The Big Red Machine has just totally embarrassed the Bronx Bombers with a complete and emphatic four-game sweep of the 1976 World Series.
Cincinnati Reds catcher Johnny Bench was the MVP after hitting .533 with two homers, six RBI and four runs scored.
New York Yankees catcher Thurman Munson was the best the losers could offer with a .529 average — but all his nine hits were singles with no homers, two RBI and two runs scored.
A New York writer asked Reds manager Sparky Anderson, a man always directly honest and as opinionated as a defense lawyer, “How would you compare Thurman Munson to Johnny Bench.”
Not caring that the room was full of New York media, Anderson said quickly, like a grizzled grandfather, “I don’t want to embarrass any other catcher by comparing him with Johnny Bench.”
His answer, of course, drew a poisonous reaction from the New Yorkers, who considered Munson a Gotham deity.
But Sparky was dead on.
Don’t ever try to put any other catcher on the same level as Johnny Lee Bench, the best catcher ever to hide behind a catcher’s mask and chest protector.
There was a tragic incident that nearly not only cost Bench his baseball career, but his life.
During his senior year at Binger (Oklahoma) High School, the team was returning from a game when their school bus lost its brakes.
As the bus picked up speed thundering downhill, Bench realized what was happening. He leaped from his seat, grabbed teammate David Gunter, and pulled him to the floorboard.
The bus hit a guardrail and rolled three times. When it came to a stop, Bench was on the floor with his feet dangling out the rear exit door.
Bench and Minter survived. Two teammates didn’t.
Living in the Oklahoma hinterlands, Bench believed scouts would never find him, that kids from Oklahoma never made it to the major leagues.
“My dad and I watched The Game of the Week every Saturday,” Bench said. “The announcer comes on and says, ‘Now batting, the switch-hitting outfielder from Oklahoma, Mickey Mantle.’
“I looked at my dad (Ted) and said, ‘You can be from Oklahoma and play in the major leagues,’” he said.
It was Ted Bench who had the biggest influence and impact on his son’s baseball career. He would have Johnny throw 254 feet from a catcher’s crouch, twice the distance from home plate to second base.
With that training, Bench once said, “I can throw out any runner alive.” And he proved it time after time after time.
Oh, the Reds found him. And it took scouts to watch only two games and mark him down as a must draft. And the Reds drafted him in the second round of the 1965 draft. Outfielder Bernie Carbo was the Reds’ No. 1 pick.
Bench played 26 games in 1967 and became the Reds regular catcher in 1968. How good was he as a rookie in 1968?
He made the All-Star team. But he didn’t start. Jerry Grote of the New York Mets started.
Credit: Associated Press
Credit: Associated Press
“Before the game, I was sitting at my locker by myself, drinking it all in,” said Bench. “Then Hank Aaron walks up to me and says, ‘Kid, you should be starting.’”
Bench played in 11 more All-Star games and started each and every one.
They called him The Little General because from the start of his career he ran the game from behind the plate.
He called the pitches and pitchers didn’t often shake him off. He moved his team defensively and they complied without protest.
And he revolutionized his position. Catcher’s mitts used to be as flat as a Binger back field. Bench popularized the use of a hinged catcher’s mitt, making it much easier to catch pitches.
His beginning was modest, for him. He was a 20-year-old rookie in 1968, not old enough to vote at the time. He hit .273 with 15 homers and 82 RBI, numbers good enough for him to be the first catcher to win Rookie of the Year.
Two years later still fuzzy-cheeked, in 1970, he became the youngest player to win the MVP. At age 22, with some incredible numbers — .293. 45 home runs, 148 RBI, 100 walks.
He repeated the MVP award in 1972 with 40 homers and 125 RBI. But he was harboring a secret. In August he learned he had a lesion in a lung that required surgery.
He played on with fear in his heart, but he played spectacularly again. After the season he underwent the surgeon’s scalpel that left a hideous scar across his chest. The procedure involved slicing through ribs, bone, muscle and nerves.
“It slowed me down and I was never the same after that,” said Bench. “I wasn’t even sure I was going to ever be able to play baseball again.”
But he played and played at a Hall of Fame level for the rest of his career.
And while he continued to be a superstar, his numbers never again approached his 1970 and 1972 seasons.
Bench was acutely aware of what was written about him and I once felt his wrath.
In 1977 the Reds struggled after winning the 1975 and 1976 World Series. During the course of the season, manager Sparky Anderson and several players, including Bench, spent a lot of day time on the road lounging next to hotel swimming pools.
After a couple of losses in St. Louis, I came up with a brilliant column idea in which I wrote, “The Cincinnati Reds are more interested in their sun tans than winning baseball games.”
When the team returned to Cincinnati, I walked into the clubhouse and my column clipping was hanging on the clubhouse bulletin board.
Bench was standing there reading it to the team. Spotting me, he said, “Tell us, Hal, what do sun tans have to do with winning baseball games?”
Before I could respond, a high, squeaky voice from a far corner said, “If the shoe fits, wear it.”
Thank you, George Foster.
But Bench held no grudges. He would have his say and all would be good the next day.
That’s called class and Bench always wore class like an expensive suit.
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