A Class Act

Let's take a break from hurricanes, levee breaks and war for a few moments. A steady diet of rough news results in one having the look, demeanor and attitude of a Finn attending the triple funeral of his mother, wife and dog.

Let's talk baseball!

Each generation has it's memory of the perfect ballplayer. That one guy who, for a lifetime, seems to define what the greatest or most perfect ballplayer, should be. My grandmother, Grand Baroness Vera of Carthage, held that despite the fact that he was a Yankee, Lou Gerhig was the model baseball player. He was a great player and seemed to be a truly modest and kind man who was given a bad deal. My father, Earl Nib, always held that Dizzy Dean was the best. The ever young Countess Nib insists the best was Stan Musial. The ever lovely Lady Nib and myself think of Sandy Koufax as the baseball icon.

Sandy Koufax was the consummate fastball pitcher. When he wound up and released the ball he was throwing BBs at the batter, not baseballs. Fastball pitchers are not my favorite pitchers. I like knuckleballers. Knuckleballers are, in baseball terms, usually old, rather grubby and really disreputable. Knuckleballers are the tricksters of the game. They are the Bugs Bunnies of baseball, throwing balls that sink like a U or literally screwing itself to the plate. But Koufax had the perfect form. No wasted motion. A ballet on the mound. If baseball had been played in classical Greece Koufax's form would have been recorded on countless amphora.

Having nattered on about Koufax, yours truly suggests that you read this:The Perfect Prime - Los Angeles Times It kills me to link to the Times, but I'll give credit to whom credit is due.

Could it be forty years since Koufax's photo appeared in the paper holding four baseballs, all marked 0?