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The Guardian
Steve Dalkowski: The Life And Mystery Of Baseball Flame Throw
Many believe the southpaw was the fastest pitcher to ever take the mound. But his career – and his life – derailed before he could impact Steve Dalkowski, a career miner who could very well have been the fastest (and craziest) pitcher in baseball history, died in April at the age of 80. complications of Covid-19. And yet, partly because of one missing detail, his legend lives on, perhaps forever. A book and documentary – both of which were in the works long before Dalkowski’s death – have been released since Dalkowski, suffering from alcohol-related dementia, died in his hometown of New Britain, Connecticut. , where it has become a phenomenon for over 60 years. The book Dalko: The Untold Story of Baseball’s Fastest Pitcher and the documentary Far From Home: The Steve Dalkowski Story carefully attempt to clarify, and even dispel, many of the myths that have emerged about Dalkowski over the years. Nowadays, everything in sport is quantified down to every court or game, and there are plenty of videos out there. It hasn’t always been that way. Tom Chiappetta, the Connecticut native who took 30 years to assemble the documentary, was unable to experience Dalkowski’s film launching into a game. “This is the last time we’re going to have a sports legend. American to tell, ”Brian Vikander, the pitching coach who wrote the book with Bill Dembski and Alex Thomas, told The Guardian. “But it also speaks to the weaknesses we all have as individuals.” Indeed, Dalkowski is so legendary. Hundreds of newspaper obituaries have been written about Dalkowski, but Vikander says most contained errors. Chiappetta, who “barely scratched the surface” with her documentary, says “the legend of Dalkowski continues. One of the reasons is that people can’t get enough of her life. We know it all: Dalkowski, a southpaw, was 5ft 10in and 170lb, which wasn’t a particularly intimidating presence. But he was surprisingly fast and savage, with 1324 strikeouts – and 1236 walks – in 956 innings pitched from 1957 to 1965. He had 262 strikeouts and 262 walks in 170 innings for the Ports of Stockton class. C in 1960. His four seams Fastball, called his “radio pitch” because hitters could hear him but not see him, was virtually unmoved… when he crossed home plate. But just as many shots were sailing over the batters’ heads, even in the stands. It was said that he once hit a fan who was in line for a hot dog. He was known to throw pure heat, but there was no way at the time to quantify how fast he was throwing. People swear he threw 110 miles an hour, maybe even faster. (New York Yankees reliever Aroldis Chapman holds the documented record: 170 km / h.) “That’s part of the mystique, of course,” Chiappetta said. “Back then, they just didn’t have the technology to prove it.” Although several rudimentary attempts were made to measure the speed of his throws, Dalkowski ended his professional career nearly a decade before a radar gun was first used for Hall pitcher Nolan Ryan. of Fame. And Dalkowski’s career had peaked in the spring of 1963. It was then that Dalkowski, almost certain to earn a spot with the Baltimore Orioles, felt a pop in his left elbow, presumably a torn ligament, although his injury had not. never been diagnosed. (Pitcher Tommy John underwent revolutionary elbow reconstructive surgery in 1974, which is commonly used to correct such injuries now.) Director and screenwriter Ron Shelton, a former farmer of the Orioles, has said he founded the character fast, wild and immature “Nuke” LaLoosh, played by Tim Robbins, on Dalkowski in the classic 1988 baseball film Bull Durham. But there was a critical difference in their stories. Bull Durham ends with LaLoosh in the big leagues, a prospect polished by the hard lessons learned from the miners. But Dalkowski never pitched a regular season game higher than the Triple-A level. He was an alcoholic and his life, like his talk on the radio, was spiraling out of control. And that is also part of his legend. Sport back then was not as scientific as it is today. There was no throw count to feed a pitcher’s arm. Dalkowski once threw 283 shots in a single game – 120 is considered excessive these days. Managers often warmed it up and installed it, tiring it out first. “The pitchers had to pitch nine innings at the time – ‘Come on! Be a man! Vikander said. Much less time was spent on mechanics, even strategy for tackling hitters. For example, Vikander said that half of all hitters then took the first pitch, so Dalkowski might have benefited from a single tap to pitch, say, a curved ball for a first pitch strike. “There was information out there that could have done things for Steve,” Vikander said. Although Dalkowski briefly had a strong father-son-type relationship with Earl Weaver, who would later become the legendary manager of the Orioles, virtually no attention was paid at the time to the mental state of an athlete, in especially to those who struggled with high expectations. “He was not set up psychologically to deal with this,” Vikander said of Dalkowski’s fame. Chiappetta said: “He didn’t have a coach. No baseball coaching, no life coaching, no coaching of anything. If he came to baseball now, it’s a whole different world. Dalkowski took odd jobs after quitting baseball, disappearing completely from family and friends, sometimes sleeping in aisles, next door, or in garbage cans. He was found alone, disheveled, at a laundromat in California on Christmas Eve 1992. He however had a scrap piece of paper with the phone number of a former teammate, Frank Zupo, and his life would change for the better in because of the help he received from his sister, Pat, and the baseball support team, among others. “I’m ashamed to just go down the drain, and I don’t have to do this to keep Mickey Mouse from drinking stuff to get himself together,” Dalkowski said in an interview with Chiappetta earlier in 1992 which is included in the documentary. He added, “Do you know who I hurt the most? God bless his soul – my sister. I cry at night. Too bad. I had everything on the set. I just threw it in the toilet and guess I emptied it. The happiest part of his story is that Dalkowski spent the last 26 years of his life in an elderly care facility in New Britain, where he became somewhat of a celebrity for being a local child who became a miner-leaguer with dazzling potential – potential being the key word. “He has recovered 26 years of his life,” said Chiappetta. “It’s a lot longer than he played baseball.” The search for information continues, in part because Dalkowski has never been to the big leagues, where information can be found more easily. In addition, Dalkowski stopped throwing 55 years ago. “We’re looking for guys who played ‘D’ [level] prom with him in 1957, ”says Vikander. Early reactions to the book, Vikander said, have been “stellar,” giving him hope that more information about it can be found and posted on the book’s website. Chiappetta is convinced that there is an old movie – somewhere – of Dalko’s pitching. “The story kind of continues,” Chiappetta says. If a movie clip surfaces, perhaps from a dusty attic, it may be possible to measure the speed of Dalkowski’s spooky four-seam fastball. If we know for sure that he threw less than, say, 105.8 mph, his legend would surely decrease, but, again, what if the clip showed Dalko was throwing much faster?
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