Eddie Feigner A Legend At 71

Fifty years after he hit the road on a dare, Eddie Feigner is still packing his blindfold and softball glove with no plans to quit.

Despite aching joints, dwindling crowds, grueling travel and his never-ending quest for the respect, Feigner and his barnstorming four-man team, the King and His Court, are still playing 200 games a year.

Feigner, 71, strikes them out blindfolded. He strikes them out from second base. He strikes them out blindfolded from second base. He strikes them out throwing from behind his back. He strikes them out throwing between his legs.

In doing so, the brush-cut wearing ex-Marine with the windmill delivery and the blazing fastball is wowing a new generation.

“We used to be really amazing. Now we’re just too dumb to quit,” he says, only half-joking.

The arthritis is so bad now, Feigner is in constant pain. He claims he can run but his gimpy, bent-legged walk says otherwise.

In between innings of an exhibition against the Bridgeton All-Stars, he sits on a folding chair on the third base line. When the side is retired, he inches his butt forward two or three times on the metal frame so he can muster the momentum to stand up in one try.

When he takes the mound, it’s obvious the heater that fanned Mays, McCovey and 132,068 others doesn’t heat like it used to.

But he’s still striking them out. He could do that blindfolded. And he does.

Feigner’s unofficial lifetime stat sheets reads like a scorecard full of typographical errors: 9,650 games, 930 no-hitters, 238 perfect games, 1,916 shutouts, 132,070 strikeouts (14,400 of them blindfolded) and 8,270 victories.

“He’s a bona fide legend,” said Bill Plummer III, spokesman for the Amateur Softball Association.

Almost as amazing as the accomplishments is the fact that Feigner is still at it.

Tonight it’s Bridgeton. Tomorrow it’s York, Pa. Come hell, high water, divorces, heart attacks, knee operations, flat tires, missed turnoffs and crowds much smaller than this one, Feigner always shows up, rolling into the parking lot in a Dodge van with red, white and blue lettering that screams “The King and His Court.”

He once knocked a cigar out of a man’s mouth with a pitch, without hitting him.

The court, which has had 30 members over the years, is now made up of Rich Hoppe, 48, a hustler and former star of his own touring team; Gary West, 53, a catcher with a voice like Andy Devine; and Michael Branchaud, 29, a fireballing left-hander with home-run power.

Their performance against the nine-man home team is two parts vaudeville comedy, one part Harlem Globetrotters and one part softball game.

When a batter reaches first on a throwing error, Feigner zings a behind-the-back pickoff throw to Hoppe on first. Out!

Then he uses the same delivery to strike out the batter.

“That was his Linda Ronstadt pitch,” Hoppe says.

“His Linda Ronstadt pitch?” West says.

“Yeah. Blue Bayou,” Hoppe says.

The crowd roars. Then there’s the fake pitch: With two outs and two strikes, Feigner goes into one of his impossible all-arms-and-legs windups, then fires the ball behind his back - and into his own mitt.

Just in time, the two other fielders slap their gloves in unison and West stands up in time to block the umpire’s view. Strike three! Only the ball was never thrown.

When the show is over, Feigner takes the mike and conducts a short pitching clinic while the other three players fan out into the stands to sell $3 programs.

Then he’s back in his folding chair on the third base line, ready for the nightly autograph ritual.

The line stretches for 50 yards. He doesn’t charge. After she gets the autograph, she runs off giggling. Another happy customer. The legend lives on.

Sports Illustrated once called Feigner “the most underrated athlete of his time.” Feigner says he’s the best athlete of his time. He dearly loves softball, but knows it limits his celebrity.

“I’m a pipsqueak because I’m caught in a nothing game. It’s like being a world-champion noseblower,” he told an interviewer in 1972.

He has no national sponsor. He feels television has passed him by. Hollywood hasn’t made a movie about him. He can’t sell his autobiography.

But he doesn’t want pity.