by Zack Hample
1964 Spalding used cork from Spain and Portugal, rubber from the Malay Straits, and horsehide that came from dog food companies. “They’re more careful with their skinning process and therefore can offer us a much finer grade of hide,” said Lewis J. Corneliusen, the assistant advertising manager at Spalding’s factory in Massachusetts. Before the cover was stitched onto the ball, the thread was treated with chemicals so it wouldn’t deteriorate when it touched the solvents that tanned the horsehide. Once the ball was completed, it had to pass through the “go-no-go” contraption. That’s what Corneliusen called the factory’s wooden board with two round holes, the first measuring 9 inches in circumference and the second 9.25. If the ball fit through the first hole it was too small; if it failed to pass through the second hole it was too big. Despite Spalding’s meticulous manufacturing techniques, the media still came up with new ways to scrutinize the ball. In August 1964, Baseball Digest’s feature story was “Case for the Dead Ball: Should It Be Revived After 43 Years?” Bill Veeck said that the lively ball was ruining the sport, and White Sox manager Al Lopez agreed. “The ball is too lively,” he said. “The other day a pop foul struck concrete in the stands. No one was near and the ball bounced clear up to the roof. Atmospheric conditions may make a ball livelier or balls may dry out in storage. Whatever the reason, the emphasis on the home run has changed the game and not for the better.” There were several players, however, who thought the ball was fine. Yankees Hall of Fame pitcher Whitey Ford said, “With a dead ball it’d be so hard to make runs that the fans would fall asleep.” Ford’s batterymate Elston Howard added, “The ball doesn’t seem lively to me. It acts mighty dead when I’m in a slump.”
The Astrodome was not the easiest place to keep one’s eye on the ball. (Photo Credit 6.8)
1965 The Astrodome opened on April 9, 1965, and offered a brief respite from the juiced-ball controversy. Instead, the roof caused the controversy. That’s because it originally had glass panels, which were designed to let in sunlight for the natural grass field; the sun caused a severe glare that impaired the fielders’ visibility. The Astros had 10 dozen baseballs dyed yellow, orange, and cerise and practiced with them to see if the colors made a difference. Ultimately the glare was fixed with a coating of paint on the glass, and when the grass died from the lack of sunlight, it was replaced with an artificial surface that became known as AstroTurf. Soon enough, the focus went back to the balls. Shortly after the All-Star break, during a high-scoring four-game series in Detroit that saw 19 home runs, Al Lopez complained that the Tigers’ baseballs were too dry. The following week, during a low-scoring, homerless five-game series in Chicago, the Tigers accused the White Sox of using frozen balls. “All the balls were cold, ice cold,” said Tigers starter Hank Aguirre after losing 1–0. “Freeze a baseball and it sure won’t go anyplace.” Lopez denied the accusation, but that didn’t stop the Detroit News and Chicago’s American from conducting experiments, not only on frozen baseballs (which of course were dead) but also on oven-baked balls (which were much livelier than anyone expected). The Detroit News simply administered an in-house drop test from an unexciting height of eight feet. Chicago’s American, on the other hand, was much more resourceful, first recruiting Dr. Herbert Weinstein, a professor of chemical engineering at the Illinois Institute of Technology, to dissect a ball and determine the correlation between temperature and resiliency, and then arranging for two White Sox players—Pete Ward and Dave Nicholson—to take batting practice with frozen and heated balls at Comiskey Park. Not only did Chicago have the better team in 1965, but it had a better newspaper too.
1968 Of all the wild theories about slumps, 1968 rang in the most outrageous. As offense plunged to historic lows, people went nuts trying to figure out why. One theory that emerged was that the balls were less lively because the yarn was less resilient because a metallic chemical element called molybdenum had been introduced to the diet of sheep in order to prevent a specific type of skin ailment and had therefore made the wool less fluffy. (Seriously.) The theory was shot down by Dr. Harold P. Lungren, chief of the Wool and Mohair Laboratory of the U.S. Department of Agriculture. Although the doctor admitted that wool could occasionally be affected by too much molybdenum or too little copper, he insisted that it was easily corrected with dietary changes. While the “molybdenum ball” controversy was taking place, Spalding got caught up in a government antitrust investigation and was forced to sell Rawlings.
1969 On March 13, 1969, Major League Baseball experimented with a livelier ball during a Mets-Tigers Spring Training game in Lakeland, Florida. Made by Spalding and nicknamed the 1X, this new ball was supposed to be 10 percent livelier. Commissioner Bowie Kuhn was one of several executives on hand to witness the effects. “I like the action it creates,” he said. “I notice a big difference on balls that are grounded into the infield. They shoot through. There has been concern expressed for the well-being of the pitcher, but I really don’t think that’s a problem.” Mets outfielder Ron Swoboda also noticed a difference but simply stated, “Those balls are up and away, man.” The Tigers hit three home runs in the game—the Mets none—but no one knew if the ball was responsible because the wind had been blowing out to right field. Tigers starter Denny McLain, who surrendered three singles in four scoreless innings, liked the 1X. “The seams on the ball are higher than they are on the regulation ball,” he told a group of reporters. “It helps a pitcher throw a better breaking ball.” Two days later, the 1X was used during an Angels-Giants game in Phoenix, Arizona. Once again the teams combined for a modest total of three home runs, but according to the New York Times, which had covered both contests, “line drives sprayed over the fields as if shot from cannons and Gaylord Perry, the Giants pitcher, ducked every time he released the ball.” Players on both teams acknowledged that the 1X was livelier. Hall of Famer Willie Mays, then in his 18th season with the Giants, said, “Baby, I hope they legalize that ball before I retire.” Angels shortstop Jim Fregosi suggested that “with this ball the pitcher should have a standing appointment with his dentist.” Kuhn never did authorize the 1X to be used during the regular season. Not only did he decide that it was a bit too lively, but Spalding had only made 15 dozen of the balls for the experiment; the company wouldn’t have had enough time to manufacture a big enough supply by Opening Day, and Kuhn didn’t want to introduce a new ball midseason. On April 10, 1969—the third day of the regular season—Mets center fielder Tommie Agee hit two home runs, including a monstrous blast that reached the cross-aisle of Shea Stadium’s upper deck.11 Because Agee, the Mets’ leadoff hitter, stood just 5-foot-11 and had hit a mere five home runs the previous season, the juiced-ball debate instantly reignited. On September 29, 1969, the 1X ball was secretly used in the Mayor’s Trophy Game between the Mets and Yankees at Shea Stadium. Since the game was an exhibition, albeit one that drew 30,000 fans and established bragging rights while raising money for charity, Kuhn slipped the ball into play in order to get an honest reaction from the players. The 1X was never used again—MLB instead restored the competitive balance by lowering the mound five inches after the 1968 season—but a similar ball did find its way into several minor league games. Eastern League president Tommy Richardson admitted that he’d secretly used a ball called the Five Triple X, which was supposed to be 5 percent livelier.
1970 The two leagues combined for a record 3,429 home runs. After the season, Cubs Hall of Fame manager Leo Durocher said, “The ball not only seemed smaller and lighter than the 1969 ball, but the pitchers tell me that the stitching was tighter and the seams weren’t as raised.”
1971 A beeping baseball was used at Fenway Park, not in an actual game, but in a demonstration during which a visually impaired 17-year-old named Bobby Verette played catch with Hall of Famer Carl Yastrzemski and swung a bat at underhanded pitches. The ball was designed by a nonprofit charitable organization called the Telephone Volunteers of America and sold for $38.
1972 Baseballs with cowhide covers were used in blind expe
riments during Spring Training.
1973 Oakland Athletics owner Charlie Finley briefly used orange baseballs in Spring Training. Designed to reduce the glare, the best thing they did was generate publicity for the team. Later in the season, Spalding moved part of its operations from Massachusetts to Haiti.
1974 Major League Baseball officially switched from horsehide to cowhide, and the new covers first appeared in a regular-season game in Cincinnati on April 4, 1974. The reason for the switch was simple: horsehide had become scarce and more expensive; changing to Eastern European cowhide saved each team roughly $2,000 per season. By August 1974, home runs were down 9 percent, and people began speculating. Pitchers said the new balls were easier to grip. Bill Singer, a 20-game winner for the 1973 Angels, said some balls had soft spots. Hall of Fame catcher Johnny Bench (who was known to have unusually large hands) said, “I could almost peel the cover off them. If you grip them hard enough and twist, the seams seem to give. And the dirt scuffs it easier.”
1975 Spalding took the Reach name off American League baseballs. (National League balls were already stamped with “Spalding” at the time, as they had been since 1878.)
1976 Late in 1976, Rawlings took over the major league ball contract from Spalding. The new balls were wound in Haiti, then shipped to Taiwan and stitched at a cost of 10 cents apiece.
1977 Rawlings baseballs replaced Spalding balls in both leagues, and home runs increased by a whopping 63 percent. Granted, American League expansion helped to bolster offense—there were two new teams and 162 additional games—but everyone blamed Rawlings. In May 1977, executives from both leagues wanted to have the balls tested. “If the baseball is a cause, we want to know it. We want the truth,” said Bob Fishel, the assistant to American League president Lee MacPhail. Rawlings cooperated, but asked that the location of the experiments not be revealed. The company didn’t want the media to make a spectacle of it and, with Major League Baseball’s approval, quietly chose a midwestern university. After the tests were conducted with hundreds of unused balls from 1974 to 1977, Fishel said, “We’re told by Rawlings that the baseballs this year are made exactly to the same specifications as those made by Spalding.… We’ve noticed one difference, though. The glue that is being used to coat the ball after it’s wound and before it’s covered with cowhide is holding them together much better. In Spring Training in ’76 we had trouble with balls falling apart, the covers coming off. That’s no longer the case.”
1980 Around this time, major league teams were paying $3 per ball and an average of $47,500 per season. The 26 teams combined to spend more than $1.2 million.
1983 The Dodgers used approximately 16,000 balls over the course of the season: 500 during Spring Training, 10 dozen for each home game, and 6 dozen for batting practice before every road game. The Indians used 3 dozen new balls in batting practice every day and mixed them with the old ones. The Yankees, not just big spenders when it came to free agents, used 12 dozen new balls every day in BP.
1986 Haitian president Jean-Claude Duvalier was overthrown by a massive uprising, prompting Rawlings to look for a more stable country where it could relocate its ball-making operations. The company considered China, which would have been the cheapest option, but picked Costa Rica instead because of the strong workforce there. For several years Rawlings continued manufacturing major league balls in Haiti while setting up its new factory. Meanwhile, former player and Hall of Fame announcer Tony Kubek was convinced that the balls were juiced. “I throw batting practice once in a while,” he said, “and you can hear it in the way balls whistle over your head.… The balls are livelier. Oh, I know the baseball company will deny it.” Kubek was right—that is, about the denial. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” said Rawlings president Bob Burrows. “The balls are the same, but that idiot Kubek keeps on complaining about it.”
1987 A rookie named Mark McGwire hit 49 home runs, a utility man named Larry Sheets hit 31, and an uber-consistent singles machine named Wade Boggs tripled his previous career high by going yard 24 times. What was happening?! Howard Johnson, a 5-foot-11 infielder on the Mets, also tripled his career high by hitting 36 balls out of the park, and on two separate occasions he slugged such prodigious blasts that his bats were confiscated and X-rayed. Were they corked? No. So why were all these homers being hit? Was it expansion? No. The major leagues hadn’t added any teams for a decade. Was it the strike zone? Possibly. Umpires had pretty much stopped calling anything above the belt. Was it the weather? Maybe. According to experts who study these things, there had been a season-long barometric abnormality. Was it the baseball? Yes, of course, it had to be, and Yankees pitcher Tommy John offered a suggestion: “After all this Oliver North stuff is over, Congress should take a look at the ball.” Congress never did get involved, but shortly after the All-Star break, both leagues arranged for the balls to be tested by the Science and Aeronautics Department at the University of Missouri—Rolla, and they eventually issued the following joint statement: “The test results indicated that the 1987 baseballs are totally within the parameters of major league standards.” Bobby Bonds, then a 41-year-old coach for the Indians, swore the balls were juiced. “I’ve taken batting practice and I’ve hit those balls,” he said. “I’ve hit the ball as far as I did when I was 25 years old.… I don’t need tests on some machine. I go by contact.” Hall of Fame manager Sparky Anderson agreed. “I know this: they are winding those babies differently,” he insisted. “If this is the same ball the majors has always used, they’ve added some gasoline to it. I don’t know who they’re trying to kid.” Scott Smith, a high-ranking Rawlings executive, vehemently denied the juiced-ball charges. “We take a great deal of care in manufacturing our baseballs and we do a great deal of testing and so I can say with a great deal of confidence that the baseballs are the same as they were.” Case closed.
1990 Rawlings officially moved into its new factory in Costa Rica.
1993 In addition to supplying baseballs for the Major Leagues, Rawlings also provided balls for the California and Pacific Coast Leagues. This was the last season that Wilson Sporting Goods supplied balls for the rest of the minors.
1994 Rawlings moved the assembly of its low-end baseballs to China. Prior to this, the company had 1,900 employees in Costa Rica, more than half of whom stitched the cheap balls in their homes. Rawlings was supplying approximately 720,000 balls per season to the Major Leagues, a number that was considerably lower this year because of the strike-shortened schedule. During the season the number of home runs had increased dramatically, with several players on pace to break Roger Maris’s single-season record. Not surprisingly, there was another juiced-ball debate. When Twins slugger Kent Hrbek was asked about it, he said, “Why are you asking me? Do my grounders to second look a little harder?”
1995 Major league teams paid $50 per dozen balls, including shipping.
1996 “Fifteen years ago,” said Sparky Anderson, “if you took a new ball and rubbed it with your hands—and I’m not a guy with strong fingers—you could wrinkle the cover. You can’t do that today.” Anderson was asked about the ball because there was, of course, another controversy. This time, with home runs on the rise yet again, people began to wonder if Major League Baseball had secretly instructed Rawlings to make the ball livelier in order to create more home runs and help to draw fans back after the strike.
1997 Orlando Hernandez became the first player to visit the Rawlings factory in Costa Rica. He was allowed to stitch his own ball, and he proudly kept it as a memento even though it didn’t turn out too well. “The boss said to me, you may be a good ballplayer, but you don’t know anything about making baseballs,” he said through an interpreter.