Monday, Jun. 12, 1978

Red Sox Rattlesnake

First the good news for American League pitchers: Jim Rice does not try to hit home runs. Now for the bad news: he hits home runs anyway, often enough so far to titillate the statistics keepers. The Boston Red Sox's splendid young designated hitter and leftfielder has hit 18 home runs through the end of May and is ahead of both Babe Ruth's and Roger Maris' early-season pace. It was enough to earn him the American League's Player of the Month award. To add consistency to insult, Rice's .343 batting average would satisfy Pete Rose.

But it is power, lean-muscled, quick-wristed power, that stirs excitement when Jim Rice comes to the plate. In Fenway Park, where the fans have a connoisseur's appreciation of the slugger's art, the cheers begin when he strides to the on-deck circle. Rice has sparked Boston to its best start since 1946, when Ted Williams and Dom DiMaggio returned from World War II to win the first Red Sox pennant in almost three decades. Says one Sox fan: "They can be down six runs in the ninth inning, but if Rice still has a chance to bat, nobody leaves."

What crowds wait to see is one of the smoothest righthanded swings in recent baseball memory. With his bat held letter high and his head arched over a cocked shoulder, Rice explodes with a compact swing. Says he: "My strength comes from my wrists and legs. But then I bring my left shoulder back so that, all my momentum jumps out to the ball. It's like a rattlesnake --he coils and then he springs out." Rice springs eternal: his force is lethal to pitchers, who admit that the rattlesnake swing is the most formidable in the big leagues.

The gifts were apparent from the beginning. After starring in four sports for Anderson, S.C.'s Westside and Hanna high schools, Rice signed with the Sox and spent four years in the minors. In his last year at Triple A in Pawtucket, R.I., he led the International League in batting average, home runs and RBIs, a performance that made him minor league Player of the Year. When he joined the Red Sox full time in 1975, he was 22 and a born star. From the third week of the season until he broke his finger at season's end, Rice was Boston's starting leftfielder. He batted .309 with 22 home runs and 102 RBIS and fielded without an error in 144 games protecting Fenway's famous wall. But 1975 was also the year the centerfielder Fred Lynn became the first rookie MVP in baseball history, hitting .331 with 105 RBIS. Jim Rice's remarkable season had been eclipsed. It finished with a severe hand injury. The also-ran watched the play-offs and World Series from the dugout.

The worst was yet to come. When he arrived at spring training the following year, Rice was removed from left field, and Carl Yastrzemski returned to his old haunts from first base. Rice became the designated hitter, and while he still stroked 25 home runs, his average slumped to .282. "You can't stay loose just sitting on the bench waiting to bat in the first, fourth and eighth innings," analyzes Rice. "Staying in the game mentally is even harder."

By last season, Rice had mastered the odd hit-and-sit rhythm, led the league in home runs with 39, had 114 RBIs and brought his average to .320. "I decided that if I was going to be a designated hitter, I was going to be the best designated hitter in baseball. I just worked on my hitting because hitting was my job. But I also worked on my fielding." With George Scott injured and Yaz filling in at first again, Rice has played more in the outfield this season, and played it well.

Through it all, he retained the quiet dignity that belies his age, and slowly Red Sox fans began to warm to the young Southerner. Boston was one of the last major league clubs to include blacks on its roster. It was only last year that the organization began an affirmative-action program designed to put more minorities in nonplaying positions.

Jim Rice helps erase lingering legacies with each swing of the bat. He has become enormously popular with fans as well as with his teammates, who respect him as a soft-spoken leader with a spine of steel. His personal style is Brahmin conservative. He favors vested suits and solid sedans, all in muted tones. Married to his high school sweetheart, he lives in suburban Peabody during the season and returns to Anderson during the winter. There he plays golf almost daily. Rice, of course, is long off the tee. On the road, a large collection of tapes and a cassette deck make up his carry-on luggage.

Handsome and articulate, he is in demand as a spokesman for the team. It is Rice who makes television pitches for franks in Boston and banks in South Carolina. His image adorns a range of products, including cars and cleats. One Boston company raffles off a bat and a ball to fans for each of his hits, and another has started a contest to determine the best anti-Rice device for opposing teams. Among the suggestions: put a fourth outfielder in an airplane to catch his towering drives and station another on the Massachusetts Turnpike that runs beyond the wall.

"I don't know how many home runs I can hit," muses Rice, "and I don't care. I just want to get hits, and the homers will be there. People forget that the first thing a home run is, is a hit." People, perhaps. But not pitchers.

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