Sport: The Whole Story of Pitching

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Dismal & Decent. For a while, such heady success seemed too rich for Philadelphia's blood. The monumental indifference that was ultimately to run Connie Mack's old Athletics all the way to Kansas City was far from dissolved by Roberts' effortless and somehow unexciting pitching. And if winning ball games was not enough, off the field the young man was about as colorful as the third fellow from the end in the class picture. The few real fans in town felt like Huck Finn trying to warm up to the Widow Douglas: "It was rough . . . considering how dismal regular and decent the widow was in all her ways." Robin Roberts was an earnest young man interested only in giving the enemy its lumps, while the fans, as one of them explains it today, were looking for a player "who can give us lumps in the throat."

Unfortunately the rest of the team also cried out for color. There are men who still insist that Owner Bob Carpenter was desperately hoping to find some headline-catching shenanigans when he hired a private eye to shadow some of his players two years ago. At any rate Millionaire Sportsman Carpenter learned nothing that he has not known for years: all his money has yet to buy him a polished team.

Still, in the 1956 Phillies the nucleus is there. Behind the plate, crafty Veteran Andy Seminick makes up in pure baseball savvy what he lacks in hitting; Granny Hamner at shortstop is a real pro; Richie Ashburn and Del Ennis belong in any man's outfield. As for pitchers, though, unless Southpaw Curt Simmons gets back his "bonus baby" form and until the trade for the Cardinals' Harvey Haddix pays off, Robin Roberts is the Phillies' only reliable performer.

The Philadelphia fans have learned to appreciate him, and now they understand what his opponents mean when they call Righthander Roberts an old-fashioned pitcher. He never bothers with fancy stuff but makes do with what he has: a dinky curve, a sneaky but unspectacular fast ball, and a frustrating change of pace. He offers no single dramatic talent—he has no counterpart of Carl Hubbell's spectacular screwball, Walter Johnson's terrifying fast ball, Bobby Feller's strikeout touch. Pitch for pitch, many of his contemporaries have what the trade calls "more stuff," pitches that are harder, faster, or trickier. But better than any of them now on the mound, Robin Roberts can put the ball where he wants. There is one precious-diamond word for him—control.

Ball on Ice. In this era of short fences and hopped-up baseballs, Roberts' achievements are not easily come by. Managers flash their signals from the bench and teammates bawl their encouragement. But pitching is a loner's art. Once a man places his forefoot on the white rubber slab and takes aim at the plate 60 ft. 6 in. away, he is on his own. Only his craft and strength can whip the ball safely past the waiting batter.