Hysterical Journey to Historic Places

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THE JUAN MARISCHAL HIGH LEG KICK



Juan Marischal pitched for the Giants back in the 50’s and 60’s. He had a devastating fastball the leverage for which he derived from a unique high leg kick delivery. He was awesome to watch and it wasn’t long before kids all over the country were trying to copy his throwing style. Problem was he had control of it and we kids didn’t. Young batters from all over the place were dropping like flies there for a while, some of them were hurt, and I was, of course, right in the middle of it.



In 1958 I was 9 years old, going on 10, and just enthralled with baseball. The Dodgers and Giants had just moved to California from New York. I had just come from a hitch with the recreational basketball program which I didn’t much care for. Basketball has far too many silly ball handling rules that disrupt a drive to the basket. It should be a more rough and tumble sport like rugby. Basketball would be more entertaining if the baskets were higher, and if it was played outside by a gang of midgets chasing a greased pig instead of a ball. Anyway, I was excited about playing baseball that year, but I had no skills and failed to make the little league cut. Most of us kids ended up with the pee wee leaguers first. The pee wee league was developmental. It is where we learned to catch and throw and use a bat and run bases. Most of the neighborhood kids from around Sky Ridge ended up on the team sponsored by the Placer County Bank. We were called the Bankers. We played in jeans and tennis shoes, but we had red tee shirts and red hats. All of our games were fun, and some of them were memorable.



I was the starting pitcher in a game against Meadow Vista in 1960. We Bankers were the home team and the top of the first inning seemed to last forever. I had my best Juan Marischal high leg kick fast ball blazing and had two outs with runners on first and third before Gene Kunz, our catcher, missed a catch. Gene was built like a nail keg; short a squat. His dad was a catcher too and Gene used his dad’s old catcher’s mitt. It was big as a garbage can lid and when Gene put that glove up for a pitching target he couldn’t see over the top of it because he was so short-waisted. He had to put up the target and then lower the glove to see the pitch. I was anxious to get that final out and fired my fastball in to Gene but he didn’t see it coming. It sailed over his glove and hit the ump right square between the eyes. The ump should have been wearing a protective mask but sometimes they didn’t. The runner on third scored on the passed ball. After that the strike zone disappeared for me. I loaded the bases with a hit batter, and a walk and then walked in three consecutive runs before that ump’s vision cleared. By then our center fielder was throwing his glove up in the air and catching it like a football and our right fielder, Billy Gallagher, was on his back looking up at the bright blue sky. He had taken off his glove and was using it for pillow. We all liked Billy, he was generally an exuberant little fellow, he was smart and fun, but he couldn’t play baseball worth beans. Apparently he could also get bored during a slow pitching effort. Coach hollered at them and got them back on track just as the ninth batter stepped up to the plate. He was giddy with excitement because he knew he was about to get walked. He was a scrawny and gangling kid and he couldn’t play any better than Billy. He got into his spradle-legged batting stance with his chest right down to his knees and his little boney ass up in the air and just smirked at me. I felt sorry for him and called a time out. Coach came out to the mound, the still dizzy ump came out to the mound, and I voiced my displeasure with this kid’s stance. Ump said far as he knew it wasn’t a rule violation, Coach said that he figured it was too because the pitcher did not have a strike zone. Ump said that I couldn’t find a strike zone if it was the size of refrigerator door. I said it wasn’t safe for a kid to stand that way. The ump called over to the Meadow Vista coach to come join the proceedings. That coach said he’s been trying to work with this kid, but he bats that way every time because he is scared of being hit and wants to make himself a small target. Coach observed that the batter should have more respect for himself, for his team, and more respect for the game. When play resumed I gave the wind up my highest Juan Marischal leg kick and threw the hardest fast ball I had ever thrown in my life. It hit that kid right plumb in his gizzle and gave him a bruise on his rib cage that might have lasted until Christmas. A few minutes later he left the game, still squalling his lungs out. A pinch runner was sent to first and the 4^th run crossed the plate for Meadow Vista. His mom took that kid back home and far as I know he never picked up another bat. Coach had seen enough of the Juan Marischal high leg kick for that day. I went to play first base, Sam Simpson came over from third to pitch, and Gene took the gear off and went out to play third base. George Burdick, who was a southpaw, came from first to catch. It was an uneventful game until the bottom of the third inning. The Meadow Vista outfielders had all gathered together and were looking at something on the other side of the fence. All of the kids from both teams went out to see what they were looking at. Sam and I were hoping it was Marilyn Monroe topless, but it was just a gopher chunking up some dirt out of a hole. Sam drove in two runners in the bottom of the third and I scored Sam on a ground rule double. Going into the fourth inning Meadow Vista had us down 4 to 3. Sam gave up a single in the fifth inning, and the runner stole second and advanced to third on a bad throw from Burdick to second. He scored on a passed ball putting us down two runs. That score held until the bottom of the sixth inning when we had two outs and runners on second and third with Billy Gallagher at the plate. It was our last gasp and we all felt a sense of doom but Billy came through with a dribbler down the third base line. It was the first time he had hit the ball in two years. The third baseman charged the ball bobbled it and made a wildly errant throw to first base. It was thrown hard and it was good twenty feet off line. First baseman threw down his glove and started swearing at the third baseman as Billy rounded toward second. The second baseman was running the ball down in right field and when he finally got it he made the correct throw to third. The shortstop was covering second as he should have been, but the third baseman was in a fight with the first baseman near the mound. By then both runners had scored and Billy was approaching third when the throw from right field sailed right on past him, bounced off the wall and rolled out towards left field. The left fielder recovered the ball and made a good throw to home but Billy had already crossed the plate. We won that game 6 to 5 on Billy Gallagher’s three run walk off homer. Billy’s spirit just soared that day. It was the most uplifting moment any of us had ever experienced. We were so proud of him. When we were celebrating our victory that day with sodas down at Foster’s Freeze Billy mentioned that he had swung at one ball and hit the other one. In a moment of stark clarity Coach realized that Billy had double vision his whole life. He never mentioned it because he thought everybody else had double vision too. After all we each had two eyes. Soon after that Billy got his eyes checked and he could see fine, but he had to wear glasses. His mom wisely made him quit baseball because of the glasses, but he left us as a hero. I, for one, have been smiling about that homer for over fifty years. It was truly a joyful moment in our lives when Billy crossed the plate.

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