In Some Ways Pete Gray Was Better Than Anthony Volpe

In 1945, Pete Gray gave Major League Baseball one of the most remarkable “you can’t make this up” seasons in history. Playing for the St. Louis Browns, Gray hit .218—not Hall of Fame stuff statistically, but when you factor in that he did it with one arm after losing his right arm in a childhood accident, the man becomes baseball folklore. Born Peter Wyshner, Gray wasn’t supposed to be there. He wasn’t supposed to chase down fly balls in center field, leg out infield hits, or gun down runners. But he refused “no” as an answer. The war years had thinned the league’s talent pool, opening a door for him, but make no mistake—he shoved his way through it and made the majors on grit and sheer stubbornness.

The Browns signed him for $4,000 after buying his contract for $20,000, and on April 17, 1945, he debuted against the Detroit Tigers. A month later, in Yankee Stadium, Gray delivered a storybook moment—five hits and two RBIs in a doubleheader sweep over the Yankees. He’d play 77 games that season, mostly in left and center, and prove to the world that determination could close the gap between impossible and reality.

Now, let’s fast-forward to Anthony Volpe—Aaron Boone’s coddled pet project and the Yankees’ “elite” shortstop who, at the moment, is batting .219. Yes, that’s one point higher than Pete Gray’s 1945 average. The difference? Pete Gray was missing an arm. Volpe has two, and somehow they both come up empty at the plate far too often.

Volpe was a star in high school—Delbarton School, New Jersey. 2019 New Jersey High School Player of the Year. Strong glove. Speed. Solid bat. All fine and dandy… but that was six years ago, and high school trophies don’t mean much when you’re skipping college ball and getting vaulted straight into the pressure cooker of playing shortstop for the New York Yankees.

And here’s the problem: the kid wasn’t ready. He’s still not ready. He carries himself like someone who’s had everything handed to him, because—surprise—he has. When he makes a mistake, you see the palms go up, the face of disbelief, as if the baseball gods themselves are to blame. Accountability? Only if you count scripted postgame answers that sound like they were approved by a parent.

A month ago, the mask slipped. Meredith Marakovits asked Boone about a Volpe error, and Boone—visibly irritated—got up, looked her straight in the eye, and mouthed, “He’s effin’ elite.” Translation: “This is the company line, get with it.” 

Sorry, Aaron, but the rest of us aren’t buying the gaslighting. The Yankees already shipped off Oswald Peraza—a better defensive shortstop—just to keep Volpe’s spot warm. And for what? To watch him swing like he’s trying to hit flies off a picnic table?

Pete Gray fought through life with one arm, beat impossible odds, and lived his dream. Volpe, with every advantage a baseball player could want, is being anointed for mediocrity. Pete Gray earned his shot. Volpe’s getting a victory parade for holding a batting average you could get by closing your eyes and hacking.

Yes, in some ways Gray was better than Volpe. And a lot of it has to do in the fact that he earned his keep, despite the doubters.  For Volpe, he’s losing favor among fans and yet the Yankees “Gaslighting” front office refuse to fold because they would have egg on their face if they admitted making a mistake.

What does that say about the Yankees? What does that say about the front office’s warped, spin-heavy “everything’s fine” culture? Simple. Pete Gray’s story was about grit. Anthony Volpe’s is about gifts. And one of those actually belongs in Yankee Stadium history.

–Alvin Izzo
BYB Yankee History Contributor