It Figures: Strawberry Gets Big Hit

They called him “the next Ted Williams.”

There was that whipcord thin body, that tall commanding presence in the batter’s box. He didn’t so much swing at a ball as he lashed at it like a mule skinner waving a bullwhip over a borax team.

He is the most dangerous .269 hitter in baseball. You watch Darryl Strawberry play baseball and you can’t understand why he isn’t hitting .369, instead of .269, getting 200 hits, 160 walks and scoring a run every other at-bat.

I mean, he’s got Triple Crown (homers, batting and runs batted in championship) written all over him. Just standing still, he looks like a 3 for 4 hitter. No pitcher ever wants to pitch to him with men on base. No pitcher particularly wants to pitch to him with the bases empty.

But, if Dauntless Darryl has a flaw it is that, at the plate, he’s as easy to please as a sailor on leave. He is what I call a “Will Rogers hitter.” He never met a pitch he didn’t like. He likes them down in the dirt, over his head, way outside, way inside. It doesn’t matter to Strawberry. He dances every dance, he bets every card. All Darryl requires of a pitch is that it be thrown. A baseball is not for looking at.

It is what separates him from Ted Williams. Ted Williams did not, so to speak, wear his heart on his sleeve at the plate. He met a lot of pitches he didn’t like. They tell the story of that Ted Williams that a rookie pitcher one day served up to him what the rookie considered a perfect strike. “Ball one!” the umpire said. The rookie stormed. “What was wrong with that!” he raged. He served up another one. Williams disdained it. “Ball two!” the umpire ruled. The rookie slammed his fist. He wound up, threw again. Williams swung. And the ball went over the center-field fence. The ump looked at the rookie. “Son,” he said, “Mr. Williams will let you know when you throw a strike.”

Darryl Strawberry is not so picky. He walked only 85 times this year. Ted Williams used to walk 162 times a year. Babe Ruth walked 170 times one season.

But, if you had to pick one player to build a franchise on in today’s game, Darryl Strawberry would be that player. Only 26 years old, he has already hit 186 home runs. If you want to measure that accomplishment, Babe Ruth had hit only 162 by his 26th year. Willie Mays had 187. Ted Williams hit only 127, but that’s not fair because he spent 4 years in the Army.

So, Darryl Strawberry is not always a tough out, but he’s an important one.

In the ninth inning of Game 1 of the league championship series Tuesday night, Darryl Strawberry, all 6 feet 6 inches, 190 pounds of him, stepped into the batter’s box at Dodger Stadium and stood there , as menacing as a 1-iron.

On the mound, Orel Hershiser was pitching a game for the ages. He had just mowed down the Mets for his 60th to 67th consecutive scoreless innings. It is a record that won’t count (postseason is separated from regular season in the hieroglyphics of baseball). But it was an awesome demonstration of mastery of one’s craft.

Hershiser knew what he had to do with this frightening apparition at the plate--get him to swing at anything but a strike. Something that couldn’t possibly be hit over the right-field roof. Get him to go for a pitch that was just crying to be popped up, beaten into the ground, or, better yet, missed altogether.

There was a runner on second, the pesky Gregg Jefferies. The Dodgers were ahead, 2-0. They were trying to smuggle the game into the clubhouse.

At the plate, Strawberry kind of coils like a dangerous snake to reduce his considerable strike zone (It doesn’t always work, he strikes out between 122 and 141 times a year).

It was what the ballplayers call a “quality at-bat.” On the mound, Hershiser had thrown 91 pitches up to then, 61 strikes and 30 balls. He gave Strawberry ball No. 31, then strike No. 62.

It was a high-stake poker game. Darryl stepped out of the box twice, then three times. Then he fouled off three good pitches.

Then, Hershiser came in with the pitch he didn’t want to throw. On a count of 2-and-2, Strawberry ripped the ball into the gap in right-center field for a run-scoring two-base hit. It was, as it turned out, the old ballgame. It only pulled the Mets to within a run of the Dodgers, but if Darryl had made an out there, it’s all over for New York. The next batter walked, but the batter after him struck out for what would have been the third out. Strawberry’s hit broke more than Hershiser’s scoreless streak. It was Gettysburg. The turning point in the ballgame.

Among other things, it got Hershiser out of the ballgame, which may not have been the best idea the Dodger brain trust ever had.

But, Gary Carter’s “tweener” (too far out for the infield, too far in for the outfield) might never have been possible if Hershiser won his battle with Darryl Strawberry.

Darryl Strawberry is kind of the aggravating kid brother of the Mets anyway, kind of like the young sibling who hides behind the sofa when you bring a date home and then tells the neighborhood. Taking to the public prints in Esquire Magazine earlier this year, Darryl undertook to critique the play of several National League players last year. The bad news is, some of them were teammates. Darryl is an equal opportunity critic.

Darryl can be pardoned for forgetting whose side he’s on. Nearly 2 weeks ago, Darryl told the Times’ Ross Newhan he didn’t want to be on the Mets anyway, and the story ran on the eve of this series. Nothing personal. It’s just that they’re on the wrong coast.

Darryl is kind of a menace whether he’s got a microphone or a bat in his hand. Either way, you have to pitch him very, very carefully. Like the other Ted Williams he says what’s on his mind.

Also, he knows what to do with a strike.