"SPLENDID SPLINTER" RAILS ON ABOUT LOST ART OF HITTING IN CRYONICS COMPANY'S YEARLY MORBID PUBLICITY STUNTSCOTTSDALE, Ariz. - The head of former Red Sox great Ted Williams was reanimated yesterday at the cryonics company where it has been stored since 2002, just as it is every year during the World Series, so that Williams could lecture, reprimand and cajole the press on a variety of subjects. Although the "Splendid Splinter" spewed his customary disdain for modern hitters, he had little new to say.
PRESS CONFERENCE HAS BECOME ANNUAL AFFAIR
Following Williams' death on July 5, 2002, his body was flown to the Alcor Life Extension Foundation where it was severed from its head via a procedure known as neuroseparation. The body immediately was stored in a 9-foot cylindrical steel tank, and the head was placed in a steel can filled with liquid nitrogen.
At the end of every baseball season, scientists at Alcor gingerly remove the head from the can to thaw it out. Then they administer a series of electric shocks that serve to reanimate it for approximately two hours before it finally tuckers out.
Although critics decry Williams' annual press conference as a morbid publicity stunt for Alcor, "Teddy Ballgame's" legion of fans eagerly await their hero's annual appearances.
Immediately upon being revived, Williams confers with several friends who bring him up to date on the past year's events -- mainly about fly fishing, politics and especially baseball. The first question Williams asks his confidants is always the same: "Did anyone hit .400 this year?" The answer is always "no." Williams was the last player to hit .400, a feat he accomplished in 1941 when he batted .406.
Then the reporters are ushered into the lab so that Williams can hold court. Williams always starts the press conference with a wisecrack -- invariably he apologizes for not being able to tip his cap to the press corps "because I don't have any arms," a comical reference to the fact that throughout his career he refused to tip his cap to his adoring Boston fans. Next Williams vexes the assembled by insisting that someone hold the book he authored, The Science of Hitting, close to his eyes so that he can read a chapter aloud, much to the chagrin of the disinterested reporters
THIS YEAR, NOTHING NEW TO SAY
This year's press conference stayed true to form but offered no new insights into Williams' life or career. In past years, Williams has been so high-spirited that he has gone so far as to serenade reporters with "Take me out to the Ballgame." But this year Williams appeared to be in a prickly mood and, for the first time since his death, abruptly refused even to answer questions at the end of his lecture. The reporters were ushered out of the lab and the door was closed, but Williams could be heard vehemently arguing with Dr. Bob Haas, Chief of Staff at Alcor, over Alcor's fee for the neuroseparation procedure, which remains largely unpaid. Williams also severely reprimanded Haas for not shaving him in the past year. As Williams ratcheted up the decibel level, a "thud . . . thud" came from the lab, as if a watermelon had been dropped, and Williams suddenly was silenced. Then came the sound of the lid on the steel can being sealed.
So for another year, Ted Williams rests in peace -- and pieces. As the reporters trudged through the hot Alcor parking lot they muttered that they hoped next year the once-great slugger would give them something more to write about.
