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In both leagues, 1948 had been a season in which the quantity of excitement outweighed the quality of play. The home-run mark was never threatened; American League pitchers set a new record for bases on balls (5,045), and one outfielder allowed himself to be hit on the head by a fly ball he was supposed to catch. Baseball was still showing the interfering effects of World War II: not enough good young recruits had come up through the minor leagues to replace fading oldtimers.
In a year like 1948, a handful of indispensable "old pros" stand out like Gullivers among the Lilliputians. Each of the top teams in the American League race has one.
For the Red Sox it is tall, willowy Leftfielder Ted Williams, 29. He has a batting average of .368, the league's best, despite the variety of defensive shifts against him. And Cleveland would scarcely be out front without the 31-year-old Boudreau. His ankles are bad, and he is notoriously slow on the base paths, but his ability to anticipate plays makes him the best shortstop in baseball this year. In addition, he runs his team and hits .354.
With the New York Yankees, it is Joe DiMaggio. He had only missed one game all season, and he was leading the big parade in baseball's most spectacular departments: home runs (39) and runs batted in (153).
No Pushups. At 33, Joe DiMaggio has black hair, beginning to be flecked with grey. Tall (6 ft. 2 in.) and solid (198 lbs.) in the smart double-breasted suits he wears off the playing field, he might be mistaken for a man with an office in midtown Manhattan. The tipoff that he is an athlete is his walk. It has a flowing, catlike quality, without waste motion.
Unlike his perennial Red Sox rival, Ted
Williams, who does pushups every morning to strengthen his wrists and forearm muscles, DiMag frowns on off-the-field exercise, likes to loll in bed until 10 a.m. or later. He is also fond of his food: "I don't diet. I believe in three square meals a day and I'm not ashamed to say I'm nuts about spaghetti."
Part of Joe's notions about his daily regimen come from a talk he once had with Ty Cobb, after DiMaggio's first year with the Yankees. Cobb told him that a good outfielder was crazy to spend 15 minutes a day shagging fly balls once he got in shape: "Don't spend your hitting energy chasing flies. Grab a few and then sit down in a cool, shady spot." DiMag has been conserving his energy ever since. He even seems to conserve it on the playing field.
One of the sights of baseball is watching DiMaggio take a practiced look at a ball heading his way, turn, and without a backward look glide to the spot where the ball is coming down, swing around casually and let the ball fall into his glove. Like all champions, he makes it look too easy. "It's just getting the jump on the ball."
No Difference. The fans, however, don't think of DiMag as a fielder. They come to see him knock one out of the park. Whether at Yankee Stadium or on the road, a reverent roar greets him as he strides to the plate. Joe tells himself that the pitchers should be more worried than he is, and they usually are. He is a cool, relaxed figure, his bat held high and motionless, as he waits for the ball to zip in from the pitcher's box, 60 ft. away, at something like 91 m.p.h.