He stands with a permanent lopsided slouch, his left shoulder 1 in. higher than his right. He peers out at the world through one clear contact lens and one that is blue-tinted; he is simply too lazy to replace the other half of either pair. He is a Pepsi-Cola addict, but insists that he has kicked the habit: he drinks only ten 16-oz. bottles a day now instead of 15. He likes to read about J. Paul Getty, because he is so rich, and his hero is Frank Sinatra, "because he doesn't give a damn about anything."
Every day, in every way, Dennis Dale McLain, 24, works overtime to bolster his growing reputation as an antic oddball. But out of his restless energy he has also managed to build another kind of record entirely. When he is not cracking wise or acting up, Denny McLain throws baseballs for the Detroit Tigers. In a summer when pitchers are dominating the big-league game, Denny is, in fact, dominating the pitchers. A few fans still call him "Super Flake" or "Mighty Mouth," but the sneers stop when he steps up on the mound. This season, as never before, Denny has been putting his muscle where his mouth is.
The Tigers' star righthander has started 36 games, finished 25, struck out 243 batters and allowed just 64 earned runs, or an average of 1.95 per nine-inning game. Last week, against the Minnesota Twins, he scattered nine hits, struck out twelve, and coasted to an 8-3 victory—his 28th of the year against only five losses. With perhaps five starts still ahead of him, McLain has already surpassed the best single-season performances of Carl Hubbell, Bob Feller, Warren Spahn, Whitey Ford and Sandy Koufax. No one has approached his performances in 16 years, and just two more victories will make him the first 30-game winner since Dizzy Dean turned the trick in 1934. These figures may make Denny baseball's man of the year. In Detroit, they have made him the man of the quarter-century—a civic hero whose strong right arm is pointing the Tigers toward their first American League pennant in 23 long years.
Pennant Fever. Still scarred by last summer's riots, still suffering from the divisive effects of a 267-day newspaper strike that all but paralyzed the town, Detroit these days is diverted by the exhilarating symptoms of a raging case of pennant fever. The very idea of getting into the World Series once again has temporarily brightened everything. Fights may still erupt during discussions of such volatile topics as race relations, religion or politics. But talking about Tiger successes is absolutely uncontroversial. September's mood is a reflection of the relief expressed by the Detroit News after the Tigers' last pennant: "Again this fall, when a mass neurosis settled on us and the whole town seemed gripped by a home front battle fatigue in which energies went limp, tempers shortened and all reason fled, the athletes came through. We needed a miracle, and this the Tigers—bless them—provided."