Splendid, indeed: his goal was simple: to be called `the greatest hitter who ever lived.' Ted Williams' lifelong passion for putting bat to ball pushed him from skinny rookie to mercurial superstar and, finally, to cherished elder statesman

Sporting News, The, July 15, 2002 by Ron Smith

HE slugged and slashed a wide baseball swath through Boston and the American League, captivating fans with the sweetest swing since Shoeless Joe Jackson and frustrating them with a cocky, outspoken, arrogant and often-acerbic personality that generated enduring controversy. Long after his career ended, Ted Williams was equal parts baseball god and public relations monster, a complex superstar who spent two incredible decades carving out legendary status among the game's elite all-time performers.

Ted Williams was 83 when he died last Friday. He will be remembered not only as a baseball hero but also an American hero, a proud veteran of World War II and the Korean War. He lost 4 1/2 of his prime baseball years in service to his country, and so it seems wholly appropriate that baseball--that America--lost of one of its best when it did, smack in the middle of the baseball season, just one day after Independence Day.

To fully appreciate the baseball talents of a player known affectionately as The Kid, The Splendid Splinter, and Teddy Ballgame, you need look no further than the numbers: a .344 career average, sixth highest of all time 521 home runs; 1,839 RBIs; 1,798 run scored; 2,654 bits; 19 All-Star Gain selections; two American League Triple Crowns, and a pair of A.L. Most Valuable Player Awards--figures that could have been considerably higher if not for his military service.

Yet Williams' temperamental out bursts were as remarkable and explosive as when his bat met ball. William was smart, self-confident and generally cheerful and fun to be around. But he could not handle criticism, and certain members of the competitive Boston media incurred his wrath which he never failed to communicate. No player was more analyzed dissected, critiqued, praised, condemned or misunderstood than Williams, who compounded his problems with mocking demonstration and obscene gestures directed at fans.

Love him or hate him, you had to marvel at the dedication with which Williams attacked his craft. He was the masterful technician, the man who turned hitting into a science, and perfect blend of skills raised him to plateau few have visited. The incredible eyesight, the lightning reflexes, the perfect timing, the powerful wrists and forearms and the unwavering patience were well-defined components of an unnervingly efficient hitting machine.

"A man has to have goals--for a day, for a lifetime," Williams explained. "That was mine: to have people say, `There goes Ted Williams, the greatest hitter who ever lived.'"

Baseball's current stars surely accorded him that honor in 1999 during the All-Star ceremonies in Boston. Williams was introduced as one of the top 30 players on baseball's All-Century team. Williams, 80, and burdened by health problems, was driven onto the field at Fenway Park in a golf cart, where he was surrounded by players from both All-Star teams in an emotional scene near home plate. The game was held up for 14 minutes while the greatest hitter of the last six decades laughed and talked with his admirers, comfortable at last on baseball's center stage. It proved to be his last baseball-related appearance.

THE PRODIGY

"I remember the first time I ever saw Ted Williams," recalled longtime teammate and friend Dominic DiMaggio. "It was 1937 and we were both in the Pacific Coast League, me with San Francisco and Ted with San Diego. I was sitting beside our manager, Lefty O'Doul, in the dugout watching Ted take batting practice. Lefty took one look at Ted and said, `There's the next Babe Ruth.' And Lefty O'Doul was the greatest hitting teacher I've ever known."

Williams had been born there in San Diego--on August 30, 1918, to an itinerant, apparently disinterested father and a mother concerned first with her work as a member of the Salvation Army. Often left to fend for himself, Ted devoted most of his free moments to baseball and his secondary passions--hunting and fishing. It was not uncommon to see the gangly Williams swinging a bat in his backyard well into the evening hours or powering line drives to the outer reaches of area fields. Kids from the modest North Park neighborhood were recruited--often with Ted's lunch-money nickels and dimes--to pitch batting practice or shag balls.

Williams may have been short on parental supervision, but he developed meaningful relationships with teachers and coaches at local Herbert Hoover High and with the parents of friends who gave him the attention he didn't get at home. He was articulate, engaging and a quick study in anything relating to baseball. Friends and teammates marveled at his ability to read pitchers, and he never was lacking in confidence.

As an outfielder with the minor league Padres in 1936, Williams was spotted by Red Sox general manager Eddie Collins, who had made a West Coast swing to sign another Padres player, second baseman Bobby Doerr. It didn't take long for Collins to notice Williams' picture-perfect swing--"Ted stood out like a brown cow in a pasture of white cows," Collins said--and he returned to Boston with Doerr under contract and Williams under an option that the Sox would exercise after the 1937 season.