The Mad Hungarian’s Homecoming

I ran into a fellow named Hrabosky while in Hungary not very long ago. Though it is not seen as often as Smith or Jones in English-speaking countries, Hrabosky is a not an uncommon name amongst the Magyars. This particular Hrabosky liked sports, and was prepared to go on at great lengths about soccer legend Ferenc Puskas; however, he had never heard of his famous baseball-playing namesake across the pond: Al “The Mad Hungarian” Hrabosky.

As with other intimidating pitchers of the time, such as Luis Tiant and Goose Gossage, you could sense a hitter’s fear every time Al Hrabosky strode to the mound back in the late 1970s. Somehow the smell of trepidation in the batter’s box was more pronounced than the grainy images on our old Zenith color TV.

You just couldn’t help but feel sorry for whoever had to go up against him, even if you were a Cardinals’ fan. His paprika-fueled fastball, thick moustache and almost psychotic stare must still linger in those who faced him and make them quiver every time they think back to their encounters with the surly reliever.

His name recognition in North America greatly exceeds his familiarity among Hungarians. Nevertheless, there are about 1,500 baseball-mad Hungarians, the types of amateurs who will go out and play nine innings every weekend from April through September, despite pitch counts that near a thousand and scores bordering on triple digits.

And it was this crowd Hrabosky — who nearly three decades after he retired from the game, still looks like he could be a manager’s first choice to be called on in relief when the game is on the line — came to deliver a day-long talk/clinic at a modernized baseball field in Szentendre, about 30 kilometers outside of Budapest.

The event was organized by Gyorgy Simonyi, whose last name might be familiar to fans of Comedy Central’s “Colbert Report”; he is the brother of an occasional guest on the program, Andras Simonyi, the guitar-picking Hungarian ambassador to the United States.
Microsoft billionaire and space traveler Charles Simonyi is no relation to these baseball-loving siblings. (For those of you keeping score at home, Simonyi is not a common Hungarian name, but if you’ve gotten to this point in the piece, you now know three.)

Hrabosky, who now is a color commentator for the Cardinal as well as a radio personality, spoke to the crowd in English, for his grasp of the Magyar tongue is relatively limited. However, the two hundred Hungarians and expatriates who came to see him listened on intently.

The looks on the faces of the youngsters in the crowd said it all. Though several thousand miles away from where he made a name for himself, the Hungarian ballplayers of the future in attendance gazed upon him as an aspiring Brazilian soccer star might look upon Ronaldo. A baseball great of Hungarian descent had come home.

He spoke about how he fell in love with baseball at a relatively late age for a professional player, about how pleased he was to visit the country of his ancestors, and even about the role his famous moustache played in his career.

The point that Hrabosky emphasized during his talk to the young crowd, the one which has become the mantra to many a Little League coach across North America: “Throw strikes.”

The Mad Hungarian said he would one day like to see someone from Hungary play in the major leagues. Considering the intensity with which a great many play the sport here, that might not be outside the realm of what is conceivable in the near future.

Hungary is, despite its population of 10 million and its disappointing soccer teams in recent years, a strong sporting nation. It invariably manages to place among the top-ten in terms of the medal count at each Summer Olympics.

One person in the audience compared The Mad Hungarian to the aforementioned soccer great Ferenc Puskas. “I saw in him the same countenance I witnessed when I met Puskas. The same youthful grin, the same cunning expression, and the same look of a man who is satisfied with his life,” this Hungarian spectator, who only recently learned of Hrabosky storied playing career, said.

When his talk was through, he headed to the mound for a demonstration of the real “Mad Hungarian.” The catcher, with a hint of the same fear the batters used to have in the days of old, got into position.

Hrabosky leaned back. Fired. A perfect strike.