Lenny Randle's Bunt
Maybe there is room in baseball for just a little violence
It is officially baseball season, but since no games are being played yet, my mind fills the gap with memories of the games I’ve seen and the ones I wish I did. Near the top of that list is a game played a couple years before I cared what baseball was: The Bunt Brawl Game.
Back when I was finishing kindergarten, a journeyman infielder named Lenny Randle was having a good season. It was his first time with starter’s at bats, primarily as a third baseman, on his way to helping his young franchise to their second winning season.
Interesting times were always drawn to Lenny Randle.
He managed two .300 seasons, but never made the All-Star team. The first time he got lost his starting job, he punched his manager hard and often enough to be bounced around the courts and to another team. He was at bat when the lights went out in New York. With Seattle, he once willed a bunt to become foul by getting his face close to the rolling ball and saying in his most powerfully breathy voice “Go Foul”1. He had his best professional season in the Italian League, and two of his relatives played professionally in other sports.
In 1974, down in Texas where the Washington Senators had moved a few seasons prior, Randle’s Rangers were leading the visiting Cleveland team 3-0 late in the game. Future Cleveland manager Mike Hargrove had just cleared the bases the wrong way with a double play, leaving Randle to face Milt Wilcox with two outs and the game already in hand.
It is difficult to tell when a wild pitch is accidental. The pitchers will claim it is, at least during the game or in post-game interviews, but it eventually comes out that this is the culture of a dugout. With few exceptions, major league pitchers make it to this level because they have enough control to throw a hittable ball. When Lenny Randle—who had already singled twice and scored in this game—was forced to step toward the plate to avoid being hit, it was likely every player in the stadium knew it wasn’t an accident.
In most cases, this kind of pitch intimidation is settled with glares. Revenge comes from getting a hit anyway, or scoring after a free walk to first base. In this moment, Lenny decided to bunt.
It is possible that the bunt was a legitimate attempt to get to first, and that only upon seeing Wilcox get to the ball quickly did he come up with his Plan B. In the mythos of baseball, though, this was a man intent on bringing the enemy close enough to get a good shot in retaliation.
While the physicality of high-profile sports is embarrassingly part of their draw, I’m not generally a fan of violence. Baseball, in particular, is a laid back game with (until recently) no clock and the endless optimism to fuel a comeback at any moment, no matter how far you find yourself down in the ninth inning. It is also both a smart game and an intuitive game. For some inexplicable reason, Lenny Randle’s bunt—which led to a bench-clearing brawl and no suspensions—strikes me as a little bit of both.
To avoid the obvious rules violation by charging the mound in favor of a rules violation in the field of play makes me grin. It appeals to some sense of frustrated justice achieved by working within the system. It’s clever, even if it wasn’t helpful. It’s funny because it had no impact, beyond the collision between runner and fielder. I wouldn’t every want me or mine to emulate that play given the same situation, but I felt good watching it. Perhaps the context of this moment makes it so.
Most people would call this “blowing on the ball”, which the umpires determined was the same as if he touched the ball with his hands. It is possible it would have rolled foul anyway.