Steve Blass and Bob Moose!

Recommended book with chapter on Bob Moose:

Shortened Seasons: The Untimely Deaths of Major League Baseball's Stars and Journeymen by Fran Zimniuch (2007). I read a preview of this book and ordered it today. Some warm recollections from friends and teammates including Jim Rooker and Steve Blass.

Bob Moose courtesy of the baseball page

"A local boy who flashed through the minor leagues by compiling a 29-10 record in 2 ½ seasons, Bob Moose experienced much in his short lifetime.  His baseball career featured almost bipolar highs and lows as he pitched a no-hitter, was a member of a World Championship team, threw a wild pitch which ended a championship series with a heartbreaking loss, had his career and possibly life threatened by a blood clot and made a comeback to again prove he belonged in the major leagues before tragically dying in an automobile accident on his 29th birthday.

Moose was born in Export, PA, about 15 miles from Forbes Field.  He was a three-sport letterman in high school and is considered the greatest athlete in the history of Franklin Regional.  Moose pitched six no-hitters there and was signed by the Pirates in 1965.  His quick rise through the farm system culminated with a complete game win in his first start with the Bucs in 1967.

Moose made the team as a 20-year-old reliever in 1968.  He pitched well as a rookie, sporting a 2.74 ERA and 126 K’s in 171 innings pitched, but the Pirates did not support him well and his record was just 8-12.

In 1969, Moose had his finest season.  He went 14-3 to lead the National League in winning percentage (.824) and he fanned almost a batter per inning.  Also, his single game highlight came that year, on September 20, when he pitched a 4-0 no-hitter against the New York Mets at Shea Stadium.  Such a performance was not completely a surprise given his domination of opposing hitters and the fact he had pitched 7 2/3 hitless innings the year before against the Astros at Forbes Field.  Moose’s performance that night was the closes a pitcher ever came to throwing a no-hitter at Forbes.   Julio Gotay, a former Pirate, ended the masterful bid with a single.

Moose’s fine season and overpowering slider cemented a spot in the rotation in 1970, but he was less effective, going 11-10 with a 3.98 ERA.  Still, Danny Murtaugh had enough confidence in the right-hander to start him in Game 3 of the NLCS with the Bucs down, 2-0.  Moose pitched well, but allowed homeruns to Tony Perez and Johnny Bench and a walk to Ty Cline with two out in the eighth, which became the winning run.

Moose’s season during the 1971 World Championship campaign started in the rotation, but his work was spotty, possibly due to interruptions as he fulfilled his obligation as a member of the US Marine Corps Reserves.  He pitched well down the stretch as Murtaugh used him in long relief and spot starts to win his final four decisions and finished 11-7.

Moose made one relief appearance in the playoffs, coming in for Steve Blass in the club’s opening game 5-4 loss to the Giants, pitching two hitless innings.  He also relieved twice in the World Series and was effective following Dock Ellis in Game 1, but gave up five runs in one inning in Game 2.  However, with Ellis hurting, Murtaugh chose Moose to start Game 6.  He pitched 5+ solid innings, allowing only 1 run; in a game the Bucs lost 3-2 in extra innings.
Moose served as Bruce Kison’s best man the following day as the two helicoptered to Kison’s wedding after the Bucs had won their World Championship, 2-1.

With Bill Virdon replacing Murtaugh in 1972, Moose was placed back in the rotation and went 13-10.  He led the staff with 144 strikeouts and posted a fine 2.91 ERA, setting career highs in starts and innings pitched.  Moose had, by this stage in his career, improved his control significantly and had developed a fine move to first.  His quick move was not enough to stop the running attack of the Big Red Machine.  Named to start Game 2 of the NLCS,  Moose appeared distracted by the Reds’ speedy base runners and failed to retire a batter, allowing five strait hits before being relieved by Bob Johnson.

Called on to stop the Reds in the ninth inning of the deciding fifth game, Moose entered a tied contest with runners on first and second.  He retired the first two batters, but one was on a flyball deep enough to advance pinch runner George Foster to third.   With Hal McRae batting for Clay Carroll, Moose threw a pitch, which bounced over catcher Manny Sanguillen to allow the Reds to take the playoffs from the Pirates.

As with most of his teammates, Moose had a substandard 1973 season.  He went 12-13 and suffered from arm and knee problems, but it was nothing compared to what he experienced in 1974.  Moose started the year in an extremely poor fashion seeming to get little on his pitches.  Then his arm started to swell and by the time a blood clot was diagnosed, his arm was twice its usual size.  Doctors feared his career might be over and Moose was told he was lucky the clot had not burst, as it could have been fatal.  Moose, showing more of the grit, which allowed him to comeback after his infamous wild pitch, began to rehab and made the team in 1975.  Further time was needed to recover his effectiveness and Moose went down to AAA and earned a September recall.  Moose may have been the Pirates best pitcher that month, allowing only one earned run in 26 innings to serve notice he would be a factor for the team in ’76.

When Dave Giusti was proving ineffective that year, Moose moved into a more prominent role as a reliever and led the team in saves with 10, although by the season’s end Kent Tekulve had taken over the role of closer.
Sadly, shortly after the season while celebrating his 29th birthday, Moose was killed in an automobile accident.  The Phillies Dick Allen, also from western Pennsylvania, honored Moose’s memory by wearing an armband as he played in the 1976 NLCS.

Teammate and current Pirate broadcaster Blass still holds warm memories of Moose.  “Bob lived his life to the fullest,” Blass said, “We were kind of alike as pitchers, both threw sliders.  Bob had great control and as good a pick off move to first as you would see.  I still miss him.”

Bob Moose honored at 6/21/11 Pirates 40th anniversary of 1971 World Series at PNC Park

Bob Moose honored at 6/21/11 Pirates 40th anniversary of 1971 World Series at PNC Park


There are a couple You Tube videos depicting this fine celebration and tribute. Specific to Bob Moose, a 1975 official still photo of Moose is shown on the big screen as the crowd roars (one of the bootleg cameramen notes that he died in a car accident). No family member (his daughter April Moose Lasta, his mother Molly Cardoni Moose, or his widow Alberta Duriscoe Moose Fox [married to Bob's best friend Tom Fox]) was present.

Bob Moose in books by Dock Ellis & Steve Blass

Bob Moose is mentioned in Dock Ellis excellent book "In The Country of Baseball" (1976; updated 1989): pages 14, 160, 187, 201, 214, and 267. Moose is also mentioned on several pages of Steve Blass' new book "A Pirate For Life" (2012)

ALL other mentions of Bob Moose in SI (1968-1989)

http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/vault/article/magazine/MAG1081303/index.htm 6/17/68: PITTSBURGH (2-5) turned to Steve Blass, who pitched his first complete game of the year, and rookie Bob Moose for its only victories. http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/vault/article/magazine/MAG1081437/index.htm 7/29/68: Low-hit efforts by Bob Veale and Bob Moose plus Matty Alou's .333 week helped PITTSBURGH (5-3) break a 10-game losing streak http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/vault/article/magazine/MAG1081533/index.htm 8/28/68: Except for those who operate from a rectangular slab of white rubber in mid-diamond, it has been—as everybody knows by now—a sparse season for baseball. And any farsighted hopes of filling the batting void must go farther than the current rookie crop. None of the first-year men excites memories of a young Mantle or Mays and, in fact, 19 of the 32 who have seen extended action are pitchers. The best of the lot is the Mets' Jerry Koosman, a 25-year-old from Appleton, Minn. with a 16-7 record, 1.87 earned run average and six shutouts—one short of the National League rookie record. Then there are the Yankees' Stan Bahnsen (2.13 ERA), the Angels' Tom Murphy (2.17), Pittsburgh's Bob Moose (2.41) and Cleveland Reliever Vicente Romo (1.58). So much for those who emulate their elders. http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/vault/article/magazine/MAG1082500/index.htm 6/9/69: Pittsburgh (3-3) hit .341 and pulled off the season's first triple play, but still lost three times because its starters were hit hard. So-called aces Steve Blass, Bob Veale and Bob Moose allowed 22 hits and 13 runs in 12? innings pitched as the Pirates lost 10-4, 7-6 and 9-6. http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/vault/article/magazine/MAG1082661/index.htm 7/28/69: How about swapping Bob Christian for Jose Pagan and Ted Savage? God forgive! Try swapping the Astros' Hal King for the Reds' Mel Queen. Eddie Fisher for Chico Salmon might be more on the level for the sportsman as would be Ron Hunt for Bob Moose. http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/vault/article/magazine/MAG1082869/index.htm 9/29/69: No sooner had New York (5-3) established superiority over the East by pulling five games in front than the Mets began looking as inferior as ever. They lost three straight to Pittsburgh (5-5), one on a no-hitter by Bob Moose. The 21-year-old righthander, who brought his record to 12-3, had earlier struck out 14 Phillies. http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/vault/article/magazine/MAG1082890/index.htm 10/6/69: While Pittsburgh (4-2) ran off a four-game win streak behind unusually strong pitching from Luke Walker, Dock Ellis, Steve Blass and Bob Moose, and Philadelphia (1-5) slumped 36� games out of first, the hottest action in both Pennsylvania cities involved managers. The Pirates tired Larry Shepard, who was nearing the end of his second season. No replacement was named, but the most frequently mentioned candidate was fiery Don Hoak. http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/vault/article/magazine/MAG1083492/index.htm 4/13/70: A favorite dark horse is Pittsburgh, which finished third ahead of the Cards last year. The Pirate hitters continue to be excellent—they outhit even powerful Cincinnati, .2767 to .2765—and there is depth, too: the pinch hitters batted .317. On May 29 the Pirates leave ancient Forbes Field for new Three Rivers Stadium, and that should give Willie Stargell a chance to have a decent home-run year; Forbes Field is a difficult place for a left-handed hitter like Stargell. That Roberto Clemente is hepped up about this year's club is another very good sign. Roberto has won four batting championships and three of them came under Danny Murtaugh, who returns as manager. Clemente missed his fifth title last year by only three points (.345 to Pete Rose's .348), and the Pirates also have Matty Alou (.331), Rich Hebner, the rookie third baseman (.301), and Stargell (.307). However, the bullpen is questionable and, unhappily, so are the starting pitchers. The big men—Bob Veale, Bob Moose and Steve Blass—combined for only 43 wins, not enough for a club with designs on a pennant. Still, the Pirates improved late in the season, and a lot of people like them. Now it is a question of how much the Pirates, a confused team of late, really like themselves. http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/vault/article/magazine/MAG1083673/index.htm 6/1/70: As if all this were not enough, the sad events of last week were almost unbearable. On Monday the Phillies had the winning run scored against them while they were at bat. This bizarre turn of fortune got started in the bottom of the seventh inning at Pittsburgh. The score was tied 1-1 with Manny Sanguillen of the Pirates on second base and one out. Bill Mazeroski singled Sanguillen to third and then Bunning threw a 1-2 pitch to Bob Moose that sailed past Catcher Del Bates. Plate Umpire Satch Davidson called the pitch a ball and when Bates retrieved the ball he threw it to third to catch Mazeroski, who was trying to advance two bases. Bunning then claimed that Moose had swung at the pitch for the third strike. Umpire Augie Donatelli ruled that he had and that he was out. Davidson ruled that Sanguillen's run did not count since the inning had ended in a double play. Following a huge argument the Phillies came to bat and had one out in the inning when the umpires reversed themselves and put the run up on the board. http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/vault/article/magazine/MAG1083726/index.htm 6/15/70: PITTSBURGH moved into second place with shutout pitching by Bob Moose http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/vault/article/magazine/MAG1083931/index.htm 8/10/70: Steve Blass is one of the two regular Pirate starters who have been sidelined with arm trouble. (Bob Moose, with something known as a dislocated nerve, is the other one.) http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/vault/article/magazine/MAG1083940/index.htm 8/17/70: Pittsburgh opened a 3�-game lead over NEW YORK with an unusual display of the Mets' own strength—tight pitching. Five consecutive Pirate starters pitched complete games, and four of them were surprises, indeed. Bob Veale, who had lost seven of his previous eight decisions, began the string and was followed by Luke Walker, usually a relief pitcher, who threw a shutout. Another reliever, Bruce Dal Canton, pitched his second complete game in the major leagues. Then Bob Moose, who recently missed a month with a sore elbow, capped his recovery with a four-hitter over the Mets. http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/vault/article/magazine/MAG1085072/index.htm 7/12/71: Sirs: I have been waiting for the Pittsburgh Pirates to call up Pitcher Bruce Kison ever since Pat Jordan's article (An Old Hand with a Prospect, June 14), but did not think it would be this soon. Kison's 10-1 record and 2.86 ERA at Charleston certainly put him in an excellent position to temporarily replace Bob Moose, the Pittsburgh starter who went on two-week military duty. JOHN HELLMOLD Lodi, N.J. http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/vault/article/magazine/MAG1085989/index.htm 4/10/72: Nobody can judge what kind of humor Bill Virdon possesses until the Pirates go through their first losing streak, which may be never. If there is a problem, it could be the pitching. The biggest Pirate winner was Dock Ellis, the famed bed-measurer, with a record of 19-9. But Ellis finished the season with a sore elbow and a shaky record of 5-6 following the All-Star break. Blass was 15-8, Bob Moose 11-7, Luke Walker 10-8 and Nelson Briles 8-4, not bad but not overpowering. The relievers are better. Young Bruce Kison won plaudits for his relief performance in the Series, but still ranks behind Dave Giusti. Over the last two years Giusti has saved 56 games and won 14 others and that totals 70. He also worked four games in the playoffs against San Francisco in addition to three against the Orioles. His ERA for those was 0.00. http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/vault/article/magazine/MAG1086141/index.htm 5/29/72: Pittsburgh also awed the competition with a steely combination of power and pitching. The Pirates outscored opponents 34 runs to four, winning five straight games—the last three shutouts by Steve Blass, Bob Moose and Dock Ellis- Bruce Kison. http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/vault/article/magazine/MAG1086255/index.htm 7/3/72: The Pirates have not produced a 20-game winner since Vernon Law in 1960, and they may not produce one this year, either. A deep staff means a pitcher has fewer chances to win his 20. "I believe that this pitching staff is the best we have had in the 19 years I have been with the club," says General Manager Joe Brown. "It has a depth and versatility not present in other years. Yes, we do have seven men who can start [ Blass, Ellis, Nelson Briles, Bob Moose, Luke Walker, Johnson and Bruce Kison] and some of them can also be used in relief. This gives Manager Bill Virdon even more maneuverability." http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/vault/article/magazine/MAG1087563/index.htm 7/16/73: The ballplayers might consider that figure a trifle exaggerated. But there is at least one other pitcher who is frequently mentioned in, shall we say, the same breath with Perry—Bill Singer, another fugitive National Leaguer who is, thus far, as big a winner with the California Angels as Perry was with Cleveland last year. Singer, at 29 five years younger than Perry, has endured such a woeful siege of injury and illness in recent years that even his most vehement accusers might forgive him an occasional transgression. After winning 20 games for the Dodgers in 1969, he fell ill with infectious hepatitis in April of 1970. Then, after a 52-day absence, he returned in July to pitch a no-hitter against the Phillies. Less than a month later the index finger on his pitching hand was broken by a ball thrown by the Pirates' Bob Moose. That winter half of the joint on the injured finger was removed. Though the surgery was successful, Singer continued to favor the hand. His normally fluid pitching motion became jerky and he lost his fastball. He slipped to a 10-17 record in 1971 and to 6-16 last year. He considered quitting the game and was finally traded by the Dodgers as more or less extra cargo in the multiple-player transaction involving Frank Robinson for Andy Messersmith. http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/vault/article/magazine/MAG1088749/index.htm 7/8/74: Of the younger players, Ellis, Bob Moose and Bruce Kison have suffered injuries that have prevented them from fulfilling their potential. Moose is out for the season with a circulatory problem in his pitching arm, and Kison has only lately recovered from arm trouble so serious that a year ago he could not raise his arm above his head. Ellis claims his arm is in excellent shape, but his record is 3-6 and his ERA 4.28. http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/vault/article/magazine/MAG1090069/index.htm 7/21/75: Pitcher Bob Moose was put on the disabled list after slamming a door on his thumb. http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/vault/article/magazine/MAG1090279/index.htm 9/22/75: Rejuvenated pitchers gave Pittsburgh (4-3) and Philadelphia (4-2) cause for hope, but wasted hits defeated St. Louis (2-5) and New York (2-6). Bob Moose, who missed much of last season after the removal of a blood clot from his pitching shoulder and who recently had been recalled from the minors, earned his first victory for Pittsburgh in 17 months. He accomplished this with 7? innings of scoreless relief as the Pirates overcame the Expos 6-3. http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/vault/article/magazine/MAG1091093/index.htm 5/17/76: Bob Moose Larry Demery and Dave Giusti preserved three wins for Pittsburgh (5-1). The Pirates also got strong starting pitching as Bruce Kison beat the Giants 6-1 and John Candelaria topped the Braves 3-1. http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/vault/article/magazine/MAG1091146/index.htm 5/31/76: Since coming to the majors in 1973, Pittsburgh's Dave Parker has hit .366 against St. Louis. So when Parker was sidelined with a knee injury, the Cardinals felt relieved. Not for long. Filling in for Parker, Bill Robinson hit a two-run homer as the Pirates (4-3) defeated the Cardinals 2-1, and a three-run shot as the Bucs beat them 4-1. Bob Moose ran his string of scoreless relief innings to 22? while earning two saves and a win. When the regular umpires refused to cross a picket line of striking vendors at Three Rivers Stadium, a crew of local sandlot officials handled two games between the Pirates and Cubs without incident. http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/vault/article/magazine/MAG1091224/index.htm 6/21/76: Another hurler who hit was reliever Bob Moose of Pittsburgh (3-4). Moose socked the first homer of his nine-year career in a 6-2 defeat of Atlanta and also notched another win and his eighth save. http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/vault/article/magazine/MAG1068731/6/index.htm August 28, 1989 K How does Nolan Ryan do it? Let us count the ways. On the eve of Ryan's 5,000th strikeout, Rangers p.r. man Larry Kelly put together this list of everyone Ryan had fanned in his 22-year career. Through Sunday, he had 4,994 K's against 1,061 players 2 times: Bob Moose

BRUCE KISON, BOB MOOSE

http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/vault/article/magazine/MAG1085979/index.htm End of Innocence Pat Jordan April 10, 1972 Bruce Kison seemed a wide-eyed rookie, agog at playing in a World Series, until he uncorked his fastball and brought the Orioles to their knees April 10, 1972 End Of Innocence Bruce Kison seemed a wide-eyed rookie, agog at playing in a World Series, until he uncorked his fastball and brought the Orioles to their knees Pat Jordan PRINT EMAIL MOST POPULAR SHARE Bruce Kison, the Pirates' 6'4" baby-faced pitcher, is hunched over the steering wheel of his Volkswagen, his knees jacked up around his ears, his eyes glassy and wide, his pink face pressed close to the windshield and splashed with the green lights and shadows shooting past. The car is traveling through the bowels of Pittsburgh's Squirrel Hill Tunnel at over 80 miles per hour in pursuit of a police escort that Kison has lost but whose sirens are echoing off the walls around him. "I've never speeded before," he says, sliding Santana's recording of Black Magic Woman into the stereo tape deck. The music is barely audible over the strung-out whine of the car's engine and the echoing sirens. Kison begins to sing, "She's a black magic woman and she's tryin' to make a devil out of me." His car runs up on the tail of a blue Galaxie. Without missing a note or stabbing the brakes, Kison jerks to the left. There is the shriek and smell of burning rubber, and the Volkswagen, tottering on two wheels, shoots into the left lane, cutting off a Cadillac whose driver nails a palm to his horn. Without looking back, Kison sticks his left hand out the window and extends the middle finger from a clenched fist. He raises the volume of the stereo to full blast. The Cadillac horn blows angrily. Kison sings louder. The sirens grow closer. The walls of the tunnel quake, rumble, seem about to fissure, and the noise so terrifies drivers up ahead that they swerve into the right lane and stop in order to avoid this possessed little Volkswagen hurtling by like a misshapen, misguided missile whose pilot, gone mad, is now—at precisely 8:03 p.m., Sunday, Oct. 17, 1971—33 minutes late for his wedding. A few hours before, Kison had stood in the visiting team's locker room at Baltimore's Memorial Stadium, a towel around his waist, contemplating the chaos around him. The room was packed almost to a standstill with writers, photographers, baseball executives, well-wishers and players celebrating the Pirates' World Series victory. Television cameras were planted in the center of the room, their cables slung overhead like black clotheslines. On a brilliantly lighted platform Roberto Clemente, Steve Blass and Manager Danny Murtaugh were being interviewed by a sleek and nervous-looking Sandy Koufax. Behind them, players jostled for position to be the next interviewed. Photographers, with cameras held high overhead, paused where there were clusters of writers and aimed lenses down at the sweaty, grinning faces of the men being questioned. The reporters moved from player to player in a pack. They pressed their subjects against lockers and recorded in notebooks such comments as: "You can't take anything away from the Orioles. They're a hell of a team"; "Yes, I certainly do think the best team won"; "This is the greatest bunch of guys I've ever been with. The greatest, know what I mean?" The Pirate players not being interviewed or photographed, particularly those whose contributions to the win were negligible, seemed to celebrate the most exuberantly. They slapped open palms, hugged and tousled one another's hair and, when the champagne arrived, they doused anyone within range. Standing by his stall, Kison said to a friend, "I told you to wear old clothes in case we won. You'd better put your coat in my locker. It sure seems an awful waste. I'd rather drink it." While the celebration swelled, Kison dressed and slipped out of the locker room. A police escort led him through a cheering crowd, across Oriole Boulevard, behind a brick high school to an open field where a helicopter waited to take him and his best man, Bob Moose, to Friendship Airport. There, a needle-nose Lear Jet, provided by Jack B. Piatt, a friend of Pirate Broadcaster Bob Prince and the president of Mill-craft Industries, stood ready to fly Kison, Moose and his wife Alberta, who was eight months pregnant, to Pittsburgh for Kison's evening wedding to Anna Marie Orlando. It was 6:30 p.m. by the time Moose reached the helicopter, weaving unsteadily. His gray baseball uniform was drenched with champagne and his Pirate cap sat on his head at a Howdy Doody angle. The blades clattered as the helicopter rose slowly. It hovered above the ground and then began moving forward, blowing the tall grasses flat against the ground until they looked almost white in the late afternoon sun. The helicopter rose noisily over telephone wires, trees and houses, until it was above scooped-out Memorial Stadium. It circled the stadium once, twice, each time climbing higher, before finally spinning free of the stadium's orbit. The Plexiglas windows vibrated as gusts of wind buffeted the craft. With an agonizing but relentless slowness the helicopter moved toward the red-orange sunset. The flight to Pittsburgh lasted 22 minutes. As soon as the jet was airborne, Jack Piatt, an immaculately dressed man with graying hair, opened the bar and poured drinks. He offered a toast to Kison's wedding. Then he asked what was happening back in the Pirate locker room. "Nothing much," said Kison. For the remainder of the flight Piatt extolled the virtues of his Lear Jet. "It only costs $800,000," he said, pouring second drinks for himself, Kison, Mrs. Moose and her husband, who was falling asleep against her shoulder. "It can climb at 6,000 feet a minute and it cruises at 525 miles an hour. There's no sense of flight in one of these babies." Outside, the plane hung silent and, it seemed, motionless over a field of clouds. The sky was a pale, diminishing blue. Shafts of sunlight hit the left wing and exploded into silver slivers that so blinded the passengers they were forced to draw the curtains and darken the cabin. When the plane began circling Pittsburgh airport, Piatt brushed back his cuff and checked his watch—7:12 p.m. "God bless Millcraft!" he declared. Kison seemed unsure of the proper response. He thanked Piatt for the trip. "You ought to get one of these, Bruce," the executive said, gesturing toward the Lear. "It's the only way to go." There was not a trace of facetiousness in Piatt's remark. Bruce Kison had arrived—in baseball if not yet at his wedding. In the summer of 1970 Kison was struggling along with a sore arm and a 4-4 record in Waterbury, Conn, in the AA Eastern League when he happened to be picked by SPORTS ILLUSTRATED as the subject of an article (June 14,1971 )on minor league life. From the day of his first interview to the end of the 1970 season he did not lose another game for Waterbury. Last year, after being sidelined most of the spring with an infected tendon in his pitching hand, Kison won 10 of 12 starts with the Charlestown Charleys of the AAA International League. He was called up to Pittsburgh just before the All-Star break. At the time, the Pirates were four games ahead in their divisional race but suddenly their pitching talent (which never was very thick) had been thinned when Bob Moose left for military duty. Kison won his first two starts for the Bucs, the second a two-hit shutout. He was 3-2 after a month of starts, before running into a streak of bad luck during which he pitched creditably enough but managed only losses or no decisions. Kison finished the regular season with a 6-5 record, a 3.41 ERA. It was said the very tall, 178-pound sidearmer needed to develop greater stamina and another pitch before he would become a winner in the majors. Because of his end-of-the-season tailspin, Kison expected to see little action during the National League playoffs against the Giants. He watched from the bullpen as Pittsburgh won two of the first three games. But when Steve Blass failed to last in the fourth game, Kison was called in. It was the third inning, the score was tied at 5 apiece and it seemed obvious that Danny Murtaugh wanted to save his veteran reliever, Dave Giusti, for the crucial later innings. Kison was to be a stopgap performer, who, hopefully, could manage three outs before someone would pinch-hit for him in the next inning. But Kison handily dispatched the Giants, and Murtaugh, sensing a new character was being written into his scenario, did not replace him when he came to bat in the fourth. Nor did Murtaugh seem overly upset when the skinny rookie wiped out a Buc threat in that inning by hitting a routine ground ball. Kison began fleshing out his part with one scoreless inning after another. When he finally left the game in the seventh in favor of Giusti, Kison had created for himself a leading role in the game. Throwing mostly rising and screwballing fast-balls and a small but quick slider, he had limited the Giants to two hits and no runs in 4? innings, and he was to receive credit for the Bucs' pennant-clinching victory. Kison's performance had been an unexpectedly adept, professional effort, yet the rookie pitcher seemed not the least impressed either by the circumstances in which he now found himself (besieged by writers) or the batters he had just faced. It was assumed that Kison's coolness on the mound and in postgame interviews was really nothing but a naively constructed facade. This notion sprang in part from Kison's manner (he is quiet to the point of taciturnity) but mostly from his deceptive appearance. At 21, he looks 15. He has a gawky adolescent's body, all arms and legs and little torso. His face is long and fine-boned and dusted with a peachlike fuzz. It is dominated by eyes so wide and blue as to appear unblinking, stunned, with the three-dimensional quality of those animals like gazelles that are only one twitch from flight. Yet Kison is neither timid nor stunned. Nor does he possess an unfathoming innocence akin to Billy Budd's. He is simply a direct, if slightly unfinished, young man, whose parts are well formed if too few. His directness owes only a small debt to innocence and more to an instinct so blunt as to be, at times, brutal. He does or says nothing that is superfluous and, in fact, seems as straight and simple and obvious as the age in which he lives is circuitous and convoluted and devious. His performance in the playoffs was viewed as the aberration of a novice, owing more to luck and propitious circumstances than to any talent he might possess. So when the World Series began, few people expected Kison to play a prominent part in its resolution. He remained the fledgling rookie on whom a team could hardly rely in the Great American Classic. (Oddly enough, Kison was only eight months younger than Vida Blue, a pitcher of whom people expected a great deal more than he delivered in a similar situation.) Heroics in the World Series were to be the private reserve of veterans like Dock Ellis and were certainly not the domain of a youth who, some said, divested himself of his beard each morning with the aid of only a hot towel. Kison himself did not expect to be used much in the Series. He was even apologetic for the good fortune that had brought him into an event that some of his teammates, like Bob Veale, had worked for a decade to reach. And Veale, who had fallen out of favor with the Pirate management for not having fulfilled his potential, would probably see as little action as Kison. Bruce enjoyed his anonymity as the Series began in Baltimore. It allowed him to eat his meals in peace and sit unnoticed in the chaotic, baggage-strewn lobby of the Bucs' hotel, watching the spectacle of his first World Series with a detachment that was being denied his more famous teammates. Manny Sanguillen, for instance, could not step from an elevator without being besieged by autograph seekers who were drawn to him as much by his perpetual grin as by his blindingly white panama suit with its lapels approaching the wingspan of a 747. On the other hand, Dock Ellis, a heavy-lidded, petulant-faced man who seemed always bored or angry or maybe just in need of sleep, was too foreboding a presence to be approached for autographs. He always was striding across the lobby with a high-waisted, stomach-thrusting strut to answer a page's "Call for Mr. Dock Ellis!"; or else he was surrounded by sportswriters to whom he was expounding on the qualities of his hotel accommodations, as if he were not just Pittsburgh's starting pitcher in the first game but also a dark-skinned Temple Fielding in wedge-heeled boots. Kison was left largely to himself. He sprawled across his bed and watched television or telephoned his fianc�e in Pittsburgh. The heavily favored Orioles took the first game handily. They knocked Ellis out of the game in the third inning. In the second game Baltimore was ahead 3-0 when Murtaugh relieved starter Bob Johnson in the fourth. The new pitcher was Bruce Kison. Kison threw nine pitches. Eight of them were balls; he walked one run in and was promptly replaced by Moose. The Orioles won that contest 11-3. In the locker room after the game, Kison was asked by sportswriters if he had been jittery in his first World Series appearance, and if that hadn't accounted for his wildness. "No," he said, "I just wasn't used to the mound. That might have thrown my control off. But I wasn't nervous." The following day newspapers around the country explained that Kison's wildness was caused by his nervousness at pitching in his first World Series; it was to be expected of a rookie, the writers noted. The third Series game was played in Pittsburgh's Three Rivers Stadium, one of those perfectly proportioned ovals similar to ancient coliseums but so oppressively modern as to be without odor (except of fresh gypsum); without blemish (no worn patches on the billiard-table surface, no obstructing pillars, no garish advertisements on the outfield fences); and without character (private, glass-enclosed booths are available but are so removed from the action that the occupants can be seen watching the game on portable TV sets). The stadium has rows of brightly painted seats that incline almost straight back, rising away from the playing field like the seats in a movie theater. This puts the spectators beyond the first few rows at a great distance from the field. At such a distance on a muggy afternoon the athletes become blurs of gray and white, gliding in slow motion over a perfect, pale-green cloth, pursuing a baseball that can be heard but not seen, seeming to perform an eerie ballet akin to that of the tennis players in the movie Blow-Up. In that third game the Orioles managed to get only three hits off Steve Blass and the Bucs had a win at last. Blass, a 29-year-old veteran of modest successes, is regarded by sportswriters as the Bucs' resident wit and intellectual (he is excellent "copy"). He is also a pitcher of only adequate talent but great desire, and he throws the ball with such a flurry of arms and legs that he resembles a young boy trying to impress his elders and willing to fall on his face, if necessary, to do it. Still the Pirate victory was looked upon by many as simply a delaying action, a postponement of the inevitable Oriole triumph. The fourth game was to be the first night game ever played in a World Series. During batting practice Baseball Commissioner Bowie Kuhn was led to a spot near home plate by some photographers. He was given the monstrous metal World Series trophy to hold and told to stand in that spot until pictures could be taken with the rival managers. When Earl Weaver and Danny Murtaugh appeared on either side of Kuhn, one of the photographers yelled, "O.K., smile, Commissioner," which he did, obligingly. While the commissioner grunted under the immense weight of the trophy and tried to smile at the same time, Murtaugh and Weaver chatted across him and the trophy, as if the trophy, one empty vessel, was suspended solely by another. When the photographers finished, they unceremoniously left the commissioner. Weaver trotted back to his dugout and Murtaugh, his hands stuffed in his back pockets, walked deliberately back to his. The commissioner, still smiling, stood by himself with his prize for a long moment before finally saying, "Dammit, somebody help me with this thing or I'll be standing here all night." Things seemed to be going awry in Pittsburgh and for Pittsburgh. Starting the game did not help at all. The Orioles scored three runs in the top of the first before Pirate Pitcher Luke Walker was taken out of the game. When his replacement, Bruce Kison, arrived from the bullpen there was an audible groan from the fans. It was as if the appearance of the pink-cheeked rookie signaled Murtaugh's resignation to a Baltimore triumph, and the fact that Kison retired the side with one pitch did little to dissipate the feeling of despair. However, when the Bucs scored two runs in the bottom of the first, the hometown crowd, expecting a speedy substitute for Kison, was encouraged. If Bruce could just manage three outs, Murtaugh could send in a pinch hitter for him in the bottom of the second. Kison, working quickly with his sweeping right-to-left, sidearmed delivery, retired the first two batters. Then Paul Blair hit a pop fly that bounced on the Tartan Turf in front of Roberto Clemente and sprang over his head for a double. Kison, unfazed, got the next batter out on an infield fly. Murtaugh did not pinch-hit for Kison in the second; nor in the fourth (by which time the score stood 3 all); nor in the sixth. During those innings, before the largest audience ever to watch a baseball game (62.3 million TV viewers and 51,378 in the stadium), Kison pitched flawless baseball. In his flawless performance one must include, not exclude, the three batters he hit with pitches, setting a World Series record. Those Orioles were simply being served notice that despite Kison's virginal appearance he was not one to treat idly. Kison had hit a high porportion of batsmen in his three-year professional career. He hit seven batters in one minor league game, which he won. His difficulty stems from a fastball that breaks sharply in on a right-handed batter at the last second. This break is often misjudged and can result in bruised ribs. Also, because his curveball is such a brief affair and anxious batters tend to lean far over the plate hoping to paste it to the right-field wall, Kison must protect himself by firing an occasional pitch inside. This combination of a batter leaning one way and a fastball breaking the other accounts for the knockdowns. There is a feeling among Kison's friends that he is not particularly upset when he hits a batter, that he feels it helps compensate for his limited repertoire (two basic pitches) and his boyish appearance. Yet, in the fourth game of the Series, he claimed his youthful wildness was responsible for the three hit batters—Dave Johnson, Andy Etchebarren and Frank Robinson. Strangely enough, he did not walk a single batter during that span. Kison won the game that night by allowing the Orioles only Blair's bloop double and no runs in 6 1/3 innings. Giusti finished the game and preserved Kisort's 4-3 victory. Four days later, after the Bucs won the world championship in the seventh game, Earl Weaver would say that the fourth was the turning point of the Series, and that Kison had been the pivotal figure. Weaver explained that with a three-run lead in the first inning and a rookie pitcher at their disposal, the Orioles never should have lost. A victory would have given them a 3-1 edge. The moment Kison entered the locker room after the fourth game, the press surrounded and immobilized him. Flash-bulbs exploded in his face. People shouted orders and questions at him. A TV cameraman, his equipment slung over his shoulder like a bazooka, yelled at Kison to look his way, and when Bruce did his face was flooded with a light. A television commentator stuck a microphone under Kison's nose and began asking questions. Sportswriters grumbled and fidgeted as they waited their turn and, when the cameraman extinguished his lights, they let loose with a dozen questions simultaneously. For an instant a look flickered in Kison's eyes suggesting he was about to flee, and just as quickly it was gone, replaced by a gaze devoid of all expression. Kison folded his arms across his narrow chest and, towering above the writers, began to answer their queues. "Were you as nervous today as you were in the second game?" "I don't know," said Kison. "I had trouble getting the ball over the plate in the second game so they said I was nervous. If I'd have gotten it over they would have said I was calm. So I guess you can say I was nervous in the second game, but I was calm today." "What's your telephone number?" "I don't know." "You don't know your own telephone number?" "I never have had to call myself." "Do you mean to tell us you weren't nervous in that second game?" Everybody brings in nerves, nerves, nerves," said Kison. "I don't think about being nervous. I just tried to do better this game than in the last, that's all." "If the Series goes seven games," said another writer, "do you think you'll make your wedding?" "When I set the date I had been told by some of my teammates that the Series would be over by the second week of October. I should have checked myself. But if I'm in Baltimore Sunday then that's where I'm supposed to be. I'm here to help win I he Series first and get married afterward." "Bruce," said one writer, "now that you're famous, do people recognize you when you walk the streets?" "I don't walk the streets." "Is your fianc�e good looking?" "She's O.K." "I mean is she a really good-looking girl?" "What do you think? Boy, that was a stupid one." "What do you think of major league sportswriters?" "They're all right. They haven't stuck a knife in me yet." While Kison was talking, two reporters directly under his nose began arguing over who had rights to the next question. The argument grew louder and louder until Kison broke off in mid-sentence and rolled his eyes heavenward. Kison was asked if his childhood dreams had come true. "Yes, and then some." For a third time a writer asked him about his wedding. "Why is everyone making such a big deal about the wedding?" Kison said. "If I can't make it back to Pittsburgh Sunday we'll have to change it, that's all." "How often do you shave?" "Every day," replied Kison. "Do you need to?" "I wouldn't shave if I didn't." Suddenly there was a commotion by the telephone. One of the Pirate trainers motioned for Kison to answer the phone. While Bruce talked the writers edged closer. Someone said, "He's talking to President Nixon." Kison hung up and returned. "Who were you talking to, Bruce?" "That was my father and mother and some friends of the family, and, oh, yes, my dog." "What'd they say?" "Nothing much. My mother and father and the friends congratulated me. The dog didn't say anything. He can't talk." On the outer edge of the group a writer was saying, "It's hard to tell if he's a bright kid or not. I thought he'd say his fianc�e was sensational, a knockout, something I could use. But he doesn't say what you'd expect. I don't know. Maybe he just isn't too bright." "How do you show pressure inside?" asked a writer. "I don't know," said Kison. "You tell me." "Don't you feel anything inside?" "I guess." Another writer told Kison that Frank Robinson was furious at being hit. The writer asked Kison to comment on Robby's anger. "I think you're just trying to cause friction there," said Kison. "I don't want to answer that question." Off to one side a few people were watching the young pitcher being grilled. "Ballplayers build up a tolerance to some questions and automatic responses to others," remarked one longtime observer of these scenes. "Kison hasn't cultivated this yet, but he will, and maybe that's a shame. Right now he refuses to answer dumb questions in a clever way but is willing to answer good questions in a fresh new way. Soon he'll answer them all with safe clich�s." "Bruce will have to learn how to handle writers," Steve Blass said. "Sometimes he makes judgments too soon, not considering all the possibilities. I've tried to tell him he can't be too quick in evaluating people, especially writers. But Bruce is flexible. He'll learn as he gets older. He'll become more aware, which is a shame. It's a loss of innocence. He won't be this Bruce Kison anymore; he'll be a new Bruce Kison, because people demand more from us than we're capable of giving." It was midnight when Kison finally emerged from a shower into an all-but-deserted locker room. Dripping, he moved to his stall and began drying himself. He is incredibly long and bony. His ribs showed. "Jeez, I hated all that attention," he said. "I must have acted like a fool in front of those writers. Did I? Jeez, I hope not. Aw, I know I did. A real fool." He threw his towel into the center of the room and muttered as he dressed. Bob Veale, the only other player in the room, came over to Kison and said, with mock solemnity, holding an imaginary microphone in front of Bruce, "Tell me, Kison? How's it feel to set a World Series record by hitting eight batters in three innings?" Kison smiled and said nothing. "And to be such a big hit with all those sportswriters, too?" Veale added. "My goodness, Kison, tell me, how's it feel?" When Veale was gone Kison said of him, "He told me to go into the locker room between innings so my arm wouldn't stiffen up. He's always helping me like that. I feel sorry for him. I wonder why I'm so lucky. I see him sitting alone at his locker, not saying anything, and I wonder what he's thinking. He has to watch me get all this attention in my first year and he's been here 10." On the morning after his big win, Kison arrived at Three Rivers Stadium at nine o'clock for a television interview with Sandy Koufax. He was smoking a cigar, which made one feel one ought to tell his father on him. Kison and Koufax stood halfway down the third-base line and chatted while television cameramen set up equipment in the visitors' dugout. The sun hung over the center-field bleachers, cutting through the morning mist. It will directly behind Kison, making him seem a dark silhouette. Koufax, at 35, looked tense and strained as a greyhound. He wore a navy blazer with an NBC crest on the breast pocket, a red shirt and a patterned tie, double-knit slacks and alligator loafers. As he talked with Kison, he constantly tugged at his shirt collar, stretched his neck, smoothed his already smooth hair and glanced toward the cameramen. Kison stood spread-legged and motionless. His hands were stuffed into his back pockets. His shirt hung outside of his pants and he wore cowboy boots. When the cameraman signaled Koufax to begin he raised the microphone to his lips, assumed a smile and began asking Kison questions. Kison replied in a monotonous voice. His hands remained in his pockets and his eyes drifted over Koufax' head to the deserted stadium. The first three lakes were unsuccessful and with each Koufax became increasingly annoyed. Finally, when Koufax blew a fourth take the cameraman signaled for him to continue. Koufax yanked the microphone away from his mouth and said. "No, we won't! Bruce doesn't want to live with that, do you, Bruce? And I am not going to make a fool of myself in front of millions of viewers." The fifth take began with Kison saying, "I was very displeased with my performance in Baltimore in the second game...." On the morning of the seventh and final Series game in Baltimore, Kison sat at a table in a coffee shop and waited impatiently for his scrambled eggs. In the deciding contest, Kison realized he might be the first reliever if Steve Blass faltered, and that, with the uncertainty of reaching his own wedding that night in Pittsburgh, made him unusually irritable. Kison's irritation had also grown from what he considered to be undue attention heaped on him ever since his fourth-game win. He did not like his instant notoriety, he said. To pass the time while he waited for breakfast, Kison tried to reevaluate, objectively, his pitching of the past year, so as to be able to negotiate his 1972 contract with the front office. He decided that his 10 victories in AAA, his six during the regular season with Pittsburgh and his playoff and Series victories qualified him as an 18-game winner. Furthermore, the playoff and Series triumphs would be worth a lot of money to the Pirates and, if they won that afternoon, a great deal more. He deserved a small portion of this cash, he said, and he wondered just how much he should ask for. (Ironically, when the Bucs divided up their World Series and playoff booty, they failed to give Bruce Kison a full share.) "It's funny," said Kison, "but I don't care that much about money. Here I am talking so much about it and if I had to, I'd play for nothing back home in Pasco, Washington. I wouldn't play every day for nothing, bin still I'd play. Money doesn't mean that much to me yet. I'm not a clotheshound like some guys on the club. To me, clothes are necessities, like food. I don't love to eat. I eat until I'm content, that's all. But it seems the more you taste big-league life the more you want—or think you want. You get caught up in things that never meant much to you before. You become something different. I'm not the same person I was a year ago, six months ago or even a few weeks ago. "When I was a kid I admired the milkman. I wanted to be just like him someday. Then you grow up and your sights change. Your goals get larger than they were, and Pasco is no longer enough for you. I still love to go back and hunt, but I don't think I could go back and drink beer on Saturday nights for the rest of my life. Once I said I could never stay in baseball unless I was in the major leagues, that if I didn't make it, I'd return to college and get my degree. College is getting farther and farther away. I can see myself as an organization man in the minors now. I wouldn't like it much, but still I can see myself doing it. It doesn't take long in baseball before you become like everyone else. I mean, when you first come to the majors, you hear guys talking about things, like girls and stuff, and you think, that isn't me. I'll never be like that. But pretty soon you realize you'll evolve into what everybody else is. I don't think I'll mind that. It doesn't look so bad now. And when it happens all I'll think about is protecting myself up here. I know that right now there's some kid in the weeds, some kid riding a bus someplace, and he's checking my ERA in The Sporting News just like I did when I was in Waterbury." Kison looked around for his waitress. "Jeez, where is she? I only ordered eggs." He sighed disgustedly and then continued, "I guess I've learned a lot. I've learned that baseball is for the owners and sportswriters and fans, and not the players. We just perform. For instance, the other night a guy came to my hotel room and asked if he could come in and talk. He said he was a Pirate fan, that he followed me closely and thought I was great. So what could I say? Anyway, he kept talking and talking about how great I was and how no one will believe it when he tells them he was in Bruce Kison's room, and all the while he's looking at me with these big eyes like I'm some kind of hero or something. Finally, I said to him, 'It isn't that big a deal, you know.' He said, 'It is to me.' Then he left. "People idolize us too much. They give us importance we don't deserve. I am the first pitcher ever to win a night World Series game, but I don't feel important. I still think of myself as a kid. Baseball is still a sport to me. But it's a business. I'm just a piece of property. I know that. But that doesn't mean I want people to make a living off me. Take my wedding, for instance. I don't want people to make a living off my wedding. That's a helluva way to start out." The waitress appeared with his eggs. She placed the platter in front of Kison and he looked at them for a second. He picked up his fork, picked at the eggs and then said, "I wanted them well done. These aren't well done." The waitress took the plate back to the kitchen. "They'll probably just throw them on another plate and bring them out again," said Kison. Then he laughed a little. "That's funny. I'd never have done that a year ago. But there are a lot of things I used to do I'd never do now. When everybody's looking at you, you can't always express what you feel. I think that's the most important thing I have learned up here. I mean, you don't tell everything you know anymore."

Steve Blass, author of the fantastic new book "A Pirate For Life"

http://www.amazon.com/A-Pirate-Life-Steve-Blass/dp/1600787061/ref=pd_rhf_dp_p_t_1 Run, do not walk, to get this fantastic book! Blass: first class! May 13, 2012 By Vince Palamara Format:Hardcover I met Steve Blass as an 8th-grade boy at the local mall in Bethel Park, PA, in the Summer of 1979 and Steve couldn't have been more gracious and kind as he signed an autograph for me and said hello to my parents. This was several years removed from his terrific baseball playing days and before he became an outstanding announcer for the Pittsburgh Pirates. My dad told me, "Trust me: you made his day!" Well, he certainly made mine (a fond memory I shall never forget!)and this very fine book "Steve Blass: A Pirate For Life" will make yours, too. Very well written and compelling, Steve's book is hard to put down from start to finish; in fact, you will find yourself rereading and reliving certain sections many times over. Anyone who is a die-hard Pittsburgh Pirates fanatic (like myself: I even started a Bob Moose blog, one of Steve's pitching colleagues, with rare photos and information, but I digress) or even just a baseball fan, in general, will be sure to enjoy and treasure this book. For any old-time Pirates fanatic, there are certain memories that will live on forever: the 1960 World Series team, Roberto Clemente's life (and tragic death), Bob Moose's no-hitter (as well as his wild pitch in '72 and his untimely death that shook this reviewer, as a young fifth-grader, to the core), the 1971 World Series team (with two fantastic wins by Steve Blass), and, for many, the great career and baffling ending of Steve Blass. Get this book asap- you will be glad you did! GET THIS BOOK ASAP!!!!!!!!!!!!! :o) Editorial Reviews Review "Talk about a guy whose career ran the gamut—Steve Blass went from World Series hero, to a man whose name became literally synonymous with a specific baseball malady. He emerged from it all with humor, humanity, and perspective."—Bob Costas, NBC Sports and Major League Baseball Network "He went from the very top of his game to the very confused. How he unraveled and overcame his malady with humor and intelligence is a lesson for all and is what this book is all about."—Tim McCarver, Fox Baseball Analyst, Recipient of the 2012 Ford C. Frick Award "There are a lot of guys in baseball, but there are just a few you can put on one hand that have the zest for life and love of the game as Steve Blass."—Bill Mazeroski, Hall of Fame Second Baseman, Pittsburgh Pirates "Steve Blass embodied the early '70s Pirates teams on which he starred: he was gifted, grounded, and great company. Nothing has changed in this wonderful, entertaining book. In "A Pirate For Life," Blass gives us a look behind the curtain, reintroducing us to a cast of familiar and delightful characters, including himself. He is the perfect tour guide to a golden age in Bucs history -- a history he helped make."—Austin Murphy, Senior Writer, Sports Illustrated About the Author Steve Blass is a former pitcher for the Pittsburgh Pirates and has been broadcasting their games as color commentator since 1987. He lives in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Erik Sherman has been a freelance sportswriter more than 30 years. He lives in New York City. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- http://www.amazon.com/A-Pirate-Life-Steve-Blass/dp/1600787061/ref=pd_rhf_dp_p_t_1