Card Corner Comeback–Dave McNally

When I first started writing Cooperstown Confidential for MLBlogs, I wrote a series of articles known as “Card Corner,” in which I wrote about specific baseball cards and the players featured on them. For a variety of reasons, mostly due to slow dial-up connections and the difficulty of posting images, I abandoned the feature. Well, that’s changed. Now that the Internet connection has been upgraded, it’s time to bring back Card Corner. In our first installment, let’s go back 35 years in time to the 1973 Topps set, which was earmarked by a variety of unusual action shots and some curious poses.

I’ve always been intrigued by Dave McNally’s 1973 Topps card. He’s shown wearing one of those gloves that has a release hole for the index finger, but he instead maintains the finger inside of the glove. I’ve never been able to figure out why.

That triviality never affected McNally. He was never as famous as Hall of Fame teammates like Jim Palmer or Brooks and Frank Robinson, or as popular an “everyman” like Boog Powell, but was a crucial component to the Baltimore Orioles’ dynastic run from 1966 to 1971. McNally, who died in 2002 after a five-year battle with lung cancer, was the Orioles’ most consistent starter–though not their most dominant–during that span of six seasons.

Stylistically, McNally pitched like Whitey Ford and Eddie Lopat–or like Mike Flanagan and Tom Glavine in more modern times–spotting a decent fastball while fooling hitters with rolls of curve balls and change-ups. McNally also used a unique motion that I often like to imitate, even though I’m right-handed and he was left-handed. Two days after McNally passed away at the age of 60, I happened to be watching ESPN Classic when it aired the highlight film of the 1969 World Series between the “Miracle Mets” and McNally’s Baltimore Orioles. The film revived memories of that smooth but unusual delivery used by McNally, in which he dipped his head and shoulders toward first base before sliding his body forward and releasing the ball toward home plate.

Although McNally was one of the game’s best left-hand pitchers of the late sixties and early seventies, piling up four consecutive 20-win seasons, he was humble about his achievements. When a reporter from Sports Collectors Digest asked him if he had a shot to make the Hall of Fame, Mac offered an honest response: “I don’t think so. I didn’t have enough wins (184 in 14 seasons). Sandy Koufax had only 165 wins, but he was really dominating. I think a pitcher has to be in the neighborhood of 250 wins unless some rare thing went with it. I think the Hall of Fame has done a tremendous job making sure it’s not easy to get in.”

McNally’s selflessness matched his modesty. In 1975, the Montreal Expos offered him a contract paying him $125,000, which would have been one of the highest salary figures of the day. Yet, McNally refused to sign, in part because he felt the Expos had reneged on some other aspects of the deal. McNally instead played the season at a reduced salary and without a signed contract, so that he could support Andy Messersmith (who also refused to sign a contract for 1975) and help the Players Association in making a better case for free agency. After the season, arbitrator Peter Seitz awarded both McNally and Messersmith their freedom, allowing them to negotiate with any club. The decision really didn’t benefit McNally himself, since he had already decided to retire, but his conviction helped the players win an important gain in their struggle against major league owners. One year later, the players embarked upon their first season of full-fledged free agency. Without the courage and servitude of pioneers like McNally, players of the current day would not be enjoying the salaries and benefits that make them the kings of the sports world.

Those players should remember what McNally did for them.