What makes a baseball game so memorable that it lives in baseball history for years, if not forever. First of all, it must be important. Many games are exciting, but to be great, the game must have special meaning. But that by itself isn’t enough. Great baseball games must also be exciting. The New York Yankees 9-0 win over the Brooklyn Dodgers in the seventh game of the 1956 World Series was important, but no one would argue it was a great game. And to be truly great, an important and close game should also have some back and forth. One of the best examples is the seventh game of the 1960 World Series where the Pirates and the Yankees both led late in the game before Pittsburgh won on a home run in the bottom of the ninth.
The fourth game of the 1929 World Series meets all three criteria. With the Athletics ahead two games to one, the contest was without question important, either the Cubs would tie the series, or the Athletics would take a commanding three games to one lead. Since the final score was 10-8, there is no question the game was close. And there was definitely some back and forth, but not in the usual way. There was just one lead change, a very late one, but about as big a shift as can happen in a single inning. A lead change that caused 180-degree mood swings for both teams' fans.
It's no surprise two people who were there that day chose this game as their greatest day in baseball. One was Athletics third baseman, Jimmy Dykes, one of the key players in the unforgettable seventh inning. The other was Hal Totten, a writer for the Chicago Daily News and an early radio broadcaster. As a participant Dykes’ account is obviously important, but it, understandably, focuses almost exclusively on the Athletics point of view. Totten’s account provides both sides of this dramatic story, so I’ve opted to use his memory to give a fuller picture of an historic and truly great game.
Afterwards – months afterwards – that world’s series game of Saturday, October 12, 1929, began to fit itself into its proper niche in the baseball picture. But for a lurid half hour that pungent fall afternoon the diamond world pitched and tossed on its very foundations as the most murderous onslaught ever seen in the great classic rocked Shibe Park, Philadelphia, and stunned the more than 30,000 people gathered there. Therin lies the story of the greatest of many great days in baseball that I have had the good fortune to see.
It was the fourth game of the series between the Cubs and the Philadelphia Athletics. The games stood two to one for the A’s as the teams took the field that day. And along about three o’clock we of the Chicago press delegation were sitting smugly in our roosts in the press box or scattered through the second deck, happily composing glowing pieces about the amazing recuperative powers of the Cubs, the insults avenged and disgraces wiped out. Our Cubs were back on even terms with the Mighty Macks – and stood to win, once back at their beloved Wrigley Field.
Don’t think there weren’t insults to avenge or disgraces to be forgotten, either. Hadn’t the aged Connie Mack rubbed their noses in the dirt, when he started in the first game, one Howard Ehmke on the mound, a pitcher who hadn’t even been with his club during the last half of the season? And hadn’t that same forgotten, slow-balling Mr. Ehmke made ‘em smart by setting 13 of that great, slugging North Side ensemble down on strikes, a record by the way that still stands? And to top it off, hadn’t George Earnshaw and Lefty Grove – two gents who didn’t know what a slow ball looked like – stepped up the very next day to collaborate in another 13 strikeout debacle?
But in the third game, Guy Bush, he of the lion heart, the fellow who pitched only one way – bearing down – had started his mates on the rebound. Holding the mighty Al Simmons and Jimmy Foxx without a hit, he had turned back the A’s, 3 to 1. A three-run uprising in the sixth against Earnshaw had turned the trick. And then today. Ah, today. How beautiful was the sun; how warm that fall breeze; how satisfying that feeling of justification and redemption along about 3 o’clock.
In the fourth inning Kiki Cuyler rode all the way to third base when Bing Miller let his singled down the right-field line roll through to the wall. And after the dangerous Riggs Stephenson had been retired on a pop fly, rubbery Charlie Grimm, the rollicking gent who never quit, hammered a drive over the right-field wall for a home run. The Cubs led 2 to 0.
But that wasn’t all. With Charlie Root pulling out of tough jams, one after another, his mates set out to give him plenty to work on in the sixth. Rogers Hornsby smashed one that all but hit Jack Quinn in the face. It shot through into center field for a single. Roly-poly Hack Wilson stepped up and belted the first pitch into right field for a single, his second hit of the game. Hornsby stopped at second. But the famed Murderer’s Row was on the go. Cuyler missed two attempts to bunt and then sliced a single into right, Hornsby scoring, Wilson halting at third. Stephenson took a ball and then crashed a drive over second. Max Bishop got his glove on it, but it slithered into center field for another hit, Wilson scoring and Cuyler halting at second.
That was all for Quinn. Rube Walberg, who had made the Cubs eat dust when he relieved Earnshaw in the second game, took over on the mound. Charlie Grimm was the first to face him. He laid down a bunt. Walberg raced in, fielded it neatly, turned, and threw high over Jimmy Foxx’s head. As Miller chased the ball in deep right, Cuyler and Stevie counted and Grimm galloped all the way to third. Zach Taylor hit the first pitch and sent a fly to center. Mule Haas caught it and unloosed a great throw to the plate but Grimm, sliding desperately, won a close race with the ball. Root and Norm McMillan struck out. But what did it matter? Five more runs; 7 to 0 lead. Ho, hum.
And that wasn’t all. After Woody English flied out in the seventh, Hornsby drove a tremendous triple to left center. Wilson walked, and then, as the fickle Philadelphia crowd hollered for another hit, Cuyler cut a sizzling single past Jimmie Dykes and Rog dented the rubber. Three o’clock – and the Cubs led 8 to 0 going into the last half of the seventh. No wonder the sun shown bright and the nippy fall breeze lost its bite as the Chicago scribes culled their vocabularies for their rosiest words and most cheering phrases. Revenge was sweet. Root was avenging that tough luck, first game licking. With Malone and Bush and Root again, ready to follow up that drive, what was there to stop the Cubs? They were as good as champs right then.
But that was 3 o’clock. And certainly nobody had any notions of the shattering, murderous blow that was about to fall. The A’s came to bat in their half of the inning. The home fans settled into their seats after the traditional stretch, and few jeers greeted broad Simmons as he took his peculiar, spraddled-out stance at the plate. With nothing to lose, Al swung at the first pitch and there was a foul down the left-field line. The next was too far away to consider. He swung again and the ball crashed against the roof of the left-field stands, a mighty wallop. As Simmons jogged across the plate and turned toward the bench he spread his hands in a gesture of disgust. What a spot to waste a hit like that. His meaning was all too evident.
Then came Foxx, hitless for two days. He singled to right. Taylor went out to talk to Root, and when action was resumed Bing Miller hit an easy looper into short center. Wilson started in confidently, then came to a staggering stop. His arms waved wildly in front of his eyers. The sun – he’d lost the ball in the sun! Ah, he saw it again and resumed his dash toward the infield. But he was too late. The hesitation let the ball drop in front of him for a single. But why worry? It was still 8 to 1.
And then things really happened. Dykes singled to left, scoring Foxx. Boley singled to right center, Miller scoring. The Cubs bull pen became active. Art Nehf, Pat Malone and Fred Blake all started to warm up. George Burns batted for Pitcher Eddie Rommel. His short fly to left dropped into English’s glove for the first out, but Bishop singled over second and Dykes scored. Grimm wigwagged to the bull pen. In came Nehf, while the crowd, still fickle, strangely booed the stricken Root. Haas faced the Cub southpaw and lifted a fly to center. Wilson started for it. It looked like an easy out. But again Hack halted, sparred with the sun and then sprinted desperately for the wall.
It was too late. The ball sailed over his head. Boley scored, Bishop followed him across the platter and then came Haas, sliding across the plate in a shower of dust. A home run inside the park! The score? It was 8 to 7. It couldn’t be – but it was. Mickey Cochrane came next. The badly shaken Nehf walked him. The tying run was on base. Fred Blake came into pitch.
Simmons, who had opened the inning with that apparently harmless homer, came to bat again. Gone was that attitude of hopelessness. He clawed at the earth with his spikes. He swung himself almost off his feet, and hit a high bounder down the third base line. McMillan was set for it – but it took a high hop for a single. Runners on first and second and only one out, when the side could have been retired. Foxx again. A single to center, and Cochrane scored the tying run. It tied an old World Series record – 8 runs in one inning. Malone took over for Blake and his first pitch brushed the side of Miller’s face. Dykes up. A swing and a tremendous drive to deep left. Stephenson backed up to the wall, leaped in the air, tipped the ball and it dropped and rolled away. Simmons and Foxx scored.
No, the game wasn’t quite over. But nothing more happened. The curtain had dropped right then. The Cubs never came back, even though Malone pitched heroically to hold the A’s to two hits for eight innings the next day, only to lose 3 to 2 on a single, a homer and two doubles in the last half of the ninth.
It was a day never to be forgotten. The sun had set on the famous Murder’s Row. Joe McCarthy was through then and there – and knew it – although he was not relieved as manager until the next summer. Fifty Cubs struck out in that set of games – 26 in the first two days. They blew an 8-to-0 lead as the A’s counted 10 runs in one frame.
A great day. But oh, a horrible one.
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