THE 1969 MIRACLE METS: THE IMPROBABLE STORY OF THE WORLD’S GREATEST UNDERDOG TEAM by Steven Travers

gotten
better for him: junior college ace, proving himself with the Alaska
Goldpanners, “big man on campus” at USC; now a bonus baby; and a
few months later, married to the beautiful Nancy Lynn McIntrye.
    The guy who could not make the Fresno High
varsity until his senior year found himself trailed by curious
glances and murmurs at Homestead. “That’s the guy from USC.”
“That’s Seaver, they paid him over 50 grand.” Bud Harrelson, Jerry
Koosman and Nolan Ryan were all in camp, but Seaver was singled out
for the special treatment accorded to the most important prospects.
It was dizzying, but Seaver had “class” according to Harrelson, who
said that despite his place at the top of the totem pole, the bonus
baby did not put on airs or try to show anybody up.
    Most players start out at class A ball and
have to fight for years to move up the ladder. The combination of
Seaver’s college record, bonus money and the team’s lack of success
meant that he started at triple-A Jacksonville, Florida. Manager
Solly Hemus, who had seen a few in his long baseball career,
declared him, “the best pitching prospect the Mets have ever
signed,” and then paid him the ultimate compliment: “Seaver has a
35-year-old head on top of a 21-year-old body. Usually, we get a
35-year-old arm attached to a 21-year-old head.”
    Seaver was teammates with Dick Selma at
Jacksonville. Immediately he had success and was ticketed as a
“can’t miss” prospect who would be in the Major Leagues soon, maybe
even in September. He led the team in victories and strikeouts. He
was given the nickname “Super Rookie,” or “Supe” for short. His
future was secure when Hemus said he reminded him of Bob
Gibson. When most minor league pitching prospects get hit, they
are removed so as to protect their gentle psyches. Hemus realized
Seaver had the mental toughness of . . . a 35-year old. When his
rough patches came, as they always do, he kept him in to gain from
the experience.
    The roughest patch came off the field, when
the “wizened” wives and girlfriends of the Jacksonville players set
the naïve California girl Nancy “straight” on the notorious sexual
habits of ballplayers. Tom assured her of his commitment to her,
but her mind was filled with dreadful thoughts.
    After a heavy workload at Jacksonville, the
Mets decided not to call him up in September. Seaver and his new
bride returned to Los Angeles, where he was now just another
student at USC. Suddenly Seaver saw a new future in baseball, and
began to think about broadcasting on the side. He transferred his
major from pre-dentistry to public relations. Instead of living
near campus, notorious for being near a high crime zone and at that
time only a year removed from the nearby Watts riots, they lived in
upscale Manhattan Beach.
    In 1967, Seaver entered Spring Training amid
speculation that he would be a starting pitcher. Had Seaver not
been with the lowly Mets, he probably would not have made it to
“The Show,” as the Majors are referred to, as quickly. He would
have started out at singe-A or double-A, then worked his way up.
Instead, he did start as a rookie in 1967. In truth, he was as
ready as can be. Manager Wes Westrum not only put him in the
starting rotation at the beginning of the season, he was talked out
of starting him on Opening Day only out of caution.
    The Mets were as bad as ever in 1967, only
now they were just terrible, not funny. The old Casey Stengel
stories, the wacky “Marvelous Marv” Throneberry antics, were gone.
Now they just lost. Seaver was appalled.
    “I was not raised on the Met legend,” he
said. He had no affinity for any of that stuff. Despite being a
rookie, he quickly ascended to a position of leadership on the
club. When teammates laughed at their ineptitude, he refused to let
them get away with it. Once, when Mets players were fooling around
in the dugout during a game, Seaver found some spiders nesting in a
corner. He scooped them all up