This BAT Hits 1.000

The voice on the other end of the phone bordered on desperate. It was the voice of a man who had reached the end of his rope, a man in deep trouble.

Nick Willhite was thumbing through his phone book, looking for his parents’ number, when he came across the number of old teammate Stan Williams, a longtime major league pitcher. He dialed and began talking to Williams, who was about to make the biggest save of his career.

Willhite was locked in the depths of alcoholism, alone after his wife and children had left him, a man cornered, out of hope and in need of help.

“He was ready to take a high dive off a bridge,” said Ralph Branca, chairman of the Baseball Assistance Team, which looks after ex-ballplayers who have fallen on hard times.

Williams knew about BAT’s work and when Willhite called, he contacted Branca. Within 36 hours, the pitcher was in rehab, taking the first tentative steps to recovery.

Some time later, Willhite got up at BAT’s annual dinner and told the gripping story about how the organization helped him reclaim his life. The room was deathly silent as he went through this personal catharsis, a story that left many in the crowd with tears in their eyes.

Once a promising left-handed pitcher--he threw a shutout in his major league debut with the Los Angeles Dodgers in 1963--Willhite drifted badly after that. He lasted just five seasons, through at age 26 with the rest of his life still ahead of him and ill-prepared for it.

It is a story Branca hears frequently, but maybe not frequently enough.

“Baseball is unique because the careers are so short,” he said. “Suddenly, they’re out in the world, forced to cope. Even though they make a lot of money, that doesn’t make them smart. They get bad advice and the money runs out. Guys hit a plateau. They’re not getting a big income anymore.”

Most of those in trouble are old-timers, who left the game before it became a big bucks business. But it can happen to anyone. There is at least one high-profile player who signed a fancy multimillion-dollar free-agent contract and had a hired driver taking him to and from games. He surfaced recently selling some of his memorabilia.

BAT is in the business of helping. It has helped journeymen players and it has helped Hall of Famers. The recipients are anonymous. But identifying those who need the aid sometimes is tricky.

“Guys will not ask for help,” Branca said. “They are too proud. Part of what makes them ball players is that ego and that pride. They don’t admit failure and need. Guys who are struggling don’t want to talk about it. They want to struggle through.”

BAT doesn’t think the struggle should be necessary.

The organization had its beginnings in 1986, during the administration of commissioner Peter Ueberroth as a joint effort between Equitable Insurance and major league baseball. It continues to receive considerable funding from the commissioner’s office and relies on corporate contributions as well as receipts from its dinner to distribute between $750,000 and $800,000 to needy players and other members of the baseball community.

In a business where the average salary is $1.9 million, helping those who have fallen on hard times wouldn’t seem to be all that complicated. And certainly some current players enthusiastically support BAT’s work.

“One player gave us $10,000 and we get lots of $5,000 checks,” Branca said. “David Cone runs a softball tournament to benefit BAT. Joe Girardi has helped. The players know about us and what we do. We send out newsletters, we visit spring training clubhouses.

“But a lot of players have their own charities. Cal Ripken contributes to a literacy campaign in Maryland. Mark McGwire contributes for abused children. It’s their lives and their money. I can’t spend their money for them.”

But if he could, he might suggest they think about some of the less fortunate members of their fraternity, about pitcher Brooks Lawrence, who got help from BAT before he died of emphysema, and outfielder Sandy Amoros, also aided before he died of diabetes.

And maybe about Nick Willhite, rescued by an organization that cares for its own.