The Last of the Whiskey Slicks

 From the desk of HoraceClarke66

Whitey Ford was not only the original Chairman of the Board—sorry, Frank—but also the last of “the Whiskey Slick,” as Casey Stengel would dub Ford, Mickey Mantle, and Billy Martin, due to their devotion to their favorite beverage. 

 

The nickname “Slick” would stick only to Whitey, which was appropriate, because while the whiskey would eat up Mickey and Billy, only Whitey seemed to have avoided its worst ravages. He was always slick, a genuine city slicker, who slipped through his career without us coming to know very much about someone who was such a great pitcher on such a great team.

 

Probably my biggest surprise about his death notices was that no one mentioned how Slick once did a commercial for Braniff Airlines with no less than Salvador Dali. You can find it online—and yes, it is a surreal experience.

In general, the Times did all right with its coverage of his life and death, though Tyler Kepner could’ve spared us a quote from Hal Smith—a Pittsburgh Pirate in the 1960 World Series who hit a key home run in Game Seven—to the effect that Casey Stengel was a dope for not starting Ford three times in that Series instead of two.

 

“He had a lot of talent on that team, but when it came to changing pitchers and things, he wasn’t too smart,” Smith informed us about Casey.

 

Right, and Napoleon just got lucky all those years.

 

Smith was a very solid, hard-hitting catcher who was no doubt a little bitter because he spent five years in the Yankees system before being traded away. That was also likely the fault of Stengel, that fool, who only had Yogi Berra, Elston Howard, and Johnny Blanchard ahead of him. 

 

Stengel started Art Ditmar in Game One of the 1960s World Series, and while Ditmar was no Whitey Ford, he’d had the best record of any Yankee starter that year, and had pitched very well in clutch situations for the Yanks in the 1957 and 1958 World Series, surrendering zero runs in 9 2/3 innings.

 

It didn’t work out. But as it happened the Series was decided in Game Seven not so much because of the defects of any pitcher or manager, as the fact that Pittsburgh’s Forbes Field looked and played as though it had been used for a monster truck rally the night before.

 

And if anything, Casey probably extended Ford’s career by using him carefully, sparingly through his younger years (It also helped that he missed two years in the army during the Korean war, especially as he did not get shot, as Casey might’ve said.) 

 

This has often been cited as another mistake of Stengel’s, and much credit has been given to Ralph Houk for subsequently throwing Slick another 5-6 starts a year once he took over. But knowing what we know now about young arms, Stengel’s approach—not only sparing Ford too much work, but also using him strategically against certain team—certainly seemed to have worked.

 

It’s hard to argue with the results. The Yankees did indeed have a lot of talent, as Hal Smith pointed out, but Ford’s record lifetime winning percentage was .690—as opposed to .576 for the team in the rest of its games. 

 

Kepner also points to how Slick’s World Series record was a “mere” 10-8, as an indication of just how hard it is to win in the postseason. This is true—but it’s worth pointing out that Whitey’s ERA in his 22 World Series starts was just 2.71, lower than his regular season ERA, and his pitched well enough to have gone 16-6.

Want some more amazing stats?

 

—No starting pitcher who completed his whole career in the live-ball era—not Lefty Grove, not Roger Clemens or Randy Johson, not Pedro Martinez or Sandy Koufax—ever ran up a lower, lifetime earned-run average lower than Whitey Ford’s 2.75.

 

Right now, deGrom and Kershaw are both below that mark, but we’ll see where they end up.

 

—No pitcher who ever started 300 or more games ran up a better lifetime winning percentage than Ford’s .690.

 

—In every single one of the 16 years he pitched, Ford had an ERA below the league average. You’d think the same could be said for any number of great pitchers. It can’t. In fact, I’ve yet to locate one.

 

Randy Johnson, Greg Maddux, Lefty Grove, Bob Feller, Pedro Martinez. You name it. There was always one year when they were not as good as the league as a whole. Not so for Slick. Not even close.

 

Finally, to correct a figure I guessed at the other day, the Yankees signed White Ford for $7,000, not $2,000. But still, it speaks to how much the Yanks, back in the day, won by smarts and hustle, more than sheer money.

“Around the American League fans groused about the Yankees’ damnable good luck,” wrote Roger Kahn.  “…but there was no luck in the Yankees’ landing Ford, no luck at all.  The Yankees had him switch from first base to the mound, taught him the curve ball, tracked his progress with great care, and then outbid two other wealthy teams to sign him.”

Around the same time, they signed Mickey Mantle for $1,150—less than a young outfielder named Mario Cuomo got to sign with the Pirates—and Yogi Berra for $500.

Catcher, pitcher, centerfield. They would not only develop a superstar at each position but, by some measures, the three greatest players ever to play them.  Mantle, Ford, and Berra—all for a combined, investment of $8,650.