Michael said…
I can’t think of Dock Ellis without immediately thinking, “No Hitter on LSD!”

I’ve never seen, on TV or live, or heard on the radio, or replayed one on the tabletop, a no hitter. (I’ve seen pieces of them, but never a whole one.)

And he got one stoned.

12:19 PM

Josh Wilker said…
One day, if the gods will it and/or if I end my 20-year boycott of LSD, I hope to broach the gargantuan subject of Dock Ellis. (In preparation I am currently reading Donald Hall’s “Dock Ellis in the Country of Baseball.”) For now I just want to say that I don’t necessarily see LSD as a hindrance to pitching a no-hitter. In my experience, it sometimes made even the simplest tasks ridiculously, hilariously confusing, but on other occasions, including a couple times playing basketball, it seemed to work on me like Obiwan Kenobi’s voice worked on Luke Skywalker as he made his final approach on the weak spot of the Death Star. Turn off the computer and Trust the Force, Dock.

12:54 PM

pete millerman said…
When you’re eleven years old, and the team you’ve rooted for since birth is free-falling through a biblically fallow seven-year cycle of decay (that in youth seemeth eternal), you grasp for whatever straws you can.

After my childhood effectively ended with the events of June 15th 1977, I developed the same jaded, envy-stained bitterness that plagues me into adulthood, much like Josh’s desire-to-kick-something.

Henceforth, whenever the Mets somehow acquired a known quantity, a player who had experienced some modest measure of success elsewhere, – a .275 lifetime batting average on the back of a piece of cardboard, a 19-win season, a ring… – I was seized with a renewed hope bred in the pitiful naivete of a mind otherwise preoccupied with the miracles-can-occur comings and goings of Galactus, the Silver Surfer, and Chief Jay Strongbow.

With each Richie Hebner, Claudell Washington and (oh the joy!) George Foster the Mets signed, dreams of contention sprang eternal.

Only to be dashed of course. That’s how it goes.

When I heard the Mets picked up ‘Doc’ Medich late in the ’77 season, I was semi-convinced that he could maybe, maybe combine with Pat Zachary and some young call-up from Tidewater to replace Seaver, and energize the (very few) casual Mets fans at school who hadn’t turned coat to the suddenly hip and exciting Yankees.

Medich pitched one game as a Met, lost, and resurfaced in the AL West – ie: never to be heard from again.

When the legendary Dock Ellis was acquired halfway through the excruciating ’79 season, I was sure that he would perform heroically, and give the Mets that dynamic clubhouse presence that we were missing post-Lenny Randle.

Dock went 3-7, with an ugly 6.04 ERA, and was for all intentions through in the big leagues. Or would have been, but for the overweaning compassion of Mets GM Joe McDonald, who sold Ellis back to the Pirates in late September; presumably so he could participate in one last cocaine binge in the champagne-soaked clubhouse where he’d earned his outlaw reputation, and enjoy one last (non-rostered) blowout and pas de deux on the dugout roof.

(sigh) I even sported a Red Sox cap in the late ’70s, such was my hatred for the Yankees and empathy for Rick Burleson, but that’s another story. I always clung to the Mets for some reason. Doc and Dock and Kelvin Chapman and false- hope-springs-eternal be damned.

There’s a picture of me at Cooperstown, where they have all of the no-hit balls on display, pointing gleefuly at Dock Ellis’ “pitched a no-hitter on acid” artifact. That shit just doesn’t happen anymore. It was just a…. colorful era…man…

1:39 PM

pete said…
…as an addendum, I’ll posit the theory that ‘Doc’ Medich likely earned his MD from the University of Pittsburgh, dilligently studying anatomy and physiology every offseason, and in one well-documented anecdote ran into the grandstand at Memorial Stadium in Baltimore to valiantly perform heart massage on a coronary victim.

‘Dock’ Ellis, on the other hand, presumably garnered his moniker through his gratuitous “acting out.”
A litany of his shenanigans could fill a book (and did), but I would venture to guess that between antagonizing the press, instigating brawls, agitating for social change during many a night that stretched into the wee hours, experimenting with contraband, getting arrested, and wearing curlers on the field at Three Rivers Stadium, Ellis probably found his salary “Docked” more than once during his professional tenure.

God Bless ‘im.

10:45 AM