Catcher Is Baseball’s Nastiest Position and Battle Scars Show It

Baseball’s inventors met on the shore of Lake Otsego in Cooperstown, N.Y., one summer afternoon in 1839. They skipped stones on the water and set forth the grand rules that would govern their new game. Each distance was measured, and all eight positions were assigned specific duties. Then one of the inventors, a sadistic little fellow who had just completed his plebe year at West Point, put forth a theory.

“This game’s too easy,” he said. “People are crossing the continent in covered wagons. They won’t buy this game. We need to toughen it up.”

The others reviewed their notes and agreed: There was too much running across green fields, too many peaceful hours in the sun, too many chances to forget life’s worries. They needed some balance.

The sadistic little fellow proposed a ninth player, someone whose main purpose would be to spare the pitcher the duty of walking to the backstop to retrieve pitches that went unhit.

“We’ll put him right behind the batter,” the sadist said, rubbing his hands together. “He’ll be close enough that any foul ball that barely nicks the bat will have a real good chance of hitting him in the shoulder, the throat--maybe even someplace worse.”

Soon the others caught the spirit.

“Let’s call him the catcher,” said one.

“Yeah,” said another, “and we’ll make him squat, too.”

It’s a nasty position, insidious in its destruction, almost sarcastic in its injustice. It spreads the game out in front of a man, gives him the best view in the house, then it blindsides him with a foul tip to an unprotected limb.

It calls for the donning of a clumsy exoskeleton, one that manages simultaneously to cover most and ignore much. It gives a man the pleasure of taking part in every pitch, then it dares him to try and beat out a slow roller in the late innings.

Perhaps its ultimate paradox comes late in a catcher’s career, when he finds that his knowledge of the game has reached a peak just as his physical ability to perform abandons him.

Catching is Terry Kennedy waking up in the middle of the night, convinced his hips are on fire. It’s John Stearns, formerly of the New York Mets, holding the baseball while he looks down the third-base line and sees a young Dave Parker, 6-foot-5 and 230 pounds, charging full speed. It’s Geno Petralli catching Nolan Ryan’s fastballs one day, Charlie Hough’s knucklers the next.

You want glamour? Pitch. You want fun? Play short. You want it easy? Take first base.

You want to work? Catch.

For those who catch, the dirt cutout around home plate is baseball’s briar patch. Sure, they complain about broken fingers and creaking knees. They wonder if they’ll walk at 50. But there is one hidden truth behind it all: They wouldn’t play anywhere else.

“I’ve been out in the field,” the Giants’ Kennedy said. “I feel lost out there without my gear on. It’s like being naked. When you play somewhere else, it’s like you’re not working.”

From behind bars, catchers get a broad, sweeping view of the game. They can see, are EXPECTED to see, when the pitcher is dropping his arm on the breaking ball, when the outfielders are playing too deep and when a runner’s lead is too big.

“There’s a different feeling when you’re back there,” Giants catcher Gary Carter said. “You’re the only player in foul territory. Everything’s right there, right out in front of you. It’s hard to beat that. You just want to be able to be a part of everything.”

A catcher needs more than physical tools to deal with the position. There is a certain amount of psychology involved in knowing when to shut up and when to blister some ears.

“I’m not usually one to go out and use that reverse psychology stuff,” Kennedy said. “I’ll never go out there and say, ‘Man, you’re horsebleep.’ Sometimes you do have to get them going, but my approach has been one of commiseration, not confrontation. . . . “

“Of course, if you do get mad, there are things you can do. You can get about 30 feet from him and throw it as hard as you can, usually at his ankles. They don’t like that. But hey, what are they going to do? They can throw it in the dirt, but they do that anyway.”

Carter has caught more than 1,800 games in the big leagues. He has had four operations on one knee. Both of his thumbs have been broken.

“No question the position takes its toll on the body,” Carter said. “I’ll be the first one to admit that. Look at these knees. The way salaries have escalated in this game, a lot of young players look at catching and say, ‘Hey, why should I abuse my body if I can play another position?’ ”

The reasons are many and varied, but the fact remains: Kids don’t want to catch.

“The biggest problem is that kids today have too many comforts, and they just don’t like to get banged around,” said Bob Fontaine, the Giants’ director of player development.

Said Bill Wight, a national scout for the Atlanta Braves: “What a kid doesn’t realize is that if he can catch and throw, he’s going to get drafted. I guarantee it. If he can catch and throw and hit, he’s a first-round pick. Automatically. You can’t go wrong drafting a catcher. Everybody’s looking for them.”