When I was in college in the late 1960s, I saw him pitch. It was a special promotion that the owners of the Triple-A Denver Bears came up with. He would pitch for three outs against the visiting team, speak for a few minutes to the crowd, and then pitch against the home team for three outs and then speak again and say good bye.
My father who had seen Paige in his prime and seen most of the great white players up to that time always claimed that Satchel was the greatest pitcher of all time. I had been raised on modern pitchers and really didn’t expect much from this old guy (he was 60+ at the time).
When I left the stadium, I was a convert. That lanky, old, black man embarrassed those major-league bound, hot-shot kids who were young enough to be his grandkids. And they were trying too. As I remember, he faced five hitters to get the first three outs. I think he struck out two. He faced four to get the second set of outs. Once again, I think he struck out two.
The thing what struck me most was his motions on the mound. He body went everywhere then all of a sudden the ball came out. And it seemed like he never delivered the same pitch twice. One time a slurve, another time it was a rainbow pitch with some sort of weird spin, the next it would be a good solid fast ball (for any aged man) and the next it was a curve.
I have seem a number of the great pitchers in my time, Koufax, Drysdale, Ford, Maddox, Seaver, Ryan, McClain, to name just a few, but if Paige lost anything over the years from the days of his prime, to when I saw him (and it is human to do so) he was the greatest.
I would refer to the old joke: The first baseball fan asks, “Do you think Satchel Paige would be any good playing in today’s major leagues?”
Second man: "I don’t know. I suppose he’d probably have a record of, oh…about 12-10…but then again, you’ve got to remember, he’d be 98 years old.
TV