Notes from the Shadows of Cooperstown
Observations From Outside the Lines |
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NOTES FROM THE SHADOWS OF COOPERSTOWN
Observations from Outside the Lines
By Two Finger Carney (carneya6@borg.com)
#341 OCTOBER 21, 2004
OCTOBER BASEBALL
Of course I was an accomplice for the Red Sox comeback. What a week. I don't much like roller-coaster rides -- except in baseball. Slow climbs to the top, then plunging down and around and upside-down ... emotional ups and downs galore, not just from game to game, but within the games. With more on deck, maybe.
When the Yankees won their first series this October, knocking off the Twins -- a team I liked -- there was that consolation prize: one more Red Sox-Yankees face-off. But this time the Sox had not only Pedro, but Schilling, and a lineup that was strong even at the bottom. But how could they really be favorites, given their history against New York?
When the Yanks took the first two, I was concerned. But not to worry, three at the Fen would offset that. I had the TV to myself on Friday night, with proper food and beverages at hand, then UGH -- rain. Saturday, more rain, but this time it was raining hits and runs for the Yankees, and I was not surprised to wake up Sunday to that 19-something final. And now it was 3-0, or 0-3 -- either way, a desperate situation.
And then it happened. Sunday, a long game's journey into night, and I bailed out around 11 or 11:30, figuring if the Yankees won, I didn't want to celebrate with them ... and if the Sox won, well, there would be another game! Of course, there was, and it went deep too, more innings, less time, but another dodging of the fatal bullet. The flicker of hope steadied. Then Game Six -- I predicted a Sox blow-out, it just felt that way to me, but I was premature. Instead, two conference-calls went to the Sox -- Bellhorn's 3-run homer, A-Rod's interference -- and bring on Game Seven.
As we all know, even though the score was not close at the end, no one doubted that the Yankees could come back themselves. So of course we stayed and watched. We were watching history being made, weren't we? Well, sort of. More on that later.
This issue has been delayed only partly by the playoffs. I have been busy editing my book, a necessary chore. And my time has been full. The entire month has been a blur, and we are not even at the end yet. Another series to go. Not to mention Game Seven of the NL playoffs. (I found myself rooting for Houston after all -- that was a surprise.)
In this issue, just three easy pieces. First, an oldie that I like to re-read, Curse, Schmerse -- in honor of the Sox. Then some new B-Sox humor with an old format, Behind the Nicknames. And finally, a dip into postseason history, with comebacks in mind. Feedback welcome, as always.
From the NOTES Archive:
CURSE, SCHMURSE
[From NOTES #202, November 1, 1999]
The Yankees vs. the Red Sox -- Curse of the Bambino Time!
I think I have chided here before, believers in The Curse of the Bambino, of Rocky, the Goat, and Victory Faust (that last group may have a membership consisting only of John McGraw). My reasoning goes roughly like this: first of all, any city fortunate enough to have a major league franchise cannot really be cursed. They are instead blessed -- so are cities with any pro baseball franchise, in my humble opinion. The cursed cities are those who have lost their teams, through no fault of their own -- I think Cleveland, when Art Modell left with his Browns, is the best recent example.
When we think of Curses, in baseball, the Red Sox are the first team to come to mind, followed quickly by the Cubs (jinxed by that goat) and the Indians (doomed since dealing away Rocky Colavito). How ludicrous! Red Sox and Cub fans have two of the best places to watch a ball game, and to their credit, they fill the Fen and Wrigley summer after summer. The Indians now have Jacobs Field (a case could be made for their former digs being a punishment, but there were a few pennant won there -- not yet, at the Jake.) No, these cities are truly blessed, not cursed.
I believe any fan can make a case, just as strong as that of the Red Sox & Cub fans, for their team to be considered "cursed." That's right, even the Yankees. After all, this franchise went two decades before winning an AL title (until finally, in 1921). They have never had a great third baseman, but Red Rolfe was on his way when he was on his way until his health failed. Lou Gehrig was struck down before his time. Thurman Munson down in a plane crash. Tragic games, a la Buckner & Bucky? Yankee fans could whine a bit about losing the 1960 Series to a team they clobbered, or 1964's Game 7, despite racking up nine hits and five runs off the Mr October of Pitchers, Bob Gibson. The 1980 October see-ya blast by Brett off Gossage. How about the playoff loss to the Mariners just a few years ago?
I don't think it's just that the Yankees have had so much success over the past seventy or eighty years, that no one talks about the Curse of the Pinstripes (or whatever). Rather, I think the New Yorkers tend to see themselves as winners, even when they lose.
Red Sox and Cub fans -- all fans -- can do that, too. They can look at the doughnut of winning 90+ to get to October, and not the hole of falling a few wins short of a title.
To talk about the Curse is to whine: we were the best team, but fate, events, conspired against us. It wasn't our fault. Of course it was, take the responsibility for the errors, the strike not gotten (when one strike away), the hit not made in the clutch. Because that's baseball, and if you blame the Curse, you can never take credit for the wins, never enjoy accomplishments.
BEHIND THE B-SOX NICKNAMES
Some years back (1999-2000), an occasional feature in Notes was something I called "Behind the Nicknames." You can look it up -- in issues #190-192, 194, 202, and 220. I simply took the actual real nicknames of actual real ballplayers, and gave the totally fictitious story behind the nicknames. Here are some samples, from 192, "Behind the Famous Nicknames":
The Yankee Clipper. Joe DiMaggio, after his salary squabbles proved futile, earned pocket money as the team barber.
The Sultan of Swat. Before Babe Ruth demonstrated his prowess at the plate, he earned this title as a Red Sox rookie, assigned to keep the dugout free of flies.
The Iron Horse. Lou Gehrig's original disease was an obsessive-compulsive disorder that caused him to press uniforms.
The Splendid Splinter. Ted Williams' legendary eyesight was so keen that he could make contact with the pitch at precisely the spot that would shatter his bat.
As a kind of comic relief, here are my "Behind the B-Sox Nicknames" -- and your own contributions are welcome, if you have others:
Chick Gandil. This first baseman had the habit of goading oppoents on first. challenging them to steal second, and making clucking sounds when they refused to try. Gandil also once accepted a bet that he couldn't hatch an egg on a train trip between Chicago and Cleveland, with disastrous results for Chick's only pair of dress pants.
Happy Felsch was lucky to be born sixth in his family, behind siblings Doc, Grumpy, Sneezy, Bashful, Sleepy -- and just ahead of the unfortunate Dopey.
Young Shoeless Joe Jackson, caught time and again coming in after curfew when he clomped upstairs in the team hotel wearing his spikes, eventually caught on to how major leaguers operated.
Eddie Knuckles Cicotte frequently surprised tip-toeing, partying teammates like Jackson by rapping hard on the manager's door and then ducking into his room.
Lefty Williams had the curious habit of insisting on leftovers when the team ate on the road.
Buck Weaver liked to wear antlers in the privacy of his home, but when he forgot to take them off and arrived in the locker room sporting them, he was saddled with that nickname for life.
Fred McMullin and his wife Ethel often hung out with the Ricardos, a wild and crazy couple who haunted the bleachers at Comiskey Park.
Swede Risberg was a popular fellow on the train rides mainly because of his "special" deck of Scandinavian playing cards.
The Old Roman, Charles Comiskey, led the toga parties in the Woodland Bards' trophy room, wearing little besides his crown of olive leaves.
Abe The Little Champ Attell earned this title with a second-round KO of Charlie "The Little Tramp" Chaplin in a little-known boxing match.
William The Great Mouthpiece Fallon was an at-times brilliant lawyer who dazzled juries with his harmonia versions of dirges in his closing arguments.
Kid Gleason was, in fact, distantly related to a goat, something he hid well by shaving several times a day.
Cracker Schalk often disconcerted batters by dropping his catcher's mitt and cracking his knuckles, while his pitchers went into their windups.
Eddie Cocky Collins had the important duty as team captain of waking up the team each morning with his improvised rooster calls.
Red Faber never quite understood the off-color locker room humor, and blushed almost continuously until he could shower and leave.
Nemo Leibold, a huge fan of Jules Verne, actually preferred the nickname "Captain," and carried a harpoon in his bag of bats.
John Shano Collins occasionally arrived for games a bit tipsy, and if he was asked by his manager to say whether he was sober enough to play, and he replied "shay ... no?" -- he rode the bench.
Wee Dickey Kerr was, in fact, shorter than Eddie Gaedel, making his two victories in the 1919 World Series even more remarkable.
POST-SEASON FUN
In the early years of Notes, whenever I found myself rooting around in baseball history for some nuggets to write about, I often turned to Jerry Lansche's The Forgotten Championships: Postseason Baseball, 1882-1981 (McFarland, 1989). The Red Sox-Yankees series this time around sent me there again.
Down three games, the Red Sox started winning, and after they barely avoided the sweep, and then picked off another extra-inning win, and suddenly everyone needed to know -- was a comeback possible? To win a third game, let alone the Series, would be unprecedented -- or would it?
The SABR-L was abuzz with folks reporting that a Sox rally to win the Series would be nothing new, if our concept of MLB included Japan -- so far, it's been done three times over there (in 1958, 1986 and 1989). It's been done here, too, in the "minor leagues" ... and then someone looked at the old postseason records involving the teams we know today as "the majors." And sure enough, this coming back from 3-0 is nothing new at all, it just seems that way.
I'm not a fan of interleague plague -- I mean play -- but no one can doubt the fun at hand when the Yankees square off with the Mets, the Cubs with the White Sox, and [insert your favorite rivalry here]. This "innovation" is only new in that these duels count in the standings because they are scheduled during the season -- instead of in the postseason, where they used to be.
As Lansche's book subtitle suggests, intra-city playoffs after the regular seasons ended began well before 1900. And as late as 1942, when the Cubs and White Sox played a best-of-seven, these series were popular with fans, and I suspect with players, who picked up nice bonus checks. The wartime crowds were fairly small (except for Game 3, over twenty thousand), but that was not usually the case. (In 1911, Game 3 at Comiskey between the same franchises drew over 36,000.)
What is important to keep in mind is that these games were important in a whole different way, having nothing to do with money except for betting fans (which probably meant most). They were for bragging rights. No matter how lousy the regular season was, when the Browns took on the Cardinals (ETC.), there was a chance to erase all that pain and mediocrity from memory. The two teams might have finished well out of World Series range -- but they could be Ohio State Champions (or Pennsylvania, etc.)
In 1912, the St Louis Browns were 53-101, an awful team. Their crosstown NL rivals, the Cardinals, finished 63-90. They were both "second division" teams (meaning that they finished no higher than fifth in their eight-team leagues). But they played a terrific best-of-seven, between October 9 and 16, with the Cards winning 4-3 (with one tie).
At the same time, the Philadelphia Athletics downed the Phillies, four games to one. Philly phanatics cheered their AL heroes like 26-game winner Eddie Plank (a Hall of Famer from Gettysburg), and NL ace Grover Cleveland Alexander.
But the series that drew me to 1912 was not in St Loo or Philly, but in good old Chicago. Because in October 1912, the underdog White Sox (a near-.500 team in the regular season) fell behind in their best-of-seven to the Cubs (91-59), three games to none -- after the first two games were 0-0 and 3-3 ties -- then roared back to win four straight. A la (we can say now) the 2004 BoSox.
The Cubs had released Three Finger Brown after the 1912 season -- the slacker's ERA had risen to 2.63, it was time to go. That may have handicapped the NL squad, as Lansche notes, as the series dragged on. 27-game winner Big Ed Walsh pitched the opening shutout for the Sox, and three more innings in the 3-3 tie, and also went 3-for-4 in the two games. It was October 12 before the Cubs drew first blood, with a 5-4 win.
They took Game 4, 4-2, and then Game 5, 8-1 ... Eddie Cicotte started that one, and I wonder if ... nah. What I really wonder, is what kind of odds you could get at that point, if you wanted to bet on the Sox to take the series, down 3-0.
One win away from glory, Chicago-style, the Cubs fell behind 3-0 (at Wrigley), tied it, fell behind again 4-3, and again tied it with a run in the 8th to send the game into extras, knotted at 4. In the 11th, the Sox plated an unanswered run, and won. The Cubs led the next game 4-3 into the eighth, but the Sox rallied for four runs and a 7-5 victory. The Cubs led the next game, 5-4, going into the ninth, at Wrigley, but the Sox scored four again and tied the series with an 8-5 win. Ed Walsh came in to toss the ninth inning for the save.
So it all came down to Game Nine, October 18. It was at Comiskey, and Ed Walsh took the hill again. The Sox scored a run in the first ... two more in the second ... eight more in the third ... then two and three, and led 16-0 after five. That was the final.
Morrie Rath, 2B, led off for the Sox that game, and got a couple hits (he had seven hits in the four Sox wins, just three in the three losses and two ties -- so what?) Shano Collins, Buck Weaver and Ray Schalk were on that team. (Schalk got eight hits in the wins, the only four games he played -- draw your own conclusions. Buck? He went 0-6 in the ties and was benched until the last two games; he went 2-for-4 in each.)
There is something charming about these old series. I think it's great that Detroit's Wolverines and the St Louis Browns played fifteen postseason games in 1887, the last on October 26. There's just nothing like October baseball.