In 1941, All-Star blow left a permanent glow

The spotlight hadn't really arrived to define either of the two men before 1941. The image of Joe DiMaggio, the pulseless, urbane stylist, would begin to be typed into creation by the men watching the exploits of a 27-year-old Italian high school dropout in New York. The bombastic, big-talking man. Enough major pieces would be added to the puzzle to make everyone pay attention. Ted Williams or Joe DiMaggio? DiMaggio or Williams? Now the spotlight was on these two very different men. They were becoming what they would be.

Dom DiMaggio: "I think Ted was a little in awe of Joe when he first came up. I know he respected and admired him. He and Joe were just different people. Joe always was in Toots Shor's in New York. He always had a guy with him. There'd always be some guy. Ted went off by himself a lot more. He'd play the game and go off on his own.

"I know I liked him from day one. I came up in '40, and he'd had a year in already. I'd heard so much about him, and I said to myself, `Now I've got to play with this guy?' But I liked him. I always sympathized with him when he had those problems with the media. I was quiet, and Ted would get talking about hitting in our little corner of the clubhouse -- he never talked about fielding -- and he would draw a crowd and after a while he'd turn to me and say, `Dommie, you think I'm full of [expletive], don't you?' "

Williams was hitting .405 when the All-Star break arrived. He had 16 home runs and 62 RBIs. Joe DiMaggio had hit in 48 straight games. The New York press had found a new goal for him, Wee Willie Keeler's 44-year-old "all-time" streak of 44 straight games, and he had tied, then broken it, in a weekend series with the Red Sox. The All-Star Game was a celebrated pause in this daily soap opera.

Unlike today, the game was the second-biggest event in the season after the World Series. Much more than a public relations showcase, the outcome was meaningful to all parties concerned. The leagues were very different. The American and National Leagues seemed as separated in culture and population as England and France. Which league was better? Which players were better? The All-Star Game was the test.

Williams had played in the 1940 game, 0 for 2, and was excited about his second appearance. He had brought along an eight-millimeter camera that he handed to Bobby Doerr, asking the second baseman to record the activities. He walked the premises at Detroit's Briggs Stadium with the confidence that befitted a .400 hitter.

In the AL lineup, he batted fourth, after DiMaggio. He had a double in the fourth to drive in a run, but by the eighth the National League had a 5-2 lead. The American Leaguers mounted a rally, loading the bases and scoring a run, but in the middle of it Williams struck out, looking at a fastball from Claude Passeau.

Then the ninth came along, another rally, another chance. Williams came to the plate with two outs, two men on base, one run in, the score now 5-4, and the crowd very excited. With two balls and a strike, he delivered the biggest home run of his young career, a shot that hit the facade in right. He bounded around the bases with the exuberance of a kid who has received a bicycle and an air gun on Christmas morn, jumping and waving his arms, running on air. American League 7, National League 5.

Babe Pinelli, home plate umpire: "I remember well calling Ted out in the eighth inning due to a comment he and I had in the ninth. He came to the plate with two men on and two out. The National Leaguers had missed what appeared to be a cinch double play when Joe DiMaggio hit to the second sacker and [Arky] Vaughan threw low to [Frank] McCormick at first, which he couldn't handle.

"In the meantime, during the excitement, Ted talked to me. He asked, `Babe, how was that pitch on me in the eighth inning?' I explained it was a real good pitch, high enough and tight. Ted's answer was a classic. `Babe,' he said. `It was a good pitch, and all umpires should call it a strike.' He walked to the plate, and when he hit the homer, I believe it was the same spot Passeau put it to strike him out in the eighth inning.

"Incidentally, Ted was one of the few batters who stood so close to the plate. As close as possible. His feet were right on the chalk line. Babe Ruth was another. Like all great hitters, both had tremendous quick wrists plus power."

Dominic DiMaggio: "I was the on-deck hitter when Ted hit that home run. It's funny, because I didn't think they were going to pitch to him. I thought they were going to walk him and pitch to me. Passeau was a righthander. When Ted came to the plate, their manager came out to talk to Passeau. That's when I thought they were going to walk Ted. To this day, I'd like to know what that conversation was about.

"Anyway, they pitched to Ted, and I remember he had a tremendous swing at a pitch that he fouled back. I recall saying to myself, if he ever hit that, he would have hit it over the roof. Then he almost did hit the next pitch over the roof. This was a line blast. It went off the facade on a line . . . this wasn't any fly ball."

Joe Cronin: "I was sitting in the dugout when he hit the home run, and I jumped up and ran as fast as I could to home plate to meet him. As soon as Ted hit the ball, he stood in the batter's box watching the flight of the ball. While he was watching it, his arms shot straight over his head like a football referee signaling a touchdown, and as soon as the ball hit the top of the facade, he started clapping his hands and jumping up and down. He did this all around the bases."

Tom Yawkey: "When Ted hit that home run, I jumped out of my seat and started jumping up and down and clapping my hands. Because I was watching Ted, who was doing the exact same thing as he ran around the bases."

This was the imaginary home run that Williams always wanted to hit during all those swings in all of those different places, from the backyard on Utah Street to the train tracks on the way to Florida, to the hotel room and Charlie Wagner's bed. Bottom of the ninth, he always would tell himself. Two outs, need a home run to win. He had walked into his own vision. He kept saying, over and over again in the clubhouse, "It's my biggest thrill."

Definite edge: Williams.