Leading Off

Back in the 1950’s when I read My Greatest Day in Baseball for the firs time, some stories stood out as accounts of historic games, others as the memories of great players and a few because they illustrated how baseball was played in different eras.  One story, however, didn’t seem to fit.  Although supposedly the account of Christy Mathewson's greatest day, the story wasn’t told by Mathewson, but by someone named Lloyd Lewis who wasn’t even a player. More importantly, the fourth game of the 1911 World Series hardly seemed like the legendary Hall of Fame pitcher’s most memorable day in baseball.   As a result, many years later when I began going through the original oral histories published in the Chicago Daily News, I was surprised to learn that Lewis’ essay led off the series.

Michael "Nuf Ced" McGreevy Collection - Boston Public Library

Lewis’s memory was likely published first because he was the paper's sports editor.  Indeed, it’s possible the project was his idea.  The series began in February 1943, the second winter of World War II, when sports news was sparse.  Hard-pressed for content, it was decided to publish the paper’s sportswriters’ best baseball memories.  Even if it wasn’t Lewis’s idea, as editor, it was appropriate to ask him to go first.  The essays were so popular that the paper expanded the series to include players, beginning a regular off-season feature that ran for several years.

Lloyd Lewis graduated from Swarthmore College in 1913 and began working for the North American, a Philadelphia newspaper. After serving in the Navy in World War I, he worked in public relations with a Chicago-based movie theater chain before becoming the Chicago Daily News drama critic in 1930.  Six years later, he shifted from the stage and screen to the field and court as the sports editor, newspaper departments perhaps not as dissimilar as they may first appear.

Lloyd Lewis

Lewis “brought new elements of human interest” to sports coverage which produced “an unorthodox but sprightly sports page.”Among the causes he took up was the integration of major league baseball. Not long after the “Greatest Day” series began, Lewis was promoted to managing editor.  However, his tenure was short-lived. Just two years later in 1945 he “retired” from journalism to focus on writing Civil War history.  The author of an acclaimed biography of William Tecumseh Sherman, Lewis completed the first book of a three-volume biography of Ulysses S. Grant in 1949, but then suddenly died from a heart attack.  The work was finished by the distinguished Civil War historian Bruce Catton. Lewis was reportedly “rich in friendships with the great literary, artistic, political and sports figures of his time” including Carl Sandburg, Sinclair Lewis and Adlai Stevenson, then Governor of Illinois. 

According to an obituary in the Chicago Daily Sun-Times, Lewis “had a deep understanding of and a lively sympathy for people - - for man in his moments of greatness and of foolish weakness.” This understanding served him well in writing about Christy Mathewson and Rube Marquard's struggles with "Home Run" Baker in the 1911 World Series.  Lewis provides colorful descriptions of that October afternoon's protagonists, calling Baker a “long lean yokel,” while Matthewson was “all bone and muscle and princely poise.”  Special attention is naturally devoted to his beloved Giants as the “cocky, ornery, defiant men of Muggsy McGraw.”  Using rich language and vivid prose, Lewis brings to life the intensity of an epic World Series clash well over a century ago. Woven into that narrative is the almost universal but still sad experience of realizing one’s hero, while heroic, is also human. Lewis set an example for the memories that came after.  His story not only belonged in the series, it deserved to be first. 

Lewis and other fans waiting more or less patiently on the ticket line

“When the bleacher gates at Shibe Park in Philadelphia were thrown open on the morning of October 24, 1911, I was in the mob that went whooping toward the front seats.  I got one, partly because the right-field crowd was smaller than the one in left.  Most Philadelphians wanted to sit close to their worshipped Athletics, for the World Series at that moment stood two games to one for Connie Mack against John McGraw, and Philadelphia was loud and passionate in the confidence that now they would get revenge for the bitter dose – 4 games to 1 – three shutouts, the Giants had given them six years before.

Me, I wanted to get as close to the Giants as possible, and found a place at the rail close to the empty chairs which would that afternoon become the Giants’ bullpen.  My whole adolescence had been devoted, so far as baseball went – and it went a long way to an Indiana farm boy – to the Giants and to their kingly pitcher, the great, the incomparable Christy Mathewson.  I hadn’t had the courage to cut classes in the nearby college and go to the first game of the series at Shibe Park.  But today I had.  Things were desperate.  Up in New York’s Polo Grounds to start this, the World Series, Mathewson had won – 2 to 1 – giving but five hits and demonstrating that with 12 years of herculean toil behind him he was practically as invincible as when in 1905 he had shut out these same Athletics three times.

"And give Baker a nickname for life" - Philadelphia Inquirer - October 17, 1911

It had looked like 1905 over again; then in the second game, the A’s long, lean yokel third baseman J. Franklin Baker had suddenly and incredibly knocked a home run off Rube Marquard, the Giants amazing young pitcher.  Baker, who had hit only 9 homers all season, had tagged the 22-year-old Giant and two runs had come in – and the final had stood 3-1.

The papers which I read, as the morning wore on, were still full of that home run and its aftermath.

From the start of the series the newspapers had been publishing syndicated articles signed by Giant and Athletic stars – the real start of the “ghost writers” whose spurious trade flourished so long but which the better papers in time eliminated. And in the article signed by Mathewson the day after Marquard’s disaster it had been said that Rube had lost the game by failing to obey orders.  The article rebuked the boy for throwing Baker the high outside pitch he liked, instead of the low fast one he didn’t like and which McGraw had ordered.

Headline from Mathewson's ghosted column after Baker's First home run - New York Times - October 17, 1911

The rebuke had been a sensation which grew in the third game when Baker had hit another homer off of Mathewson himself, and been the main wrecker of the great man’s long sway over the A’s.  Up to the ninth inning of that third game Matty had kept command.  Always when the Athletics had got men on bases he had turned on his magic.  As he went to the bench at the end of the eighth, New York had risen and given him a tremendous ovation, for in 44 innings of World Series play, 1905 and 1911, he had allowed the Mackmen exactly one run – and the A’s were hitters, indeed.  Their season average for 1911 had been .297.

Then in the ninth, Eddie Collins had gone out, and only two men had stood between Matty and his fifth series victory over his victims.  Up had come Baker with the American League fans begging him to do to Matty what he had done to Marquard – and, incredible as it seemed, he did.

As home runs go, it hadn’t been much more than a long fly ball that sailed into the convenient right-field stand at the Polo Grounds, but it went far enough to tie the score and give Baker a nickname for life – “Home Run” Baker.

Snodgrass, the Giants center fielder, one of the smartest and greatest of base runners, had ripped Baker’s trousers almost off him, sliding into third in the first of the 10th inning.  With McGraw snarling, railing, jeering from the coaching line, the Giants made no secret of their hatred of Baker.  To them he was merely a lucky lout, a greenhorn who had by sheer accident homered off the two top pitchers of the season.

A view of the field during the second game from the right field corner - note the fans "sitting" on a pole, far left - Philadelphia Inquirer - October 17, 1911

But Baker had hit again, a scratch single in the eleventh which had been part of making of the run which had won, and Marquard in his “ghosted” article had quipped at Mathewson’s advice.

All that was in everybody’s mind – and mine, as on October 24 the fourth game came up.  The papers had had time to chew the sensation over and over, for it had rained for a week after the third game and now, with seven day’s rest, Mathewson was to try again – this time in Shibe Park.

The long delay hadn’t cooled excitement.  The press box was still as crowded as at the opening game.  This was the first World Series to be handled in the modern publicity fashion – the first to have as many as 50 telegraphers on the job – the first to wire the game play-by-play to points as distant as Havana, Cuba – the first to which newspapers in the Far West and South sent their own writers.  And though the A’s now had a lead of two games to one, the threat of the Giants was still great enough to keep fever high.

Michael "Nuf Ced" McGreevy Collection - Boston Public Library

It was a little after 1 o’clock when my long vigil ended.  Onto the field came the Giants with their immemorial swagger, chips still on their shoulders – the cocky, ornery, defiant men of Muggsy McGraw – the rip-roaring demons who had that season of 1911 set a record of 347 stolen bases – a record which would stand for another 31 years without any club ever coming nearer to it than the Senators’ 288 in 1913.

And here at long last they were.  I knew them from their pictures as, clad in dangerous black, they came strutting across toward their dugout.  McGraw had dressed his men in black, back in 1905 when he had humbled the Athletics, and he was playing hunches now.

Muggsy was first – stocky, hard-eyed.  Behind him came slim, handsome Snodgrass, the great base-stealer who was a genius at getting hit by pitched balls and in scaring infielders with his flashing spikes.  Then came swart, ominous Larry Doyle; lantern-jawed Art Fletcher; Buck Herzog, whose nose curved like a scimitar; lithe little Josh Devore; burly Otis Crandall; flat-faced mahogany-colored Chief Meyers, the full-blooded Indian; Fred Merkle, all muscles even in his jaws, a lion-heart living down the most awful bonehead blunder ever made in baseball.

Rube Marquard

There came Marquard, 6 feet 3, his sharp face wreathed in a smile – his head tilting to the left at the top of a long wry neck – Marquard the meteoric.  At 19 years of age he had been bought at a record price from Indianapolis and had immediately flopped two straight years for McGraw, becoming the nationally goatish “$11,000 lemon.”  Then in 1911, he had flamed out, won 24 games and become the “$11,000 beauty.”

As the Giants began to toss the ball around, I couldn’t see my hero, the Mathewson who I had come to see, the great one who from the time I was 9 I had pretended I was, playing ball in the Indiana cow pasture, throwing his famous “fadeaway” which, for me, never came off.  Then, suddenly, there he was, warming up and growling “Who am I working for, the Giants or the photographers,” as the cameramen, not 20 feet from my popeyed head, begged him for poses.

I was let down for a minute.  He didn’t speak like a demi-god, but as I stared, he looked it, all the same.  He held his head high, and his eye with slow, lordly contempt swept the Athletics as they warmed up across the field.  He was 31, all bone and muscle and princely poise.  Surely he would get those Athletics today and put the Giants back in the running.  Surely his unique “fadeaway,” the curve that broke backward, his speed, his snapping curve, his fabulous brain couldn’t be stopped.  It had been luck that had beaten him in the last game.  Now he’d get them.

My eye never left him till the bell rang, and he strode, hard but easy, with the swing of the aristocrat, into the dugout and little Josh Devore went up to hit.

Josh singled, Doyle tripled, Snodgrass scored Larry with a long fly.  Black figures were flying everywhere.  The big copper-colored Chief Bender on Mack’s mound was wobbling, and when the side was finally out he practically ran for the dugout.  Later, we learned, he had run in to cut out bandages from his ribs, from an old injury.  After that he was to be unworkable.

Up came the Athletics. Matty, as though in princely disdain, fanned the first two men.  The third man, Eddie Collins, singled.  Here came Baker, his sun-tanned face tense, his bat flailing – the air thick with one word from 25,000 throats, “Homer! Homer!”

Matty studied him as a scientist contemplates a beetle, then struck him out!  What I yelled, I don’t know.  All I remember is standing there bellowing and paying no heed to the wadded newspapers the Athletic fans around me threw.  It was wonderful.

John Meyers and Charles Bender

In the fourth, Baker came up to start it and doubled.  Dannie Murphydoubled, Harry Davis doubled.  Ira Thomas hit a sacrifice fly – three runs.  It couldn’t be.  Up came Baker again in the fifth with Collins on first and another double boomed across the diamond.  I saw Snodgrass eventually stop it, but he didn’t really have it in his glove at all.  It had stuck in my gullet.

Right in front of me an unthinkable thing happened.  Hooks Wiltse, the southpaw, began warming up for the Giants.  Was Matty knocked out?  Another figure rose from the bull pen.  Rube Marquard.  He didn’t warm up, he only strolled up and down, a great sardonic grin on his face.  The fans around me were screaming at him, “You’re even with Matty now, Rube! He won’t tell you what to pitch anymore!” etc., etc.  Rube smirked at them.

Matty got by without more scores, but in the seventh with a man on third Christy walked Baker and Shibe’s walls waved in a cyclone of “boos.” I wished I was dead.

The eighth.  A pinch hitter went up for Mathewson.  I was sorry I hadn’t died in the seventh.  Finally it was all over.

Like Lewis, the Philadelphia Inquirer believed the world stopped for the 1911 Fall Classic

I walked out through 25,000 of the most loathsome individuals ever created – all jeering at Mathewson, all howling Baker’s virtues.  I dragged my feet this way and that trying to escape the currents of fans.  At the end of a dolorous mile I stopped at a saloon.  I had never had a drink.  Now was the time.

“Beer,” I said in the voice of Poe’s raven.

“You ain’t 21,” the bartender rasped.  Then he took a second look, and saw that I was 100 years old, and splashed a great stein in front of me.

I took one swallow.  It was bitter, just as bitter as everything else in the world.  I laid down a nickel and walked out.  Every step of the way downtown I kept telling myself that in my coffin, some day, there’d be only room for one thing besides myself – my hatred of the Athletics.

But what I started out to tell was about my greatest day in baseball.  That came three years later, October 9, 1914, when the lowly despised Boston Braves walloped, humbled, trampled, laughed at the lofty Athletics to the tune of 7 to 1.  I came out of Shibe Park, spent hours hunting that same saloon, but I couldn’t find it. It had to be that one.  What I wanted to do was to walk in all alone – find nobody else in there – order two beers, and when the bartender looked inquiringly at the extra one, say to him in a condescending voice, “Oh, that? That’s for Mathewson.”

A Hundred Years Later - Remembering One of Baseball's Greatest Games

My first World Series experience was the 1956 Fall Classic when my beloved Brooklyn Dodgers fell to the hated New York Yankees in seven games.  Three of the next four series also went seven games, culminating with the 1960 Yankees – Pirates series, decided by one of the greatest games of all time.  Based on that experience, I grew up assuming a long series full of dramatic moments was the norm.  Only much later did I realize that like the early Super Bowls, there wasn’t much drama in the first 20 World Series.  Through 1923, only two went seven games with the 1909 Pirates-Tigers series ending with an anti-climactic 8-0 Pittsburgh triumph.  The sole exception, and it was a big exception, was the 1912 Giants – Red Sox series where Boston won an epic seventh game with a come-from-behind rally in the bottom of the 10th. 

Official 1924 World Series Program

The long drought of World Series excitement ended in 1924 with the first of three consecutive seven-game series each with a dramatic, tension-filled final game.  The 1924 series stands out because like the 1960 version it ended with one of the greatest games ever played.  Incredibly, a Kinogram video of highlights from that game survives in the Library of Congress. The 1924 contenders couldn’t have been more different.  Representing the senior circuit were John McGraw's New York Giants appearing in the World Series for the fourth straight time and ninth overall. On the American League side, not only were the Washington Senators in their first World Series, only two of their players had any post-season experience. 

Unlikely American League champions, the Washington Senators were no longer "First in War, First in Peace and Last in the American League" 

Among those playing in their first World Series was Washington’s Hall of Fame pitcher Walter "Big Train" Johnson. After years of pitching for bad teams, Johnson, now 37, finally had an opportunity to cap off his brilliant career with a World Series victory.  Johnson started the first game for Washington and suffered a heartbreaking 4-3 loss in 12 innings, a game John McGraw claimed was the greatest in World Series history.  Given his long experience with October baseball, McGraw knew what he was talking about, but the Giant manager should have held that thought for a few days.  Johnson also lost the fifth game, but Washington won three of the other four games setting up the first seventh game since in a dozen years. 

Walter Johnson - the "Big Train"

Considering what happened in the seventh game of the 1924 series, it’s no surprise that when the Chicago Daily News began asking players to choose their greatest day in baseball, four picked the October 10, 1924 game.  To remember, in a small way, the 100th anniversary of that memorable day, this post will use two of those memories to give a sense of what made the game so special.  The recollections of Johnson and his catcher, Muddy Ruel are especially important because the two were at the heart of the action and had, to put it mildly, endured a frustrating series to that point.  Johnson had come up short twice in his attempts to win a World Series game and it looked unlikely he would have another chance.  Ruel wasn’t doing much better, going hitless through six games.  

Herold "Muddy" Ruel

Washington scored first on 26-year-old player-manager Bucky Harris'fourth-inning home run.  Beyond that, however, for the first seven innings, Washington was helpless against Giants pitcher Virgil Barnes who faced only 23 batters, allowing just one run on three hits.  New York rallied in the sixth, scoring three times for a 3-1 lead going to the bottom of the eighth.  With only six outs left, Washington’s chances were looking increasingly bleak.  But with one out, pinch hitter Nemo Leibold came to the plate.

Virgil Barnes

Muddy Ruel

“In the eighth Leibold doubled for us and I was up.  I hadn’t made a hit in the whole series, and I could feel the crowd sigh as I came to the plate.  I singled.  Then with two out Harris bounced a sharp one a little to Lindstrom's left.  It hopped over Freddie’s head and, coming in behind Liebold, I scored the tying run."

At 18, Hall of Famer Fred Lindstrom was, and remains, the youngest player ever to play in the World Series

A seventh and deciding World Series game was now tied headed to the top of the ninth – the stuff of baseball legends. But what happened next drove the excitement to a new level.

Muddy Ruel

"The yell from the crowd [when I scored the tying run] wasn’t any louder or longer, however, than a few minutes later when Walter Johnson came out to pitch the ninth.  Washington was crazy for him to get even for the two lacings the Giants had given him."

Stanley "Bucky" Harris

Walter Johnson

"I’ll always believe that Harris gambled on me because of sentiment, but he said no.  He just told me: You’re the best we got Walter . . . we've got to win or lose with you.”

Johnson got the first out in the top of the ninth bringing up the dangerous Frankie Frisch.

Muddy Ruel

“That dad-gummed Frisch hit a triple to center. The ball seemed never to stop rolling and I was crazy for fear Frisch would come clear home.”

Frankie Frisch reaches third with the potential go-ahead run

Walter Johnson

“We decided to pass Ross Young and then I struck out George Kelly [Kelly hit 21 regular season home runs and led the National League with 136 RBIs] and "Irish" Meusel grounded to third.”

In the bottom of the ninth, Washington had runners on first and third with only one out, but a double play ended their chance for a walk-off win.

After getting through the top of the tenth, Johnson came to the plate with an opportunity to help his own cause. According to sportswriter Bill Corum,” Johnson “ drove a mighty fly to deep left center, but it lacked a few feet of being long enough for a home run, which would have turned a great game into an epic.”

George "High Pockets" Kelly - one of four Hall of Famers that Johnson struck out in the seventh game

Still tied at 3-3, the game headed to the top of the eleventh.  The Giants had a runner on second with one out and Frisch, Ross Youngs and Kelly, all future Hall of Famers coming up.  According to Corum “There was a prayer on every pitch [to Frisch], but there was something else on them too.  Frisch will tell you that.  He swung three times and sat down.”  It was the Fordham Flash’s only strikeout in 30 at-bats in the series. Johnson then walked Youngs intentionally and struck out Kelly for the second time.  In his four innings of relief, Johnson struck out five – all future Hall of Famers.

Washington had two on and two out in the bottom of the eleventh but couldn’t score.  

New York got a runner on base in the top of the 12th but he was stranded. Once again Washington came up with a chance to win the game and the series.

Hank Gowdy

Muddy Ruel

“Miller started our 12th going out at first.  I hit a high foul over the plate, and everybody said, “Two outs,” but Hank Gowdy, the Giants catcher, stepped on his mask, stumbled, dropped the ball, and on the next pitch, like a sinner forgiven, a lifer pardoned, I doubled, my second hit of the whole series."

Johnson reached first on an error, while Ruel stayed at second.

Muddy Ruel

"[Earl" McNeeley up.  He bounced one sharply but straight to Lindstrom, who was about 12 feet from third base.  Running hard, I figured all I could do on a sure out like that would be to throw myself to the left of the diamond in front of Freddie and try to get him to try and tag me instead of throwing to first.  I saw Freddie hold his hands ready at his chest for the ball, then I saw him jump up.  The ball had hit a pebble and bounced way over his head.  I swerved back into the baseline, tagged third and came home with the winning run.  Meusel had no chance to get me. It was over.  We were in!”

Ruel nears home with the winning run

Walter Johnson

"I could feel tears smarting in my eyes as Ruel came home with the winning run.  I’d won. We’d won.  I felt so happy that it didn’t seem real.  They told me in the clubhouse that President Coolidge kept watching me all the way into the clubhouse and I remember someone yelling: “I’d bet Cal’d like to change places with you right now, Walter."

A long time later Mrs. Johnson and I slipped away to a quiet little restaurant where I used to eat on Vermont Avenue, in Washington and do you know that before we were through with our dinner 200 telegrams had been delivered there.  I never thought so many people were pulling for me to win, because the Giants were pretty popular.  When we packed up and went home to Kansas we had three trunks full of letters from fans all over the world.  Mrs. Johnson answered about 75 every day for me . . . and we still didn’t finish until after Christmas."

In the 100 years since that memorable day in Washington, baseball has had no shortage of great games.  Few, however, were the final act on the game's biggest stage for its ultimate prize.  Ruel and Johnson's personal memories help us to remember and commemorate a game that should never be forgotten.

When September Still Mattered - To the Last Pitch

St. Louis' loss in Pittsburgh and Brooklyn's sweep in Boston produced another 180-degree emotional shift in a pennant race already full of twists and turns.  Somewhat surprisingly, the first loss to the Pirates hadn't dampened the optimism in St. Louis. The prevailing attitude was that even if the Cardinals lost again in Pittsburgh, things “still would be all right” because the Dodgers weren’t going to sweep the doubleheader in Boston.  But now that what seemed impossible had happened, St. Louis' pennant hopes suffered a major hit.  Meanwhile, in Brooklyn, the lament that the World Series ticket process was a mere formality, turned into a sunrise celebration at Grand Central Station.  Cheering fans and the Dodger Sym-Phony band greeted the 6:30 a.m. train from Boston.  Recognizing the race was far from over and more prudent than Cardinals manager Dyer, Burt Shotton deflected a reporter’s question about the team’s pennant chances by replying “Good morning!”

The situation as play began on Saturday, the next to the last day of the season  - St. Louis Globe-Democrat - October 1, 1949

But no matter how deep the despair in St. Louis, the Cardinals, like the Dodgers, still had their fate in their own hands.  If St. Louis won the three games with the last-place Cubs, they too were guaranteed no worse than a first-place tie. Winning the first game would be a major step in the right direction, tying them with the idle Dodgers.  The Cardinals got off to a good start, scoring twice in the top of the first, but the lead proved short-lived.  In the bottom of the inning, Max Lanier, who had shut the Dodgers out in his last start, surrendered back-to-back home runs.  Chicago took a 4-2 lead in the third and the Cardinals never caught up, losing 6-5.  With only two games left, St. Louis was one back in a race, they had seemingly controlled just a few days earlier.

Dick Young - acerbic New York Daily News reporter.  Earlier in the 1949 season he had accused the Dodgers of choking and lobbied for the firing of manager Burt Shotton

Saturday began with the possibility of a Brooklyn pennant by nightfall or a flat-footed tie after 153 games.  In Chicago, Dyer chose veteran Harry Brecheen, the winner of three games in the 1946 World Series. Chicago countered with Bob Chipman who hadn't won a game in almost three months.  The matchup clearly favored the Cards, but the Cubs weren’t finished playing spoiler.  In the bottom of the first, Chicago’s leadoff batter, Hal Jeffcoat homered on Brecheen’s first pitch. It was only Jeffcoat’s second home run of the season.  If that wasn’t enough, Hank Sauer drove in the Cubs' second run with a “freak” double, hit while falling away from the plate.  The two first-inning runs were enough as the Cards managed only one run, leaving 12 men on base.  Just over 20,000 spectators, mostly Cardinal fans, watched and suffered through the 3-1 loss.  About 2,000 remained in their seats for the ultimate exercise in scoreboard-watching.

Although he was from Brooklyn and began his career there, Bob Chipman's greatest contribution to the Dodgers was pitching for the Cubs when he beat the Cardinals on the season's next to last day. 

They were following the score from Philadelphia, where earlier a crowd dominated by Dodger fans “stormed the Shibe Park gates . . . and brought with them a World Series atmosphere.”   They were rewarded with "a brilliantly waged duel" worthy of any Fall Classic  Playing the spoiler role to the hilt, the Phillies started Ken Heintzelman who was 5-0 against Brooklyn.  Burt Shotton chose Ralph Branca because he had recovered from his blister, regained his manager’s trust or Shotton had no other options – perhaps all of the above.  Brooklyn led 2-0 after two innings, but as Dick Young warned ominously, it “should have been closer to 20-0.”  And it didn’t get much better on a day the Dodgers got nine hits, benefitted from 11 walks, but left 15 men on base.  Brooklyn led 3-1 going to the bottom of the sixth, only 12 outs away from the National League pennant. But the lead quickly evaporated on Dick Sisler’s triple and Del Ennis’ home run. 

In 1949 fans had limited ways to scoreboard watch.  Newspapers tried to help out by updates in the different editions published throughout the day.  Here the Eagle got a little carried away with the use of the word "rout" - Brooklyn Daily Eagle - October 1, 1949

Unwilling to press his luck with Branca, Shotton brought in seldom-used, second-year pitcher Carl Erskine, but the move blew up in the Brooklyn manager's face. Seminick apparently determined to deny Brooklyn the pennant singlehandily, greeted Erskine with a home run.  After the next two batters reached base, Shotton turned to Jack Banta who had failed so miserably against the Phils a week earlier.  This time the result was different.  Banta needed only one pitch to induce Mike Goliat to hit into an inning-ending double play.  Brooklyn tied the game in the top of the eighth, but with two on and one out, they were unable to take the lead.  

Wally Jones' eighth-inning home run meant the race would go down to the season's last day - Philadelphia Inquirer - October 2, 1949

Understandably wanting to win a pennant that was so tantalizingly close, Shotton brought in Preacher Roe, hoping the left-hander could duplicate his recent magic in relief.  Roe, however, typically needed more rest than other pitchers and had gone nine innings just two days earlier.  It was, as the Eagle noted, an act of “desperation.”  The Dodger left-hander got out of a jam in the seventh, but his luck ran out in the eighth.  After a one-out walk, Willie Jones hit a home run to put the Phils ahead 6-4 and Brooklyn had no answers in the ninth.  At Wrigley Field the final score produced a "roar . . . [that] echoed over the neighborhood.” Almost simultaneously, Dodger fans in Philadelphia headed for trains, cars and hotels frustrated over another missed opportunity and worried about what tomorrow would bring

Philadelphia's Ken Heintzelman was a Dodger killer up until the last game of the season.

Over the course of the 1949 National League season, 620 games had been played without determining a champion.  However, as the players and fans woke up on Sunday, October 2nd, the possibilities were clear.  St. Louis’ only hope was a win and a Dodger loss to force a tie and a playoff series.  Otherwise, their season was over.  Brooklyn by virtue of its one-game lead knew its season couldn’t end that day.  Either a win or a Cardinals' loss gave Brooklyn the pennant while if St. Louis’ hopes were realized, the Dodgers would play in a best-of-three playoff series.  Given the painful memories of the 1946 playoff loss to these same Cardinals, neither the Dodger players nor fans wanted to repeat that experience.  But since the Phillies had come from behind to beat Brooklyn twice in one week, no one thought a victory in Sunday’s finale would be easy.

Dodger fans at Shibe Park hoping their heroes will make their signs a reality on the scoreboard - Philadelphia Inquirer - October 3, 1949

As limited as the Cardinals' chances were, almost 31,000 fans, most of them rooting for St. Louis crowded into Wrigley Field.  Mercifully for their sake, the Cardinals wasted little time doing their part, jumping off to a 6-1 lead and coasting to a 13-5 victory.  With their task in hand, the Cardinal faithful at Wrigley Field and those listening on the radio concentrated on updates from Philadelphia.  In the greater New York area, Dodger fans tuned into Red Barber’s radio broadcast.  Others, determined to see for themselves, again flocked to Shibe Park.  Unscientifically, Dick Young estimated that 35,000 of the 36,765 on hand were Dodger fans, giving Brooklyn no shortage of fan support.  A parking lot with cars from every Middle Atlantic and New England state except Maine confirmed that it was another “World Series atmosphere.”

Winner-take-all pennant races offer players the chance for redemption in crucial moments.  In 1949 no one epitomized that role more than Brooklyn's Jack Banta.

Once again it was a game worthy of the Fall Classic.  Brooklyn struck first, scoring five times in the third.  When the score was posted at Wrigley Field, Cardinal fans let out disappointed “ahs and ohs.” Just an inning later, however, the Phillies cut the margin to 5-4, and the St. Louis faithful responded with “tremendous shouts of joy”.  The key blow was another home run by Willie Jones, this time a three-run shot.  Brooklyn added two runs in the fifth on Campanella’s double, but the Brooklyn catcher was stranded at third.  Rex Barney relieved Newcombe in the fourth, gave up one run in the fifth and then got in trouble in the sixth.  With two out, two on and one in, Shotton once again turned to Jack Banta who allowed a game-tying single.  A “thunderous shout” greeted the score at Wrigley Field.  It was the final emotional swing of the pennant race with Cardinal fans seeing a possible path to the pennant while Dodger fans feared the worst.

Pee Wee Reese slides across the plate with the run that gave the Dodgers the lead in the top of the tenth.  Brooklyn Daily Eagle, October 3, 1949

Although Banta got out of the inning without further damage, Dodger fans couldn't have been confident with their team’s fate in the hands of someone who had failed so miserably just a week ago.  To make matters worse, Dodger killer, Heintzelman took over the pitching for Philadelphia.  In another moment of frustration, the Dodger loaded the bases in the top of the seventh but failed to score.  However, Banta, with the pennant in the balance, rose to the occasion, setting the side down in order in the seventh and eighth. But in the ninth, he walked the leadoff batter, putting the winning run on base and offering Philadelphia the chance for a walk-off win.  Banta, however, was still up to the challenge and retired the next three batters.  Finally, in the tenth, Brooklyn broke through with two runs giving Brooklyn a 9-7 lead.  

 

Some of the estimated 25,000 fans waiting for their Dodgers at Grand Central Station.  Note the relatively diverse crowd - Brooklyn Daily Eagle - October 3, 1949

To add one final stressful moment to the race, the Phillies got a runner on base in the bottom of the tenth, bringing the tying run to the plate. But Luis Olmo caught Richie Ashburn’s fly ball for the last out and Dodger fans let loose “a demonstration of unrestrained joy that sent thrills up and down the spines of many neutral observers." A joy that echoed throughout countless homes, bars and other gathering places back in Brooklyn. To Stan Baumgartner of the Philadelphia Inquirer it was a game “that for tense moments, spine thrilling situations and crowd enthusiasm far out shadowed a World Series contest and has seldom been equaled in regular season play.”  But Dodger captain Pee Wee Reese might have put it best when he said, “Even though we won, I could sit right down and cry.”  For very different reasons, many in both St. Louis and Brooklyn were ready to join him.  September had indeed mattered.

When September Still Mattered - The Spoilers

While the Dodgers enjoyed the luxury of a charter plane flight home, the 1949 National League pennant race changed course.  With head-to-head competition complete, the Dodgers and Cardinals entered the last lap on parallel tracks.  Blocking their way to the finish line were teams with seemingly little to play for, probably looking forward to the end of a long season.  But teams with nothing to play for also have nothing to lose.  And even if they had no chance for postseason play, some players and sometimes entire teams had extra motivation to be a spoiler – to deny the contenders a place in the World Series. Regular season games of this magnitude are rare today, but when there was only one winner, they could and often did, have a major impact on the final result. 

The situation when play began on Saturday, September 24 - Brooklyn Daily Eagle - September 24, 1949

On paper, the Cardinals appeared to have the easier path to the pennant.  St. Louis would play sixth-place Pittsburgh twice and cellar-dwelling Chicago five times.  Brooklyn, on the other hand, had two games with fourth-place Boston and four against the third-place Philadelphia Phillies. The quality of the opposition didn’t matter much on Saturday, September 24 when both teams won easily.  Form also seemed to be holding on Sunday when the Cards handled the Cubs with little difficulty and the Dodgers led Philadelphia 3-1 after seven innings.  Brooklyn might have had a larger lead but for Phillies catcher Andy Seminick. Demonstrating how much a player with little to gain could hurt a contender’s chances, Seminick short-circuited two Doger threats by picking runners off base.  But Brooklyn led 3-1 behind Ralph Branca who had limited the Phils to five hits and one run while striking out nine.

Phillies Catcher Andy Seminick

Considering Branca’s dominant performance, Dodger fans had to be shocked to see rookie Jack Banta heading to the mound for the top of the eighth.  An explanation of sorts was offered over the public address system, claiming a blister had broken on Branca’s throwing hand.  Since it was well known that Dodger manager Burt Shotton’s confidence in Branca was “well disguised,” the move and the explanation seemed suspicious.  Unfortunately, it didn’t take long for the Phillies to turn a questionable move into a controversy that threatened Brooklyn’s pennant hopes. Philadelphia quickly tied the game and Seminick just as promptly untied it with a two-run homer that sealed a 5-3 Phillies win.  Whether or not the Philadelphia catcher had any special motivation for beating Brooklyn is unknown, but his two pick-offs, topped off with a game-winning home run positioned him for a special place in the Dodgers' hall of infamy. 

Ralph Branca 

Any other time, Seminick’s performance would have been the story, but the New York City newspapers jumped on the so-called “bogus blister.”  Shotton claimed that when he questioned catcher Roy Campanella, the Brooklyn receiver said the blister was limiting Branca to his fastball and he was losing his effectiveness.  Branca disagreed which reportedly led to “words” between the two battery mates.  Needless to say, as Tommy Holmes wrote in the Brooklyn Daily Eagle, “the second guessers are having a field day.”  Anticipating the worst Dick Young of the Daily News, no fan of Shotton, predicted if Brooklyn lost the race, the manager's “guess,” would go down in Dodger history “as one of the greatest human skulls of all time.”

When Leo Durocher was suspended for the entire 1947 season, literally right before opening day, Burt Shotton was the last-minute replacement.  

Sunday's results marked another dramatic shift in both teams' outlook. With St. Louis ahead by 1 ½ games and only five games to play (four for Brooklyn), the Globe-Democrat's front page proclaimed “The Cards close in on the pennant.”  Equally confident, the Post-Dispatch published the so-called "magic number."  Any combination of four Cardinal wins and Dodger losses would give St. Louis the flag.  The newspapers’ confidence was shared by the Cardinal players who dubbed their train to Pittsburgh, the “pennant special.”  Manager Eddie Dyer agreed, telling reporters “It looks like we’re going to make it.”  Also encouraging was word that World Series tickets had arrived in St. Louis.  Permission from the Commissioner’s office to "print the tickets" was an old September baseball tradition that no longer exists.  In a far less technology-enhanced world, processing World Series tickets was labor intensive. In St. Louis, it took 15 clerks until midnight to process 115,000 requests for just over 31,000 tickets.

Optimistic Cardinals manager Eddie Dyer

The Dodgers' announcement of World Series ticket sales a few days later seemed “a shallow formality” to Dick Young.  The dramatic swing from optimism to gloom set in right after the loss to the Phillies with the Eagle proclaiming Brooklyn was now “virtually counted out of [the] pennant race.” Tommy Holmes agreed the outlook was bleak, comparable to “climbing up the Palisades on skates.”  Roscoe McGowan took an equally negative, but more poetic approach, with his “Elegy Written in a Brooklyn Ballpark.”  Some of his sophisticated New York Times readers likely understood the literary allusion but didn’t appreciate it.  Less intellectual Cardinal fans reading the article, which was reprinted in the Globe-Democrat, may not have gotten the allusion but loved the sentiment.

St. Louis Globe-Democrat - September 27, 1949

Although some of the Cardinal fans' optimism consisted of hopes and dreams, another party, far more objective, also liked St. Louis’ chances. Oddsmakers made the Cardinals a 6-1 favorite to win the pennant while the odds were 4-1 against Brooklyn.  Whichever team won, they had to do so on the road.  St. Louis would visit sixth-place Pittsburgh for two games before finishing the season with a three-game series at last-place Chicago. Brooklyn had a more difficult path.  After two games at fourth-place Boston, the Dodgers would travel to Philadelphia for their last two games.  Just how difficult the third-place Phillies could be, was fresh in the Dodgers' minds.  While only one of the league’s eight teams (13%) would play in the postseason, 75% played games that mattered in the season’s last week, and 50% on the final weekend.  It’s unlikely a similar percentage of modern teams do so even with three wild cards.

While the Pirates were destined to finish sixth, 12 games under .500, the Pittsburgh club didn’t lack talent or motivation.  Especially dangerous was Ralph Kiner who threatened Babe Ruth’s home run record before ending the season with 54 round-trippers.  Perhaps more importantly, Pittsburgh had "an intense hate” for the Cardinals because of the beaning of their teammate Stan Rojeck and Enos Slaughter’s hard slide into Pirate second baseman Danny Murtaugh.  Also not lacking motivation was pitcher Murry Dickson who St. Louis sold to the Pirates in January.  Cast off to the purgatory of sixth place, Dickson had already beaten his former team four times in 1949.

A warning to the Cardinals of what awaited them in Pittsburgh - St. Louis Post-Dispatch - September 28, 1949

Even if the Cardinal players took the Pirates seriously, it did them little good.  St. Louis lost the opener 6-4, largely due to a Pittsburgh grand slam home run not by Kiner, but a “shot” off the bat of rookie Tom Saffer that hit the foul pole.  It was just the Pirate rookie’s second homer of the season, and he hit only four more in his 262-game major league career. The decisive blow reminded anyone who needed reminding that unsung players on poor teams sometimes wreak havoc with a contender’s pennant hopes.  The next game was rained out, but a day of rest made no difference.  Dickson finished his revenge tour with a 7-2 win the following day.  For the season, the exiled Dickson went 5-3 against his former team but only 7-11 against the rest of the league.

No matter how bleak the outlook, Brooklyn was loyal to their beloved Dodgers - Brooklyn Daily Eagle - September 29, 1949

The rain on Wednesday, September 28 also wiped out the Dodgers contest in Boston. For the Cardinals, the rainout only meant delaying their game one day, but in Boston, the Dodgers now had to play a doubleheader.  A game back of St. Louis, the Dodgers faced the unenviable task of winning two games on one day against Braves aces Warren Spahn and Johnny Sain.  The two led Boston to the National League pennant only a year ago and while they hadn’t been as good in 1949, they were still formidable foes.  In the first game, Brooklyn countered with Preacher Roe coming off his brilliant two-hit shutout of St. Louis a week ago.  The Dodger left-hander was equally dominant this time, throwing eight shutout innings (17 in a row) before allowing two meaningless runs in the ninth.  Meaningless because the Dodgers offense exploded for nine runs, led by three-run homers from Snider and Furillo.

Needless to say the umpires were not amused when Boston's Connie Ryan appeared in the on-deck circle wearing a raincoat.  He was summarily ejected. Boston Globe - September 30, 1949

Now trailing St. Louis by just one-half game, the Dodgers faced an additional foe in the second game, rain and cold weather that made the field as “dark as a pocket.”  Wasting none of the limited time available, the Dodgers blasted Sain for five runs in the first and added three more against his replacements in the second.  With the weather their only hope, Boston began stalling, but the umpires would have none of it, completing the required five innings for an 8-0 Brooklyn win.  Once again with their backs to the wall, the Dodgers had more than met the challenge, making Spahn and Sain “look like third stringers” in the process.  This time, however, the clutch performances didn’t just keep Brooklyn in the race. The Dodgers were now in first place by one-half game and in control of their own destiny.  Wins in the last two games in Philadelphia guaranteed Brooklyn nothing worse than a tie for first place.

When September Still Mattered - The Contenders

In his superb book, The Grandest Stage: A History of the World Series, Tyler Kepner reminds us why the Fall Classic is so special.  The choice of the word “stage” for the title is especially appropriate.  The World Series is, after all, the final act in a drama performed over seven long months.  Considering what’s at stake, it would seem to be the point in the season when players and managers feel the most pressure.  But according to Hall of Famer, Sandy Koufax, no stranger to tension-filled World Series games, that's not the case.  The real stress Koufax believes came from “the accumulated pressure” of “April to October [when] you play 162 games” “to separate the winner from the losers.”  The key to understanding Koufax’s argument is that there could only be one “winner,” but multiple “losers.”  The Dodger pitcher's comments were made near the end of over 60 years of winner-take-all pennant races when there was a solitary winner and seven or nine “losers.”

The situation on the morning of September 21 - Brooklyn Daily Eagle, September 21, 1949

Not long after Koufax’s comments, Major League Baseball introduced division play, followed by wild cards, currently three in each league.  As a result, there are now effectively six regular-season winners in both circuits.  The major disadvantage of the old system was the potential for a one-sided pennant race that could dampen, if not kill, fan interest.  But when a league was blessed with a close race, it generated weeks of nationwide energy, excitement and drama.  Whether or not the new system is better is debatable. That there is no going back to the old way is undeniable. But for the experience of those winner-take-all races to be forgotten is unforgivable.  To that end, over the next week, we will explore the last 10 days of the 1949 National League pennant race when the Brooklyn Dodgers and St. Louis Cardinals competed for a place on “the grandest stage.”  A time when September still mattered.

Part of the crowd at the first game of the September 21 day-night doubleheader.  This picture appeared on the front page of the St. Louis Globe-Democrat, September 22, 1949

On the morning of September 21, St. Louis had a minuscule 1 ½ game lead heading into the two contenders' final head-to-head matchup.  Today, important late regular season games attract fan and media attention, but the stakes in a winner-take-all race drove interest to the highest and most widespread level imaginable.  Even before this important series began, five New York newspapers had assigned reporters to cover the Cardinals on a daily basis.  From this point forward, pennant race coverage became front-page news, not just in Brooklyn and St. Louis, but throughout the league including Chicago, home of the last-place Cubs.  With a crucial three-game series on tap, working press from 28 out-of-town locations descended on St. Louis to keep their readers informed.

Ticket lines for the first game - St. Louis Globe-Democrat, September 22, 1949

No matter how vivid the writers’ descriptions, however, some fans had to see for themselves.  They came from all over the Midwest and Southwest, snapping up hotel rooms and filling local restaurants to capacity, something more characteristic of the World Series.  Also similar to the series, were the celebrities in the large crowd. Former heavyweight champion Joe Louis came to watch Dodger rookie ace Don Newcombe pitch.  Dizzy Dean was there too, rooting for his old team and doubtless reminiscing with anyone who would listen.  Also on hand was Kid Nichols, a great nineteenth-century pitcher and one of the newest members of the Hall of Fame. Local fans who couldn’t find an excuse to miss work relied on portable radios they “smuggled” into the office or office boys who made frequent trips to check the score.

Marty Marion was not the first, nor the last to fall victim to the arm of Carl Furillo - "the Reading Rifle" - St. Louis Post-Dispatch, September 22, 1949

Regardless of how fans followed the opening game of the day-night doubleheader, they were rewarded with a classic pitcher’s duel worthy of a tight pennant race.  St. Louis almost scored in the bottom of the first, but Brooklyn right fielder Carl Furillo threw Marty Marion out at home on what Cardinal manager, Eddie Dyer called the “greatest throw I’ve ever seen.”  The game was still scoreless in the bottom of the ninth when the Brooklyn players were sure Newcombe had struck out leadoff batter Enos Slaughter.  However, the umpire thought otherwise. Granted a reprieve, Slaughter doubled to put the winning run in scoring position.  An intentional walk and a bunt single loaded the bases with none out.  Suddenly, Jackie Robinson, still furious about the non-call on Slaughter, was ejected from the game.  Presented with a golden opportunity, St. Louis seized the moment and won on Joe Garagiola’s infield single.

The Cardinals win game one - St. Louis Post-Dispatch - September 22, 1949

Having seen their team win in dramatic fashion, Cardinal fans enjoyed the upside of the mood swings that were part of the DNA of winner-take-all pennant races.  The crowd erupted in an “ear splitting demonstration” which was “the signal for cheering all over the city and in hundreds of towns throughout the Midwest and Southwest.”  Attention then shifted to the night game.  Especially “ardent” were nine men who after watching the first game on television at Grady’s Bar, took their bar stools home to ensure their availability for the second game. Since they were good customers, James Grady, the owner, didn’t object.  Elsewhere the owners of some of the other 55,000 televisions in the St. Louis area found themselves “playing host to entire neighborhoods.”  So large were the gatherings that children were sent to bed early to make room for more adults.  They would have been well advised to remember that mood swings go both ways.

As advertised, Preacher Roe didn't cut an imposing figure - unless you had to bat against him

The excitement was understandable.  A split of the two remaining games would put St. Louis in a commanding position with only a half-dozen games left, while a sweep would effectively end the race. Brooklyn’s backs were to the wall and they needed a stopper on the mound.  Pitching for Brooklyn was Preacher Roe, a far less intimidating presence than Newcombe. So unimposing was Roe’s physique that one paper cruelly called him a “bag of bones.”  Even Roscoe McGowan of the more dignified New York Times got into the act, claiming the Dodger pitcher “has to stand up twice to cast a shadow.”  Appearances in this case, however, proved to be more than a little deceiving. Roe dominated St. Louis from start to finish.  The Dodger left-hander set the side down in order in all but two innings, allowing just two hits and no walks.  All told Roe faced only 28 batters in Brooklyn’s 5-0 victory.  

Carl Furillo

It was a clutch performance, but Brooklyn had little time to enjoy it.  As pleased as the Dodgers and their fans were with the win, there was another game to play. A St. Louis victory in the finale would put them up 2 ½ games, still very much in control of the race.  Having fought back from the brink, the Dodgers weren’t about to take a step backward.  Led by Carl Furillo’s five hits and seven RBIs, the Brooklyn offense erupted for a 19-3 rout. St. Louis’ emotional high after the first game was just a memory and the Dodgers returned home only ½ game off the lead. Now it was the Brooklyn rooters' turn to get excited.  Hundreds of fans, accompanied by a “big battery of photographers” met the team's flight at LaGuardia airport. But Dodger fans would have been well advised to remember just how fleeting such feelings had been in St. Louis.