PORT ARTHUR — Editor’s note: The following column from the Best of West collection was first published in the Port Arthur News on Jan. 29, 1987.



     To a kid who spent many afternoons and evenings parked in the outfield bleachers at old Busch Stadium in St. Louis, Curt Flood was a hero of the first order.  Later, when that kid moved to Texas, became a sportswriter and got to know him an a different level, the articulate, soft-spoken Cardinal proved to be most worthy of the youthful adulation.

     In 30 years of being around professional athletes, and often watching in dismay as the volatile, "Hey, look at me!" generation changes the hero landscape, I don't think I've ever encountered a better, more sincere, more likable person than Curt Flood.

      On a team loaded with great players and strong personalities -- Bob Gibson, Lou Brock, Roger Maris, Bill White, Tim McCarver -- nobody was more respected than Flood.

     Flood's lasting baseball legacy, however, won't be for what a superb ballplayer or exemplary human being he was.  He'll go down in history as a maverick of sorts, as the man who took on the baseball establishment for a principle.

     Though he lost the battle for free agency, sacrificing his own career at its height, players ultimately won the war and are still reaping the benefits.

     In case you missed it last week, Curt Flood lost another battle. Throat cancer claimed him at age 59.  I saw the headline while eating breakfast in New Orleans and quickly discovered I was no longer hungry.  Though we had not talked in over 15 years, there was a sense of loss. Then there was a bit of denial.

     All of a sudden, it was a hot summer afternoon in Busch Stadium.  The Cardinals were down 5-4 to the Giants in the bottom of the ninth.  Lou Brock was on first. There were two out. Flood was at the plate.  And here came the ball, soaring right at me in left field.

     It landed in the front row of the bleachers. From well over 300 feet away, I could almost hear Harry Carry screaming, "Cardinals win.  Cardinals win.  Cardinals win."

     That home run was special, because Flood didn't hit many. It was mostly singles and doubles and spectacular plays in the outfield. He won seven consecutive Gold Gloves from 1963-69.  His career batting average was .293.  He's all over the recored book of a tradition rich Cardinal team. 

      He's ninth all time in runs scored (845), eighth in hits (1,853) and 10th in total bases (2,464).  He thrice led the Cardinals in batting average, including the pennant winning years of 1967 (.335) and 1968 (.301).

     Flood's brilliance in center field was a sight to behold.  He was the Ozzie Smith of outfielders, once going through an entire season (1966) without an error.  He climbed walls.  He ran down balls other center fielders wouldn't dream of reaching.  He was the perfect No. 2 hitter behind Brock. 

     Put a bat in his hands with the game on the line, and the opponent was in big trouble.  Put a bat in his hands against the watered-down pitching of the '90's and he'd average .350.

     If I had a vote, Flood would be in the Hall of Fame.  Yes, his numbers might be borderline, but arguably nobody other than Jackie Robinson had a bigger impact on the game of baseball. 

     Like Robinson, Flood paid a heavy price to champion a cause.  Had he not challenged baseball's reserve clause after the Cardinals traded him in 1969, he would probably be in the Hall of Fame. 

     The tragedy of the Curt Flood story is that he basically fought his battle alone. Once he announced his intentions of taking on the establishment, it was almost like he was a leper. Not one active player attended any of his court hearings.

     He fought all the way to the Supreme Court, ultimately going down by a 5-3 vote in 1972.  Unbelievably, Justice I.B. Cooper, who spoke for the majority, said: "The game is on higher ground; it behooves everyone to keep it there."

     Now there's some legal brilliance.

     Within three years, an arbitrator granted free agency to two players -- Andy Messersmith and Dave McNally -- and the floodgates to big salaries were opened.  Every player since, especially the grossly overpaid ones of today, owe their opportunity to pluck the golden goose to Curt Flood's courage and conviction.

     For Flood, meanwhile, life after baseball was bittersweet and financially precarious.  His saving grace may have been a strong mind and rare ability as an artist.  He authored an autobiography -- The Way it Is -- did a cover portrait for Sports Illustrated and painted a portrait of Martin Luther King, Jr. that remains one of Mrs. King's favorites.

     In the end, he was eulogized by the Rev. Jesse Jackson, author George Will, Players Association Director Don Fehr and old teammates like Gibson and White.  Perhaps the most appropriate words were spoken by Congressman John Conyers (D-Mich).

     "Every professional athlete in America ought to be here," said Conyers.

     Typically, only a handful bothered.

     Oh well, Curt, for what it's worth, you're still my hero.

     Bob West is the sports editor for the Port Arthur News.