By John Henderson
Denver Post Sports Writer
Sept. 1 - They throw them. They slam them. They break them over their knees. They talk to them. They clean them. They take them to bed. They cover them with pine tar. They caress them with alcohol. They grind them against bone.
It's a love-hate affair unmatched in sports. No piece of equipment in the athletic world has as much a hold on an athlete's psyche as the good, old-fashioned baseball bat. As American as the handgun and nearly as lethal, baseball bats have a more storied place in history than any other piece of sports equipment.
And no other piece of equipment is more important to an athlete's performance. Track shoes? Please. You think Michael Johnson wouldn't have won two gold medals in Atlanta if he wore adidas instead of Nike? But would Ken Griffey Jr. hit 40 to 50 home runs every year if he didn't swing his signature 34-inch, 31-ounce Louisville Slugger?
Baseball bats are so important to Colorado Rockies left fielder Dante Bichette, he doesn't even endorse one. Huh? It makes sense. Listen to the deepest-thinking student of hitting in Colorado:
"I signed contracts with gloves, shoes, glasses but never a bat,'' Bichette said. "I make a living with my bat. If I get a wrong one, man, I want to be able to switch. I don't want to be obligated to any one thing.''
That's not unusual. Baseball players aren't nearly as loyal to their bats as they are to their golf clubs. Players have been known to sneak peeks at a hot-hitting teammate's locker and see what they're swinging.
Even players who endorse Louisville Slugger, the Ford Motor Co. of the bat industry, have junked their bats for samples from more than a dozen upstart suppliers.
"If I don't get a hit with a bat, it's firewood,'' Pittsburgh left fielder Al Martin said. "I give it probably two games at the most.''
Hall of Famer Ty Cobb once went two seasons without breaking his bat. In fact, he hit the ball so consistently, the bat had an indentation in the barrel where he always hit it.
Some of the great hitters in the game aren't among the deepest thinkers. Colorado right fielder Larry Walker, who has gone hit for hit with Tony Gwynn all year for the National League batting crown, has destroyed more bats than Randy Johnson's inside fastball.
If water coolers had nerves, they'd visibly shake when Walker returned from an 0-for-4 day. But this MVP candidate uses a 34- to 35-inch, 32-ounce bat and isn't above trying something else in dire straits.
"Whatever's working,'' Walker shrugged. "If it's not working, I use whatever bat's available. I use Vinny Castilla's bat. I used (Todd) Helton's bat the other day. Whatever I feel like grabbing. If I go up there and get a hit, I use it again.''
Chuck Schupp, who supplies Louisville Sluggers for major leaguers, said players will get so frustrated, they'll come to him with desperate requests.
"They'll say, "Put Barry Larkin's name on it, or Ken Griffey Jr.'s name on it,' and they think they'll get a better piece of timber,'' Schupp said. "Some kiddingly just ask for the same bat Junior gets.''
It doesn't work like that. Every hitter has a list of requirements for his bat and some of them are purely cosmetic. They have a choice of four colors: black, red (known as "galen''), brown and natural. Bichette uses black because "after an at-bat, I know exactly where I hit the ball.''
Walker uses galen merely because in 1992, "I was struggling and Spike Owen, a teammate, used that galen-colored bat. I went out against Bud Black and had a couple of doubles and a home run. I kept using it.''
Others just like the way a bat looks. Montreal first baseman David Segui puts so much pine tar on his bat, bat boys would pick them up and nearly needed them surgically removed.
"I get them as ugly as I can get them,'' Segui said. "I don't like a clean bat. When I lived in Kansas City, George Brett used to have his bats all tarred up. It looks like baseball to me.''
In 1941, Joe DiMaggio discovered someone had stolen his favorite bat. He had Yankees announcer Mel Allen say over the air that DiMaggio would trade six new bats for the one taken. The thief made the trade, and DiMaggio went on to a major-league-record 56-game hitting streak.
To players, the two most important aspects of a bat are size and wood. Most players like the wide-grained bat even though Schupp insists narrow-grained bats provide harder wood. Battle lines are really drawn on philosophies of size. The modern ballplayer believes the lighter the bat, the quicker the bat action. That thinking is born from a childhood weaned on aluminum bats, which weigh as much as your basic tennis racket with the power of an M-16.
It's also a product of envy. Players have watched Barry Bonds, Gwynn and Griffey wreak havoc all over North America using a 31-ounce bat. In fact, Griffey said his 34-inch, 31-ounce model has the same dimensions as the aluminum he batted with in high school.
"It's what I've always used,'' Griffey said. "I've always been comfortable with it.''
But while bats are important, some players need more than a 34-inch piece of ash to impersonate Griffey, Bonds and Gwynn.
"You have to look at those guys a little differently,'' Schupp said. "Their ability level is so much above the other guys.''
Yet the true hitting minds are constantly harping to players that a heavy bat will produce heavy results. Houston Astros batting coach Tommy McCraw used to sneak heavier bats into his players' supply. Rockies manager Don Baylor, when he served as St. Louis' batting coach, would watch his players fill out bat orders, then sneak up and add weight to each order.
"Some guys noticed the difference, but most guys didn't,'' McCraw said. "I think it makes you a better hitter. One year in Baltimore, I had Mike Devereaux. He was using a 31-ounce bat. I said, "Come on, you've got to use something heavier than that.' I got him working in the cage with a 36. He found he could take that bat and drive the ball out of the ballpark. He fell in love with it.''
Eddie Collins used to rub horse manure on his bats. He told teammates he thought it would keep them "fresh.''
When Baylor played for Triple-A Rochester in the International League, he visited the Louisville Slugger factory every time he played at Louisville. A student and teacher of hitting, Baylor sat around the headquarters and listened to the experts talk about the tools of his trade.
"They convinced me that if you have a heavier piece of wood, you'll have the best of both worlds,'' Baylor said.
So Baylor junked the 32-ounce bat with which he hit .369 at Class-A Stockton and jumped to a 35-ouncer. He was named minor-league player of the year his first full year with Rochester and continued using the 35 all the way to the 1979 MVP award.
"I'd order six bats 35 to 40 ounces just to build my hands up,'' Baylor said. "I'd get my hands strong and get through the (strike) zone. I used them in batting practice. I'd go up against Mike Boddicker, Geoff Zahn, Scotty McGregor. I can't stay back on guys like that, so I started using a 40-ounce bat against them.
"I wrote on the knob the guys I wanted to use it against.''
A 40-ounce bat wasn't that uncommon. Remember the Pittsburgh Lumber Company of the late 1970s? Willie Stargell, Manny Sanguillen, Bob Robertson and Dave Parker all used at least 37 ounces.
Today, the only 40-ounce bat swung in the major leagues is used by one Lance Johnson. He stands 5-foot-11 and weighs 160 pounds, yet he is in his eighth straight year as a starter and at 34, still has a career average of nearly .300.
Why 40? First, he's unusually strong. He once bench-pressed 365 pounds. But he's also an old-school thinker. He thinks if he can swing a 40-ouncer at 34, he could always drop weight when he gets older and slower.
"I might be a little quicker if I dropped, but that's not what I'm looking for,'' said Johnson, recently traded from the New York Mets to the Chicago Cubs. "I know where the head of the bat is. I'm almost scared to drop right now because I think I won't know where the bat head's at. It'll be like hitting the ball with a piece of plastic.''
Do you know where your child is? Do you know where your bat head is? In the quirky, touchy world of major-league baseball, the latter question almost takes on equal significance. After all, to a major-league player, a bat is like a child. It's maddening. It's frustrating.
But oh, when it's right, it is a thing to behold.
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