Of the thousands of major-league ballplayers who have come and gone, Jim Brosnan is the only former player who became a full-time sportswriter. No radio or television for Broz. He does his stuff at the typewriter: hundreds of magazine pieces (many of them for Boys` Life), book reviews and inspirational and instructional books for kids: ”Rookies of the Year,” ”Techniques of Pitching,” ”From Little League to the Big Leagues,” biographies of Ron Santo and Ted Simmons.
”I used to write standing up,” Brosnan said. ”But I`ve got a bad knee. Can`t stand for more than 10 minutes at a time.” He was in the basement workroom in his Morton Grove home, where he has lived for the last 29 years. He`s one of the few players who worked for both the Cubs and the Sox and settled in the Chicago area.
The younger set may not know much about Broz, but they should be assured that he was among the best relief pitchers of his time. He was in the big leagues for nine years. In 1961, the year Roger Maris hit 61 home runs, Brosnan was the star of the Cincinnati bullpen and a major force (10 victories, all in relief, and 16 saves) in helping the Reds win the National League pennant.
Brosnan also was controversial, a scholarly athlete who, as they say, marched to his own drummer. Not all of his managers understood him, or approved his bookish manner. There was the afternoon in Des Moines, in 1950, when the Cub farmhand lost a tough 2-1 game on an 11th inning home run. Returning to the clubhouse, Broz resumed reading Time magazine while his teammates threw their gloves and screamed and hollered, the traditional posture of postgame agony.
”What are you doing reading that stuff?” shouted Charlie Root, his manager.
”The game is over,” Brosnan replied. ”Nothing we can do about it now.”
Root cussed Brosnan and accused him of not having the proper attitude. When he sent in his report to the Cub front office, Root predicted that Brosnan did not have the stuff to make it in the big leagues.
”All it did was puzzle me,” Brosnan recalled. ”I couldn`t figure out the relationship between winning and losing a game and reading a magazine. I was as angry and disappointed as everyone else. Reading was my way of relaxing. Charlie Root`s report stuck in the minds of the people in the Cub front office. That`s where I got my reputation as being different.”
A quarter of a century later, Brosnan was in Bradenton, Fla., doing a piece on Pittsburgh slugger Willie Stargell. Don Osborn, who also had been among Brosnan`s minor-league managers, was then a coach with the Pirates.
”It was the first time I had seen him in many years,” said Broz. ”I said to him: `Oz, why did you stick with me? At times I was such a pain in the butt.` ”
Brosnan laughed at the recollection.
”And Oz said: `Broz, many times I wanted to kick you in the butt. I hated your attitude. But I loved your arm.` ”
Today, Brosnan can read without interruption. His den and workroom are clogged with books, including a first-edition copy of his classic, ”The Long Season,” his irreverent and humorous view of the 1960 season. The baseball establishment reacted with horror. Broz was advised to make a career choice:
If he didn`t stuff his portable typewriter, he wouldn`t be allowed to pitch. He stopped writing and pitched for three more years, finishing up with the White Sox.
Unlike most retired ballplayers, Brosnan not only keeps up with the game but is firm in his belief that the players are better than ever.
”It`s a more interesting contest today than 20 years ago,” Broz insisted. ”The players are bigger and faster, and the pitchers, especially the pitchers, are smarter when they come to the big leagues. They know more now. When I was playing, it was more of a power game. People didn`t steal the bases at the rate they do now. I only had to worry about one, maybe two guys stealing. Now, half the players on any club can steal.”
Still, when it came to selecting the best pitcher of all time, Broz picked a contemporary.
”Sandy Koufax, by far. He was the best.”
Brosnan went on to explain he had done some research for a recent story on the best pitchers in baseball history. For a statistical base, he used the Rickey Ratings, devised by Branch Rickey, the possessor of perhaps baseball`s most ingenious and fertile mind.
The Rickey system may seem complex, but it`s quite simple. If a pitcher, for example, works 200 innings and gives up 150 hits, he is given 50 points. A point also is awarded for strikeouts in comparison to walks. A pitcher with 200 strikeouts and 100 walks is credited with 100 points. The point total is then subtracted from innings pitched.
”The pitcher`s job is to prevent the batter from reaching first base, not giving up a hit or walking him,” Brosnan explained. ”The strikeout is the most risk-free way of getting an out. The pitcher gets the out by himself. There is no possibility of an error.
”Koufax is the only pitcher to have had more than three plus-seasons in the Rickey Ratings; he had five. (Bob) Gibson had one. (Steve) Carlton had one. Walter Johnson one. Tom Seaver none. Christy Mathewson none.
”I saw Koufax last spring at Dodgertown. He never says much. I told him I had done some research and explained what I found. He said he had heard of the Rickey Ratings but never paid any attention to them, wasn`t even sure how they worked.”
I asked Broz what Koufax said when he advised him that he had selected him as the best pitcher of all time.
”He just blushed.”
Brosnan`s next assignment will take him to St. Petersburg, Fla., for a piece on Dwight Gooden, the Mets` young pitching star.
Gooden was the toast of baseball last season. He led the National League in victories (24), earned-run average (1.53), innings pitched (277), strikeouts (268) and complete games (16).
Gooden was a minus-1 in the Rickey Ratings. In 1965, Koufax was a plus-96.
