An Ode to Satchel

It's difficult to ascertain whether Satchel Paige was completely real, or whether he was, at least partly, a fictitious creation, drawn up in the imagination of our baseball-obsessed nation. Perhaps the greatest Negro League player of all time, and unquestionably one of the best pitchers to ever take the mound, Paige certainly had numerous threads of the fantastic woven into his remarkable life story. He is baseball's version of Paul Bunyan, a giant whose legend stretched across nations, from Mexico to Puerto Rico, North Dakota to Denver to Pittsburgh. His lanky frame, high-kicking delivery and blazing fastball, his unmatchable ability to entertain a crowd (calling in his outfielders before striking out the side), combined to create one of the most magnetic presences in the history of sports. Although Satchel died in 1982, the gravitational pull of his personality has certainly not been quenched. It is that aura that drew me in when I first read about him in Satchel Sez, a pictorial accounting of his most memorable remarks I was given one Christmas as a child. The more I learned about Satchel, the more I admired him, not just because of his legendary exploits on the mound—and there are plenty of those—but also because he was a completely free spirit, a baseball vagabond who pitched wherever his impulses took him and said whatever was on his mind ("I ain't ever had a job. I just always played baseball").

In this way, he defied the white baseball establishment that held fast to its unwritten rule barring blacks from playing in the majors. "That's fine," Paige in effect said to that establishment through his actions—“I can do it better on my own, anyway." And he did. He made more money that any of his white contemporaries in the Major Leagues over the course of his career (he even had his own private plane), leveraging his incredible drawing power into receiving a portion of the gate on days he pitched. That drawing power was indeed substantial—both black and white wanted to see the restless, flamboyant dynamo, and games which featured Satch routinely outdrew major league contests. His persona raised the profile of the Negro Leagues and America's exposure to black baseball by an untold margin, and therefore Satch can be said to be one of the players who helped pave the path to integration traveled by Jackie Robinson.

Satchel's substantial wisdom, doled out on the pages of my book in the form of the many iconic baseball aphorisms that he might or might not have said (in this regard, Yogi Berra should be known as the white Satchel Paige), spoke and still speaks to me on many different levels. The beauty of Satchel's common sense approach was readily apparent to me as a pitcher, learning to control the game—"I never rush myself. See, they can't start the game without me."—and command it—"Throw strikes. Home plate don't move." Perhaps the greatest wealth of Satchel's wisdom stemmed from the recurring questions about his true age. While there's evidence that even Satchel himself didn't exactly know how old he was, he intentionally promoted the public's uncertainty ("Age is a case of mind over matter. If you don't mind, it don't matter"). In Satchel's seeming agelessness is a lesson for all baseball fans, a lesson he actually spelled out with his six "Rules for Staying Young," which were first published in the June 13, 1953 issue of Collier's magazine. They are without a doubt my favorite part of Satchel's unique lexicon, and the aspect of his indispensable body of wisdom that has influenced me the most:

1. Avoid fried meats which angry up the blood.
2. If your stomach disputes you, lie down and pacify it with cool thoughts.
3. Keep the juices flowing by jangling around gently as you move.
4. Go very light on the vices, such as carrying on in society—the social ramble ain’t restful.
5. Avoid running at all times.
6. And don’t look back—something might be gaining on you.

These rules have always captivated me—they are a fascinating societal and cultural statement, an eccentric hardball genius's musings on life. I've kept them in mind over the years, letting them jangle around gently as I've moved through life, hoping to keep the juices flowing while I try to unravel the true meaning of Leroy Robert's philosophy. In the past year, the “Rules” have provided me a more concrete solace from the unconquerable reality of having to hang up the old spikes—in a literal sense with regards to my baseball playing days, which ended with one final tour through the junior varsity circuit last spring, and figuratively with regards to my graduation from college. Faced with this ages-old crisis of maturation, I desperately cast about for some assurance that my departure from college would not not signal the corresponding escape of youth. Naturally, I turned to baseball for comfort, and re-discovered the six tenets of Satch contained in my old favorite book. Just like the national pastime, the process of staying young has clear-cut, definable rules. Inside the lines of a baseball diamond, the passing of time has no effect—the dictates of the game alone hold sway. As long as certain conditions are met, a game of baseball could last forever, its combatants never aging. Likewise, as long as one follows the letter of Satch's “Rules for Staying Young,” youth can be maintained in perpetuity.

Before discounting the effectiveness of these clearly-lighthearted "Rules," consider what they did for Paige himself. On account of baseball’s color barrier, Satch didn’t make his major league debut until 1948, when he was already 41 years old (at least). He posted a 2.48 ERA and won six of his seven decisions that season, then went on to pitch four more years. Paige even came back in September of 1965, at the age of 59, to throw three scoreless innings for the Kansas City Athletics, becoming the oldest player to ever appear in a major league game before fading from the professional baseball scene one last time.

Truly, Paige never lost his youth, even when he grew old. And it was baseball, his boyish love for the game and his refusal to ever let it leave his life—"Maybe I'll Pitch Forever" was the title of his autobiography—that prevented him from losing that youth. At a time when this potential loss seems closer than it ever has for me—I am supposed to be fully embracing the responsibilities of entering the "real world"—such a model of indefinite youth, and the beautifully simple guide to achieving it, is of the utmost comfort. Paige's example, and his rules, reminds one to never forget that baseball at its most fundamental level is seen through the eyes of the young, and appeals to us all, first and foremost, as youths. If I keep this in mind, maybe, like Paige, I can use baseball and my love for the game to stay young. And I'll always thank Satch, who reminds us to count our blessings for having the remarkable fortune to follow a sport holding within it the true fountain of youth, and, somewhere, the pitcher who managed to find it.