Why sport should not be letting lightning strike twice
Century of ‘Slim’s’ remarkable tale of gutsy defiance masks a serious concern, writes James Corrigan
It was in a bar in Cleveland a few years ago when I first heard about Ray “Slim” Caldwell. For a good hour – and indeed, it was a very good hour – a grizzled local excitedly regaled me with the story of the pitcher who was struck by lightning on the mound and who, after being unconscious for five minutes, did not merely finish the game but won it for his team.
Saturday marks the 100th anniversary of one of sport’s most remarkable tales and, doubtless, many Indians fans will raise a glass to the spitballer who refused to submit to 30,000 volts.
Yet while they toast this great baseball character, and as my old friend says to his companions the same as he said to me – “Imagine
today’s multi-millionaire wimps acting the same way as Slim” – they will be perpetuating one of sport’s most dangerous myths: that tough guys always get up and carry on, no matter how big the knockdown.
Of course, the admiration for Caldwell is understandable, because this is an irresistible yarn. The former Yankees man was making his debut for Cleveland at League Park and at the top of the ninth innings had inspired the Ohio side to a 2-1 lead over the Philadelphia Athletics. Seeking the final out, Caldwell prepared to pitch to Joe Dugan when it happened … BOOM!
“A blinding flash seemed to set the diamond on fire and Caldwell was knocked flat,” the Cleveland Plain Dealer reported. “His team-mates feared he was dead.” And then came the second exhilarating moment that sent shock waves throughout the stadium.
Opening his eyes to the relief of all those around him, Caldwell spotted the ball in a team-mate’s hand. “Give me that,” Slim whispered before clambering to his feet, “and now point me in the right direction.” With the crowd in stunned silence, he proceeded to wave away his manager, who actually leapt into the air after touching his pitcher’s still crackling hair, and then to strike out Dugan.
“My first thought was that I was dead,” Caldwell said. “But when I looked up and saw I was still in the diamond and that the fans were still in the stands, just as they were before I was hit, I had to laugh with joy. I realised the trumpets were not sounding for me yet.”
In truth, they have been blowing for his memory ever since. Legend has it that the electricity made him stronger. A few weeks later he threw a no-hitter and the next season he guided the Indians to their first World Series.
It did not end there, as Caldwell did not only survive the bolt, but also the bottle, the notorious alcoholic living until he was 79. In his obituary, the Plain Dealer remarked that Caldwell “did everything on his own terms” and recounted how he had it written in his Indians contract that he was “allowed” to get drunk after every game. “They don’t make them like Slim anymore,” my Cleveland drinking friend told me. “A proper man.”
Yet was he? And is not the fact that we are here in 2019 still celebrating sportsmen defying medical opinion more than a little concerning? Look at Steve Smith at Lord’s on Saturday. Knowing what we do now about head injuries, every observer must have felt uneasy when the Australian returned to the crease within 40 minutes of being hit on the neck by that 92mph delivery from Jofra Archer.
Except, if we are honest, how many of us felt at least a degree of admiration for Smith’s courage. As Luke Griggs, deputy chief executive of brain injury association Headway, said on BBC Radio 5 Live, it is this entrenched attitude that sport must eradicate if it is fully to tackle the alarming proliferation of concussion. “It is a problem in all sports and we are struggling to get rid of this perception that you are being really brave for going back out there,” he said.
So think of Caldwell on Saturday and breathlessly recite that extraordinary incident, but try to avoid the lazy comparison with today’s mollycoddled superstars. Thankfully we have moved on – but we have so far to go yet.