The Fire and Snap Man

Maybe there never was, and never will be, a perfect ballplayer. But let me ask you this: What was there that Frankie Frisch couldn't do?

--Joe McCarthy, New York Yankees manager, 1931-46

In the eternal summer of baseball memories, single images stand out: Babe Ruth, all massive shoulders and spindly legs, crouched somberly at the plate; Mel Ott's right leg flicking out as he stepped into a fastball; Ty Cobb's spikes flashing high as he slid home. In the case of Frank Frisch, the "Fordham Flash," the scenes are multiple--the headlong plunge toward second as he stretched a single into a double, the grace with which he consumed ground balls as an infielder, the temper tantrums that enthralled the crowds, baited the umpires and got him ejected from many games.

In his roles as player, coach, manager and even broadcaster, Frisch was one of those winning wild men who could make spectators believe that some great drama of life was being played out for their benefit. When he died last week at 74, five weeks after an auto crash near Elkton, Md., he had been out of baseball for more than 16 years, but as far as addicts of the sport were concerned, he never really left.

Frisch broke in with the New York Giants in 1919, fresh off the campus. A star at Fordham--he had captained the football, basketball and baseball teams--he sat on the bench only two months, then moved into the starting lineup when the regular second baseman hurt his leg. For the next 18 seasons, Frisch remained a regular, matching superb fielding with a lifetime batting average of .316. From 1921 through 1924, the Giants won four straight National League pennants, and Frisch starred in all four campaigns.

In 1926, after a dispute with authoritarian Manager John McGraw, Frisch was traded to the Cardinals for another Hall of Fame second baseman, Rogers Hornsby. St. Louis fans were dismayed, but only temporarily. The Cardinals won pennants in 1928, 1930 and 1931, and Frisch again figured prominently in the triumphs. Then, as a playing manager, he oversaw the antics of the rambunctious Cardinal Gas House Gang. Frisch continued to play until 1937. In one game that year, Fellow Cardinal Terry Moore nearly overtook him as both men sprinted around the bases. "When they start to climb up the back of the old Flash," he said, "I know it's time to quit."

Frisch managed the Cardinals for one more year, then moved on to run the Pittsburgh Pirates (1940-46) and the Chicago Cubs (1949-51). Between managing stints, he coached, then emerged as a play-by-play announcer for the Giants. His lament, "Oh, those bases on balls," became a fan's litany. After a 1956 heart attack, Frisch retired. He tended his azaleas, added to his collection of classical recordings and hurled steady disparagement at modern-day baseball. Samples: "Today's spring-training camps are country clubs without dues . . . Baseball players today do not have the same fighting spirit. . . The old fire and snap have gone out of baseball." Perhaps so, but never from Frankie Frisch.

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