Dykstra a Nagging Pain to Pitchers

Following the adventures this year of Lenny Dykstra, the Philadelphia batsman romping in the latitudes of .400, Tony Gwynn finds his philosophy reaffirmed that today’s pitching is no deterrent to a hitter matching, or at least nearing, Ted Williams’ numbers of almost half a century ago.

It was 1941 that Ted hit .406, the last time in the majors one would enter the hallowed chamber of .400 artists.

George Brett came close 10 years ago. Flirting with .400 most of the season, he wound up with .390, never given the footnote he deserved.

George, you see, did much of the hitting while visited by hemorrhoids, a misery rising to its crest during the World Series when, after the first game in Philadelphia, George summoned his Kansas City manager, Jim Frey, begging for help.

Frey discovered it is easier to find a lawyer in Philadelphia than a proctologist. Finally locating a specialist, he got Brett to the man’s office where a poster appeared on the wall.

It showed a doctor inserting a firecracker in his patient. The caption read: “When conventional methods fail, we sometimes resort to extreme measures.”

Brett had his surgery done in Kansas City.

Without Brett’s affliction, Rod Carew walked the ledge of .400 most of 1977, closing at .388.

In 1987, his best season at San Diego, where he has finished as National League batting champion the last three years, Tony Gwynn hit as high as .370.

“At one point I had risen to .382,” he recalls. “But I went into a slump I couldn’t account for, except that I picked up a lot of media attention. Maybe I didn’t react to it as calmly as I should have.

“But I am sure someone will get to .400 before long. It’s overdue. Pitching is not the obstacle to it. Regardless of what you hear about pitching specialization, a guy throwing the ball must get it over the plate. And once he does this, he is vulnerable to being hit.”

“What would seem to be the problem then?” Tony is asked.

“I see four factors as uppermost,” he responds. “First, and most obvious, the batter must fall into a groove, swinging smoothly. Second, if he comes to the plate 700 times, he will need 100 walks. To hit .400, it might help to be injured for a while, playing just enough to make the 502 plate appearances required to keep a record official.

“Third, one needs luck--simple luck,” he says. “You need that ground ball that gets through, that pop fly that drops, that bunt that rolls to just the right spot.”

Once the foregoing are falling into place, Gwynn concludes that the only obstacle then remaining is the distraction posed by the media.

“You must be able to cope with the avalanche that will come down on you,” he says. “It is something that will follow you every day. It’s a problem that one who aims to hit .400 must deal with.”

“Would it keep you from hitting .400?” he is asked.

“At one point, it would have, but I don’t think it would today. My biggest handicap is impatience at the plate. I like to swing. I swing at times I shouldn’t.”

It is clear, though, that Tony swings a lot of times he should, proof of which is he is embarked on his eighth consecutive year of batting .300 or better for San Diego.

To the board of governors at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center, this achievement earns its award of baseball man of the year. Gwynn will pick up his decoration June 16 at the hospital’s annual charity dinner.

Lenny Dykstra at the plate hardly conjures up a picture of Ted Williams, which is to say, Lenny doesn’t dazzle you with his matchless form.

But Gwynn doesn’t sell that kind of hitter short.

“He has developed a lot of confidence,” Tony says. “He has located his groove. With luck, he could keep on going. One with the level swing and the temperament of Wade Boggs could put together a .400 season, too.”

For a spell in 1985, Boggs tap-danced at the .400 level, a marvel of steadiness for one booking a schedule so busy away from the park. When Williams hit .406, he wasn’t as active as Boggs, who succeeded in finishing at .368.

In Dykstra’s behalf this year, you want to remember that Brett in 1980 didn’t beat out a single bunt. And his speed to first was average at best.

Dykstra can bunt and he can run. And, unlike Brett, beset with his delicate problem in ‘80, Lenny has no malfunctions requiring help from the Philadelphia medical community.