingly bestowed from above, everybody seems to struggle at some point. Walter Johnson, “the Big Train” himself, had to pay his dues on local ballclubs in southern California and was met with indifference in Tacoma, Washington, before coming of age in the frontier town of Weiser, Idaho— 2,500 miles from the team that finally signed him, the Washington Senators.

  The sheer ability to throw a baseball with great velocity often makes things appear easy early on, especially to those looking on from the sidelines. Perhaps this is what drives the ultratalented hurlers in our midst to such distraction. Everyone expects them too soon to win almost every outing, just because they can throw hard. But rarely does anything of genuine consequence and achievement happen without a little torment and perhaps a bit of heartache along the way. In every pitcher’s journey, there are obstacles to overcome. How they respond, and what they learn about themselves and the world in front of them, is often the tale. In the big leagues, it takes much more than being able to throw hard.

  As the Rays broke camp, ready to defend the American League pennant, the 6-foot-6 Price, easily their most promising and arguably their best-known pitcher, was already 592 miles away, as the crow flies, in Durham, North Carolina. The Rays’ management had decided the phenom needed more seasoning.

  “When we came into camp, we came in with an open mind, knowing full well that there were certain developmental issues that we wanted him to focus on and also the workload,” Andrew Friedman, the Rays’ executive vice president of baseball operations, told the Associated Press. “We had a lot of conversations about ways to get creative. And we went through it for the last two or three weeks at length and ultimately decided that—all things considered—this was the right move for David and in turn the organization.”

  Price had gone 2–0 with a 1.08 ERA in three appearances in spring training. Even though he kept his composure when meeting with the media after the decision, there was little doubt he felt he belonged with the big-league ballclub. “You come in here because you can play,” Price says. “And this team likes you, and they want to get more looks at you. You get sent down, that’s disappointing.”

  Many of the top fireballers who have preceded Price have gone through similar ordeals. The best not only survived; they rose to the occasion and often became icons of the game. As for the rest? They never came close.

  At first it can seem so easy. Just throw the ball to the catcher’s mitt and the sheer velocity, often coupled with great movement, makes the whole world sit up and take notice. But soon enough something more is asked of a fireballer. He’s urged to develop other pitches to complement his high heat. As Hall of Fame slugger Eddie Mathews once said, a good hitter “can time a jet coming through that strike zone if you see it often enough.” And for many in the game, that’s as good as gospel.

  To compound matters, coaches and managers often tell a hard-throwing prospect to take something off the fastball. How it’s better to gain an ounce of precious control. But what if you believed, deep in your soul, that you can win without such measures? That all this talk of compromise and strategy didn’t add up in some basic way? That it might take away from your talent—what got you here in the first place? At such a crossroads, a serious question is asked of anybody trying to bring a gift, something radical of purpose, into the world: Which voice do you choose to believe in? The experts’ or your own? Perhaps that’s how many become so lost so soon. A fear builds up inside that’s often at odds with the lessons being taught. Perhaps that’s how it was with one of the most enigmatic of fastball pitchers, Steve Dalkowski.

  At first glance, the left-hander from New Britain, Connecticut, didn’t look like much of an athlete. He stood 5-foot-11 and weighed maybe 170 pounds. But once he strode onto an athletic field, Dalkowski soon became the only show in town. On the football field, he was the quarterback of the New Britain Hurricanes’ 1956 state champions, breaking the school’s passing records and twice earning an honorable mention on the state’s all-star teams. Still, it was on the diamond that the legend of Steve Dalkowski grew to unprecedented proportions.

  New Britain’s nickname is the “Hardware City.” Stanley Works, Corbin Locks, and North & Judd all called it home. Dalkowski’s father worked in the town’s electric-tool plant and played shortstop in an industrial league. He trained his son to play the outfield, but once Steve Jr. got a chance to pitch there was no looking back.

  For old man Dalkowski, the stations of life flowed between the plant, home, and the local tavern. He, like many of his working-class buddies, drank hard on the weekends and by the time Steve Jr. reached high school he was already following in his father’s footsteps. Word had it that Steve Jr. liked his beer and regularly hung out with older guys who could get it for him. Still, in high school, Dalkowski kept his nose clean. He never missed practice and was in good shape. It wasn’t until well after his high school graduation that reports trickled out, from Pat Jordan and others, that he had been pulled over at least once during his schoolboy days for drunk
driving.

  All of that was on the far periphery during those glory days in New Britain. Despite his slender stature, Dalkowski had big hands, gangly limbs, and a nasty whipping motion to his delivery. Even though he didn’t receive much instruction from his Little League coaches, the buzz around town was the kid could throw. By eighth grade, his father didn’t dare play catch with him anymore. Junior’s fastball was too hot to handle. In fact, it was fast and getting faster, and the general consensus soon became to leave well enough alone. The kid had the gift and soon nobody could remember a pitcher from their part of the world throwing as hard as Dalkowski.

  The left-hander made his first high school start in the spring of 1955, his sophomore year. He gave up seven hits against Bristol, a respectable showing. Those seven hits would be the most Dalkowski would give up until the final game of his high school career against Hartford Bulkeley—when he made his second appearance on the mound in three days.

  Early in his junior year, in a game the local newspaper billed as “the great battle of southpaws,” Dalkowski lost a 1–0 decision to Hartford Public’s Pete Sala. Sala was impressive, striking out 17. But Dalkowski, in a losing effort, fanned 20. After he struck out 20 more in his next start, New Britain had itself a new local hero.

  Crowds of 700 or more began to look on at Walnut Hill Park, the ballclub’s home field. The crowds continued to swell after Dalkowski fanned 20 batters for the third consecutive game, this time against Hillhouse of New Haven. But Hurricanes fans also suffered from “nervous indigestion,” according to local newspaper accounts, as Dalkowski also walked 13 that day. Soon his pitching line read like a misprint. Hits were inconsequential to nonexistent. Strikeouts and walks were sky-high—two stats that for Dalkowski would become forever linked.

  After Dalkowski finished his junior year by fanning “only 13,” he headed directly to the American Legion season. It was there that the issue of control became a major concern. In his first game that summer, Dalkowski allowed only one hit. But he walked eight and had five wild pitches. When he could put the ball over the plate, though, nobody could lay a bat on it.

  In his second start for the Eddy Glover Post team, Dalkowski struck out 26. In the 8–0 victory, he gave up only one hit. Four days later, he was even better—pitching a no-hitter against Bristol. He struck out 21 and walked only five.

  The following week, against league-leading Southington, it appeared that Dalkowski would lose despite giving up no hits. Thanks to walks and wild pitches, Southington held a 1–0 lead going into the final inning. But after a teammate singled, Dalkowski came to bat and gave the opposition a taste of its own medicine. He worked a walk and eventually came around to score the winning run. Dalkowski had now pitched back-to-back victories, and both were no-hitters. He fell just short of recording three consecutive no-hitters when he lost the next game, 1–0, allowing a lone hit.

  “It was easy then,” Dalkowski remembers. “It was like just handing the catcher the ball. If I didn’t strike out 18 a game, it was a bad day.”

  Back in the 1950s, high school sports weren’t that far removed from Bob Feller’s era. Spring and summer were for baseball, winter for basketball, and in the autumn football was the game. Athletes, no matter how much they excelled in a particular sport, rarely focused on it year-round. So, it wasn’t that far-fetched when Dalkowski was named to the National High School All-America team in football, too. Still, he knew his future was in baseball. Just before his senior season, he told a local reporter that he planned to attend Seattle University, but only if he didn’t sign a major-league contract.

  On April 16, 1957, New Britain was scheduled to open a new season at Walnut Hill Park against East Hartford. Of course, coach Billy Huber wanted to go with his ace, Dalkowski. But in the days leading up to the game, Dalkowski was reportedly “below par,” suffering from a cold.

  “He hasn’t been feeling well,” Huber told the New Britain Herald, “but I’m fairly certain he’ll be pitching this afternoon.”

  For a pitcher who was under the weather, Dalkowski served notice that his senior year would be one to remember. Remarkably, he delivered a no-hitter against East Hartford, striking out 20. Along the third-base line, fans stood several rows deep. Afterward, in newspaper accounts, park officials were chided for not having enough bleachers set up to accommodate everybody.

  Among those attending his games were scouts from a dozen or more major-league teams. They included some of the best in the business—Fred Maguire of the Red Sox, Bill Enos of the Athletics, and Frank “Beauty” McGowan of the Orioles.

  A handsome man with silver-gray hair, McGowan was known for being a fashion plate and a fine judge of baseball talent. After playing for three teams as an outfielder in the majors, he had become a key man in the Orioles’ scouting department. The ballclub was known for doing its homework and during its heyday signing such major-league stars as shortstop Mark Belanger, catcher Andy Etchebarren, infielder Davey Johnson, and pitchers Dave McNally, Darold Knowles, and Jim Palmer. Still, the Orioles weren’t opposed to rolling the dice on this hard-throwing, yet unassuming prospect.

  Even in pitching a no-hitter on Opening Day, Dalkowski exhibited traits that would eventually test the best professional coaches and instructors. Even though Dalkowski had the game well in hand (there were only three putouts by Hurricanes outfielders), he did get the local crowd buzzing in the middle innings by throwing a ball 10 feet over a batter’s head. “But to fans who have followed his high school career closely, the promising major league prospect showed more polish,” the Herald read the next morning. “For one thing he did not seem to be striving to ‘blow down’ every batter.”

  A week later, against Weaver High School, before another large crowd at Walnut Hill, Dalkowski recorded his second consecutive no-hitter. What he had done the previous summer in American Legion play was indeed a harbinger for the high school campaign. He had plenty of speed. Now could he only harness it?

  “The whole town’s talking about the Dalkowski boy, and it’s easy to understand,” read the lead sports story in the Herald. “In pulling his Johnny Vander Meer act before the largest crowd to see a high school baseball game here in years, Steve had all kinds of control trouble and issued 11 walks, hit a batsman and uncorked a wild pitch.”

  During the game, New Britain Herald sports columnist John Wentworth remembered talking with an old-timer behind home plate when Dalkowski “cut loose with a torrid fastball,” which eluded catcher Bob Barrows and hit up against the wire-mesh screen behind home plate.

  “Looks to me,” the old-timer told Wentworth, “as though the boy needs to be tamed down just a might. He’s got a live pitch though, hasn’t he?”

  Due to wild pitches and walks, the game, which started at 3:30 p.m., didn’t end until 6:45. Still, observers said that Dalkowski didn’t appear fatigued and was throwing just as hard to the final batter as he did to the first.

  Any chance of a third consecutive no-hitter soon ended in the next game against New London. In the third inning, after walking a man, Dalkowski gave up a home run to deep left-center field. In the return match against New London, though, he gained a measure of revenge. Before 800 fans and scouts now representing every major-league team, he struck out a state-record 24 batters in a 5–0 shutout victory. In giving up four hits, Dalkowski threw 123 pitches. Of course, today, in the age of pitch counts, no major-league prospect would be allowed to throw anywhere close to that many pitches.

  In his senior year, the Hurricanes finished with a 9–5 record, good for second place in the Capital District Conference. Dalkowski’s high school career included two no-hitters, four one-hitters, and six two-hitters. In three seasons, he struck out 311 and walked 181.

  “The walk figure is clearly indicative of Dalkowski’s need to better his control,” wrote Ken Saunders, another local columnist, “but this may come as he gets more experience in fast company.”

  For good or ill, fast company was certainly on the horizon for Dalkowski. The
night of his high school graduation, when he became officially eligible to sign a big-league contract, every ballclub except the Cleveland Indians had a scout visit his home. Dalkowski decided to go with McGowan and the Orioles, due in large part to the amount of money the team offered him under the table. Back in 1957, major-league teams were prohibited from officially offering a prospect more than $4,000. Of course, the Orioles offered that, plus a new Pontiac car and at least $12,000 more under the table. Years later, Dalkowski claimed that amount was $40,000.

  “When I signed Steve in 1957, he was a shy, introverted kid with absolutely no confidence,” McGowan later told pitcher-turned-writer Pat Jordan. “Even in high school he walked everybody. But we gave him a $4,000 bonus, the limit at the time, because [Orioles pitching coach] Harry Brecheen said he had the best arm he ever saw. Everyone knew it was a gamble, but we all thought it was worth it.”

  Of course, the Rays have far more invested in David Price these days. About $8 million. With so much on the line, plenty of folks were keeping an eye on him at the start of the 2009 season, and few were as knowledgeable or as experienced as pitching coordinator Dick Bosman. An 11-year journeyman in the majors, Bosman once threw a no-hitter against Oakland and posted the American League’s best ERA in 1969. But he never threw anything that came close to Price’s stuff.

  “When guys have good arms,” he says, “you generally sit up and take notice because of the way the ball comes out their hand. By that I mean that it has life. The ball sizzles a little bit. It’s not only fast, but it moves. David’s ball has all those things.”

  By spring 2009, Bosman had seen the promising left-hander pitch as much as anybody in the Rays’ organization. During the season, Bosman travels between the Rays’ four full-season minor-league teams and three short-season ballclubs. He first witnessed Price in action almost two years before—back when the phenom arrived in the Rays’ minor-league system. His immediate reaction? “He was mature beyond his years.”