Cup of Joe: Starkey on sports in 400 words or less (sometimes more)
When the great Chuck Tanner died in February of 2011, the first person I called was his old second baseman — Phil “Scrap Iron” Garner.
The two had a special relationship. Tanner valued Garner so highly that after Tanner was traded from the Oakland A’s to the Pirates — yes, the Pirates traded for a manager — he dealt six players to the A’s for Garner.
The rest was history.
The moustachioed, ferociously competitive Garner became a vital piece of the “We Are Fam-a-lee” Pirates of 1979, batting .500 (12 for 24) in the World Series. He was devastated of course by Tanner’s passing, but he also figured heaven had just gained the perfect motivational speaker (Tanner is tied with Badger Bob Johnson for the greatest in Pittsburgh sports history in that category).
“Chuck’s at the big ballpark in the sky,” Garner told me that day. “I guarantee you he’s up there patting somebody on the back saying, ‘Hey, you’re doing OK, man. You’re going to be all right.’ ”
Here’s hoping Tanner was on greeter duty Sunday. Garner, 76, lost his two-year battle with pancreatic cancer — and like the indomitable team he played for, he will never be forgotten.
Just picture that face. Picture the mustache. Picture the dirt stains on the gold uniform. Garner was old-school baseball personified.
His passing marked yet another loss for the ’79 Pirates, a team that I — like so many of you — worshipped. Six of the 13 players who appeared in Game 7 of the World Series in Baltimore are gone: Willie Stargell, Bill Robinson, Dave Parker, Jim Bibby, Grant Jackson and Garner.
Other key members of that group, such as John Milner, Ed Ott, Dave Roberts, Joe Coleman, Bruce Kison and Rennie Stennett, plus Tanner and pitching coach Harvey Haddix, as well as the architect of the team — GM Pete Peterson — have also passed.
History shows that they formed one of the more remarkable championship clubs of all-time. A true testament to teamwork, they were the only World Series winner of the 20th century that had neither a pitcher with 15 wins nor a hitter with 100 RBIs.
Something else defined them: endless chop busting that helped keep everyone loose.
“I couldn’t wait to get to the clubhouse every day,” pitcher John Candelaria told me at the 30-year reunion in 2009, “just to hear all the (stuff) that would be said.”
Garner and Parker were at the center of it all, endlessly ribbing each other — making it clear that if they could take the heat, you better take it, too.
Even in ’09, in the days leading up to the reunion, Parker loaded up for a few shots at Garner.
“Nobody knew who Garner was until somebody took a picture of me, and he was standing behind me,” Parker said, laughing. “I was the only guy who could handle him. Tell him that.”
Garner chuckled when I relayed those words. He was helping his mother recover from a knee replacement at the time, which he said reminded him of Parker.
“Yeah, because Dave Parker was always complaining about his knees,” Garner said.
It was a club composed of players from myriad backgrounds, sporting wildly different personalities, yet its trademarks were togetherness, depth and an inextinguishable spirit that allowed it to overcome losing 18 of its first 30 games and three of the first four games of the World Series.
The ’79 Pirates will keep losing players, of course — most of the remaining ones are pushing 80 — but they will never lose their place in history.
Their spirit will endure.