Pitch Perfect: What pitching the only perfect game in World Series history taught me.

This essay by Don Larsen, which appeared in Guideposts magazine, is a lovely look at another World Series


On October 8, 1956, I pitched the most famous game in baseball — a perfect game against the Brooklyn Dodgers in Game 5 of the World Series.

Twenty-seven batters up, twenty-seven down, the only perfect game in Series history.

What few people realize is, just my pitching that game was a miracle.

Five days earlier I had started Game 2 of the World Series and gotten pounded. My New York Yankees teammates had staked me to a 6-0 lead, and in less than two innings I squandered most of it. I thought Yankees manager Casey Stengel would never trust me with the ball again.

It was my turn to pitch, but I was so certain he’d go with someone else that I didn’t even prepare like I normally did. I could hardly believe it when I entered the clubhouse and saw a crisp, clean baseball sitting in a baseball shoe in my locker. That was Stengel’s way of letting me know I’d be pitching after all.

Right from the start, I knew this game was going to be special. That day I had the kind of control pitchers dream about, better than I’d ever had before. Catcher Yogi Berra would signal for a fastball low on the outside corner, and I’d put it right on the mark, like I was handing him the ball.

I still can’t explain it. It was just one of those days. I believe everyone is entitled to a good day, and the Man Upstairs decided this was mine.

For most of the game, I wasn’t even thinking of throwing a no-hitter. I was just trying to win. Sal Maglie, the Dodgers pitcher, was throwing almost as well as me. He didn’t allow a hit till the fourth inning, when Mickey Mantle clubbed a solo home run. We scored just once more.

Three times my no-hitter almost slipped away. In the second inning, Jackie Robinson hit a liner that ricocheted off third baseman Andy Carey’s glove directly to shortstop Gil McDougald, who threw Robinson out at first base.

In the fifth inning Gil Hodges lashed a ball to the left-centerfield gap. Mantle sprinted after the ball. I held my breath. He made a great backhanded catch. “Saved me again,” I thought. Three innings later Dodgers leftfielder Sandy Amoros drove a ball out of the park—just foul.

The first time I allowed myself to think about a no-hitter was the seventh inning, as I walked off the field after retiring the side. Mantle jogged past me. “Hey, Mick,” I said, turning to the scoreboard. “Wouldn’t it be something if I could do it?” Mantle didn’t say a word.

Mantle’s reaction wasn’t surprising. Ballplayers are superstitious, especially about no-hitters. Nobody wants to cast a jinx. I took my seat in the dugout. No one would sit near me. No one said a word. It made me so nervous I walked to the tunnel leading from the dugout to the clubhouse and had a smoke, hoping it would calm me. It didn’t.

By the ninth inning, the tension was almost too much. I got the Dodgers’ first batter, Carl Furillo, to fly out to left. The next batter, Roy Campanella, grounded out to second.

I took a deep breath. “One out to go.” Pinch hitter Dale Mitchell stepped to the plate. Mitchell, a good hitter, rarely struck out. Trying to gather myself, I turned and stared out at centerfield. “Oh Lord, get me through one more,” I prayed.

My first pitch to Mitchell was a fastball. Low. Ball one. I fired two strikes, then another ball. Mitchell fouled off the next pitch. With the count 2-2, Yogi signaled for another fastball. I threw it high in the strike zone. Mitchell took a half swing—and the ump called him out.

I remember thinking, “Thanks, Lord, you got me through it.” Then Yogi raced from behind the plate and jumped in my arms. My mind went blank after that.

At that point I didn’t realize I’d thrown a perfect game. In the clubhouse afterward, a reporter approached Stengel. “Is that the best game Larsen has pitched?” he asked. “So far,” Casey answered.

I never had that kind of magical game again. But those nine innings changed my life. It gave me my identity. Not a day goes by that I don’t wonder, “Why me?” because in my career I lost more major league games than I won.

But over the years, this is what I’ve come to believe: If you try your hardest, if you never give up, if you live an honorable and humble life, sometimes the Lord lets you exceed your wildest dreams.   

After Miss Julie

Take August Strindberg’s 1888 one-act play Miss Julie, subtract the sexual tension that made it such a controversial work at the time, and you’ll have After Miss Julie, director Mark Brokaw’s dull staging of playwright Patrick Marber's three-character take on that classic tale of sex and class conflict.

Whether seriously miscast or misdirected -- or both -- Sienna Miller and Jonny Lee Miller woodenly walk and talk their way through what should be an erotically charged game of cat and mouse. Ms. Miller’s Julie is stiff, not the sexy, rich young aristocrat who controls men with her beauty and sensuality that she should be. Mr. Miller’s John, valet to Julie’s father, is even further off the mark, completely lacking in the earthy, raw sexuality that the will entice Julie and lead to her downfall.

The essential Miss Julie story is still present, though Marber has reset it in an English country house on July 26, 1945, on the night the British Labour Party won its landslide victory over Churchill’s Conservative Party, promising radical changes and reforms. It is the shifting of the old guard, represented by Miss Julie and her father, and the rising to power of the working class, represented by John and his fiancee, Christine (Marin Ireland).

As in Strindberg’s play, which was set in Norway, Miss Julie lords her status over John, but after seducing him their roles are reversed by the sexual act and John then holds the power. Neither really knows how to adjust to the new expectations and, if you know the end of Miss Julie, you know the end of this one.

Allen Moyer’s single set of the manor house kitchen looks right out of Country Living and Michael Krass’s costumes, in the case of Miss Julie, could have been taken from the pages of 1940s Vogue. It’s a visually attractive play, as is its leading lady, from whom I expected more. I saw her as Warhol muse Edie Sedgwick in the film “Factory Girl” and was really impressed. She was heartbreakingly lovely and self-destructive. If only she could have brought some of that spirit to this play. Although this is her Broadway debut, she has appeared Off-Broadway and in theatres in London, and she didn’t seem uncomfortable on stage here. She just didn’t get the character, unless I shouldn’t compare her to the original. But it’s impossible not to see this as a retelling of Strindberg’s play, so Miss Julie needs to be passionate. Ms. Miller, who has a major tabloid reputation for her passionate nature, should have tried a little more method acting here.

After Miss Julie was first staged in 2003 at London's highly regarded Donmar Warehouse, under the direction of Michael Grandage.

Miss Julie’s first performance was in 1889, the year after it was written. A small-cast Swedish language play is thought to have had its first Broadway performance in 1913, and in all these years the play has only been staged three times on Broadway, and only for short runs.

The Roundabout Theatre Company’s production of After Miss Julie plays through Dec. 6 at the American Airlines Theatre, 227 W. 42nd St. Tickets are available at the box office, by calling Roundabout Ticket Services at (212)719-1300, or online at www.roundabouttheatre.org.

Deborah Norville -- The Power of Respect.

I like this interview with Deborah Norville that appear on Guideposts.com.

Kristin Chenoweth -- She's Coming Back!

It’s official! Next spring Kristin Chenoweth will be back where she belongs -- on Broadway -- in a revival of the Burt Bacharach-Hal David-Neil Simon musical Promises, Promises. I know she just won an Emmy for “Pushing Daisies,” but to me she was born to do musical theatre.

Joined by "Will & Grace" star Sean Hayes, Kristin will play Fran Kubelik in this musical adaptation of Billy Wilder's popular film, "The Apartment," about a sleazy, ambitious corporate hack who earns promotions by lending his flat out to executives for sexual flings. Things heat up even more when he falls for Fran, one of the office women who is invited to the apartment by an exec.

I love music from the show, delightful songs like "I'll Never Fall in Love Again" and "Promises, Promises," both of which I have on a recording by Dionne Warwick. I can just hear Kristin singing them. She’ll be perfect!

The original Promises, Promises ran for 1,281 performances and was one of the first mainstream Broadway musicals to offer a commercial pop sound in its score.

Memphis

I don’t remember having such a good time at a musical since I saw Hair last spring. Memphis offers great music, terrific dancing and a story with surprising depth. It also features a leading man whose performance is so dynamic he could easily walk away with the Best Actor in a Musical Tony Award in June.

Memphis is the story of Huey Calhoun (Chad Kimball, in photo, center), a young man with lots of energy and creativity who doesn’t always know where to direct it. He never finished ninth grade and gets fired from every mediocre job he attempts. He’s also a white man who loves black music in racist and segregated 1950s Tennessee. (His character was inspired by Dewey Phillips, a pioneering disc jockey who helped open the door to rock and roll by being the first to play a record by Elvis Presley.)

Like many people with high energy and creativity, Huey is ahead of his time. He abhors the bland Eisenhower-era music played on the radio, preferring the soulful sounds performed in the black music joints he frequents on Beale Street. Along with a passion for the music, he falls in love with one of the singers, Felicia Farrell, engagingly played by Montego Glover.

Ever the boundary pusher, Huey sneaks into an all-white radio station control room when the DJ steps out for a break. He locks himself in, yanks the syrupy record off the turntable, pops on some black music and begins talking to the audience. The station manager has a fit, fearing listeners will be offended by the “race music.” Instead, the phones begin ringing with white teenagers calling to say how much they love it. Huey is given a probationary trial run, during which he takes the ratings from number five to number one.

The South being what it was at the time meant this transition wouldn’t be easy, though. The Act 1 closer, “Say a Prayer,” is a plea for change. But not every one is ready for change and Act 2 portrays the toll taken on Huey and Felicia, who are not legally able to marry even though they both want to, and the challenges of staying on top in the fickle music industry. Act 2 is even more moving and involving than the highly enjoyable first act.

Under director Christopher Ashley’s careful attention to detail the shows is a fast-paced ball of entertainment. Choreographer Sergio Trujillo, familiar with this time period from his work on Jersey Boys and All Shook Up, creates dance scenes that are alive and thrilling. David Bryan’s music pulses with rhythm and energy (he’s Bon Jovi’s keyboardist) and his and Joe DiPietro’s lyrics enhance the story. (DiPietro also wrote the book.) The effort is supported by David Gallo’s atmospheric sets, by Paul Tazewell’s colorful period costumes and Howell Binkley’s expert lighting.

The stellar supporting cast gives it all they’re got and are letter perfect in every way. Among the notables are J. Bernard Calloway as Delray, Felicia’s brother and manager; James Monroe Iglehart as Bobby, a janitor at the radio station; Cass Morgan as Gladys Calhoun, Huey’s less-than-encouraging mother; and Derrick Baskin as Gator, the bartender.

The final number, “Steal Your Rock ‘n’ Roll,” with Huey, Felicia and the company will have you dancing your way home and wanting more. I want to go back!

Tickets for Memphis are available by calling (212) 239-6200 or visiting Telecharge the Shubert Theatre box office, 225 W. 44th St. For more details, visit MemphistheMusical.

There is nothing noble in being superior to some other person. True nobility is in being superior to your previous self.
-- Hindu Proverb

Life Lifter

By Norman Vincent Peale

For thou hast made him a little lower than the angels, and hast crowned him with glory and honor. - Psalm 8

Listen to what the psalmist says: "You made me a little lower than yourself, and you have crowned us with glory and honor. You let us rule everything your hands have made. And you put all of it under our power." Does this mean dominion over other people? Not at all. It means dominion over your own weaknesses, your fears, your sins, dominion over your grief, your frustrations and disappointments.

Are you letting your circumstances define you? Do you allow yourself to be a victim of everything and everybody? Here are some steps to help take control of your cirmcumstances:

1. Develop a clear picture of yourself becoming strong. Then hold that positive concept firmly in consciousness.

2. Practice this powerful creative thought: I can if I think I can.

3. Turn to God. He will give you rest. If the strain and burden of life may make you tired. Perhaps you are carrying life too heavily. It is our minds, not our muscles that become overtired.

4. See possibilities. No matter how dark things seem or actually are, raise your sights and see the possibilities—always see
them, for they're always there.

5. Remember: what you think you will become. Train your thoughts and become a conquerer of circumstance. Practice being a positive thinker.

6. Pray this prayer: "Lord, give me a high opinion of myself." Believe it. Know it. You are, if you allow yourself to be, a truly wonderful person. Realize and become the best that is within you.