Joan Joyce

When I saw that today is actor William Daniels’ 95th birthday, I told Michele to text Clare with the news. For me, Daniels will always be John Adams; Mr. Braddock (father to Dustin Hoffman’s Benjamin Braddock in “The Graduate”); and Dr. Mark Craig. For our daughter, Daniels is now and forever will be Mr. Feeny of “Boy Meets World” fame. Any role you put it, happy ninety-fifth, William. But when I found out Joan Joyce died over the weekend, I kept that news to myself, in large part because I never told Clare about Joyce and her matchup against Ted Williams. Let’s just say it was the most humiliating batting practice-session the Splendid Splinter had in his life—he admitted as much—and leave it at that. But why not tell my baseball-playing daughter about this young woman who had possibly the greatest hitter ever swinging and missing at just about every pitch she threw windmill-style? In part, I wanted Clare to be her own role model. But, also, I’ve never known exactly what to make of Joyce and her accomplishments. She also struck out Hank Aaron another time, by the way. A woman athlete competing against a male, I had no problem with, but it always struck me as apples and oranges, the 20-year old Joyce throwing a softball from 40-feet away to the 42-year old Williams. Yes, the patriarchy crumbled, the illusion of male supremacy in everything shattered. But what if Williams were the same age or Joyce was throwing from 60-feet, six inches? Maybe in these slightly more enlightened times both athletes would have been made to perform outside their comfort zones. I don’t know. Joyce amassed pitching stats to make Cy Young blush—753 wins with 150 no-hitters (50 of them perfect games) and over 10,000 strikeouts. Joyce told mlb.com that she was “never gonna let anybody beat me at anything. I was so competitive.” Why didn’t that competitive nature lead her to try throwing a baseball? I know, it didn’t have to. But the barnstorming with Williams and Aaron has a separate-but-equal feel to it reminiscent of the Negro Leagues. Like I said, I just don’t know what to make of Joyce.