It was 1964, and I was nine years-old, when my youthful innocence was taken from me. The process took eleven excruciating days, and Chico Ruiz was the initial culprit. It was painful, and my recovery was slow. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was learning a major life lesson.
The Phillies that year were the surprise of Major League Baseball’s National League. After more than a decade of ugly ineptitude, including 1961 when they won 47 games and lost 107, the 1964 Phillies were much improved. With young sluggers and veteran pitchers, they started out hot and kept winning. In those days, there were no divisions in MLB, just the American League and the National League, with ten teams each. At the end of the season, the two first place teams – the pennant winners – would meet in the World Series.
The Phils had been established in 1883, and in the 81-year period up until 1964, they had been to just two World Series (1915 and 1950), losing them both. Yet, 1964 seemed like the real thing. My heroes were in first place all season long, right from the beginning.
As a young kid, I was pretty much oblivious to my team’s legacy of losing, but I was to become fully submerged by the end of the season. First, though, there was joy – for me and for much of Philly.
When the season began, it had been less than five months since the assassination of President Kennedy. As the nation recovered, popular diversions were welcome, which was evidenced by the explosive embrace of the Beatles starting in February. The Phillies began winning from the opening game, and Philadelphia had its own focus as it subconsciously healed. The team never went on a long games-won streak, it just kept winning significantly more than it lost.
Philadelphia fans have a well-deserved reputation for being cynical and vocally demanding of their professional sports teams and for being unwelcoming to visiting teams. (Don’t believe everything you read, however. Santa deserved it.) As the season progressed, though, even the local cynics allowed themselves to begin believing in the team.
They appeared to be a team of destiny. Jim Bunning, the number one starting pitcher, threw a perfect game in June. Excellent outfielder Johnny Callison won the All-Star Game in July for the National League, and was named MVP, by hitting a three-run homer to cap a ninth inning rally and beat the American League all-stars. And young Richie Allen, later to be known by his preferred first name of Dick, played at a consistently high level all season on his way to Rookie of the Year honors.
Everything was falling in place. Even a multi-day riot in August centered in a neighborhood just a mile or so from the Phils’ ballpark, Connie Mack Stadium, was just a temporary inconvenience to the fans, most of whom were White. The riot was the result of rising tensions between the Philadelphia Police and the city’s Black residents. Over 300 people were injured, and over 700 were arrested.
By September, plans were being made for the World Series, which was scheduled to start on October 7. In preparation, the Phillies printed tickets for the games to be hosted by the National League champion – games one and two for sure and games six and seven if needed. The local media, of course was completely into this feel-good story. At that time, I was still watching morning kids TV shows, including one hosted daily by a local celebrity, Sally Starr. She presented herself as a cowgirl, and amiably entertained the children. That summer as the Phillies continued to lead the pack, she started imploring her young viewers to send in to the TV station their good luck items that would help the team to win the National League pennant. Then, as the end of the regular season was on the horizon, she changed her pitch. The kids should send in good luck charms for the Phils to win the World Series.
One problem – they still had not clinched the pennant.
As the Phillies entered their game with the Cincinnati Reds on September 21, their record stood at 90 wins and 60 losses. They were in first place by six and a half games with only twelve to play. It was obvious that they were going to win the pennant and head to the World Series. On that evening, Chico Ruiz, an unsung utility player who could fill-in as needed at any infield position, stole home, and the Reds beat the Phils 1-0. No big deal, right?
The Phillies then went into an unbelievable tailspin, losing nine more games in a row. While the fates and their manager’s questionable pitching rotation strategy conspired against them, the St. Louis Cardinals heated up and won nine out of ten games. By the time the Phils’ losing streak ended, there were just two regular season games remaining. Although they won them both, it was too little, too late. The Cardinals won the National League pennant with a won-loss record of 93-69, while the Phillies finished one game out at 92-70. In the Series, the Cards beat the New York Yankees in seven games.
As might be predicted, the grouping of players that nearly brought a pennant to Philly in 1964 was never quite the same again. Within a few years, the team fell into a losing routine once more. In fact, the Phillies did not make it to the World Series until 1980.
For me, the collapse shattered some kid-like notions about positive expectations for those things you love. At nine, I guess I became a cynic. But it also showed me that you need to complete any job you are doing with as much energy and enthusiasm as when you started and never coast across the finish line. You might not get there.