It’s a Crime What Butler Does to Them

A lot of people, on hearing the name for the first time, think it refers to that character out of “Gone With the Wind.” The wags used to want to know how Scarlett was these days. But what Brett Butler really is, is a throwback.

Modern ballplayers are pitchers’ delights. They come out of the dugout swinging. I call them “Will Rogers hitters.” They never met a pitch they didn’t like.

A public misconception is, pitchers hate to see home run hitters come up to the plate in tight situations. Not really so. Pitchers love those big, free swingers with the 360-degree loop in their cut at the ball.

Pitchers hate Brett Butlers. They are as annoying as a pebble in your shoe. Or a visit from poor relatives.

Sometimes it’s a little hard to fathom, because Butler usually spots the pitcher one strike. He swings at the first pitch about as often as your brother-in-law grabs a check. The pitcher knows he’s got a free toss.

The Butler strategy is twofold: He wants to see what the pitcher’s got, how he throws--and he wants to tire him out.

“I had an at-bat one night that took 16 pitches,” he says. “One time, I had two at-bats that took 54 pitches.

“I try to wear him out. I try to be a pest up there.”

It’s a lost art. Batsmen today pride themselves on being “aggressive.” English translation: non-selective. You attack everything. You almost need a license to walk a batter today. The pitcher’s wild streak used to be an integral part of baseball. Batsmen today won’t let a pitcher get in one. It is not unusual for a hitter to swing on a 3-and-0 count against a pitcher after he has walked two or more hitters.

The batter would almost rather strike out today than not get a hit. In 1949, in an eight-team American League, 5,627 batters drew bases on balls. In 1972, in a 12-team league, 5,985. All the records for fewest-walks-per-season are held by players today. Ozzie Guillen of the White Sox walked only 12 times, two seasons in a row, the all-time record for fewest walks. The batters’ theory today is, you hit anything that doesn’t hit you first.

While walks decline, strikeouts rocket. In 1924, 3,239 batters struck out in an eight-team American League. In 1987, 13,442 batters struck out. Even allowing it was a 14-team league, the proliferation of whiffs is impressive.

Do pitchers have better control today? Probably not. More likely, the batters have worse.

Butler tries to turn the clock back on the pitchers. That’s one big reason he’s being honored at the Beverly Hilton tonight by the Cedars-Sinai Medical Center’s Sports Spectacular as baseball man of the year.

Every time they look up there and see this pesky 5-foot-10, 155-pound Dennis the Menace, the pitchers want to throw up.

“He makes a three-act opera out of every at-bat,” pitcher Rick Mahler once complained.

“He goes 3-and-2 in batting practice,” Tim Belcher grumbled.

Butler is not only a fastidious hitter, he scouts the fielders as carefully as a pickpocket. If the infield is cheating in on him, he slaps the ball into shallow left.

“He wears out left field,” pitcher Mike Krukow has observed.

If they’re playing deep, he drags a bunt into the blank spaces. Blessed with above-average speed--he has stolen more than 50 bases twice during his career--he got 62 “leg” hits (bunts or grounders beat out) last season and has more than 20 this season. He customarily beats out 20 or more bunts a season.

“He plays the infield like a pool table,” Tom Lasorda said.

It wasn’t always thus. Butler thought he was going to be the new Sultan of Swat when his career got started.

“In college, I pulled everything,” he recalls. “I used a big 35-inch, 33-ounce bat. I hit 31 homers in college.”

Then, in the minors, in Bradenton, Fla., a coach, Pedro Gonzalez, looked at this budding Bambino trying to hit the ball in the Manatee River, then pulled him aside and offered, “Kid, you want to get to play in the big leagues? Then you hit the ball on the ground and run like hell. Leave the home runs to the guys named ‘Moose’ or ‘Muscles.’ You can’t pull a major league fastball into the seats.”

Brett took the advice. Instead of becoming a .230 hitter with 15 homers per season, he became a .290-.300 hitter with five.

Butler became “Who is that blankety-blank little pest with the movie name?” to the league pitching staffs. He looked over pitches like a guy picking diamonds out of a pile of glass. He looked at 3,064 pitches last year. That would be a lifetime for Guillen.

He came with first base attached. He was a .400 hitter in one sense--he was on base 40% of the time. He made first base 291 times last year--on 182 hits, 108 walks and once as a hit batsman. He led the league in runs with 112, but he does that every year. Six out of the last eight years, he has scored more than 100 times.

Why are the Dodgers like an English royal family? They are totally dependent on their Butler.

It’s not a part for Clark Gable, it’s a part for Arthur Treacher. Everyone knows that good Butlers are hard to find. Particularly those who don’t swing at the first pitch. And, if the Dodgers are ever going to pull out of their slump, it’s going to be like an Agatha Christie movie. You better keep your eye on the Butler.