Most of us, as baseball fans, have shared a dream – a dream of what it would be like to get that one game, that one at bat or that one trip to the mound in the major leagues – and to see our name and “stats” on the back of a baseball card. Did you ever wonder what a player who actually lived that MLB dream would move on to dream about? Well, John Paciorek, who had that day in the sun we all dream about, has answered that question for us – in the final chapter of his soon to be released book “Simplicity: The Principle of Perfection – in Science the Universe and World of Baseball”- which explores that idea that simplicity – identified, understood, visualized and harnessed through practice and meticulous repetition – is the key to success across all fields (from the most complicated science to the hitting, throwing and catching of a baseball.
That chapter details Paciorek’s dream about another memorable day in the big-league sun, told in a way that only a former major leaguer with an ongoing passion for the national pastime could (dream it or) tell it. Paciorek, who has shared his experiences and expertise with Baseball Roundtable readers in the past, has agreed to share his major-league dream with us.
First, by way of background, Paciorek made his major-league debut with the Houston Colt .45’s, as an 18-year-old on September 29, 1963. And, it was like a dream come true. Starting in right field and batting seventh, he came to the plate five times and delivered three singles and two walks, scored four runs and drove in three. Paciorek’s MLB career was cut short by a back injury (that, ultimately, required surgery) and he lived his MLB dream for just that one 1963 game.
For more on the life, times and literary works of John Paciorek, see the bio at the end of this post.
Now here for your enjoyment is “An Imaginative ‘Real Life”’ Dream” … John Paciorek’s pitch-by-pitch and play-by-play dream of a perfect MLB Game Number Two.
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An Imaginative “Real-Life” Dream
By John Paciorek
When I am at my “best,” I must be consciously aware I AM within a “high vibration,” as well as being stimulated at a “high frequency.” It would take “highest aspiration,” as well as “consistent focus,” to perform at a level I have desired. How else would it be possible to hit a home run every time I swung my bat?
As I realized the extent of Batting Imperfection, I knew and felt a humbling sense of simplified perfection. “The Home Run Principle” now offers the ultimate satisfaction of Batting Excellence.
The Dream
The starting lineups for both teams were basically the same in the spring of 1964, with the exception of a few players missing from last year’s Mets team (Sept 29, 1963) or at different positions on the field or in the batting order.
“How perfect will this day and game be?” I asked myself as I raced over to my defensive position in centerfield. A perfect first inning was pitched by Chris Zachary and we were coming up to bat.
With my bat and helmet in hand, I walked to the front end of the dugout, thinking about that scorching Sunday afternoon in Houston, September 29, 1963. I batted five times, walked twice, and got three hits. (That would have been considered, by any casual observer, as an impressive show of batsmanship, unless put into the context of ultimate efficiency – although the results were admirable: three RBI and four runs scored proceeded from those five at bats. Not bad for an 18-year-old Prospect!)
I was genuinely excited to be playing in this “rematch,” but for reasons that far exceeded my original purpose. I was/am appreciative for all that has happened and is happening. But now, I am eagerly anticipating even greater things to occur. I already knew that my first at-bat today was going to be a little different than my first at-bat last fall, six-and-a- half months earlier.
Sonny jumped on Bearnarth’s first pitch and roped it to center field. Joe walked on six pitches, and I came to the plate with two runners on base. It was a good opportunity to drive in a run or two (or three). I didn’t want to walk again (like last year), so if he tries to pitch me in the same manner as last time, I’d better jump on the first “good strike” he throws me.
The first pitch he threw last time was a fastball, over the middle of the plate. I was late on it and fouled it back and to the right. If he throws that pitch again, I’ll be ready and considerably more capable of handling it. As I assumed my new stance, new catcher Hawk Taylor said, “Hmmm, that’s not what I was told. We might have to make an adjustment.” I didn’t know if he was referencing my former “high, open stance,” or what? But after Bearnarth shook off two signs from Taylor, I figured he already knew what he wanted to throw.
From my lower, stable, crouched position, I could see the ball leave his hand as the fingers snapped downward. It was definitively a fastball, and its trajectory was leading it over the middle-outside part of the strike zone. It may have been identical to his first pitch last time, but in my lower stance, the pitch appeared higher and more within my “wheelhouse.” With my front foot pointed at 45 degrees to the pitcher, I merely had to press down while driving my back bent-knee forward with all the power of my backside and let my front leg straighten, without fear of twisting my ankle or knee and allowing for maximum and precise contact.
I fouled off that same pitch last time because my high stance and high bat swung down to the ball, slicing too much under the front of it. This time, I intended for my bat to be in a position under the ball as my swing would commence. This time, I could see and feel my bat hit the ball solidly in the direction of center field, on a high ascending line drive. After my “follow-through,” I began sprinting because I didn’t know for sure if it would carry over the fence.
When I reached first base, Jimmy (Adair) was applauding my “blast,” and I could see it sail over the 410-foot mark. It quickly occurred to me that I was now one-for-one and already had three RBI. As I was stepping onto home plate, the Mets’ catcher smiled and said, “I told Pete that pitch wasn’t a good idea.”
After Rusty and Jimmy flew out consecutively, John Bateman and Aspro hit consecutive singles, but Ivan struck out to end the inning. In the bottom of the second inning, Bearnarth struck out Zachary and Jackson. Joe got a base hit, and I was coming up for the second time in two innings.
His first pitch to me was a fastball, about six inches outside. He was intent on not throwing me another strike over the outside part of the plate. My first major-league hit, last September, was a bloop single that drove in two runs, when Bearnarth “jammed” me on an inside fastball. He had me set up for another one, right now. What he probably didn’t know was that today I knew how to hit that pitch more effectively.
As I saw his second pitch being released, I knew it was another fastball, this time burrowing onto the inside part of the plate and waist-high. After “gathering,” I waited for the precise instant, then as my front shoulder shrugged, my back bent knee drove forward. I could feel my front foot plant as my front leg began to straighten.
My vertical axis was intact as my hips turned quickly on stable vertical and horizontal planes. My shoulders followed in rapid succession. As my belly button reached its ultimate frontal position, the muscles of my front leg contracted vigorously to straighten at the knee. The oblique muscles of my abdomen did the same to complete the action of the hips.
Then, in perfect synergy, the coordinated action of the shoulders, arms, and hands propelled my bat into the ball with absolute synchronization and maximum centrifugal force. The point of contact occurred as my arms drew my hands and bat across my body, and the bat head struck the ball as my arms were extending in the direction of its flight.
My wrists remained intact until well after contact. Then they rolled over with the action of the shoulders at “follow-through.” The ball’s flight pattern had already been determined. An ascending, non-hooking line drive was the resultant effect that eventually sailed over the left field fence, for a “two-run bomb.”
An indescribable sense of elation blanketed the core of my being as I again circled the bases. I seemed “half stupefied” by what seemed a phenomenal mortal accomplishment. But a clearer perception graciously accepted the entire situation and circumstance as a natural consequence of a high-vibrational frequency applied attentively to the maximum intent of conscientious desire/prayer.
As this seemed like only the beginning, what would I tell the “press corps” at the end of this day? I feel so good, was my thought as I reached the dugout. As hands and voices applauded the feat(s), I recalled my angel saying, “The better you feel, the better you get; the better you get, the better it gets!” Oh, boy! How much better can it get?” I asked myself. I was two-for-two, had two home runs, five RBI, two runs scored, and it’s only the bottom of the second inning! Oops! It’s now the top of the third; Rusty just flew out to center field.
Chris Zachary was still on the mound for us. We’re winning 5–0, so it looked like he’d go for a while. I wondered how long Bearnarth would go. I saw Ed Bauta loosening up in the bullpen. Zachary gave up four hits in row, to begin the inning, but only gave up one run before getting three outs.
In the bottom of the inning, Jimmy, Bateman, and Aspromonte would be facing a new pitcher since John Stephenson pinch-hit for Bearnarth and struck out.
The new pitcher was Ed Bauta. I faced him once in my “debut game.” I got a cheap single, off the handle of the bat, that drove in my third run. He was a tall right-hander, whose fastball had a good “tailing” action in on right-hand batters.
Jimmy got a base hit to left. Bateman hit a grounder in the “hole,” on which shortstop, Al Moran, made a good backhand play. He fired to second for one, but they couldn’t double up on Bateman.
Aspro lined a single to right, moving Bateman to second. Ivan then singled to left, but the “slow-footed” Bateman had to stop at third. With bases loaded, Al Spangler pinch-hit for Zachary and immediately sliced a hard-liner toward third base. Third baseman Ron Hunt made a nice backhand play and instantly stepped on third to double off Bateman, who didn’t have time to get back to the bag.
Larry Dierker then took the mound for the top of the fourth inning. He’d be facing the Mets’ second, third, and fourth batters in the lineup. Second baseman Amado Samuel was Larry’s first batter.
Samuel tried to push a bunt past the gangly right-hander. As the ball was speeding toward Morgan at second, Dierker’s quick and graceful movement to his left stabbed it with his mitt and easily underhanded the ball to first baseman, Staub. Second batter Ron Hunt laced a low-liner into the gap in right-center. Because I got another “great jump” on the ball, I prevented his initial intent of getting to second base.
With one out, a runner on first, hard-hitting left fielder Frank Thomas came to the plate. Larry proceeded with two fastballs on the outside part of the plate, which Thomas “fouled back” for two quick strikes. A fastball inside made the count one ball and two strikes. A slider off the outside part of the plate made the count two-and-two. Larry’s next pitch was a fastball on the inside corner—a good pitch—but Thomas must have been looking for it!
I could see the pitch and his swing synchronize, and I took off immediately in the direction of its flight. Jimmy and I were both racing toward deep left-center field. The grass I threw up before the pitch told me the wind was blowing in slightly. I figured I might have a chance for it. I could see the ball descending on a gradual arc, but could still make it to the fence. As my right foot hit the warning track, I leaped diagonally, extended my left arm, and felt the ball imbed into the pocket of my glove.
After the catch, I immediately turned to see where Hunt was. Jimmy was already yelling for me to hit the cutoff man. Hunt had rounded second but had to scamper back. He was making his way back to first as my relay reached Sonny. He quickly turned and fired to first. His throw was just in time to nail the sliding Hunt for a “double play.”
Larry had been backing up both home and third, until he saw me make the catch. Then with his arms held high, waiting for the results at first base, he jumped ecstatically with the realization of the third out of the inning.
Everyone raced jubilantly back to the dugout, where the rest of players enjoined with a chorus of congratulatory affection and a clear sense of “teamwork” and “team spirit.” In that moment, I couldn’t help but feel that Houston was formulating a team that was destined to make its mark, not only in this spring training’s undefeated “mini season,” but in the upcoming “regular season,” as well as in the unforeseeable future. Sonny, Joe, and I were coming up in the bottom of fourth, and Bauta was still on the mound. Chris Cannizzaro was the new catcher. (Choo- Choo Coleman was no longer on the team—from last season.)
Sonny grounded out to second baseman Samuel, and Joe lined out to shortstop Moran. I was coming up with two outs, nobody on, with us ahead five to one. As I was approaching the batter’s box, Cannizzaro, glancing to his left, looked in my eyes and emphatically stated, “You’re not getting three today (referring to the 3 homers I hit in our previous game with the Dodgers)!”
I smiled and asked, “What if the ‘handwriting is’ already ‘on the Wall?’” His expression seemed puzzling, but umpire Nestor Chylak chuckled with amusement.
Regaining his composure, Mr. Chylak reasserted his official decorum and shouted, “Play ball!” I readied myself to the rhythm of Bauta’s “wind-up,” half-expecting, but not fully attentive to any deliberate prospect of disturbing my “comfort zone.” I was just looking for a pitch in my “wheelhouse” so I could get my best swing. It was still just spring training, so I didn’t think any pitcher or team would be fully engaged in “ultimate strategic deployment.”
But after Bauta’s first pitch, “all bets were off.”
In our first ever meeting, he started me with a slider, low and away. Then a fastball, low. A curveball over the plate caught me off guard since I was looking for a fastball to drive, off a 2–0 count. Then I blooped a single off a tailing, inside-corner fastball. It must have pissed him off since it drove in a run (my third)!
This time, when he released his pitch, I immediately detected the ball’s inside trajectory. I waited briefly for any noticeable change of direction, then quickly realized there would be none. The pitch was slightly above my shoulder, starting inside the plate. Its tailing action meant it would soon be burrowing in on me. If I straightened my legs and turned inwardly, I would either be hit or somehow evade contact.
Recently, because of my still head and eyes, I would simply lean forward to the plate when a pitch was behind my head, and backward if the pitched ball was on the “face side” of my head. With a “tailing” fastball, I would run the risk of my head running into the ball, whichever way I decided. So, I simply ducked under it—quickly! Our dugout erupted in protest but quieted quickly because of seemingly little effect on my demeanor. His second pitch was a hard slider, low and away, for another ball and a 2–0 count.
Could I expect a fastball, like I did last time? Or would he come back with another curve? I watched carefully for the release point. The ball came out of his hand slightly higher than previously. As I waited, I could detect the gradual change of direction. It looked to be proceeding into the outside part of the strike zone.
After “gathering,” I waited for the precise moment to explode to the “outside.” Even though the pitch was “away,” it was in a perfect position to be hit to right-center field if I waited long enough. My “mechanical advantage” was the same as usual. At the last second, I drove my body, arms, and bat toward right field. Contact was made with perfect synergy, and the ball exploded off the bat on an ascending line drive, toward the right-center field fence.
Again, after my follow-through, I sprinted out of the box, not knowing if the ball would carry over the fence. Rounding first base at full speed, I only slowed down as I observed Kranepool and Hickman curtail their trek and helplessly watch the ball disappear over the embankment.
“The moving finger writes, and having writ, moves on.”
Bauta completed the inning by getting Rusty to fly out to Kranepool in right field. Larry completed two more innings while giving up three hits, but no runs. The Mets had Lefty Ron Locke pitch the bottom of the fifth, giving up only a single to Jimmy (Wynn).
Tom Parsons, Mets’ six-foot-seven-inch right-hander, came in to pitch the sixth. Steve (Hertz) pinch-hit for Larry and laced a single to center. Nellie batted for Sonny and hit a grounder between first and second, putting two runners on base. Joe scorched a line drive off the first base bag that bounced high into the air, and no one could make a play. Bases were now loaded, and I was coming up for my fourth at bat of the day.
I thought they might bring in another pitcher, but Casey decided to leave Parsons in. I didn’t know what anyone else was thinking, but I didn’t think they would walk me. Another thought that came to mind was, A grand slam here, and I will have hit for the cycle—the big cycle! Why not?
Cannizzaro was still behind the plate and, in what appeared to be a more pleasant mood, offered a modest question, “What kind of dream world are you living in?” I chuckled, along with Nestor, and replied, “One in which I desire not to awaken too soon!”
He retorted, “Well, let’s see if you can keep it alive with this offering.” As I watched Parson’s hand deliver the pitch, I could see it was a fastball descending from his seven-foot frame, right over the heart of the plate. I thought at first it was too good to be true.
As I intuitively calculated its trajectory, I propelled my bat to an approximate 180-degree angle. My body’s torquing action supplied the power for its ultimate force to contact the ball just as I intended, most efficiently.
As the ball ascended high into left-center field on a trajectory that left no doubt as to its final destination, at least fifty feet beyond the 380-foot sign, I circled the bases, thinking, did he (Cannizzaro) think I wouldn’t get all of that perfect pitch? Or was he simply wondering if I would? He just stared at me as I was approaching home plate. As I was stepping on it, Casey was walking toward the mound, giving a signal to “bring in the lefty.”
“What a wonderful day!” I thought as I made my way to the dugout. At least one more at-bat—maybe I’ll go five-for-five?
Left-hander Steve Dillon finished his warm-ups then proceeded to get the next three outs. Gordon Jones came in to pitch the seventh inning for us.
Steve stayed in the game, replacing Aspro, and Walt went to left field to replace Jimmy. Grote batted for Bateman earlier and stayed in to catch. Jones gave up one run, on three hits, and a walk while facing seven batters. The score was 10–2, and Galen Cisco was coming in for the Mets to pitch the bottom of the seventh.
Since a “double switch” was made in the sixth inning, Steve would be batting in the ninth position, while Jones would have batted in Aspromonte’s seventh position in the order. Pete Runnels came up to bat for Jones and would play first base. Then Walt Bond would bat for Ivan and play right field. Rusty and Ivan were out of the game.
The seventh inning ended as Cisco retired all three batters he faced: Runnels, Bond, and Steve. And Don Larsen (former Yankee “No-Hit Perfect Game” hero in Game Five of the 1956 World Series) came in to pitch the top of the eighth inning for the Colts. After Nellie entered the game in the sixth, he then replaced Joe at second base, and Eddie (Kasko) replaced Sonny at shortstop.
After getting the first two batters out, Larsen walked Ron Hunt. He immediately gave up a two-run homer to George Altman, who had previously replaced Frank Thomas in left field. Don then struck out Dick Smith, who had replaced Harkness earlier at first base.
In the bottom of the eighth inning, Tracy Stallard came in to face the top of our batting order. Stallard pitched briefly in our game last September, but I didn’t get to face him. He was most prominently known as the pitcher who, in the last regular game of 1961 season, threw the ball that Roger Maris hit to beat Babe Ruth’s home run record. It was Tracy’s pitch that set the new record for home runs at 61. Was it a coincidence, or fate, that he would be facing me in the bottom of the eighth inning, in our last Spring Training game of 1964?
With the score 10–4, Nellie stepped-in to bat against Stallard. He worked the count to two -and-two, then hit a sharp ground ball past the diving Larry Burright (earlier replacement for Samuel at second base) into right field. Eddie walked on five pitches, setting the stage for my last at-bat of the day (and spring).
As I was approaching the batter’s box, I could imagine the contrasting thoughts of players from both teams, as well as the spectators witnessing what could be a memorable occurrence. I knew of a few players who had hit four home runs in a single game, but I wasn’t sure if anyone ever hit five.
Willie Mays hit four a few years ago. I knew that Rocky Colavito had hit four, with the Cleveland Indians in 1959, before he was traded to the Tigers. And I thought Gil Hodges and Joe Adcock had hit four homers in the early ’fifties. Of course, “they all” did it during the “regular season.” But this is where I am now! So, I am just appreciating the present opportunity to do the “best that I am capable of doing.” Even if I don’t hit a home run, I will be satisfied with whatever I do — it will be my best effort! But my intent is to wait for “my home run pitch” and “nail it” when I get it.
Tracy’s first pitch was a fastball, way outside, for ball one. The fans booed when they may have sensed the prospect of an unintentional “intentional pass.”
I stepped out and pondered my options. Let’s see what they do next, I conferred with myself. The next pitch was identical with the first, so my only option was “of necessity.”
Stallard’s third pitch was directed in the same area as the first two, so I swung at it, even without any intent to hit it. The count was two balls and one strike. The next pitch was the same, so I swung again, putting me in my most “unenviable position” of a “two-strike” count.
With a two-strike count, everyone knew I wouldn’t swing at another “outside pitch” and deliberately strike out. But could I induce the two “battery mates” to think they had a chance to get me out? Jesse Gonder, catching replacement for Cannizzaro, called “time-out” to confer with Stallard.
“Casey” decided to bring his “ancient wisdom” into the fray, and the three seemed to concur on a course of action. Throwing his hands in the air, Stengel shuffled back to his lair. I had hoped that I would convince them to pitch to me, but Stallard’s next pitch proffered only doubt. The pitch was a hard slider—that, if it were meant to induce me to swing, failed miserably, since it was at least six inches outside.
With the count now three-and-two, Gonder stood up and extended his right arm perpendicular to his body, indicating that an “intentional pass” was the order of business. The fans booed, with unrelenting passion, and I momentarily relegated my high ambitions to the lower aspirations of an inevitable “base-on-balls.”
Then I listened to a familiar voice beckoning me to step “outside of the box.” An inspired thought suddenly recalibrated the masterful intent of “Stengelesean Wizardry.”
I reentered that “rarefied cubicle” with a heightened alertness to the prospect of “duplicity.” Stallard again went through his motions on the mound, and Gonder again was standing, right arm extended out to his right. This time, instead of flaccid futility, my body “gathered” all forceful energy in eager anticipation of an abrupt change of strategy. Gonder stepped briefly to his right, as he synchronized his choreography to the rhythm of his “battery mate.”
As Stallard lifted his front leg and turned his left hip toward home plate, Gonder abruptly repositioned himself down into the “catcher’s box” while Tracy redirected his momentum flow toward the “strike zone.”
While in my normal “gathering mode,” I could see clearly the “release point” at which Tracy’s fingers snapped through the ball. His altered intention was obviously to blaze a fast one past me before I could recognize the subtlety of its strategic deployment. The plan was one of incomparable genius and should have enjoined itself to the effects of a successful conclusion.
But my attentive ear heard the “clarion call,” and Wisdom proceeded to avert the entangled web of conspiracy with a “masterful stroke” of its own. The pitch was fast-approaching the strike zone, and the entire Met bench would consider it a moral victory to record a strikeout, or any out for that matter—anything other than a home run!
However, even with “The Mighty Casey” at the helm to administer a credible stratagem, the “gods” of highest vibrational essence were not to be denied. From my body’s low, balanced position, my eyes followed the ball’s flight path as if the ninety-two-mile-per-hour fastball were moving in slow motion.
When it got to within the “swinging zone,” my back bent knee drove forward as the front shoulder “shrug” ignited the simultaneous circular actions of the elbows, hands, and bat. My front leg began straightening, after its foot planted, to counterbalance the forward momentum produced by the synergistic action of both hips and back bent knee.
The integrity of both the “vertical axis” and horizontal plane was thus maintained. As the hips brought my belly button to a full-frontal turn, the oblique muscles of the abdomen concluded their contracting force by pulling my torso and shoulders to a position of optimum readiness. My arms kept my hands and bat just behind my right shoulder. My right elbow was riding the circular wave of the centripetal force produced by the body’s rapid turn, around an intact “vertical axis.”
The shoulder turn sped up to catch up to the rotating hips. The front leg straightened while my back muscles contracted viciously to pull the left side of my upper body across and backward, to further facilitate the forward momentum of the right side of the body While the shoulders were turning, the front and back elbows began their synchronized extensions to bring the hands, wrists, and flattened bat to the contact point. The entire body was rotating perfectly within the parameters of an intact “vertical axis.”
Around and under a stationary head, a “tsunami effect” of incrementally induced centrifugal force provided an explosive impact of bat to ball. I watched as the flat bat struck the high-velocity projectile at the angle that facilitated an ascending line drive.
My hands and wrists had locked their grip tightly an inch above the bat’s handle as the ball contacted the “sweet spot” of its head. When the bat proceeded through the point of contact, my arms extended while the shoulders rolled. This allowed my hands and wrists to follow suit as the arms, hands, and bat ended up over and across my left shoulder, in its naturally efficient “follow-through.”
At the instant of contact, the ball’s trajectory was marked by an ascending line drive in the direction of deep left-center field. Almost mesmerized by an awareness of what I had just done, I circled the bases with a feeling of “otherworldliness.” I seemed to be floating with each elongated stride.
The spectators seemed jubilant, but quietness saturated the atmosphere with their silent mutterings. Opposing players watched in solemn reverence (admiration) as I passed their faces of uncommitted smiles.
My circular trek persisted in sustained, inestimable glory, as I remembered a passage from the “Belated Farewell” to a “master batsman”: Hitting a baseball most effectively would have to be construed as both an Art and a Science. And that is why it would be easy to remember this “Master of the Bat” for his scientific artistry in hitting a baseball. When a pitched ball approached the area of home plate that coincided with the coordinates determining the flight pattern of Ted’s bat, the poetic beauty of rhythm and timing of his majestic swing reflected an incomparable synergy that resounded with an impact of solid communication. Bat united with ball for a brief-instant to echo a glorified exuberance that resonated throughout the ballpark to sustain an illustrious piece of bats-man-ship. From the beginning of “gathering” body momentum, to the point where hickory and leather ignited a hint of scorching scent, the culmination of which transpired to a distinctively magnificent follow-through, the subjugated projectile took flight most often on a trajectory close to 180 degrees (and climbing). (To hit the ball in any other manner would be to mishit it and therefore denigrate any true artistic and scientific confluence.)
After stepping onto home plate, I could hear Gonder mutter, “I guarantee that won’t happen during the season.” I turned right and proceeded to a dugout of applauding teammates. But while their hands were clapping loudly, their faces indicated sheer disbelief.
“I can’t believe you swung and missed at two pitches,” Joe joked in sardonic tone. Casey, with arms folded while sitting stoically at the end of his dugout bench, nodded to Stallard that he would finish the inning. Tracy retired the final three batters, and Hal Woodeshick came in for us, to finish the game.
The final score was 13–4. Joe was quick to mention that it was the same score as after the last time we played against the Mets. It would have been hard not to notice that I had five at-bats. I was five-for-five. I hit five home runs, scored five runs, and produced thirteen RBI. If anyone thought I had a “good game” in 1963, what would they think of today’s performance? If they weren’t at the game, they wouldn’t believe it! Who would? Who could? Only in One’s Dream????
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John Paciorek Bio
John Francis Paciorek (born February 11, 1945, in Detroit, Michigan) is an American baseball player who made it to the major leagues with the Houston Colt .45’s on September 29, 1963 (as an 18-year-old) – and (in what world prove to be his only major league game – back injury) proceeded to deliver three singles, two walks, four runs scored and three RBI. It was day so perfect, it inspired Steve Wagner’s book “Perfect: The Rise and Fall of John Paciorek, Baseball’s Greatest One-Game Wonder.” Perfect was the perfect title, as Paciorek has spent considerable time since then considering, theorizing and writing about perfection on and off the ball field.
Side note: There is no doubt that baseball is a seriously approached Paciorek family passion. John is one of three Paciorek brothers (along with Jim and Tom) who made it to the major leagues.
After leaving the professional baseball ranks, John was a teacher and coach for forty-one years at Clairbourn School in San Gabriel, California, until his retirement in 2017.
In the past sixty-plus years since his “big league” debut, he has devoted himself to understanding the principle(s) through which the most efficient means to applying the proper mechanics for hitting and throwing a baseball can be taught and implemented.
While teaching, he began studying the lives and careers of prominent and brilliant minds whose exploits forged ways of improvement in all walks of life. The works of Albert Einstein, Plato, Socrates, Aristotle, and other prominent Historical figures saturated his time and effort until he was able to utilize their expertise in endeavors of his own, usually in applying their brilliance to an area of life most interesting to him, notably sports and especially baseball.
Among his books are: Plato and Socrates – Baseball’s Wisest Fans; The Principle of Baseball and All There Is to Know About Hitting; and If I Knew Then What I Know Now.
His soon-to-be-released book (Simplicity) illustrates in detail that only with artistic and scientific confluence can the display of masterful throwing, fielding, pitching and batsmanship be found in the likes of any aspiring prospects to big-league success.
Scientific understanding and application of the Simple principles for batting and throwing will most certainly provide a competency that would supersede the level of proficiency of most batsmen and throwers of the ball. But without the supplementary metaphysical prerequisite to absolute application, maximum productivity will not be forthcoming, even in the best of good hitters and throwers.
This simplicity-minded former baseball player, rather than continuing to apply himself to playing the game, preferred to learn and teach the fundamentals of the game to aspiring youth by pursuing the secret but simple components to batting and throwing a baseball Perfectly by eliciting help from works of the brilliant minds of Einstein and others.
Final Notes:
Here are Links to Paciorek’s past contributions to The Baseball Roundtable:
John Paciorek Looks at Kirk Gibson’s Iconic World Series Home Run, click here.
John Paciorek on the Art and Science of Perfect Batsmanship, click here.
If I only Knew Then What I Know Now … A Look at John Paciorek’s New Book and an Interview with the Author, click here.
You can also find Paciorek’s thoughts on baseball on his blog – at johnpaciorek.com.
Paciorek was the inspiration for Baseball Roundtable’s Annual John Paciorek Award, recognizing players with brief, but in some way significant, MLB careers. This link (here) will take you to a post on the most recent JPA (that post includes links to bios of previous award winners.
Baseball Roundtable – Blogging Baseball Since 2012.
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