The Last Inning
By STAN MUSIAL as told to Bob Broeg
Stan Musial bows out of baseball this year, leaving behind a record
certain to establish him in the Hall of Fame. As his last inning approaches,
here's what he can look back on:
Seven batting championships . . . three Most Valuable Player awards . . .
five home runs in one day . . . the National League career record for
doubles ... a share in the major-league record for getting five-hirs-a-game
four times in one season . . . being one of only eight players to collect
3,000 hits . . . and most All-Star appearances (19). His pinch single and
homer in this year's All-Star games brought tremendous ovations.
He ranks second only to Babe Ruth in extra-base hits and behind only
Ruth and Ty Cobb in total bases. He has played in more consecutive games
(895) than any other National Leaguer.
Here, then, is Stan's farewell to baseball, the game he loved and the
game he played as few did in the long history of the national pastime.
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I know it sounds unbelievable, but to me the greatest thrill in baseball has
been just putting on a big-league uniform day after day. So it figures
that the toughest moment for me is taking it off for the last time.
Except for reunions or special occasions, I doubt that you'll see my red No. 6
after this season because the St. Louis Cardinals have said they plan to
retire it and I know that I have no intention of returning as manager : '
or coach. . '-'
Managing is too tough. You have to be too many things to too
many people. Mostly you have to be unpleasant more than I care A " t.
to be. I never disliked anyone, not even the Ditchers I tried to K I
blast out of the box every time I stepped up to the plate.
You see, the kick out of just playing baseball was even
greater to me than the satisfaction of having been a poor
kid from western Pennsylvania who became famous and
wealthy. Imagine getting paid so much to play a boy's
game, a game other men regretfully outgrow only
because they have to earn a living.
I'm proud that I've become prominent. I'm happy
because my mother is pleased, my wife Lil, and our
children or at least three of our four. I'm afraid '
little Jeannie, just 1V4, came along too late to see
the "old man" hit one. Come to think of it, though,
my roly-poly youngest may show me a little more
respect than my son Dick did the evening I burst
through the door, head high, after becoming the first player
to hit five home runs in a double-header.
"Gee, Dad," said Dick, then 13, "they must have been
throwing you fat pitches today!"
Dick is nearly 20 now, a track
man and premedical student
at Notre Dame University.
I learned that blood really
was thicker than water
the first time I saw him
play prep-school foot
ball, and watched with
great pride as he broke away on a long touchdown run.
I think I was more excited then than the day the Cardinals upset the New
York Yankees to win the World Series in 1942, my first full
season in the majors. They say I almost bawled like a baby
when Lil and I left New York for Donora that night. We had
earned more in that World-Series week $6,000 than I'd
been paid all season.
My daughters Geraldine, 15, and Janet, 10, have seen to it, too,
that my retirement won't come as a complete letdown they've
never let me get too high! Three years ago when the Cardinals made
) a enrnrkinir npnnant. bid. and I won mv seventh battine title. I
might have had my ego fattened in some homes.
But my girls weren't interested in my .351 average. They
were only interested in having -me bring home to dinner
our phenomenal rookie pitcher Von McDaniel, 18, and the
Cardinal's handsome bachelor who played second base,
Don Blasingame, another bobby-sox idol.
During those wonderful years when I was fast
enough to get some "leg" hits along with the
line drives against and over the fences, I knew
there had to be a day when the speed would go,
when the bases would seem more than 90 feet apart, and the base
paths uphill all the way. But it was hard, I confess, to admit I was
an old Musial rather than the Musial of old.
I wanted to keep going because the thrill of putting on that uni
form was still there. I especially wanted to put together a per
formance this season so I could bow out gracefully. I've always
tried to be a team man first and to consider myself second,
but I confess I found riding the bench extremely hard to
take. I know now, even more than before, that I couldn't
sit there as coach or manager, powerless to help with
my glove or bat. I'm just not a cheerleader.
Baseball was always fun. Not now, though not
when there's a question whether I can
help or hurt a club or there's a doubt
Htffcv tnat 1 letul'n value, dollar lor aonai,
with interest.
If this, then, is to be my last inning and the time to take off my uniform, I at
least feel that the whole experience was really great while it lasted. I hope I'll
be remembered just as fondly as I'll remember baseball.
COVER:
The camera o Ozzie Sweet captures the
. benuti oj Zorada Johnson from Sarasota,
Fla. She's the third Miss Somebody in or
series, and her picture story is on page 10.
WeaJcJy
LEONARD S. DAVIDOW 'rrafrfrnf and I'ublislicr
WAITER C. DREYFUS Vice fresident
PATRICK E. O'ROURKE Adrertitiva Director
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