before, sometimes better. The procedure became known as “Tommy John surgery.” And it saved countless pitchers’ lives.
Jobe took X-rays of Gary’s shoulder from a different angle, and sure enough, he found a one-inch bone spur swimming in there. Jobe thought that if he removed the bone spur, Gary had a chance to pitchagain—certainly he had a better chance than Tommy John. The Reds management—even after hearing about the bone spur—did not want Jobe to perform surgery. They still thought that Gary just needed to get tougher. But Gary knew the surgery was his only chance. Jobe removed the spur, and Gary did the rehabilitation quietly and away from the ball club.
And that was how he ended up on the mound here in Tampa, pitching both without pain and without the arm-explosion of his youth. He pitched three innings against the Minnesota Twins. He did not give up a run. The baseball scouts who had come to see Gary Nolan shrugged…he did not look bad, but he was not the same. His fastball was gone. But Gary knew that. The fastball was gone. Yesterday was gone. The only question in his mind was: could he still get hitters out? Gary thought that maybe he could.
And the second thrill of his life? No, it was not pitching well that day in spring training while his wife watched from behind the net. It was not striking out Willie Mays four times. It was not even the day he made it to the big leagues. No, the second thrill in baseball happened when Frank Jobe found that sharp bone spur and said very softly: “I have no idea how you pitched in that sort of pain. You must have been in agony.” Someone believed him. And Gary felt like a man again.
March 25, 1975
TAMPA
In the Cincinnati clubhouse, players were still talking about the fight. Pete, of course, kept talking about the white guy. Did you see him? The white guy showed all kinds of heart. Chuck Wepner. But nobody gave him a chance. They called Wepner “the Bayonne Bleeder,” which is not an especially intimidating name for a boxer. What chance would a boxer called the Bayonne Bleeder have against Muhammad Ali, the greatest, “the Black Superman,” the heavyweight champeen of the world? This wasn’t a fight; it was a bloodletting. The only thing bookies took bets on was what round the Bayonne Bleeder would drown. Jim Murray of the Los Angeles Times wrote that to entertain a crowd that would pay to watch a fight like this, they should follow up by gassing butterflies and setting fire to baby carriages.
Then the fight began. And the white guy wouldn’t go down. He took every blow, walked through every punch, he made it all the way to the fifteenth round with Ali. Wepner even knocked the champ down. The white guy! Of course, Ali later said it was no knockdown, he had slipped. And yeah, Ali’s trunks flushed red with Wepner’s blood. And sure, the whole thing was a joke…the champ taunted and mocked and played around most of the fight. He kept the tomato can upright just to entertain the booing crowd. Still, you had to admit it, Wepner stood for fifteen rounds. The white guy!
“He got knocked out! ” Joe Morgan shouted at Pete. They were always shouting at each other, Pete and Joe. “You are like an old married couple,” Tony Perez would say, and they were, like an old married couple you might see on television, like Archie and Edith on All in the Family, or Sonny and Cher before they called it splits.
“He got knocked out with nineteen seconds left,” Rose yelled back. “Did anybody think this guy could last until there were nineteen seconds left in the fight? Everybody thought he would get knocked out in the first round…. Hell, the white guy even knocked Ali down.”
“Would you two shut up?” Johnny Bench yelled across the clubhouse.
“It was a slip,” Morgan said.
“Yeah, like you slipped when you swung at that pitch in the dirt yesterday,” Perez shouted.
Pete and Joe. Those two could get everybody in the locker room going. Funny thing,
Jobe took X-rays of Gary’s shoulder from a different angle, and sure enough, he found a one-inch bone spur swimming in there. Jobe thought that if he removed the bone spur, Gary had a chance to pitchagain—certainly he had a better chance than Tommy John. The Reds management—even after hearing about the bone spur—did not want Jobe to perform surgery. They still thought that Gary just needed to get tougher. But Gary knew the surgery was his only chance. Jobe removed the spur, and Gary did the rehabilitation quietly and away from the ball club.
And that was how he ended up on the mound here in Tampa, pitching both without pain and without the arm-explosion of his youth. He pitched three innings against the Minnesota Twins. He did not give up a run. The baseball scouts who had come to see Gary Nolan shrugged…he did not look bad, but he was not the same. His fastball was gone. But Gary knew that. The fastball was gone. Yesterday was gone. The only question in his mind was: could he still get hitters out? Gary thought that maybe he could.
And the second thrill of his life? No, it was not pitching well that day in spring training while his wife watched from behind the net. It was not striking out Willie Mays four times. It was not even the day he made it to the big leagues. No, the second thrill in baseball happened when Frank Jobe found that sharp bone spur and said very softly: “I have no idea how you pitched in that sort of pain. You must have been in agony.” Someone believed him. And Gary felt like a man again.
March 25, 1975
TAMPA
In the Cincinnati clubhouse, players were still talking about the fight. Pete, of course, kept talking about the white guy. Did you see him? The white guy showed all kinds of heart. Chuck Wepner. But nobody gave him a chance. They called Wepner “the Bayonne Bleeder,” which is not an especially intimidating name for a boxer. What chance would a boxer called the Bayonne Bleeder have against Muhammad Ali, the greatest, “the Black Superman,” the heavyweight champeen of the world? This wasn’t a fight; it was a bloodletting. The only thing bookies took bets on was what round the Bayonne Bleeder would drown. Jim Murray of the Los Angeles Times wrote that to entertain a crowd that would pay to watch a fight like this, they should follow up by gassing butterflies and setting fire to baby carriages.
Then the fight began. And the white guy wouldn’t go down. He took every blow, walked through every punch, he made it all the way to the fifteenth round with Ali. Wepner even knocked the champ down. The white guy! Of course, Ali later said it was no knockdown, he had slipped. And yeah, Ali’s trunks flushed red with Wepner’s blood. And sure, the whole thing was a joke…the champ taunted and mocked and played around most of the fight. He kept the tomato can upright just to entertain the booing crowd. Still, you had to admit it, Wepner stood for fifteen rounds. The white guy!
“He got knocked out! ” Joe Morgan shouted at Pete. They were always shouting at each other, Pete and Joe. “You are like an old married couple,” Tony Perez would say, and they were, like an old married couple you might see on television, like Archie and Edith on All in the Family, or Sonny and Cher before they called it splits.
“He got knocked out with nineteen seconds left,” Rose yelled back. “Did anybody think this guy could last until there were nineteen seconds left in the fight? Everybody thought he would get knocked out in the first round…. Hell, the white guy even knocked Ali down.”
“Would you two shut up?” Johnny Bench yelled across the clubhouse.
“It was a slip,” Morgan said.
“Yeah, like you slipped when you swung at that pitch in the dirt yesterday,” Perez shouted.
Pete and Joe. Those two could get everybody in the locker room going. Funny thing,
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