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  The chump: The OstrichPaul Bruins/Flickr/Getty Images

  Round 8

  It was plain to all the remaining spectators that Bodie was nowhere close to quitting after eating his eighth bowl of spaghetti while Percy was weakening considerably. But the feathered eating machine refused to give up.

  Round 9

  At the start of the round, even hardened eaters were demanding that Robinson throw in the napkin. “Do you want your bird killed?” a spectator hollered. Robinson retorted, “He won’t quit while he’s on his feet.” And so the competitors slurped up the ninth bowl of pasta.

  Round 10

  The ostrich staggered out of his corner with his beak sagging. There seemed no room left in his stomach for even one strand of spaghetti. Bodie just grinned while consuming the 10th bowl. Now unsteady on his feet, Percy barely managed to finish his portion.

  Round 11

  The ostrich staggered out from his corner. His eyes were bloodshot and his sides were heaving as he toed his pasta bowl. Everyone knew he was a beaten bird. Bodie was almost finished with his bowl when Percy dropped to his knees. The timekeeper began to count. Bodie wolfed down the last morsel and stepped back to survey his fallen opponent. When the timekeeper counted to ten, the ostrich keeled over, never to rise again.

  Bodie was then declared the undisputed spaghetti-eating champion of the world.

  DIZZY DEAN

  Pitcher · St. Louis, NL · March, 1934

  Nobody detested batters more than pitcher Dizzy Dean. Show him a guy with a bat in his hand and Dean would foam at the mouth. And pity the poor batter who dared dig in against him. Dean would yell, “Are you all done? You comfortable? Well, send for the groundskeeper and get a shovel ’cause that’s where they’re gonna bury you!” The hitter would then be diving in the dirt with the next pitch.

  As one of the crazier members of the St. Louis Cardinals’ Gashouse Gang, Dean served notice even in spring training that he would take personal offense at any team who got the better of him. During an exhibition game in Miami, Dean felt extremely offended when the New York Giants scored seven runs off him in one inning.

  Stomping and snarling on the mound, Dean went to work to get even. He reportedly plunked the next seven batters in a row—one for each run scored on him. Finally the umpire stopped the mayhem by ordering Cardinals manager Frankie Frisch to get “that maniac” off the mound. It was, after all, only spring training.

  TUG MCGRAW

  Pitcher · New York, NL · April, 1968

  Hurler Tug McGraw got himself into deep doo-doo after taking his dog along to training camp.

  It probably wasn’t the smartest thing for McGraw to do, considering he shuttled between the New York Mets and the minors in his three previous seasons and sported a 4-19 career record at the time.

  The pitcher’s pet, a mid-sized mutt named Pucci, put him in the doghouse the night before the final cut at the Mets’ camp in St. Petersburg, Florida, in 1968. That evening, McGraw opened his motel room door to let in some air—and what happened next shouldn’t happen to a dog.

  “Pucci wandered out,” McGraw recalled. “She trotted down the outdoor corridor to the room where [teammates] Dick Selma and Danny Frisella were living. They were having a party at the time . . . so they sort of boozed up old Pucci, feeding her a few nips.”

  The liquor must have upset her stomach, because she dumped a load right in front of coach Joe “Piggy” Pignatano’s room. “Then Piggy came out of his room in his bare feet to see what the commotion was about, and naturally he stepped smack into Pucci’s deposit,” recalled McGraw. “Man, he put up a frightening clamor, complete with cussing and howling the way only a coach can.”

  Just twelve hours later, McGraw was on his way back to the Mets’ farm team in Jacksonville, Florida, accompanied by his hungover boozehound.

  MEL HALL

  Left Fielder · Cleveland, AL · March 16, 1986

  Cleveland Indians left fielder Mel Hall became so caught up in a spring training game that he hung his head—and uniform—in shame.

  In the bottom of the fourth inning at Phoenix (Arizona) Municipal Stadium, Oakland Athletics batter Carney Lansford hit a looping line drive over third base. Hall chased the ball into foul territory near a restraining fence that separated the bleachers from the field.

  Suddenly, Hall stopped dead in his tracks as though he had been caught in a stop-action video replay. The fence had snared the long-sleeved T-shirt under his jersey. Hall couldn’t move and was forced to watch helplessly as the ball bounced away from him.

  Shortstop Julio Franco raced to retrieve the ball, but when he realized that Hall was hung up, Franco began laughing. Meanwhile, Lansford circled the bases for an inside-the-park home run.

  Hall was still trying to free himself when his manager, Pat Corrales, began arguing with umpire Don Denkinger. Mused Oakland manager Jackie Moore, “This is the first time I can remember a discussion about whether a player, rather than a ball, was in play.”

  After Hall unsnagged himself, teammate Joe Carter had a suggestion: “Mel needs a tear-away jersey.”

  MIKCKEY MANTLE

  Center Fielder · New York, AL · March 11, 1951

  Everybody raved about Mickey Mantle, the new kid with blazing speed and a thundering bat. But the raves turned to raspberries when the much-ballyhooed rookie zeroed in on the first fly ball hit to him in his first spring training game—and got smacked right between the eyes.

  Mantle had arrived at the New York Yankees’ temporary spring training camp in Phoenix in 1951 as the heir apparent to Hall of Famer Joe DiMaggio. Brought up as a shortstop, Mantle was immediately shifted to the outfield by manager Casey Stengel, who was impressed with the rookie’s speed and powerful arm.

  Mickey, a head-liner from the start© Bettmann/CORBIS

  Former Yankees outfielder Tommy “Old Reliable” Henrich was assigned the job of teaching Mantle the tricks and treacheries of the outfield. Henrich had his work cut out for him.

  “I stood out there with him day after day,” Henrich recalled. “Mickey had a tough time making the adjustment from shortstop to the outfield because there were so many things he had to learn that were unnatural for him.

  “We must have hit hundreds of fly balls to him while I tried to teach him the finer points of playing the outfield. I had to teach him how to use sunglasses. Knowing when to flip them down as the ball comes out of the shadows can be pretty tricky. Mickey had never used them before, and I thought he never would get the hang of them. Finally, I figured he had it nailed down.”

  Not quite.

  The first spring training game was against the Cleveland Indians, and Stengel started the excited rookie in center field. In his autobiography, The Mick, Mantle recalled what happened next:

  “Practice makes perfect, right? My first game as a Yankee. And Cleveland shortstop Ray Boone hit a line drive straight at me. I ran in a few steps and flipped my sunglasses down. Bam! Nothing but blackness. The ball caught me square on the forehead.”

  Left fielder Gene Woodling dashed over, grabbed the ball and threw it in. He then ran to Mantle’s side and, with great concern in his voice, asked not about Mantle’s head, but, “Did the glasses break?”

  Meanwhile in the Yankees dugout, Henrich threw his hands up in despair. “Oh, no, back to the drawing board,” he moaned.

  Trainer Gus Mauch ran out to the injured rookie, applied cold compresses to the rising knot on Mantle’s forehead, and led him off the field. As he staggered into the dugout, Mantle looked over at his new teammates. “Everybody was laughing,” he recalled. “After that, I had nowhere to go except up.”

  RIPPER COLLINS

  Pinch Hitter · St. Louis, NL · March, 1933

  St. Louis Cardinals first baseman Ripper Collins was looking to have a littl
e fun during an exhibition game. But it was no laughing matter to the umpire.

  Collins was called on to pinch-hit during a 1933 exhibition game. Before leaving the dugout, he secretly tucked a ball under his left armpit where nobody could see it, including plate umpire Bill Klem. On the first pitch, Collins dragged a bunt down the first base line and at the same time let the ball drop from under his arm.

  “The pitcher ran over to get the ball that I had bunted and the catcher picked up the one I had dropped,” Collins recalled. “Neither one threw, they were so surprised.

  “Klem threw me out of the game. He told me, ‘There will be none of that, young man. This is serious business, even in an exhibition game.’

  “For a minute, though, it was fun.”

  JACK GRANEY

  Pitcher · Cleveland, AL · February, 1908

  As a rookie hurler up from the minors, Jack Graney wanted to make a lasting first impression in spring training. Boy, did he ever. Unfortunately, the impression he made was from a pitch that beaned the manager.

  Graney was a young pitching sensation in his hometown of St. Thomas, Ontario, and in the minors in Pennsylvania. In 1908, the Cleveland Indians (then known as the Naps) invited him to spring training for a tryout. To see what the 22-year-old southpaw could do, player-manager Nap Lajoie had Graney throw batting practice.

  Most of Graney’s pitches sailed everywhere but over the plate. Nevertheless, he kept firing away, hoping that eventually he’d master his control problems. Then Lajoie stepped in to hit against the wild prospect.

  “When Lajoie came up to the plate, I wanted to give it everything I had because he was the manager of the team and one of baseball’s greatest hitters,” recalled Graney. “I was pretty cocky and had a crazy idea I could strike out Lajoie. That’s all I could think about, the boys back in St. Thomas sitting around the coal stove talking about how Jack Graney struck out the great Lajoie. I reared back and threw the fastest ball I’d ever pitched.”

  The ball hit Lajoie on the side of the head above the ear and careened into the stands. “He went down like a load of bricks,” Graney recalled. “Instead of striking him out, I knocked him out.”

  Later that evening, Graney was summoned to Lajoie’s room. The rookie walked in and saw the manager holding an ice bag to his head. “I started to tell him I was sorry, but he stopped me,” Graney recalled. “He said, ‘They tell me the place for wild men is out west. So you’re going west, kid, so far west that if you went any farther your hat would float.’”

  It was a ticket to Portland, Oregon, home of the minor league Beavers of the Pacific Coast League.

  Graney returned to Cleveland in 1910 and played 13 seasons for the team—as an outfielder.

  MICKEY HATCHER

  Infielder · Minnesota, AL · March 17, 1986

  Minnesota Twins infielder Mickey Hatcher attempted to bring a little levity to an exhibition game, and he damn near died trying.

  Because it was St. Patrick’s Day, the Minnesota Twins’ happy-go-lucky 31-year-old utility infielder felt an obligation to celebrate the holiday in the most colorful way he could. He sneaked into the maintenance room next to the dugout of Tinker Field, the team’s spring training home in Orlando, and found a can of green paint that had been earmarked for sprucing up the outfield walls.

  Hatcher had a better use for it—he would paint himself green. He took the can into the clubhouse restroom and, dipping a towel in the paint, covered his face, neck, and arms in bright green. When he went into the clubhouse, his teammates roared with laughter.

  But third baseman Gary Gaetti wasn’t laughing. In all seriousness, Gaetti told him, “Hey, Hatch. You’re going to suffocate. Your skin’s got to breathe, man.”

  Hatcher sloughed off the warning and replied, “If I get dizzy, I’ll take myself out.” He donned his uniform and went onto the field for some pregame fun. Waving a green paintbrush like a symphony conductor’s baton, Hatcher led early-arriving fans in an Irish ditty.

  Recalled teammate Bert Blyleven, “He didn’t realize that the paint was enamel. It was a hot March day and everyone was laughing. Well, the game started, and Mickey was sitting next to me on the bench, and all of a sudden he told me ‘Bert, I’m having trouble breathing.’ His pores had closed and the paint was going into his system. We had to take him out of there and back into the clubhouse and douse him with rubbing alcohol to get the paint off of him. Luckily, he ended up being okay.”

  The only thing Hatcher’s teammates worried about was what he’d do if he decided to paint the town red.

  HOLEY MITTS!

  For the Goofiest Fielding Fiascoes of All Time,

  The Baseball Hall of Shame™ Inducts:

  DUTCH LEONARD

  Pitcher · Washington, AL · August 1, 1945

  Washington Senators pitcher Dutch Leonard was robbed of a fielding assist by his baggy pants, causing him to curse the sons of britches.

  Leonard was hurling a shutout against the visiting Philadelphia Athletics in the eighth inning when A’s batter Irv Hall lined a knuckle­ball right back to the mound. The ball smacked into Leonard’s stomach, and he doubled over, holding his glove in front of his belt. Leonard, who wasn’t hurt, thought he had trapped the ball between his belly and his mitt. But when he straightened up to throw Hall out at first, the pitcher was shocked that the ball wasn’t in his glove. Frantically, he searched the mound and the infield. Nothing.

  Where could it be? Suddenly, Leonard felt something weird inside his pants. It was the ball! Somehow, when he doubled over, the ball rolled down his shirt, through his loosely-belted waist, and into his left pant leg. By the time Leonard removed the ball from his pants, Hall was already perched on first, laughing uncontrollably along with the rest of the players and fans.

  According to the rule book, it is not a catch if the fielder uses his “cap, protector, pocket or any other part of his uniform in getting possession.”

  After the game, which Leonard won 2–1, he always buckled his belt a notch tighter.

  LARRY BITTNER

  Right Fielder · Chicago, NL · September 26, 1979

  A “hat trick” spurs accolades in hockey, but Larry Biittner discovered that it triggers embarrassment in baseball.

  After the Chicago Cubs lost 8–3 to the visiting New York Mets, the players and 5,827 fans couldn’t stop talking about the play Biittner made in the fourth inning. New York’s Bruce Boisclair hit a sinking liner to right field. Biittner charged in and made a spectacular lunging dive at the hard-hit ball. Unfortunately, he trapped it. Scrambling to his feet so quickly that his cap flew off, Biittner knew the only way to hold the runner to a single was to fire the ball to second base in a hurry. But the ball wasn’t in his glove and he couldn’t find it anywhere.

  Launching a frantic search, Biittner checked the warning track behind him, peered at the right field bullpen, looked toward the infield, and glanced at center fielder Jerry Martin. No ball. Out of sheer frustration, Biittner even scanned the sky to see if a nasty seagull had swooped down and snatched the ball and carried it away.

  Finally, the perplexed outfielder picked up his hat in disgust. To his utter amazement, he found the ball. It was hidden under his cap the whole time!

  While the spectators and players were cracking up, Boisclair was streaking for third base. Somehow Biittner managed to overcome his chagrin and throw out the Mets runner at third.

  After the game, Biittner was asked when he knew the ball was covered by his hat. He replied, “When I couldn’t find it anywhere else.”

  LENNIE MERULLO

  Shortstop · Chicago, NL · September 13, 1942

  No infielder ever played a shakier inning than Lennie Merullo.

  The Chicago Cub turned the shortstop position into a disaster area during the second inning of a game against the Boston Brav
es at Braves Field. Every time he touched the ball, he booted it—on four consecutive plays. But at least he had an excuse.

  Shortly before Merullo took the field, his wife, Mary Jean, had presented him with their first-born child. Obviously, Merullo’s mind was at the hospital and not in the game.

  So when Clyde Kluttz tapped an easy grounder to the shortstop, Merullo muffed it for error No. 1. Ducky Detweiler then stroked a single to right field as Kluttz raced to third. When Detweiler broke for second base on the throw-in from right fielder Bill Nicholson, Merullo attempted to cut off the peg, but he dropped the ball for error No. 2. That put runners on second and third, compliments of the nervous new daddy.

  After the next batter struck out, Tommy Holmes sent another grounder to Merullo, who once again bobbled the ball for error No. 3 as Kluttz scored. An ignoble record was within Merullo’s grasp, even if the balls hit to him in the inning weren’t.

  With runners on the corners, Al “Skippy” Roberge dinked a roller to the Cubs’ fumble-fingered shortstop. This time, Merullo gloved the ball without mishap, but just as he started to throw to second for the force-out, the ball squirted out of his hand and bounced off his head. The fourth—and record-setting—error was his. The second unearned run of the inning scored, but luckily for the Cubs, they won anyway, 12–8.

  Teammate Lou Stringer, who played second base that day, knew exactly how Merullo felt. A year earlier, Stringer had set the record for most errors (four) by a shortstop on Opening Day, but at least he did it over the span of nine innings.

  If ever a player had an excuse for screwing up, though, it was Merullo. He just couldn’t concentrate on baseball because he was so excited, nervous, and proud to be the father of a healthy seven-pound, four-ounce son. After the game, the baby, who was named Lennie Jr., was given a nickname in honor of Daddy’s unforgettable day: Boots.