Baseball: Baltimore’s Early Birds

The names that baseball teams give themselves are apt to be anything but apt. Consider the Atlanta Braves, who fled from Boston and Milwaukee, and the Detroit Tigers, whose claws have been clipped since 1945. Not to mention the California Angels, those swinging young men about Hollywood, or the Kansas City Athletics, who haven’t made the first division in 14 years.

But the Baltimore Orioles — now there’s a proper name. As every ornithologist knows, the Baltimore oriole is a bird that makes a lot of noise in the spring, then lays an egg and departs.

The way they croon in June and croak in August, the best that the Orioles usually can hope for is to be remembered in September. They have not won a big-league pennant since 1896; they are the team that Mighty Casey struck out for; and they peddled Babe Ruth away for $2,900. Still, all those past transgressions will be forgiven this year, unless the Orioles find some curious new way to commit suicide. Last week, slightly past the halfway point of the 1966 season, they were leading the American League by a full seven games.

Clams & Claws. Maybe the Orioles won’t win. But at the very least, they are the kookiest cast of characters who ever called themselves a ball club. First Baseman Boog Powell is (at 6 ft. 4½ in. and 246 lbs.) one of the biggest men in baseball, and he spent seven years perfecting the fine art of tobacco chewing—”the trick,” says Powell, “is not to swallow.” Leftfielder Curt Blefary keeps a pet cocker spaniel that has scrambled eggs and Coke for breakfast. “Ugh,” says Blefary, who has been known to start his own day with clam chowder and hamburger.

Relief Pitcher Dick Hall is an amateur mathematician who on drizzly afternoons amuses himself trying to predict whether a game will be called off —by calculating the number of raindrops falling per second on one square foot of the field. Rightfielder Frank Robinson used to be known as “the meanest man in the National League,” before he was traded to the Orioles by the Cincinnati Reds last winter. Now he is the meanest man in both leagues —with the possible exception of Baltimore Manager Hank Bauer (TIME cover, Sept. 11, 1964).

A shrapnel-pocked ex-Marine with a face “like a clenched fist,” Bauer looks even meaner than he is—and there are signs that he may be mellowing. Nobody on the squad has been fined all year. Curfews are lenient, and bed checks are rare. The Orioles obviously are enjoying their new freedom. Outfielder Powell, who batted only .248 last year, was up to .299 last week. Curt Blefary has twelve homers, and Centerfielder Russ Snyder is batting .337. Rightfielder Robinson ranks No. 1 in the American League in homers (22) and runs scored (68), fourth in batting (.312). Third Baseman Brooks Robinson, no relation, is the league leader in RBIs with 72.

Biggest Bulls. Baltimore’s only apparent weakness is its front-line pitching: in 90 tries so far, Orioles starters have managed to complete a mere 15 games. That does not alarm Manager Bauer. “All I want is six or seven good innings—and then I’ll bring in the relievers,” he says. “What the hell, I’ve got the best bullpen in the business.”

Not even two straight losses to the second-place Detroit Tigers last week could make Hank Bauer lose his new cool. “Our guys are smelling the money.” he said—serenely confident that his 1966 Orioles would give Baltimore its first pennant in 70 years.