Del Unser's All-Star Credentials

Sometimes a player does something when you're young and you make that player your go-to example for that thing. It doesn't matter that generation after generation passes and the people to whom you're offering him up as an example have no idea about whom you're talking. Doesn't matter to you, anyway. He represents the personification of your point. You're going to use him.

That's me and Del Unser and the National League All-Star team. When selection time rolls around every July and a Met I find deserving gets passed over, I have one thought:

This is just like when Walter Alston screwed Del Unser out of the All-Star Game in 1975.

I should have business cards printed up that say that. I don't know if Del Unser was as bothered by his slight then as I continue to be now. I don't know if Del Unser had anything planned for those three days 31 years ago beyond golfing and grilling. I don't know if anybody else in the universe thought Del Unser was a dead, solid lock for the All-Stars in 1975.

I did. I couldn't get over him not being picked.

Couldn't?

Can't.

I've done a little checking to see if at 12 I was running special insight the non-outraged media was missing or if Alston, a Hall of Fame manager in the 21st year of a 23-season Dodger tenure, maybe had an edge on me in terms of perception.

I seriously doubt it.

Del Unser blew out of the gates in 1975 like you wouldn't believe. Originally penciled in as the lefty half of Yogi Berra's centerfield platoon, Del left righty Gene Clines eating his dust. April belonged to Del. He hit .349 (Clines? .077).

Though he cooled off in May, it was presumably the result of an unexpected increase in playing time. Maybe if somebody had told Unser that Clines would be such a washout he would have been better prepared by the Mets' training staff. Del's May of 1975 was superior, anyway: a .305 average.

June showed a dip, but by now Del was playing every single game; cut him some slack. With Clines offering no help, Del played in 31 games in the 30-day month and batted .259. Not as impressive, but after the June 29 doubleheader against his old club, the Phillies, Del Unser was batting a robust .300. Whatever Tug McGraw was doing in Philadelphia (5-3, 8 saves), Del Unser was making the trade that had the two switch cities look at least like a draw.

At least.

In 1975, we weren't far removed from the days the revered Tommie Agee roamed centerfield at Shea Stadium. A defensive wiz named Don Hahn had been there the year before. The great Willie Mays played some center for the Mets in 1972 and '73. And the Mets' very first All-Star was another future Hall of Famer, Richie Ashburn. Yet, with all those luminaries in their annals, who — according to the 1976 New York Mets OFFICIAL Yearbook — furnished the Mets with their “most reliable centerfield patrol in history and steady stickwork”?

Del Unser. That's who.

Usually he led off. Sometimes he batted third. You never knew where you'd find him, but you knew that once you did, you were in for a treat. He was, after the fourteenth season of the franchise's operation, declared the best ever at his position by a trusted and reputable source. This was the OFFICIAL yearbook, mind you, not some counterfeit knockoff sold in the parking lot.

You could trust the 1976 yearbook. On the same page where Unser's credentials are codified, there is an ad urging the reader to “eat a pretzel at Shea…it'll make for a nicer day.” I've eaten many pretzels at Shea and doing so has never actually ruined my day, so there ya go.

Against this backdrop, Walter Alston had to start making decisions. The Cincinnati Reds were running away from the Los Angeles Dodgers in the NL West (back when geography made absolute sense). Alston certainly had no pennant race on which to concentrate, so he could put all his energies into selecting All-Star reserves and pitchers for the National League, a responsibility he earned when his team won the flag in 1974. His main task, as I saw it, was choosing outfielders who would accompany Del Unser to Milwaukee on July 15.

He didn't have to worry about Lou Brock. The fans, blinded by 118 steals the year before, elected him instead of Del Unser. He didn't have to find space for Pete Rose, a perennial vote-getter. Even though Rose had already switched to third base, the ballot had him in the outfield, giving him an unfair advantage over Del Unser. And if Alston was tempted to placate his own Jimmy Wynn — great '74, rough '75 — he needn't bother. Wynn won the third spot rather than Del Unser. It's true: America overlooked Del Unser, but America had overwhelmingly re-elected Richard Nixon three years earlier and regretted it immediately. Whaddaya want from America?

So Brock, Rose and Wynn were the monosyllabic starters. When it was time to get serious, Walter Alston, who had managed Duke Snider and presumably knew centerfield quality when he saw it, could insert Del as a pinch-hitter for starting pitcher Jerry Reuss and then double-switch Tom Seaver onto the mound. Seaver could bat ninth the rest of the way and the National League, with Tom Terrific protecting the lead created by Del Delightful's pinch-homer, could continue its streak of absolute All-Star dominance without breaking a sweat. If Walter Alston had been as wise as his résumé indicated — six pennants, four world championships — it would be a no-brainer. I could see it and I was 12.

Here is who Walter Alston took as his National League All-Star outfield reserves:

Greg Luzinski

Bobby Murcer

Al Oliver

Reggie Smith

Not Del Unser

No, you read that right. Walter Alston, in his last All-Star managerial appearance, made a mockery of the proceedings and forever sullied his own record by choosing four relatively empty uniforms. He had to take a Giant, so he took Bobby Murcer even though Murcer hated being a Giant. Oliver of the Pirates and Smith of the Cardinals came from teams that were represented by starters, so that was misguided. He took Greg Luzinski despite also taking McGraw, another Phillie. This made no sense because the trade of Tug McGraw, Don Hahn and Dave Schneck for Del Unser, John Stearns and Mac Scarce (who was wisely flipped for Tom Hall early in the season) was a wash. If McGraw was an All-Star, surely Unser was.

Surely.

Walter Alston, though he managed forever, wasn't really considered that much of a genius by his players. He is blamed by several Dodgers for blowing the 1962 pennant to the Giants. The final game of that year's best-of-three overtime playoff has been termed “the worst game of his managerial career”. His own GM, Buzzie Bavasi, castigated him, as recorded in David Plaut's 1994 book Chasing October:

Of all the games we ever played, this was the one we should have won…he shoulda brought in Koufax, he shoulda brought in Drysdale. You've gotta go with your best.

Yes, Buzzie, you do gotta go with your best. With the 1962 pennant on the line, he went with Stan Williams and he got beat. With the 1975 All-Star Game in the balance, Alston just as inexplicably picked the likes of Luzinski, Murcer, Oliver and Smith instead of Del Unser. The four of them went a collective 2-for-6 with no homers; Del alone had already hit four homers prior to the break…any one of them would have saved the NL a lot of grief. Without Unser, the County Stadium affair went unsettled into the ninth inning. So short of outfielders did Alston find himself that he inserted Expo rookie catcher Gary Carter in left for defense in the ninth. I know Kid played a little outfield in his time, but who would you rather depend on for reliable patrol out there?

Del Unser. That's who.

Alston got away with this one thanks to Jon Matlack's solid seventh and eighth innings. Matlack earned the win and shared the MVP with Bill Madlock, no doubt a typographical error. The National League extended its All-Star winning streak to four straight, twelve of thirteen despite the glaring omission on the NL roster.

The joy the Senior Circuit felt was obviously aberrational to the event. The All-Star Game should be fun, right? Well, I'm looking at the National League team picture that the Mets graciously published in their 1976 yearbook and I swear almost everybody on the squad looks glum. Most of the players are staring away knowing this could likely be the year the American League gets even. Even Tug seems downcast as if he knows something unfair is afoot. The only smiles are generated by Walter Alston (clueless), Steve Garvey (figures) and a trainer (he's thinking he'll have a light night because the National League probably isn't going to try very hard).

Perhaps Del Unser used his time away to work on his other swing. According to the Mets yearbook, he was an “excellent golfer,” one who had teamed with pro football star Leroy Kelly to win the 1973 American Airlines tournament. Maybe he made a few business calls; he was a real estate broker during the offseason. He understood the three most important things are location, location, location. He probably knew his location that week should have been in Milwaukee, Milwaukee, Milwaukee.

Del Unser likely used his days off to prepare himself for the second half of the 1975 baseball season. Pro baseball player that he was, Del entered the break batting .299 and raised his mark to .301 in the first game thereafter. Too bad it wasn't against the Dodgers. Later in July, he took out his latent frustration on Reggie Smith's Cardinals, collecting four hits off Ron Reed and John Denny in an 11-6 Met triumph.

Though Del was stoic and finished within six points of .300, there was an undeniable tear in the fabric of the New York Mets after Walter Alston's big mistake. Before the calendar turned its back on 1975, Yogi Berra would be fired, Casey Stengel and Joan Payson would pass away and Rusty Staub would be shipped to Detroit. A coincidence that four Mets icons would be gone from the Shea Stadium scene in the months following Del Unser's All-Star omission?

You can reach your own conclusions.

Del himself stuck around until just after the 1976 All-Star break when the team — which probably couldn't handle any more reminders of the sadness the Unser Snub symbolized — sent him and Wayne Garrett packing to Montreal for Pepe Mangual and Jim Dwyer.

Unser would never again be a full-time player. He wound up returning to Philadelphia in 1979 and served as a pinch-hitter deluxe on their 1980 world championship club, the only one the Phillies have ever had. By then, the Mets were deep into a rebuilding program, their only perennial All-Star John Stearns…the same John Stearns who was icing on the Del Unser trade cake in 1975.

This would be a sad story without a happy ending, so let's give it one.

Maybe I haven't convinced you of Del Unser's 1975 All-Star credentials. But I'm dealing in statistics. I'll leave it to someone who had a better view of what Del Unser meant to those Mets. His name is Charlie Hangley, “CharlieH” if you're a regular reader of our comments section. Charlie sent this in a little while ago, and I think he confirms everything that was stellar about Del Unser if you were a kid who loved the Mets in 1975:

Greg, I recently read your reminiscences of the 1975 campaign and your affinity for Del Unser. Got a Del Unser story for ya…

I was 10 years old in 1975. At the time, my Dad worked in the City as the sales manager for Dudley Sporting Goods (“The World's Best-Selling Softball!”). The main rep for the Midwest territory was none other than Al Unser — NOT the IndyCar driver, but a former Major League catcher and father of…well, you know…

So Al was in contact with my father a lot. I had met him a couple of times over the years, most notably in early 1974 at the huge sporting goods show in Anaheim. We spent my 9th birthday at Disneyland with Al, his wife (her name escapes me now) and their “other” son Larry, who had just washed out of the Cleveland bushes.

Fast-forward a year, and Del gets traded to the Mets. I was pissed that Tug was gone, but I was ecstatic that I had somebody I “knew” playing CF. That summer, Al & Larry came out to NYC for a sales conference. Lo & behold, the Mets were home that week. So a couple quick phone calls and we're going to a Wednesday night game vs. the Cubbies. Me, my dad, Al & Larry. COOL!

So we made a day of it. I commuted to my father's office with him, had fun playing with the calculators and was then sent as an envoy to escort Larry to the top of the Empire State Building (right across 34th from the office). When we got back — sales meeting presumably complete — it was time to head for the Park.

We drove into the parking lot, but we weren't waiting in line for tickets, as I was used to. We went over to the players entrance (really? Is this REALLY happening????????? Holy CRAP!), through the double doors and found ourselves at the entrance to the clubhouse. Del came out and greeted his relatives in FULL UNIFORM! MAN, those colors look a lot brighter than on TV. We were then invited and escorted into the INNER SANCTUM by none other than Del Unser himself. Remember now, I'm 10 FREAKIN' YEARS OLD, ok? You can only imagine…

So we go in. There's TOM SEAVER getting dressed! Holy Jeezum, it's EDDIE KRANEPOOL! Ohmigodit'sJOHNMILNER! Del then introduced my Dad and I to people I'd only seen in the yearbooks: traveling secretary Lou Niss, trainer Tommy McKenna, etc. I was allowed to peer into Yogi's paneled office and caught a glimpse of the runway to the dugout.

The final piece came most unexpectedly — as if I'd had ANY expectations left by this point — when a bucknekkid Willie Mays came trotting past us with an embarrassed grin on his face and large brown hand covering something else that I can only imagine was also large and brown. My father, of course — Long Beach wisenheimer to the end — nodded at him and yelled, “Say HEY, Willie!”

After all of this, there was still a game to watch. We sat in the players' family section behind home plate with Del's wife Dale. We were right behind Jerry Grote's family and two rows behind Bob Apodaca and HIS family. Bob was on the DL at the moment and was modeling his newly reconstructed schnozz. He generously signed an autograph for me in my 1975 yearbook (Seaver behind that big number 7 made out of baseballs on the cover).

Matlack shut down the Cubs and our party — now including Dale — waited outside the clubhouse for Del to emerge, as we were going out for Chinese dinner at Lum's in Flushing. While waiting, I got autographs from Felix Millan and George (Yes, I'm Hurt AGAIN!) Stone.

Del came out & we went to Lum's — also notable as this was my first time eating Chinese food! I don't really remember much about the meal, because when we got to the door, Del asked the maitre d' if Bud Harrelson had come in yet, and my head nearly spun off my shoulders.

Del signed my yearbook, of course, and I can recite his inscription without even looking: “To my good buddy CA [my dad called me CA, as my middle name is Arnold], Best of Luck, Del Unser, Mets '75”.

31 years ago and it's like yesterday…

Just thought I'd share.