For some players it just isn't meant to be

Beautiful little Ponce De Leon Park in Atlanta had a hill behind the right field wall, much like the one at Kansas City's old Municipal Stadium. The major difference is that behind that upper wall atop the hill in Kansas City was Brooklyn Ave. In Atlanta, it was a railroad track.

In 1947, 40-year-old Bill Dickey was managing the Little Rock Travelers, who went to Atlanta for a Southern Association game with the Crackers. Due to an injury suffered by his catcher, the soon to be Hall of Famer activated himself for, as it turned out, eight games and 20 career-ending at-bats.

Dickey advanced to the plate in order to face a brash young pitcher whose name I have long forgotten. The pitcher taunted the grizzled Dickey. "Well, if it isn't the old has-been," the pitcher shouted at the aging lefty hitter, who soon gave those in attendance a fleeting glance of what had been. Dickey uncorked a drive that cleared the upper wall and bounced around on the train track. It was, as it turned out, Dickey's final career home run. Dickey circled the bases and as he touched home plate, shouted at the pitcher, "Better to be a has-been than a never was."

This column isn't about either has beens or never wases. It is about four might have beens. It is about four young pitchers who showed all the promise in the world, only to have the carpet pulled from beneath them long before they realized greatness. Two of them, Paul Dean and Von McDaniel were both St. Louis Cardinals with older brothers who achieved stardom. The other two were American Leaguers Steve Busby of the Kansas City Royals and Herb Score of the Cleveland Indians.

All of St. Louis was agog over an 18-year old phenom by the name of Von McDaniel in the summer of 1957. Older brother Lindy, who would earn big league fame as primarily a relief pitcher in his eventual 21-year career, was just that age -- 21. His first full season as a starter was '57, when he won 15 games. But younger brother Von, who resembled Lindy in looks except for a scar on the right side of his chin, was the talk of baseball in 1957. The youngster was projected to be a future star. His strengths were exceptional poise and an ability to keep the ball low. After a near-perfect four inning relief job in Philadelphia in his big league debut, Von went on to post a 7-5 record. A $50,000 bonus baby who had to remain on the roster, Von turned 18 on April 16, which was Opening Day and a few days after his high school graduation in Hollis, Okla.

All the talk was about how good Von was going to be in 1958, but something happened.

Stan Musial said that when Von started college in the fall, he failed for the first time, to play basketball and began to feel the weakness and weariness that all players do. But he was 18, and didn't know what was wrong when spring training started. "Puzzled that he couldn't throw hard, Von tried even harder. He lost rhythm and control. When he lost control, he lost an even more precious commodity -- confidence," Musial said.

Von McDaniel started one more game in the majors and pitched two more innings after that phenomenal start. He went to the minors and attempted to work his way back to the majors as an infielder, but failed in that attempt while Lindy closed out his career in 1975 with the Kansas City Royals. Von died at age 56 in 1995, never knowing what might have been.

Paul Dean, known as "Daffy," although he wasn't, at least had a taste of fame. Paul was 20 when he broke in with the Cardinals, for whom brother Dizzy was the ace of the staff, and all baseball for that matter, as he won 30 games in 1934, the year Paul came up and won 19 as a rookie.

While Paul was clearly not as good as Dizzy, no one else was either. Paul won 18 games in 1935 and seemed ready to burst into stardom when instead, his star burned out and fell from the sky.

At the tender (if anything related to a Dean could be considered to be tender) age of 22, Paul had 38 big league wins and Dizzy had 19. Dizzy was just getting started though, and Paul would win just 12 more games in his career.

According to Paul, he injured his arm early in the 1936 season (June, I think it was) because he never took care of himself by icing his arm after a game or doing any kind of what might be considered "routine maintenance."

According to Paul, it was a sore arm that didn't have to be, and wouldn't have been had he just done what was required of him. He didn't, though, and that was that.

Herb Score was seen as the next Bob Feller in Cleveland. He won 16 games and was named Rookie of the Year as a 21-year old in 1955 and followed with 20 wins the next season. The fireballer led the American League in strikeouts those first two seasons. But Score's destiny was 19 more career victories.

Off to his usual start with 39 strikeouts in 36 innings, Score had no idea that his world would come apart on May 8 in Cleveland when New York's Gil McDougald ripped a line drive that struck Score in the eye, knocking him unconscious. Score attempted to come back, but was never again an effective pitcher. He said it was because he tried to come back too soon and injured his arm. But maybe that was to soothe the feelings of McDougald, who took it hard. Score had a follow through in his motion that left him wide open, but nothing had been done to correct it.

Steve Busby pitched two no-hit games and won 16, then 22 games in 1974. He won 18 the following year, and said that late in the season he felt something pop along about the 12th inning of a game he had started. When his shoulder failed to respond in the spring of 1976, he was checked and learned he had a torn rotator cuff. With an effective Busby in the rotation, the Royals would have had an even more formidable staff in their 1976-1985 run of success. But it wasn't to be.