Pirate Pitching Staff
by Bryce Martin
All-time major league baseball 12-man pitching staff, worthy of ruling the high seas:
Jerry Davie
Sam Jones
Bob Locker
Bob Walk
Ed Plank
Ed High
Fred Waters
Mike Parrott
Dave Jolly
Steve Rogers
Lem Cross
Ricky Bones
Manager on the Deck: Sparky "Captain Hook" Anderson
Side coaches: Johnny "Patcheye" Gill, Jay Hook
Tell them how the weather was... -- Ernest Hemingway bryce_martin_1@Lycos.com
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Friday, November 16, 2007
Tex Cobb: 'Bad body' bad boy (Part 1 of 3)
by Bryce Martin
In Tex Cobb's world, the sport of boxing was hindered by the rules of the ring. He affirmed a last-man-standing approach.
It was the same routine every morning. He would come in alone about 7 a.m., round up a discarded morning newspaper and order coffee, for which he would need about 100 purple packets of artificial sweeteners. He always sat in the wall booth next to the jukebox and always played the same songs, sometimes carrying a book. It would always be a book filled with a collection of classic, philosophical insights.
I was already acquainted with Randall "Tex" Cobb, boxer-cum-actor, when we crossed paths for around three hours every morning during several months in 1989 and 1990 at the 24-hour Steak 'n' Egg Kitchen on West End Ave. in Nashville. Getting to know more about him proved interesting.
He would read some mornings but would not absorb himself in the material if it meant distracting someone who wanted to carry on a conversation. Once, I asked about his famous comment regarding sportscaster Howard Cosell… actually about the bout he had with then-champion Larry Holmes in November 1982 in Houston with the World Boxing Council heavyweight title at stake that led to the comment. Cobb was referred to as "Randy" in those days.
"Holmes didn’t whip me," Cobb said. "He beat me in fifteen rounds. If we’d kept on going I would have won. That’s in the ring. Outside the ring, in the street, I would have handled him like a pussycat. He knows it, too."
Holmes pounded Cobb savagely during the ABC-televised contest, never knocking the challenger down in winning a unanimous decision. Cosell pronounced it a travesty and never again broadcast another boxing match.
Cobb’s fabled rejoinder: "If I had known that’s what it would take to get Cosell to quit doing boxing I would have fought Holmes a long time ago."
But, back to Cobb’s opinion on the fight, the part about him not losing to Holmes.
"I was in the best shape of any heavyweight who ever fought," he said. "It’s not about how hard you can hit. It’s about how many punches you can throw. I was a ‘bad body’ fighter, probably in the top three all-time. Those who judged me on how I looked didn’t see the whole picture."
So, given more time, Holmes would have eventually toppled for the count?
"I’m a gladiator. I’ve never trained just for boxing. My workouts go way beyond what any boxer has even attempted to try. You can’t kill someone who wants to die."
A death wish, is it?
Then came the Cobbian laugh, the one you could never be prepared for, best described as some short honks delivered in meticulously punctuated intervals. Customers from faraway booths turned heads to target the eruptions, smiled, and repositioned themselves.
"Give me a broad-axe and a club. That’s the way I wish it could be."
I knew that he had played football at Hardin-Simmons in Abilene, Tex., left that for kick-boxing, a sport not nearly as popular then as now and one in which he excelled, and in later years I had read an article about him in a fitness magazine that described his workouts, incredibly grueling and torturous in description. He began a professional boxing career in 1977 at age 22.
Each morning, he would be wearing a bulky sweatshirt, either jeans or sweatpants, scuffed white athletic shoes and usually a sock hat to cover a bushy head of hair. He was not one to put on airs. "Whatcha see is what you get," he liked to say.
It was not uncommon for him to disappear for lengthy intervals. Those were the times he would be doing movie work or television commercials. He was best known for his biker role in "Raising Arizona." A second movie, "Uncommon Valor," provided a prominent role as well.
"Yeah, they let me run my mouth some in that one," he smiled.
He had worked with the likes of Richard Pryor, Nicolas Cage, Chevy Chase, Gene Hackman, and several other big names, but he never talked about movies or himself unless someone asked, then he would usually turn it into a joke and steer the conversation elsewhere.
"They had me playing a psycho…rip off your arm and wrap it around your head and not blink twice about it… It was a stretch but I think I handled it."
He would then add his loud and deranged laugh, which somehow did not make him any less likable. Usually polite, a good listener and with the smiling, open manner of one who enjoys life and wants those around him to do the same, Cobb seemed natural in making friends with all those he met.
His nose was that of a boxer’s, flat and broad; yet other than the defacement of that most prominent feature, a stranger to his existence might not tab him as being a fighter. I can’t help but try to picture how he might have looked had he chosen a more regular profession. I find it impossible to form any other image.
Married, he would call his wife, Sharon, from the restaurant phone and discuss their plans for the rest of the day just before leaving.
END PART 1
By Bryce Martin
Published: 4/30/2001
-30-
by Bryce Martin
In Tex Cobb's world, the sport of boxing was hindered by the rules of the ring. He affirmed a last-man-standing approach.
It was the same routine every morning. He would come in alone about 7 a.m., round up a discarded morning newspaper and order coffee, for which he would need about 100 purple packets of artificial sweeteners. He always sat in the wall booth next to the jukebox and always played the same songs, sometimes carrying a book. It would always be a book filled with a collection of classic, philosophical insights.
I was already acquainted with Randall "Tex" Cobb, boxer-cum-actor, when we crossed paths for around three hours every morning during several months in 1989 and 1990 at the 24-hour Steak 'n' Egg Kitchen on West End Ave. in Nashville. Getting to know more about him proved interesting.
He would read some mornings but would not absorb himself in the material if it meant distracting someone who wanted to carry on a conversation. Once, I asked about his famous comment regarding sportscaster Howard Cosell… actually about the bout he had with then-champion Larry Holmes in November 1982 in Houston with the World Boxing Council heavyweight title at stake that led to the comment. Cobb was referred to as "Randy" in those days.
"Holmes didn’t whip me," Cobb said. "He beat me in fifteen rounds. If we’d kept on going I would have won. That’s in the ring. Outside the ring, in the street, I would have handled him like a pussycat. He knows it, too."
Holmes pounded Cobb savagely during the ABC-televised contest, never knocking the challenger down in winning a unanimous decision. Cosell pronounced it a travesty and never again broadcast another boxing match.
Cobb’s fabled rejoinder: "If I had known that’s what it would take to get Cosell to quit doing boxing I would have fought Holmes a long time ago."
But, back to Cobb’s opinion on the fight, the part about him not losing to Holmes.
"I was in the best shape of any heavyweight who ever fought," he said. "It’s not about how hard you can hit. It’s about how many punches you can throw. I was a ‘bad body’ fighter, probably in the top three all-time. Those who judged me on how I looked didn’t see the whole picture."
So, given more time, Holmes would have eventually toppled for the count?
"I’m a gladiator. I’ve never trained just for boxing. My workouts go way beyond what any boxer has even attempted to try. You can’t kill someone who wants to die."
A death wish, is it?
Then came the Cobbian laugh, the one you could never be prepared for, best described as some short honks delivered in meticulously punctuated intervals. Customers from faraway booths turned heads to target the eruptions, smiled, and repositioned themselves.
"Give me a broad-axe and a club. That’s the way I wish it could be."
I knew that he had played football at Hardin-Simmons in Abilene, Tex., left that for kick-boxing, a sport not nearly as popular then as now and one in which he excelled, and in later years I had read an article about him in a fitness magazine that described his workouts, incredibly grueling and torturous in description. He began a professional boxing career in 1977 at age 22.
Each morning, he would be wearing a bulky sweatshirt, either jeans or sweatpants, scuffed white athletic shoes and usually a sock hat to cover a bushy head of hair. He was not one to put on airs. "Whatcha see is what you get," he liked to say.
It was not uncommon for him to disappear for lengthy intervals. Those were the times he would be doing movie work or television commercials. He was best known for his biker role in "Raising Arizona." A second movie, "Uncommon Valor," provided a prominent role as well.
"Yeah, they let me run my mouth some in that one," he smiled.
He had worked with the likes of Richard Pryor, Nicolas Cage, Chevy Chase, Gene Hackman, and several other big names, but he never talked about movies or himself unless someone asked, then he would usually turn it into a joke and steer the conversation elsewhere.
"They had me playing a psycho…rip off your arm and wrap it around your head and not blink twice about it… It was a stretch but I think I handled it."
He would then add his loud and deranged laugh, which somehow did not make him any less likable. Usually polite, a good listener and with the smiling, open manner of one who enjoys life and wants those around him to do the same, Cobb seemed natural in making friends with all those he met.
His nose was that of a boxer’s, flat and broad; yet other than the defacement of that most prominent feature, a stranger to his existence might not tab him as being a fighter. I can’t help but try to picture how he might have looked had he chosen a more regular profession. I find it impossible to form any other image.
Married, he would call his wife, Sharon, from the restaurant phone and discuss their plans for the rest of the day just before leaving.
END PART 1
By Bryce Martin
Published: 4/30/2001
-30-