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Putsy
Caballero Caballero was just 17, fresh out of New Orleans' Jesuit High School, when he broke into the major leagues during WW2. He was a utility infielder and a popular member of the Philadelphia Phillies (1944-52), one of the Whiz Kids who won the National League pennant in 1950. Hall of Famer Richie Ashburn recalls Caballero as his all-time favorite roommate. Unfortunately, I haven't yet found an explanation for the nickname Putsy. |
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Milo
Candini Candini got off to a wonderful start as a Washington Senators rookie in 1943, winning his first seven games. He lost seven of his next 11 decisions, but his 11-7 record, three shutouts and 2.49 earned run average indicated a promising future. However, it was downhill from there, though he hung around the major leagues until 1951, posting a lifetime record of 26-21. He then played several seasons in the Pacific Coast League with Oakland and Sacramento. |
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Dizzy
Carlyle Dizzy Carlyle could hit; of that there was no doubt. In 173 games for the Boston Red Sox and New York Yankees (1925-26), the six-foot-two Oglethorpe University grad, who swung from the left side of the plate, batted .318. He also managed to make 21 errors, which is beyond unacceptable for a major league outfielder. So it was back to the minor leagues forever. There Carlyle batted .349 for his career, never dipping below .326 for a full season. His younger brother, Cleo, also had a brief trial with the Red Sox before becoming a career minor leaguer who batted .314. But you can talk about your Babe Ruth, your Josh Gibson, your Mickey Mantle ... Dizzy Carlyle's the guy who probably hit the longest home run in professional baseball history. It happened July 4, 1929 at Emeryville Park, home of the Pacific Coast League Oakland Oaks. Carlyle hit it off Ernie Nevers, the famous football star-turned-pitcher who had been with the St. Louis Browns the previous three seasons before being shipped off to San Francisco. Carlyle's home run traveled over two rooftops beyond the center field fence and into the gutter of a house 618 feet from home plate. This is no estimate. Someone actually measured it. |
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Chico
Carrasquel Carrasquel, a native of Caracas, Venezuela, was the first Latin American player to start the All-Star Game. He arrived in the major leagues in 1950 with the daunting task of replacing a legend 41-year-old Luke Appling, who'd been the Chicago White Sox shortstop for 20 years. Carrasquel didn't make anyone forget Appling, who was headed for the Hall of Fame, but he quickly established himself as a slick fielder, who, in his rookie season had a career high .282 batting average. However, after six seasons with the White Sox, Carrasquel was traded to Cleveland for outfielder Larry Doby. Turns out the White Sox had high hopes for another Venezuelan shortstop, Luis Aparicio, which made Carrasquel expendable. He played four more seasons, going from Cleveland to Kansas City to Baltimore, where his major league playing career ended in 1959. Aparicio, meanwhile, became the American League's best shortstop and its base-stealing champion nine years in a row. Like Appling, Aparicio earned a place in the Hall of Fame. Carrasquel eventually turned to broadcasting, and for seven years did play-by-play for Spanish language telecasts of White Sox games. He made news in 2003 when he was beaten by two men in a carjacking in Venezuela. His injuries were minor, but, at 79, his health was failing. Two years later he died and was given a funeral befitting a national hero. |
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Ron
Cey Long-time third baseman for the Los Angeles Dodgers (1971-1982), Cey also played for the Chicago Cubs and briefly for the Oakland Athletics. As for his nickname ... well, if he walks like a penguin ... then you call him Penguin. And this Chris Berman pun will serve as a pronunciation lesson: Ron Born in the US Cey. |
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Icebox
Chamberlain He was just 18 when he joined Louisville of the American Association in 1886. The next season he won 18 games, and in 1888 had 25 wins with Louisville and St. Louis, following that with a 32-win season for St. Louis in 1889. In a one-sided 1888 win over the Kansas City Cowboys, the right-handed Chamberlain seemed to rub salt in the wounds by pitching the last two innings left-handed. However, that was something he did occasionally, pitching one inning right-handed, the next left-handed. Chamberlain joined the Cincinnati Reds of the National League in 1892, winning 19 games, but losing 23. In 1893 he pitched a no-hitter against the Boston Beaneaters in a game that was called after seven innings. The Beaneaters got revenge on May 30, 1894 when Boston second baseman Bobby Lowe became the first major leaguer to hit four home runs in one game and he hit them all against Chamberlain, who received no relief from manager Charlie Comiskey. Result: Chamberlain gave up all 20 Boston runs. (Lowe would hit a total of 17 home runs that season; his teammate Hugh Duffy led the league with 18.) An ailing arm shortened Chamberlain's career, which for all practical purposes ended with the 1894 season. He did return to the major leagues in 1896, long enough to make two pitching appearances for the Cleveland Spiders, but lost his only decision and gave up 21 hits in 11 innings. Chamberlain was called Icebox because he was so cool and unemotional on the mound. (Yes, but I wish I could have seen his face after Lowe's fourth home run.) That explanation comes from Bill James, baseball historian and Lord of the Statistics. There's another explanation floating around that Chamberlain put baseball's in the icebox to make them harder to hit but that's a joke, people ... a joke. Yet it has been passed along in straight-faced fashion on some websites, another reason the internet is called "The Misinformation Highway." (If you note similiar mistakes on this website, please send corrections to JMajor9863@aol.com.) |
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Spud
Chandler Here's another case
where the real name Spurgeon is more interesting than
the nickname. Spud stems from that first name, perhaps spoken with an
accent that made Spurgeon sound like Spuhd-jen, which created an invisible
D. Whatever, the nickname is not a potato reference.
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Charlie
Chant When I Googled this outfielder I kept getting a message asking whether I really meant "Charlie Chan"? I didn't, of course, that the similarity obviously was what I like about this name. I found nothing, except that Chant was born in Bell, CA, and played briefly with Oakland and the St. Louis Cardinals, charting the course Mark McGwire would take several years later. Except Chant never hit a major league home run. But, then, he didn't have much of a chance since he got up to bat only 19 times. He singled twice, struck out four times. |
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Cupid
Childs Childs was a second baseman in the 1890s, playing mostly for the Cleveland Spiders of the National League. He was short (5-foot-8) and chubby, known by such other names as Fats, Fatty and The Dumpling. No wonder he preferred the one inspired by his resemblance to drawings of Cupid. His appearance was deceiving one newspaper article said he was as wide as he was tall; one manager said he looked more like a carnival fat man than a player for he covered his position with enough speed, skill and grace to silence skeptics who chuckled when they saw him for the first time. He drew a lot of walks, scored a lot of runs, and had a lifetime batting average of .306. |
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What's
The Use Chiles I just had to know more about a guy nicknamed What's The Use. Fortunately, a fellow named Ron Schuler had discovered Chiles much earlier and wrote an interesting story about his research. You can read it at: http://rsparlourtricks.blogspot.com Just be sure to type in Pearce Chiles at the top and then click on the appropriate spot, or Google Pearce Chiles. You can't miss it. Chiles received his nickname from his habit of taunting opponents. When a ball was hit his way, Chile's shouted, "What's the use? What's the use?" before making the catch. He played 130 games for the Philadelphia Phillies in 1899-1900, mostly in the outfield, but also at first and second base, hitting .320 the first season, .216 the second. The Deepwater (MO) native was old for a rookie, having turned 32 just after the 1899 season began. Chiles wasn't a nice guy, which is putting it mildly. He conned people, took advantage of underage girls, spent some time in jail and a lot of time on the run. He also was a very good baseball player whose disregard for rules served him well on the playing field, which is why he was a minor league player-manager even before he reached the majors. In his second season with the Phillies he spent most of his time on the bench or the third base coaching box. To make life interesting, he set out to steal signals from the opposing catcher and relay them to his batters. His partner in crime was a little-used catcher named Morgan Murphy, who would sit behind the centerfield wall with a spyglass and relay information to Chiles via an electric wire that Chiles had laid all the way from the fence to the coaching box. This clearly was a guy who had too much time on his hands. The signal came in the form of a small electric shock, or short series of shocks, depending on what pitch had been called. Chiles would then relay the signal to the batter via one of those crazy hand twitches baseball coaches are always using. Except one day Cincinnati shortstop Tommy Corcoran noticed that Chiles was twitching his leg, too, and it was Corcoran who exposed the signal-stealing scheme. Apparently Chiles was expected back with the Phillies in 1901, but in February of that year he was arrested in Texas for running a con on a recently discharged soldier. He was found guilty and sentenced to two years in prison. After serving 16 months, Chiles couldn't take it anymore. He escaped. He showed up in Portland (OR), hoping to play with that city's Pacific Coast League team, but in February 1903 he was arrested for an alleged assault on a woman. Perhaps the charge was dropped, perhaps Chiles simply fled, but by that summer he was in Fortuna (CA) playing for a semi-pro baseball team. By that fall he was gone again, this time for good. No one knows what happened to Pearce Chiles after he left Fortuna, but chances are a lot of people preferred it that way. |
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