Word: dimaggio
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During the three seasons from 1958 to 1960, Mickey Mantle struck out 371 times. Reggie Jackson flailed in vain 313 times in two seasons. It is almost always part of the slugger's makeup, the monstrous whiff as companion to the mighty blast. But DiMaggio's relation to a pitched ball was as intimate as it was brutal. In his entire career he struck out only 369 times--this while hitting 361 home runs. During the magical 1941 season, he had 30 home runs, 13 strikeouts. (There are single weeks when modern sluggers strike out 13 times.) From his spread...
Perhaps the best measure of a hitter is not his batting average but his run production. DiMaggio batted "only" .325 over his career, but he batted in nearly a run per game--the third highest average this century, after Lou Gehrig's and Hank Greenberg's. DiMaggio delivered more runs per game than Babe Ruth; more than Ted Williams; 27% more than Hank Aaron...
Only 361 home runs? Forget about his ability to hit for average as well as power. Forget that at DiMaggio's retirement, only four men had ever hit as many home runs. Focus instead on those three large numerals inscribed on the left-center-field wall in Yankee Stadium when DiMaggio played there--4 5 7--denoting the preposterous footage from home plate to the seats. For a right-handed power hitter, it marked the outer limits of a place where potential homers went to die. No right-handed Yankee hit nearly as many home runs as DiMaggio until...
...seasons he missed to serve in the Army. Like Williams, with whom he was eternally yoked at the center of the Boston-New York rivalry, DiMaggio saw the heart of his career cut out by the sharp edge of war. From ages 28 to 30, he was AWOL from the thing he did best, at the time of life when he probably could have done it better than ever...
Finally, his tenure in the majors--a scant 13 sunlit seasons before repeated injuries rendered him unable to play as he had before. This might be the statistic that most reveals DiMaggio's greatness, for it tells us he was blessed with that rarest of athletic gifts: knowing when it was time to leave. He simply would not let the world see him play in a diminished state. Instead, he left us with the image--and the record--of someone who very nearly achieved perfection...