Bateador of the Giants

The game is beisbol. The lanzador stands on the lomita and throws the pelota to the bateador, who tries to hit it over the heads of the jardineros with a mighty swing of his palo. If he hits it over the fence, he gets a cuadrangular and the home-town fanaticos go wild with joy.

Even as it is played in the U.S., baseball has a decidedly Latin flavor, with scores of ballplayers from south of the border scattered around the big leagues. And nowhere is the Latin influence more noticeable than in San Francisco--where a flashy band of lanzadores, jardineros and bateadores is keeping the Giants near the top of the National League.

Like all other Giants, the Latins play in the shadow of Willie Mays, 31, still the superstar and the delight of the fans with his freewheeling base running, back-to-the-ball basket catches and powerful bat.

Hitting .300 last week, Willie already had 19 home runs to lead both leagues. But in past seasons not even Mays could bring the Giants a pennant. This year the Latins hope to provide the much needed strength in depth.

No Natural. Batting directly behind Mays, in the No. 4 cleanup spot, is the most powerful bateador, Orlando Cepeda, 24, whose booming palo has been tormenting National League pitchers since the start of the season. First Baseman Cepeda is batting .330, leads the National League in hits (with 77), ranks second in home runs (with 15) and runs batted in (with 55). The other Latins are almost as impressive. In his second year up, Puerto Rico's Jose Pagan ranks among the league's sharpest shortstops. Pitcher Juan Marichal, from the Dominican Republic, already has eight victories to his credit.

His fellow countryman, Outfielder Felipe Alou, is hitting .343--second-best in the league--has batted in 42 runs. On the bench, ready for duty, are Alou's younger brother Matty (hitting .262) and another Dominican, Manny Mota.

Most of the Latins have the easy grace of natural ballplayers. Not Cepeda. A childhood sickness left him with a malformed right leg that later required surgery. He still limps when he walks, and his feet are pancake-flat. Back home in Puerto Rico no one thought he would be a ballplayer at all. The Santurce Crabbers kept him sitting on the bench. "That kid was bowlegged and knock-kneed and had one leg shorter than the other," explains Santurce Owner Pete Zorilla. "A nice kid, yes. Full of laughs and fun, sure. But a ballplayer? No." What Cepeda did have was size and a pretty fair batting eye. In 1955, the Giants decided to risk $500 by signing the hulking 17-year-old to a contract, though he had never played an inning of pro ball.

A Year or Two Away. Assigned to the Class D Salem, Va., Rebels, Cepeda committed 16 errors in 26 games, once struck out eight times in a row. But he finally got the range, and the Giants called him up. Manager Bill Rigney asked First Baseman Whitey Lockman to look him over.

Reported Lockman: "That kid is still a year or two away." Asked Rigney: "From what?" Answered Lockman: "From the Hall of Fame." Cepeda and big league baseball arrived in "Safraseeko" on the same day--April 15, 1958. He celebrated his first season by hitting .312 and winning Rookie of the Year honors. Now an established star, Cepeda earns $47,000 a year and stands second only to Mays in popularity with the San Francisco fans. His one real fault --though the fans might not call it that-is his monumental temper. He was once fined $100 for chasing Pirate Manager Danny Murtaugh with a double-weight practice bat--only a flying tackle by Mays kept him from using it. But the outbursts are becoming less frequent. "We play too many games," says Cepeda. "If I get mad I will get ulcers."

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.