Magic on the Mound

Baseball players, like witch doctors, are a mighty superstitious lot. Take Gaylord Jackson Perry, 27, who pitches for the San Francisco Giants. Righthander Perry really likes steak, but his wife once gave him baked chicken before he went out to pitch. He won. So then it was chicken every workday. In the dugout before each game, he grabs the bat rack and gives it a shake--which puts the whammy on enemy batters. Before every inning, he runs out to the mound at full speed. Before a key pitch, he studiously turns his back to the plate and taps his right armpit.

Very effective. Against the St. Louis Cardinals last week, Perry allowed only six hits while hurling the second-place Giants to a 3-1 victory. The win was Perry's 19th of the year, v. only two losses, and it gave him the best record in the majors, well ahead of Sandy Koufax (19-7) and the Giants' own Juan Marichal (17-5). Four days later, he beat the Atlanta Braves, 6-1, to become the first 20-game winner this season. And all that from a lad who had nothing better than an 8-12 record last year.

Lots of Sweat. There are a few spoilsports around the National League who insist that Perry's sudden prowess is due to another magic ingredient. "You want to bet $100 he doesn't throw a spitball?" challenges Cardinal Rightfielder Mike Shannon. The Giants, of course, deny it (though Perry slyly admits, "I do sweat a lot out there"). "He's a suspect to start with," says Farm Club Director Carl Hubbell. "Because he's having a helluva year, they all complain that he's got to be doing something funny."

What Perry always had was sizzling speed, the kind that gave him five no-hitters as a high school ace back home in Williamston, N.C. In 1958, the Giants shelled out $60,000 just to get him on the roster, but for a while it seemed a forlorn investment. His fastball was wild, and when he tried to develop a slider (or fast curve) it was too slow. It took eight years and several elevator rides to the minors before Perry learned to improve his control, to keep the ball low and to give himself another effective pitch. This spring, he finally got the hang of a fast slider that starts out like an ordinary fastball then breaks down and away. Ever since, batters have been wondering where the horsehide went.

Now that everything has come together at once, it's hardly any wonder that Perry invokes all the voodoo--and maybe a little moisture--to keep it that way. He's got a lot of responsibilities. His wife has just had a new baby, and there's a new house "with a two-car garage, a screened back porch, two fireplaces, four bedrooms and a real red carpet in the living room. And I have my own farm, too, four acres of tobacco and six acres cleared for corn, soybeans and peanuts." That's not bad for a sharecropper's son, and Perry figures that it will take more than 20 wins to take care of it all.

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