Sport: The Great Yankee

Giuseppe was a changed man. One day this week, his shoe-button eyes agleam and his squirrel teeth clamped, Giuseppe stepped up to bat. A pitched ball hit him, but he spurned the umpire's offer to take first base. Then he banged out homer No. 14 high over the centerfield fence, 402 ft. away. Everybody was beginning to talk, too, about his superb fielding, running, throwing. Such spring training carryings-on were usually reserved for rambunctious rookies—not the great Giuseppe Paolo ("Joe") Di Maggio of the New York Yankees.

The Army must have done it. The Great Di Maggio, who once made news if he showed up for any spring hitting at all, hadn't changed much physically. The sheen of his black hair was flecked with grey; his weight (a prewar 205) was down to 190. But his disposition, like his ulcers, was better. He still knew that he was the greatest baseball player alive, but now he talked as if he were only as good in his business as many others are in theirs. He no longer called himself the "Great Di Maggio," now resented conceit in other ballplayers. He was actually getting to be good company.

One good proof that Di Maggio had hot lost any power since he played in the '42 World Series was one terrible wallop he took at a ball in a Panama exhibition game—it landed 476 feet, 10 inches from homeplate and rolled another 101 feet. Pitchers, usually far ahead of batters in the spring, were throwing him outside balls. When they did, 31-year-old Di Mag practiced hitting to right field (the right field home run fence at Yankee Stadium, once Babe Ruth's pet target, is the closest). His 30-game R.B.I, total was up to a lofty 43.

Many another big-league flower has blossomed in March and drooped long before October. But Di Mag, if past performance is any guide, should do even better when homers really begin to count than in spring rehearsal. To the surprise of his teammates, he was actually talking enthusiastically about baseball.

He is having a fielder's glove custom-made for Joe Di Maggio III, aged 4^. Said he: "It's an exact copy of mine, but small. It will cost as much as mine but that's all right [since he makes a $43,500-a-year salary, Di Mag could well afford it]. Most kids have skimpy little gloves and I don't want him to have to use one of those." Di Mag even knows the time the train gets him into Manhattan's Penn Station from Baltimore, spring's last exhibition stop. Says he proudly: "It's 11:35 p.m. of April n, and I'm looking forward to it good."