Paging Kevin Costner!
‘Rube’ is a story ready to be told
In no employment interview did anyone ever ask George Edward Waddell where he saw himself in five years, probably because no one could predict where he would be in five minutes.
Heaspired to be the strong manin a circus.
He wrestled alligators. Hepitched in the big leaguesfor 13 seasons, even thoughhe sometimes failed toget through an inning becausehe ran off the mound to chasea fire truck.
“There’sa story, probably moreapocryphal than factual,that Rube Waddell, whenhe was a youngster ran awayfrom home and they foundhim in the fire station, andthat explained his affinity for it,” said Dan O’Brien, a decorated broadcast er who putin a tour at Channel 11 a generationago. “I have a theory.Rube grew up in the oil country in Western Pennsylvania. Fire sat oil wells were quitecommon. In fact, many times, if they’d strike natural gas,which at the time was moreof a pain in the butt thana great find because the technologyof storing and transporting natural gas was certainlynot what it is today, somany times they’d just flareoff the gas — burn it off —to get to the oil. People wouldpull up their wagons to watchthe fires.
“Ifound an article in a Pittsburghpaper from shortlyafter Rube died that saidhe did work in the oil fields.His father was what theycall a gauger for the NationalTransit Company, a divisionof Standard Oil. He grewup with those fires.”
ButO’Brien doesn’t want tobe known for hispsyc hop yro analysis of a ballplayer whohas been dead more than 100years. He rather would be
recognizedfor his screenplay abouthim, the one that took the GrandJury Award at the festivalcalled Film Invasion Los Angelesthis summer.
Buteven with that, the official categoryin which “Rube” capturedhighest honors among hundreds of entries is a little disquieting: Best Screenplay (Unproduced).
“It’sfrustrating, a long journey,”said O’Brien, who first got hisscreenplay together going on 20years ago. “When I see some of thefilms that are made, I don’t thinkthe story is as good. The typicalsports story on film is aboutovercoming great odds to winthe championship. Rube overcamegreat odds to succeed atthe major league level through theefforts of Connie Mack, one of thefew managers who could understandhim. But it doesn’t end withhim winning the championship;it ends with him dying.
“Thescreenplay is kind of nowhereright now. Some nibbles. Nothingconcrete. It’s nice to get therecognition in the screenplay contest, but that really doesn’tgo far in regard to getting itmade into a film.”
Asno one has to tell you, there’san abundance of awful filmsdraining out of Hollywood everyweekend. Few are about sports,but Kevin Costner seems tobe a sucker for a decent baseballstory every 10 or 15 years. RubeWaddell’s is not a decent baseball story; it’s a great baseball story.
Youcould make the case, for example,that Babe Ruth, who waswidely and rightly credited withsaving the game after the BlackSox scandal a century ago, wouldnot have had a game to saveit weren’t for Rube Waddell of Prospect, Pa.
W ad dell’ s brilliance on the moundand unpredictable, unrestrained joy off it (some called it beingdrunk all the time) certainly propped up a desperate AmericanLeague when Rube finally settled himself in Philadelphiaa few years after a stint in Pittsburgh(he was traded here fromLouisville in a 16-player dealthat included some guy namedHonus Wagner).
Mack’ s Philadelphia Athletics drew only 206,329 in 1901, but, withRube on the mound a year later, attendance more than doubled.By the next year it had morethan tripled. When Mack traded him to St. Louis, attendance dropped 27 percent for the A’sand jumped nearly 50 percentin his new city.
Waddellerected for himself pilesof strikeout records, some ofthem in an era when foul balls didnot count as strikes. He punchedout 349 batters in 1904, a recordthat took the great Sandy Koufaxto beat 61 years later.
ThoughWaddell’s drinking waslegendary, most baseball scholars feel that it’s too convenient an explanation for a singular personality. Rube Waddell authored incredible stories withoutwriting a word. He simplylived them.
Twoyears after his major leaguecareer ended, he was in Kentuckywith a minor league clubwhen the Mississippi overflowedits banks one night, threateningthe little town of Hickman. Straight from a local taproom,Waddell worked in the waterwith volunteers all night throwingup sandbags to divert thestream.
Backat the bar after dawn, this storygoes, someone said, “You looklike you’ve been up all night, Rube.”“I have,” he replied. “I savedyour little town for you.”
Waddellcaught pneumonia fromthat experience, was soon diagnosedwith tuberculosis, and diedat 37. When he was gone, the Philadelphia Public Ledger calledhim “the kindest, most amiable,but most irresponsible figurethat ever graced baseball’s stage,a physical wonder and the greatestleft-handed pitcher of all time,a jester who toyed with life asa bauble and tossed it away at lastas a useless thing — that man,the “haggard harlequin” of ournational game, was George EdwardWaddell. Now that he haspassed from the Known to the Unknown,let us forget the weaknessof spirit, and remember only thekindly heart and splendid courageof the man who was the wonderof his profession.”
I’mrarely in a place where I shouldbe telling Hollywood its business, but it’s very possible “Rube”could be better than “Dude,Where’s My Car?”