Continuing from the March 2nd post on the story of Capslun, the red-hot chili peppers-based paste that was applied to one’s sore arm… Capslun

Years later, after I retired, I learned that I had a torn rotator cuff. Back in 1964, when it occurred, no one knew what a rotator cuff tear was. Not even the renowned sports doctor, Dr. Kerlan, who was the Dodgers Orthopedic Surgeon. In September of 64 I flew in from Kansas City to consult with Kerlan and he gave me some exercises to follow, basically rotating the arm in different ways.

But sports medicine didn’t have the answer to the rotator cuff problem back then, which comes about from the violent arm/shoulder action when throwing a slider. (The first operation on a rotator cuff was in 1971 or 72 I believe…on Wayne Garland, a hard-throwing Baltimore pitcher that had just signed a huge contract with Cleveland. My last year was 1970 in Milwaukee.)

I was with the Kansas City Athletics when I first experienced pain in the front-of-the- shoulder area…and I remember the exact pitch it (a slight tear most likely) happened. With two outs in the top of the 9th and a 2-2 count on Baltimore’s Sam Bowens, our catcher Doc Edwards called for a fastball. Winning 4-1 with no one on base it was a matter of making him hit the pitch for the final out.

I wound up and let fly with a fastball, but it didn’t have its normal velocity, and was an unintended changeup. Bowen swung and missed, going down on strikes to end the game. A feeling of elation and satisfaction would have been normal after pitching a complete game win.

But I had an empty feeling as I walked to the dugout, realizing the discomfort in my shoulder, something I’d never felt before, might be ominous. Describing it is easy, it felt like someone had taken a needle and stuck it in the front of my shoulder.

Ironically, my next start would again be against Baltimore, on the road. Baltimore, by the way, was in first place fighting the Yankees for the pennant…it was early September.

And I remember warming up five days later, September 12, on a muggy night in Baltimore. I felt relieved that I wasn’t experiencing any pain in my shoulder. I had asked our trainer to apply Capslun and I had no idea how long I would pitch, given that my arm had felt very weak on that last pitch just five days previous.

I had no arm trouble that entire night and pitched a 1-hitter against Baltimore, unfortunately I lost the no-hitter in the 8th inning, as well as the game 1-0, when Frank Bertania also pitched a 1-hitter. (The game tied a major-league record for fewest hits (2) in a major league game until the following season when on September 9, 1965 Sandy Koufax pitched a perfect game (his 4th no-hitter) besting the Cubs Bobby Henley, who allowed the Dodgers just 1-hit in the Cubs 1-0 loss to the Dodgers.) That game was just three weeks after the riots in Los Angeles, the worst racial rioting in U.S. history.

I recall reading about Koufax’s no-hitter in the paper. At the same time, having played in Los Angeles the previous season, I followed the LA riots on television. They took place near the end of a minor league season which I had spent with the Birmingham Barons, Kansas City’s Southern Association team in AA baseball. Charles Finley had sent me down there after spring training ended in 1965, it was a way to remind me that he was the boss, and that my asking for $1,000 raise over the major league minimum was simply outrageous.

That year, 1965, was the low point of my baseball career.

In the fall I had a very serious conversation with Eddie Lopat, former Yankee pitcher and K.C.’s farm director. He assured me I would start the 1966 season in the Pacific Coast League (AAA ball). He kept his word, I won twice as many games as I lost, went to spring training with the A’s the next spring, in 1967, and went north on the 25-man opening day roster under manager Alvin Dark.

On the way North, we had an exhibition game in Birmingham, and Dark called me into his office after the game and explained that Finley decided to try something new. He planned to introduce the idea of having a designated base runner. He brought up Allen Lewis from class D ball, the lowest rung of professional baseball. I had options left, (which means they could send me out without any chance of another team acquiring me) and I was sent packing. Needless to say I was pissed.

So in 1967 I went back to Vancouver, where I had an exceptional year, compiling a 2.34 earned run average, second best in the league. The league leader was 2.31, and he had pitched in 60 less innings than I had. Can’t remember the guys name at the moment, but he played with Seattle, then the AAA farm team of the Los Angeles Angels. They had an interesting team of veterans, i.e. Jim Coates (former Yankee) Jim Bouton (ex-Yankee) Bill Stafford (ex-Yankee), to name a few.

Their manager was Joe Adcock, a former teammate of mine while I was with the Angels in Los Angeles. Adcock was a politician as well as a power hitter as a player. In Los Angeles he was finishing a fine career and eyed a manager’s job when hanging them up. I remember him telling Bill Rigney, manager of the Angels, that I was tipping off my pitches. (He said he could detect it while playing first base.) So that summer, when I was scheduled to pitch a Sunday day game against Seattle (and Adcock) I was very motivated.

Normally, in day games strikeouts are harder to come by, as the natural sunlight gives hitters a better view at the pitches. I relished that game as I always believed Adcock’s ability to detect my pitches was BS. I don’t think I ever derived more satisfaction from winning a game than that one, as I struck out 16 of Seattle’s best that day. Take that Adcock!

So to get back to the subject of sore arms, from September of 1964 till I was released in March of 1971 at the end of spring training, I would use Capslun on the arm and shoulder when I pitched. Being a starting pitcher made it easier to get ready for the game. (Except for a short stint with the Yankees in 64 and my last year in the bigs–the 1970 Brewers–where I pitched relief, I was always a starting pitcher.)

My older brother was a physician. I called him and told him about the shoulder pain, and he provided me with Indocin, an anti-inflammatory drug. I never told the trainers I was taking it, as they’re a pipeline to the front office. And if you can help it, you don’t want the front office to know that you’re hurting. in fact, I never told a single teammate about my use of the Indocin. Ever.

After the 1966 season I played winter baseball in Venezuela. I roomed with Billy Connors, a pitcher with the Chicago Cubs back then. After retiring he became a coach and has worked in the Yankee organization for over thirty years now. (One year he was a special assistant to Steinbrenner.) Also playing down in Venezuela that year was Jim Lonborg and Frank (boomer) Scott, both from the Red Sox’s organization. Lonborg won 22 games the next year with Boston and was the World Series MVP. Scott, a big strong power hitter, played 6 or 7 years at first base for Boston.

While in Venezuela I tried the mystery medicine I mentioned in my previous post–called DMSO, it is used by veterinarians on racing horses and greyhounds. It was much harder to obtain in the U.S. (unless you had a very close friend who would get it from veterinary supply sources). In South America it was quite easy to get a hold of.

DMSO is a chemical product, dimethyl sulfoxide. It’s totally strange to the orthodox medical community but has been used for years by athletes to help with painful muscles and joints. It’s remarkable in a way, because as soon as you apply it externally to the arm, it almost instantly is in your blood stream and you can taste it in your mouth…a bitter taste almost like turpentine.

I used it for a short few weeks and then just couldn’t handle the taste. I never did abandon the Capslun, Indocin, or the ice packs after the game. And occasionally I would resort to a cortisone shot in the shoulder to ease the pain. I left the game, or more explicitly, was asked to leave the game at the end of spring training in 1971, after my velocity dropped and I was ineffective. If I could have dropped kicked the ball to home plate effectively I would have done so.


Like so many players, when your focus is entirely on playing a game from the time you are in high school until the end comes, (if you’ve been lucky enough to get 10-15 years in) you are in for another unique experience. It might be titled: “Welcome to the real world!” The next chapter in one’s life. And it’s full of surprises and some heartaches too.

This entry was posted on Saturday, March 8th, 2008 at 5:27 pm and is filed under Professional Athletics. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.