Robin Roberts 1926–2010
TAMPA — A humble, friendly, and generous man, a devout
Christian, a loving a father and husband, a worker for his
community, an effective coach and teacher, an engaging
storyteller, and, oh yeah, a Hall of Fame pitcher, died at his
Temple Terrace, Florida home of natural causes Thursday at
83.
Robin Roberts’ health had deteriorated in recent months.
And he had lost some of his spark and bounce after his wife,
Mary, died five years ago. But he did not suffer a period of
debilitating illness before dying Thursday of respiratory
ailments. He was able to indulge his love of baseball, which
never waned through Roberts’ long life, right to the end.
The greatest right-handed pitcher in Philadelphia Phillies
history watched his Phillies Wednesday night on ESPN, and then
tuned in the Tampa Bay Rays’ game from the left coast, which
lasted well into the morning of Roberts’ last day. Happily,
Roberts’ two favorite teams won the last games he was able to
watch.
Baseball fans of a certain vintage know about Roberts and
can be absolutely lyrical in speaking of him. And why not? His
numbers tell a remarkable story. A durable pitcher with a smooth
and easy motion who relied mainly on a live fastball with the
occasional curve thrown in, Roberts was able to win consistently
for some forgettable Phillies teams of the fifties.
It started out upbeat enough, with Roberts and the Phillies
“Whiz Kids” of 1950 making it to the World Series in Roberts’
sophomore year in the bigs. But the “Kids” were exhausted after a
grueling pennant race that wasn’t decided until the final day of
the regular season. The Phillies pitching staff was so depleted
by injuries and the military draft that Roberts had to start
three of the Phillies’ final five games, an event that would
likely have occasioned an unfair labor practices action from
today’s players union. In the World Series, the Yankees swept the
Phillies four straight, with Roberts losing the second game 2-1
when Joe DiMaggio tagged him for a homer (no shame in that) in
the 10th.
After 1950, Roberts was not to see post-season play again,
though this was hardly his fault. While Roberts defined
durability and reliability through the first half of the fifties,
and was picked by National League managers to start three
All-Star games, his Phillies faded like a cheap T-shirt. They
spent most of the decade below .500. Roberts won 20 for the 1950
pennant winners, and then followed with win totals of 21, 28, 23,
23, 23, and 19 for less competitive Phillies teams. He finished
with 286 wins, 234 of them with the Phillies, and a spot in
Cooperstown.
Nowadays, after “quality starts” of six innings, baseball
managers turn games over to bullpens of various specialists:
set-up men, lefties who come in to pitch to one left-hander, and
finally the cock-of-the walk, the closer. Today, a guy who
pitches 200 innings over a 162-game season is a “workhorse.”
Roberts, who always respected the game, never had anything bad to
say about this practice. “It’s just different now,” was his take.
But from 1950 through 1955 Roberts never pitched fewer than 304
innings in a 154-game schedule. In 1956 he fell off to 297 IP.
Now that’s a workhorse.
The complete game, a rarity today in baseball at any level,
was a Roberts specialty. “When I went out there, I
went out there for nine innings, because that’s what you were
supposed to do,” Roberts said on numerous occasions.
Suiting the action to the word, Roberts’ complete-game
totals for the front half of the fifties were 21, 22, 30, 33, 29,
and 26. Any of these years would constitute good career numbers
by today’s practices. But these stats were just very good by the
standards of the fifties, when lots of pitchers went nine.
Roberts finished 305 of the 609 games he started. And he did this
without pharmaceutical help.
Thanks to his consistent excellence on the mound and his
unassuming, team-player personality, Roberts was a favorite of
Philadelphia sports fans, who have a well-earned reputation as
some of the toughest on the planet. Perhaps they’ve mellowed in
the light of recent success, but it has been said of Phillies
fans that they would boo your kid at an Easter egg hunt. They
didn’t boo Roberts, even when he had one of his rare bad
outings.
As a youngster, my neighbor, friend, fellow-writer, and
Philadelphia native Joe O’Neill saw Roberts pitch at Connie Mack
stadium. He said Roberts was to Philadelphia what Stan Musial,
who also got a pass from the boo-birds, was to St. Louis. On the
subject of Roberts with Philadelphians, so pre-Miranda on other
subjects, seldom is heard a discouraging word.
As is invariably the case in athletic careers, Roberts’
skills eventually eroded and he ended his career with shorts
stays with the Orioles, Astros, and Cubs. He stayed involved with
baseball after his last pitch, helping establish the Major League
Players Association. He was pleased with much of the improvement
the union brought for players, but he hated the strikes and often
lamented that in the heated, often butt-headed atmosphere between
players and owners there is no one to represent the fans.
After Roberts hung up his cleats we learned that he wasn’t
a team player only in The Show. Like so many other natives of
Illinois, Roberts found his way to Florida where from 1977
through 1985 he was the head baseball coach at the University of
South Florida in Tampa. Eddie Cardieri, his assistant for his
last three years and who went on to lead USF’s baseball team
himself for 21 years, called Roberts an outstanding coach and
teacher who gained the respect of his players through his “great
feel for the game” which he was able to communicate to young
athletes.
“He taught kids to keep it simple, to not make the game too
tricky,” Cardieri told me. “He taught pitchers they could succeed
if they commanded two pitches — if they could throw a fastball
and an off-speed pitch for strikes.”
Cardieri said he roomed with Roberts when the team traveled
and remembers fondly not only the long conversations where the
younger Cardieri learned a lot about baseball, but of enjoying
Roberts’ large repertoire of stories from his playing days which
included parts for such as Satchel Paige, Yogi Berra, and other
household names from fifties and sixties baseball.
“The stories were so good, and Robin was so good at telling
them, that you enjoyed them the tenth time you heard them as much
as you did the first,” Cardieri said. “I’m blessed for having
been able to work with him. He was always a gentleman. Just a
fine human being.”
You’ll get no argument on this from Wally Meyer, pastor at
Christ Our Redeemer Lutheran Church, where Roberts was a regular
attendee.
“He was generous to the church and to others,” Meyer told
me. “He was humble, and always patient when people would ask him
for autographs, even when he knew they were sending them to
E-Bay. He was a joy to know.”
Meyer also liked Roberts’ baseball stories, including the
one about the rookie Lou Piniella who was sent up to pinch-hit
for Roberts (who wasn’t a bad hitter for a pitcher). Piniella
grounded out to shortstop. Later in the clubhouse the by then
venerable Roberts joshed the rookie, saying, “I could have done
that.”
Those who knew him will tell you that, taken all around,
Robin Roberts was a Hall of Famer as a man as well as a pitcher.
His long and productive life was more than a quality start. It
was a very complete game. He will be missed.
R.I.P.
