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Endemic Injuries. Despite that torrid pace, Cincinnati at week's end was still in a close battle with the Houston Astros for first place in the Western Division. Bench, too, had personal competition from baseball's sudden wealth of gifted catchers. His closest rival for pre-eminence is Pittsburgh's Manny Sanguillen, a favorite among fans for his antic enthusiasm. The scourge of opposing pitchers, Sanguillen stands out even among the Pirates' offensive dreadnaughts. Last week he ranked third in National League batting with a .332 average. Sanguillen, like Bench, belongs to that rare species of athlete that enjoys catching. Says Pirate Coach Don Leppert: "The most important asset a catcher can have is desire. Let's face it, catching is not for the timid. A lot of players have the tools, but they don't like being hit with foul tips or wild pitches and they don't like those collisions at the plate."
In fact, injuries are as endemic to catching as they are to pro-football line-backing. Take the Detroit Tigers' Bill Freehan, for example. Five times a winner of the Golden Glove award and eight times the American League's All-Star catcher, he labored for several years in serious pain until an operation fused his detached vertebrae. Just as he was getting back into form this year, he broke his thumb. Cleveland's Ray Fosse broke the index finger of his right hand three years in a row, and smashed his shoulder in a collision with Cincinnati's Rose during the 1970 All-Star game. Chicago Cub Veteran Randy Hundley, who perfected the one-handed catch that Bench has adopted, was nearly retired at 28 with knee injuries and is playing only part time this season. A few up-and-coming receivers are still healthy, including the St. Louis Cardinals' hard-hitting Ted Simmons and the New York Mets' Duffy Dyer, who was recently named National League Player of the Week—after replacing the injured Jerry Grote.
Durability has always been an absolute prerequisite for manning home plate. So much so, in fact, that a stereotype was created of the catcher as a slightly more alert version of Steinbeck's fabled Lennie, as a good-natured dolt who blocked pitches and flying spikes by day, then lumbers out of the clubhouse stroking a dead squirrel in his coat pocket. The catcher's cumbersome equipment was even dubbed the "tools of ignorance" by one of the trade's own, "Muddy" Ruel of the old Washington Senators, whose unenviable job it was to bring down Walter Johnson's smoking fastball. But ignorance is not strength in the complex world of the catcher, and it never has been. Pitching may well be 75% of baseball but a savvy signal caller behind the plate can be 50% of pitching. And unlike the pitcher, he is expected to come out of his leg-numbing squat, unbuckle his armor and pull his weight in the batter's box.