Baseball around the World

Spalding's Australian Baseball Tour

Spalding’s Australian Baseball Tour

They set out from Chicago on October 20, 1888, and didn’t return to the United States until April 6, 1889. It was Albert Goodwill Spalding’s world tour, an attempt to spread the baseball gospel (and his sporting-goods empire) to the four corners of the known universe. Previously Spalding, Al Reach, and the Wright brothers had organized a midseason English tour in 1874 that pulled the Boston Red Stockings and Philadelphia Athletics out of league play for nearly two months. Cricket teams from Britain had toured the U.S. as early as 1859, and Harry Wright and Al Spalding wanted to return the favor. But when they got there, the Brits didn’t want to see baseball, they wanted cricket. The baseball players complied, and their unorthodox style of slugging won bemused praise.

The 1888 tour was comprised of the Chicago White Stockings, led by Cap Anson, who had also been part of the English tour fourteen years earlier, and an all-star group selected from other teams in both leagues (the All-Americas). After departing by rail from Chicago, the barnstormers played games in St. Paul and Minneapolis, then meandered through the West with stops to play games in Cedar Rapids, Des Moines, Omaha, Hastings, Denver, Colorado Springs, and Salt Lake City. They reached California in early November, buttressed by by such stragglers as John Ward and Cannonball Crane, who had been detained in St. Louis to complete the Giants’ victory over the Browns in the World Series.

First Nine cigars 1874, Boston vs Philadelphia Tour

First Nine cigars 1874, Boston vs Philadelphia Tour

The All-American Tourists, shown in this oversize, singularly splendid lithograph, played games in San Francisco and Los Angeles before setting sail (and steam) for the Sandwich Islands, known today as Hawaii. The main isle of Oahu had been the home for nearly forty years of none other than Alexander Cartwright, an original member of the Knickerbocker Base Ball Club of New York and known to Spalding and Ward as a pioneer of baseball. Hawaii was the first stop for Spalding’s Tourists, but they arrived in port late, on a Saturday, and playing ball on Sunday was out of the question. More important, they had to make up for days lost at sea, so, after the previous evening’s day’s festivities, the players didn’t even stay the night on Sunday. Spalding never did get to meet Cartwright.

The tour continued to New Zealand and Australia, and onward to Ceylon and Egypt. It proceeded to the mainland of Europe, with scenic stops to play ball at the Borghese Gardens in Rome (they tried for the Coliseum and were rebuffed) and next to the Eiffel Tower in Paris. They finished up in the British Isles, where the Queen’s subjects admired the way the Americans fielded but disapproved of the pitching (too difficult) and the batting (too weak, and, unlike cricket, too soon over).

The World Tourists in England.

The World Tourists in England, from Harry Palmer’s Athletic Sports in America, 1889.

The returning heroes were honored at a banquet at Delmonico’s restaurant in New York on April 8, 1889, where former National League president Abraham G. Mills declared that baseball was purely an American invention, and the audience responded by pounding the tables and shouting, “No rounders! No rounders!” Mark Twain, unwittingly assuming that the Tourists had played in Hawaii, reminisced about his own four months in the Sandwich Islands in 1866. He pointed up the incongruity of that sylvan setting and baseball, “the very symbol, the outward and visible expression of the drive and push and rush and struggle of the raging, tearing, booming nineteenth century.”

Delmonico’s in 1889, on 26th Street between Fifth Avenue and Broadway (later the Cafe Martin).

In the years to come, Spalding ballyhooed the importance of his two tours, but in truth both were artistic, financial, and ideological flops. The game took off in places visited not by ambassadors of baseball but by our military and our missionaries–Japan, Cuba, the Caribbean basin, Mexico. A 1913-1914 tour (populated by Nixey Callahan’s Chicago White Sox and John McGraw’s New York Giants) made a stop in Japan, and later had a grand return celebration in March 1914. That tour also zigzagged across the American West before heading across the ocean. Sixty-seven people were in the traveling party, including players’ wives and a recording scribe, Ring Lardner.

World Tour, 1913-14

World Tour, 1913-14

But the most important baseball tour took place in 1934, the second by major leaguers to Japan in the decade (another group had traveled there in 1931, including Hall of Famers Ty Cobb, Lou Gehrig, Lefty Grove, Al Simmons, and Frankie Frisch, as well as baseball’s unofficial ambassador to Japan, Lefty O’Doul). But the 1934 visit is the one given credit for finally turning the Japanese into huge baseball fans. Part of the reason was the cast: Babe Ruth, Jimmie Foxx, Charlie Gehringer, Lefty Gomez, and Rabbit Maranville, as well as Gehrig, Frisch, Simmons, O’Doul, and the spy Moe Berg. The Japanese lost every one of the eighteen games played, by wide margins, except one: Eiji Sawamura was the losing pitcher in a 1-0 thriller in which he struck out Gehringer, Ruth, Gehrig, and Foxx in succession. Two years later, Japan formed its own professional league. Today Japan’s equivalent of MLB’s Cy Young Award is the Sawamura Award (see:

Pedagogical demonstrations did not make baseball flourish in Colombo or Cairo, but competitive play turned the trick in Osaka and Tokyo.

“East is East, and West is West,” wrote Kipling, “and never the twain shall meet.” Yet isn’t it fascinating that baseball is the national game of the United States and of Japan, and is regarded by each country as the embodiment of its unique culture? We seem very different, Americans and Japanese, so how can baseball/besuboru perfectly mirror both? Is the game so different in each locale, or are the two peoples perhaps not so different after all?

The National Pastime 1985, art by Mark Rucker.

National Pastime 1985, cover Mark Rucker.

The game had been played in Japan since 1873, when instructor Horace Wilson taught it to his Japanese students. Visiting University of Washington students played Japanese teams in 1908 and lost four of ten games; the Reach All-Americas also came to Japan that year. Professional tours followed, with major-league baseball aggregations playing in Japan in 1913, 1920, 1922 (including Casey Stengel), 1928 (led by Ty Cobb), 1931, and 1934. In 1927 and 1932 the Philadelphia Royal Giants of the Negro Leagues toured, and they greatly impressed the Japanese with their competitive spirit (many of the white All-Stars took the exhibitions less seriously than the Japanese felt they should). By 1936 Japan had its first professional baseball league.

After a cessation of tours because of growing hostility between the nations, culminating in the Second World War, a U.S. team (Lefty O’Doul’s San Francisco Seals) returned to Japan in 1949. After that, November was typically marked by the appearance of a U.S. major league team, including the Dodgers, Yankees, or Giants.

The 1934 tour was memorable for the massive display of affection for Babe Ruth. In retrospect, however, when we think of that tour, we think of catcher-soldier-spy Moe Berg.

Japan today sends many of its stars to play in the U.S. Kipling could not have imagined this.

Nate Colbert’s Unknown RBI Record

Nate Colbert, 1972 Topps.

Nate Colbert, 1972 Topps.

My dear friend and frequent collaborator Bob Carroll died some years ago. I remember him for a myriad of personal things, but in his professional life  he was a Ripley-esque cartoonist and possessed a colorful writing style, unlike that of anyone else I knew (“He could hit home runs … but he also fanned more often than Scarlett O’Hara during a Georgia July.”) With SABR’s reissue of the first number of The National Pastime (1982), Bob springs back into action with this article, the opening one in that debut publication. (If you’d like to read the entire TNP, go here:

Nate Colbert set a single-season RBI record in 1972; hardly anyone noticed. Even today—ten years after the fact [ED: The record still stands, 43 years after the fact]—few fans and fewer record books are aware of the big right-handed slugger’s accomplishment. In fact, if it hadn’t been for his performance on August 1 of that year—the best single day ever enjoyed by a major-league hitter—he might not be remembered at all.

Some of Colbert’s obscurity may be blamed on the season. Nineteen seventy-two was not the happiest of baseball years. It began with Gil Hodges’ fatal heart attack at spring training and ended with Roberto Clemente’s tragic death in an airplane crash. In between, a player walkout shortened the season by 13 days.

Another strike against Colbert was his team. The ’72 San Diego Padres weren’t quite the worst club in the National League—the Phillies were .001 lower—but it was hard to get excited about anything that happened on a 58-95 team sporting a .227 team batting average. Unless you had a cousin on the roster, you probably wouldn’t even read the Padres’ box scores.

Nate Colbert; cartoon by Bob Carroll.

Nate Colbert; cartoon by Bob Carroll.

A third strike on Colbert was his habit of missing third strikes. He could hit home runs and keep his batting average higher than his weight, but he also fanned more often than Scarlett O’Hara during a Georgia July. On average, he struck out every fourth time he went to bat. Among ten-year men, only Dave Kingman has been easier prey.

All in all, Nate was the wrong player on the wrong ream in the wrong year to be making his mark on history.

His record doesn’t reveal itself by a cursory glance at his batting stats for 1972: a .250 average, with 38 home runs and 111 RBIs. Forget the 127 strikeouts and it’s a good year. But great? Record-setting?

Take a look at San Diego’s team batting. During the whole season, the Padres managed a mere 488 runs. Why, it seemed like the 1927 Yankees had that many by Memorial Day!

Now, put the figures together. Colbert batted in 22.75 percent of his team’s runs! Think of it this way: each batter makes up 11.1% of his team’s lineup; Colbert did the work of two and then some. No major-league batter has ever done more for his team.

“How Nate ever knocked in 111 runs that otherwise dismal season has puzzled the experts ever since,” says Padre statistician Mil Chipp. “He usually batted behind Derrel Thomas, Dave Roberts, and Jerry Morales. And none of them were that adept at getting on base. Thomas’s on-base percentage in 1972 was 29%, Roberts’ was 28% and Morales’ 31%.” Colbert himself led the team with his modest 34% OBP.

It was no contest in RBIs. Chipp points out: “The only Padre players ‘close’ to Nate … were Leron Lee (47) and Clarence Gaston (44). They were light years away.”

There is a certain element of controversy involved in any RBI record: is it the man or the opportunity? Ever since the ribbie was dreamed up, some fans have opposed it as a measure of individual achievement. At the end of the 1880 National League season, according to Preston D. Orem’s Baseball (1845-1881) from the Newspaper Accounts, “the Chicago Tribune proudly presented the ‘Runs Batted In’ record of the Chicago players for the season, showing Anson and Kelly in the lead. Readers were unimpressed. Objections were that the men who led off, Dalrymple and Gore, did not have the same opportunities to knock in runs. The paper actually wound up almost apologizing for the computation.”

Ernie Lanigan, patron saint of ribbies, in his 1922 Baseball Cyclopedia, observed, “As far back as 1879 a Buffalo paper used to include the runs batted in in the summary of the box score of the home game. Henry Chadwick urged the adoption of this feature in the middle ’80s and by 1891 carried his point so that the National League scorers were instructed to report this data. They reported it grudgingly and finally were told they wouldn’t have to report it.”

Lanigan took up the ribbie torch in 1907 for the New York Press, working up the figures annually. At last, on the request of the Baseball Writers’ Association, the major leagues added RBIs to their 1920 averages.

Yet, even more than a hundred years after RBIs were introduced, many fans view the stat skeptically. If a man singles, goes the argument, he has performed an individual act. But, to get a ribbie on that same single, he must have a teammate in scoring position. Colbert’s 111 is an excellent total, but how many more might he have driven home in 1972 had he played for heavy-hitting Pittsburgh? For the record, Pirate first baseman Willie Stargell drove in 112.

The woeful San Diego Padres of 1972.

The woeful San Diego Padres of 1972.

Looking at the percentage of a team’s runs driven in somewhat circumvents the anti-RBI argument. In theory, at least, a player on a light-hitting team with fewer opportunities to drive in runs can show his mettle by knocking in a high percentage. Conversely, a player with a group of bombers clustered around him in the batting order must drive in a much higher number to achieve the same percentage.

When Hack Wilson set the major-league record with 190 ribbies in 1930 [since revised upward, to 191–ED.], his team scored another 803. His percentage was 19.04. Lou Gehrig’s American League mark of 184 accounted for “only” 17.24 percent of the ’31 Yankees’ 1,067 runs. The accompanying chart shows all those players since 1900 who have knocked in 150 or more runs in a season, along with their teams’ runs and their percentages. It comes as no surprise that all the 150-plus boys played on teams that scored a ton. Colbert’s Padres scored an ounce, but his percentage was three points better than the highest of the big RBI guys.

[In the years since Bob wrote this, Manny Ramirez drove in 165 in 1999, 16.35 percent of Cleveland’s 1009 runs that year. Sammy Sosa’s 160 for the Cubs in 2001 registered 20.60 percent; his 158 in 1999 yielded 19.01 percent. Alex Rodriguez’s 156 for the Yankees in 2007 registered 16.12 percent. Albert Belle had 152 for the White Sox in 1998 (17.65 percent); Andres Galaragga 150 for the Rockies in 1996, 15.61 percent;  Miguel Tejada 150 for the Orioles in 2004, 17.81 percent.–ED.]

As a matter of fact, only eight men in major league history [nine including Sosa in 2001–ED.]–from 1876 on–have topped the 20 percent mark. More men have hit .400.

Carroll_aThe first hitter to achieve the improbable 20 was, not surprisingly, Babe Ruth. What is indeed surprising is that the Babe did it before he became a Yankee. In 1919, his last season in Boston, he drove in 114 runs–a 20.13 clip–for the fifth-place Red Sox [An upward revision to the team’s run total since Bob wrote this have raised the mark from 20.13 to 20.18.–ED.] Although he topped that RBI total eleven times in a Yankee uniform, he never again drove in so high a proportion. (Note: some sources credit Ruth with only 113 RBIs in 1919, a mark of precisely 20 percent.)

It took 16 years before another player reached 20 percent. Then, the Braves’ Wally Berger chased home teammates at a rate of 22.61 (130 out of 575). Despite Berger’s efforts, the Braves won only 38 games and came in dead last on a stretcher. But Wally’s mark stood as the record until Colbert’s big year.

Swish Nicholson drove the Cubs up to fifth place in 1943 with his 20.25 percent (128 out of 632). The Cubbies were back in fifth place in 1959 when Hall-of-Famer Ernie Banks made the “20 Club” with 21.25 (143 out of 673). That performance earned Banks his second consecutive MVP award. Interestingly, he’s the only 20-percenter to be so honored by the BBWAA.Carroll_b

Jim Gentile became the fifth member of the society in 1961. His 20.41 percent (141 out of 691) was a big factor in lifting the Orioles into third place, but it went virtually unnoticed in the excitement over Roger Maris’s asterisk-pursuit. Maris was also crowned the RBI “leader” on the basis of one more ribbie than Gentile, but his percentage was only 17.17 (142 out of 827). [Maris has since lost one RBI, erroneously credited to him for a runner scoring from third on a double-play grounder.–ED.]

Big Frank Howard belongs in the 20-percenter Hall of Fame–he topped the magic mark twice. In 1968 with Washington, he knocked in 106 runs (out of 524) for a 20.23 percent. Two years later, he reached 20.13 (on 126 out of 626). Unfortunately, Washington finished last both years, but without Frank’s bat they would have finished in Guam.

Another two years went by before Colbert set the record. Since then only one player has been able to break the 20 barrier, Bill Buckner with 20.27 percent for the Cubs in last year’s strike-shortened season [plus Sosa in 2001–ED.] Buckner’s accomplishment is interesting in that it came on only 75 RBIs.

Most of the 20-percenters played on second-division teams not only in their big years, but for the majority of their careers; most of them might also be characterized as underrated. The relationship is not coincidental.

The key to Nate Colbert’s record occurred on August 1, 1972 in Atlanta, where the Padres met the Braves in a twi-night doubleheader. Colbert was among the league leaders in home runs and RBIs, but a slump had plunged his batting average toward .200. He’d also been forced to miss a couple of games the previous week when he’d injured a knee in a collision at home plate.

On the plane from Houston, Padre manager Don Zimmer asked Nate if he’d prefer to sit out another day or two. The big slugger insisted it didn’t matter how he felt. He wanted to play in the Braves’ cozy park, and he was determined “someone was going to pay” for his recent slump.

Nate Colbert, 1972, by Jim Trusilo.

Nate Colbert, 1972, by Jim Trusilo.

Before all the Atlanta fans had even found their seats for the opener, Nate put San Diego in front in the first inning with a three-run homer off Ron Schueler. In the third frame he contributed to a four-run Padre outburst by singling home a teammate. Another single and a bases-empty homer off Mike McQueen in the seventh gave him four-for-five and five ribbies in the 9-0 Padre win.

The second game was even better. Tom Kelley opened for the Braves and he was as wild as a Penthouse party. He walked Colbert in the first inning and Nate came around to score. Pat Jarvis replaced Kelley in the second inning just in time to face Colbert with the bases loaded. Nate promptly cleared them with his third homer of the evening.

A two-run blast off Jim Hardin in the seventh made the score 9-1. But the shell-shocked Braves fought back to make it 9-7 going into the final inning. Colbert was due up fourth. Cecil Upshaw retired the first two Padres, but Larry Stahl got a ground single to right. And up came Colbert.

The sidearming Upshaw had always given him trouble, so Nate decided to just try to meet the ball for a hit. Upshaw threw a high fastball for the first pitch. Colbert met it. Home run.

“I was shocked when I hit it,” Colbert recalled. “I couldn’t believe it when I saw it go over the fence. It was unreal! When I rounded second base, Umpire Bruce Froemming said to me: ‘I don’t believe this.’ I told him: ‘I don’t either.’ ”

The next day, it took the New York Times three paragraphs just to explain the records Colbert had broken or tied:

The 13 runs batted in erased the major league record of 11 for a double-header, which had been shared by three American League batters, Earl Averill of the Cleveland Indians (1930), Jim Tabor of the Boston Red Sox (1939) and Boog Powell of the Baltimore Orioles (1966). The National League record of 10 was established in 1947 by Enos Slaughter of the St. Louis Cardinals. [In 1993 Mark Whiten of the Cardinals tied Colbert’s mark.–ED.]

The 6-foot-l 1/2 inch 200-pound Colbert also broke the National League record of 12 runs batted in in two consecutive games by Jim Bottomley of St. Louis in 1924. The major league mark is 15, established in 1925 by Tony Lazerri of the New York Yankees.

The five home runs in a double-header by Colbert equaled the major league mark set by Stan Musial of the Cardinals in 1954 and also broke Musial’s record of 22 total bases in a twin bill.

Yet when 1972 ended and Colbert had racked up a record even more impressive than any of these, not a newspaper in the land gave it so much as an agate line.

Call it Catch-22.75.





Satchel Paige, 1953.

Satchel Paige, 1953.

Satchel Paige must have been born old. Either that, or what he saw early in his life blessed him with the wisdom of age, and it shone in his eyes. He was forced by the color of his skin to watch organized baseball from the outside until he was at least forty-two years old (the oldest rookie ever). His homespun philosophy (“Avoid fried meats, which angry up the blood.” “Don’t look back, something may be gaining on you.”) has therefore become a larger aspect of his legend than his pitching feats, recorded sparsely in dozens of years of Negro League and barnstorming play.

Satchel claimed to have pitched between 130 and 160 games a year for all that time (his custom was to start a game, pitch a couple of innings, then give way to a collaborator like Hilton Smith). He had great stories of his prowess and his range of pitches. “I got bloopers, loopers and droopers. I got a jump ball, a be ball, a screw ball, a wobbly ball, a whipsy-dipsy-do, a hurry-up ball, a nothin’ ball and a bat dodger.” His best, though, was the “be ball,” named “ ’Cause it ‘be’ right where I want it.” One Paige story is that he walked the bases full in a World Series game just so he could end the contest by striking out Josh Gibson, a former teammate and the Negro Leagues’ greatest slugger. His pinpoint control was the secret to his long-lived success and huge income, which according to legend was greater than that of any white player except Ruth.

Paige with Pittsburgh Crawfords, 1933.

Paige with Pittsburgh Crawfords, 1933.

But happy as he was to be the king of black baseball, Paige was distressed when the Dodgers made Jackie Robinson the first of his race to reach the modern major leagues. “I’d been the guy who started all that big talk about letting us in the big time. I’d been the one the white boys wanted to barnstorm against.” His first complete game in the majors, in 1948, was in front of 51,000 fans at Comiskey Park. In August of that year he threw his second complete game, this time for 78,000 appreciative hometown fans in Cleveland. He even got to pitch two thirds of an inning in the World Series that year.

Integration pioneer Bill Veeck (the story is told that the owners kept him from buying the Phillies in the 1940s because he planned to sign a lot of Negro Leaguers) brought Paige with him from Cleveland to the St. Louis Browns in 1951, and he averaged more than forty appearances a season there for three years. (It’s delightful to contemplate that juvenile Palmer Cox brownie adorning the sleeve of this superannuated Brown.) He returned to a big-league mound in 1965, at age fifty-nine or so, to throw three scoreless innings for the Kansas City A’s against the Red Sox; only one man, Carl Yastrzemski, got a hit off him.

Troy and New York

1883 New York Gothams Patch.

1883 New York Gothams Patch.

When the National League abandoned Troy and Worcester after the 1882 season, it reestablished franchises in New York and Philadelphia for the first time since its inaugural campaign of 1876. Grumbling can still be heard in Troy and Worcester today, but their loss was baseball’s gain, giving the shaky National League the two key eastern markets it had lacked.

As you can see from the studio shot of the original Giants of 1883, they wear the emblem of the city on their breasts, binding the team to the body politic and making baseball seem as much a part of old Gotham as Indians and beaver pelts, Knickerbockers and coopers. The uniform patch shown above is the original, worn by Buck Ewing  at top left in the team photo.

New York Gothams 1883.

New York Gothams 1883.

Notice the other future Hall of Famers: pitcher Mickey Welch (bottom, left), who in 1885 posted an imposing record of 44-11, and John Montgomery Ward (upper right), the perfect-game pitcher turned shortstop whose hand rests on the shoulder of Roger Connor, whose career home run record was finally surpassed by a guy named Ruth.

The National Pastime: A Blast from the Past

The National Pastime, Vol. I, No 1, 1982.

The National Pastime, Vol. I, No. 1, 1982.

This week, more than three decades after publication, the Society for American Baseball Research is reissuing the debut number of The National Pastime, a publication I created for it in 1982. Not only in retrospect but also at the time, this felt like a new path for SABR, and for me. Here is my 2014 preface to The National Pastime, republished in facsimile. To purchase a paperback or ebook, go to; or better yet, join SABR and get it free. The ebook may also be purchased from the vendors listed at the end of this post.

When I joined SABR in mid-1981, ten years after its founding, I could not imagine the future, neither the society’s nor mine. I was a defrocked English Lit guy poking around in journalism. I had written a couple of baseball books—“on the side,” I told myself, though my central endeavor was by no means known. If I didn’t have the chops to play with Dickens and Dostoevsky, I figured, maybe I could write baseball books for real grownups, like those of Larry Ritter and Harold Seymour, already longtime idols for me.
After covering the SABR convention in Toronto for The Sporting News, and meeting so many strange and wonderful individuals, I knew I had found a spiritual home, a place where my nose for mathematics, my curiosity about history, and my love of the game’s imagery made me a fit with like minds: Pete Palmer, Bob Carroll, John Holway, and Mark Rucker, among so many others.
It struck me in the fall of 1981 that SABR’s main vehicle for publication, The Baseball Research Journal, hosted outstanding research but was editorially narrow and visually unappealing. I proposed to the Executive Board—consisting of Kit Crissey, Jerry Gregory, Vern Luse, Bob Soderman, John Pardon, Cliff Kachline, Frank Phelps, and Stan Grosshandler—that I create a new publication to broaden our scope and look to appeal to a somewhat wider, non-specialist readership. Maybe, I figured, such an “American Heritage of Baseball,” as I thought of it, might even give a boost to SABR membership. On January 9, 1982, the board gave me a green light.
Baseball Research Journal, 1981

Baseball Research Journal, 1981

That they also provided no funding—except for the cost of typeset, printing, paper, and mailing—meant that I would have to scramble a bit, but that was OK. I enlisted contributors—those mentioned above, my newfound friends, my onetime idols, and veteran authors, journalists, and researchers. Gordon Fleming, author of The Unforgettable Season, a pioneering new form of baseball book, sent me a brilliant treatment of the Merkle Boner. Dr. Seymour and David Voigt, who had long disapproved of each other, took the roles of lion and lamb for this new journal, coexisting peaceably and contributing bold, fresh articles. Baseball Research Journal regulars like Art Ahrens, Al Kermisch, and Ted DiTullio contributed fine pieces. And an unpublished researcher, a bank accounting officer named Frank J. Williams, submitted an exhaustive article, handwritten on yellow legal paper, which upon publication became a landmark in the history of baseball record keeping.

I designed the publication and on my kitchen table laid out the reproduction proof with paste pot and Exacto knife. I created the headlines with Letraset transfer type and a burnishing tool, as our printer Dean Coughenour of Manhattan, Kansas, could not obtain display-size versions of the type I had specified. If all this sounds like complaint, then I have failed to strike the proper tone. Trust me, it was heaven. I could not have believed more fervently than I did in the opening words of my “house column”:

The National Pastime has sprung into being to depict the panorama of baseball, from its murky beginnings on up to last night’s news, showing that the past of this great game is every bit as exciting as its present.

 Frank Williams article

Frank Williams article

The debut issue was mailed in late October and immediately met with rave reviews. Its nominal cost was $5, but that was paid only by nonmembers—whose cost could be reduced to nothing if they added $10 to purchase a SABR membership. Our rolls rose from 1250 in July 1981 to 2800 at year end, 1982. In the June/July 1983 issue of American Heritage, which had been my model for TNP, the editor wrote:

Thorn, who assembled the portfolio of baseball pictures in this issue, is editor of The National Pastime, a handsomely produced publication sponsored by the Society for American Baseball Research (P.O. Box 323, Cooperstown, NY 13326). And like all of SABR’s three thousand members, he is interested in exploring and preserving the legacy of the sport.

Actually by the time that issue of AH hit the stands, SABR membership had climbed to nearly 4000. This debut issue, which even in reprint more than three decades later, still looks handsome to me, also won an honorable mention in the 1983 PRINT Magazine annual review of the nation’s top achievements in the graphic arts.

But enough button-popping about the look of the thing. It is the quality of the writing that will impress most today, as it did then.


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The Elysian Fields

 Panorama, John Bachmann 1866

Panorama, John Bachmann 1866

The panorama at left has been labeled in the mount “Panorama of New York and Vicinity.” The Baseball Hall of Fame has a print which has been labeled “Baseball in Jersey City in 1868.” Not exactly. What we see in the foreground is baseball at the Elysian Fields of Hoboken, a pleasure grounds for New Yorkers ever since the dawn of the century, when bear-baiting and bare-knuckle prizefighting competed for attention with buffalo hunts and cricket matches. Most visitors to the site came for the cool breezes, soothing libations, and relief from the strains of city life. Ferries departed every fifteen minutes from the Barclay Street docks in Manhattan. The steamers were controlled by the John C. Stevens family, which also owned the resort grounds–a model of commerce that would mark baseball’s development through the age of trolley cars, short-line rail, and subways: that is, create a remote attraction, and control the access to it. The Stevens Castle is the large house to the right of the ball grounds.

The Elysian Fields became not only a place of rest but also recreation as the prospect of employment lured young bachelors from the farm to the city, only to leave them pining for rural bliss. Cricket was played at the Hoboken grounds before baseball, but by 1845 the New York Knickerbockers had taken heed of the northward push of industry in Manhattan and had taken their new game of “base ball” to Hoboken.

The above lithograph in color, with detail of baseball games.

The above lithograph in color, with detail of baseball games; click to enlarge.

The lithograph, printed and published in Philadelphia in 1866, offers a bird’s-eye view of extraordinarily intricate if untrustworthy detail. The artist is John Bachmann, famous for such views of northeastern cities. Depicted are two quite different games of “base ball” being played within a few yards of each other, separated by the Colonnade, a refreshment pavilion (i.e., tavern) and hotel. At the left two teams are playing the Massachusetts Game, in which the batter stood between fourth base and first–a variant nearly dead in New England and never played in the New York area, but perhaps still alive at the time in Philadelphia, where the Olympic Club had organized in 1833 to play town ball, from which the Massachusetts Game derived. To the right, two other teams appear to be playing according to the rules of the New York Game, which has come down to us as the game we would recognize today. The codification of rules for the New York Game is attributed to William R. Wheaton and William H. Tucker–not Alexander Cartwright–of the famed Knickerbocker Base Ball Club of New York.

Elysian Fields, Bachmann View, detail.

Elysian Fields, Bachmann View, detail.

Among the critical innovations of the Knickerbockers was the concept of a boundaried playing field (cricket, town ball, and the Massachusetts Game had no prescribed bounds). The Knicks were constrained by their playing site (look at how close their field, the one at the right of this picture, was to the Hudson River). Accordingly, not only was a foul ball declared a non-event, but, as stated in Rule 20, the last of their original rules of 1845, “But one base allowed when a ball bounds out of the field when struck.” Doc Adams made the leather-strapped balls himself, an exceedingly tedious task, and he wasn’t going to stand for some young Hercules sending his handiwork into the drink. (All the same, Doc recalled in later years, “I was a left-handed batter, and sometimes used to get the ball into the river.”)

Sybil's Cave with tavern, 1852.

Sybil’s Cave with tavern, 1852.

The Elysian Fields, known as Turtle Grove in the 1780s, was gone by the end of the 1880s, overtaken by rail and industry. But I used to visit the Knickerbocker playing fields site by asking the friendly watchman at the abandoned Maxwell House Coffee plant to let me into the courtyard. (This option is no longer available.) You might even detect the site of the Sybil’s Cave, a lovers’ destination in the 1840s, now walled up within the rock abutment along the river road, once described as “romantic and beautiful … a narrow, circuitous path, overarched with oak branches.” Today it is an industrial service road called Frank Sinatra Drive, after Hoboken’s favorite son.

Every picture tells a story, but some offer a peephole to the past, in which the closer you get to the opening, the more you see. Such is the case with Bachmann’s “Panorama of New York and Vicinity.”

Baseball’s Wright Brothers and the Cincinnati Red Stockings

Wright Brothers, Mort Rogers scorecards 1871

Wright Brothers, Mort Rogers scorecards 1871

More than thirty years before a pair of brothers named Wright made aviation history, another Wright duo was instrumental in changing baseball from a social-club pastime to a professional game. Baseball’s Wright brothers were George and Harry, cricket players who saw the future in the American game.

A cricket book opens our story. It is Felix on the Bat, a classic cricket instructional manual written and illustrated by the great Kent and All-England batsman of the 1840s, “N. Felix,” which was the pen name for Nicholas Wanostrocht. A copy was presented to Samuel Wright, father of Harry and George in 1858, on his Benefit Day at the St. George Cricket Club, Elysian Fields, Hoboken, where the English-born Sam was the cricket professional and Harry and George two of the key players (Harry by 1854, George beginning in 1861). George was eleven at the time his father received the book, and it is not clear when Sam passed it on to George, who wrote on the flyleaf: “This book I prize very highly as it was given to me by my Father in the year 1865. Often I have viewed its contents when a boy looking forward to some day to play the game of cricket well. G.W.”

Felix on the Bat

Felix on the Bat

Of course, by 1865 young George was not only adept at cricket, he was well on his way to becoming the best baseball player in the land. Harry had begun to divide his time between cricket and baseball in the late 1850s, when he joined the Knickerbocker Base Ball Club, whose grounds adjoined those of the St. George Cricket Club. Mirroring the divided loyalties of pre-Civil War America, both continued to play cricket for at least two more years, Harry with the Cincinnati Cricket Club, which had lured him west with the position of cricket professional and an invitation to organize a first-class baseball club. George left the champion Union of Morrisania team after the 1866 campaign to join the covertly professional Washington Nationals as they toured the west. George was supposedly earning his living as a government clerk, but the address of his “employer” as listed in the City Directory was just a public park. They traveled as far as Illinois, where the Nationals were upset by the Forest City of Rockford and their boy pitcher, Albert Spalding. George received a handsome rosewood trophy bat for “best general play.”

By 1869 both were members of baseball’s first openly all-professional team, the celebrated Cincinnati Red Stockings. George was the greatest player of his time, with wonderful batting and fielding skills and an acrobat’s flair. In 1869 he hit .629 with 49 home runs in 57 games. Harry, twelve years older, was a fading player, but he was the organizer, promoter, and father figure of the Red Stockings and professional baseball itself.

Cincinnati Red Stockings of 1869

Cincinnati Red Stockings of 1869

In the photo of the Reds above, George stands in the top row, second from the right, and captain Harry stands alongside him at the center. And, following a tradition far older than baseball, both left for a new opportunity when the money beckoned. When the Reds collapsed and the National Association of Professional Base Ball Players formed, Harry moved to Boston as manager and took brother George and other Red Stockings along with him to join former Rockford stars Al Spalding and Ross Barnes and Cleveland’s Deacon White.

George Wright's Lifetime Pass No. 1.

George Wright’s Lifetime Pass No. 1.

The Wrights and Boston rolled over the competition in the National Association, winning four straight pennants by increasingly grotesque margins, thus hastening the demise of the league. In the new National League, Boston continued its winning ways, but after championships in 1877 and 1878, George went to Providence as a playing manager in 1879 and defeated Harry’s Bostons in a close race. In the mid-1930s, National League president Ford Frick gave George Wright, nearing the age of ninety, a lifetime pass to all National League grounds (note that it is #1, the first ever given).


Major-league baseball’s centennial shindig took place not in 1976, nor even in 1971, a century since the first pro league, the National Association of Professional Baseball Players, commenced play. The celebration came in 1969, and in 1994 there was a splashy yearlong birthday party for the 125th year of professional baseball.

So what exactly happened in 1869? Wasn’t Jim Creighton paid in 1859 and Al Reach in 1863? Between 1865 and 1869, weren’t there such professional teams as the Atlantics of Brooklyn, the Mutuals of New York, the Athletics of Philadelphia, and more? Sure. But there was something special about 1869: the manly admission of Harry Wright to the press that his Cincinnati Red Stockings were salaried and proud of it. The Reds were thus the first avowedly professional team in baseball history, a distinction that scholars insist on using to separate this mighty team from the under-the-table schemers and gate-receipt communards who had preceded them. Besides, the Reds were the best team ever assembled to that point, and they came from all over.

Harry Wright, Sam Wright, 1863 Benefit Game

Sam Wright (left), Harry Wright, 1863 Benefit Game.

Harry Wright had come to the banks of the Ohio in 1865 at the behest of the Union Cricket Club. By 1867 he had organized a Red Stockings baseball club, too, though it wasn’t yet strong enough to compete against the best. The arrival of pitcher Asa Brainard, former Brooklyn Excelsior, in 1868, followed by the advent of Harry’s brother George for the 1869 season, made the team literally unbeatable.

The Red Stockings took on all comers, from Maine to California, in 1869, and never tasted defeat. They won 84 consecutive games in 1869-1870 before getting their comeuppance from the venerable Atlantics of Brooklyn, the champions of several earlier 1860s campaigns. The Forest City of Rockford was accounted as one of the strongest nines following their 1867 upset of the touring Washington Nationals, then led by George Wright; those Nationals in turn had defeated Harry’s developing Red Stockings, 53-10. Rockford’s stars included Albert Spalding, Bob Addy, and Ross Barnes (in 1871 they would welcome a young third baseman from Marshalltown, Iowa, named Adrian Anson). In 1870 Spalding’s heady pitching led to a 12-5 victory over Cincinnati, avenging their 34-13 drubbing at the hands of the Reds in ’69.

1870 Rockford  Forest City.

1870 Rockford Forest City.

But that was not the Reds’ first loss. On June 14, 1870, at the Capitoline Grounds in Brooklyn, the Reds jumped off to a 2-0 lead in the first, but the Atlantics held a lead of 4-3 after six frames. The Reds regained the lead with two tallies in the seventh, but the Atlantics knotted the contest at 5-5 in the eighth, and there things stood at the conclusion of nine innings. Captain Bob Ferguson of the Atlantics agreed to a draw, as was the custom, but Harry Wright of the Reds insisted that the game be played to a conclusion, “if it took all summer.” Backed up by Reds president Aaron B. Champion, he ordered his men back on the field. Ferguson then did the same for his Atlantics.

After a scoreless tenth, the Reds appeared to settle the issue with two runs in the top of the eleventh. But Brainard’s nerve was wearing thin, according to the New York Clipper report. He allowed a leadoff single to Charlie Smith, then followed with a wild pitch that sent Smith all the way to third. “Old Reliable,” first baseman Joe Start, drove a long fly to right field, where Cal McVey had difficulty extricating the ball from the standing-room-only crowd. Smith scored, and now Start was on third. At this point Ferguson came to the plate and, seeing how his men had been foiled by George Wright’s brilliant plays time and again, the right-handed hitter turned around to bat from the left side, simply to keep the ball away from the Reds’ shortstop.

June 14, 1870, Reds vs Atlantics

June 14, 1870, Reds vs Atlantics. Harper’s Weekly.

Ferguson drove the ball past the second baseman. Tie game! When George Zettlein drove a liner toward first base, Charlie Gould blocked it, but threw hurriedly and wildly to second base in an attempt to force Ferguson. The ball skittered into left field, and Ferguson scampered home with the winning run. Additional batters came to the plate, for the rules did not yet call for the game to end until three outs were registered in the final half inning, but no further scoring ensued. After the contest, Champion telegraphed the following message back to Cincinnati: “Atlantics 8, Cincinnatis 7. The finest game ever played. Our boys did nobly, but fortune was against us. Eleven innings played. Though beaten, not disgraced.”

By 1871 Cincincinnati Reds were no more. The club had disbanded, its possessions and trophies were sold at auction, and Harry and George found themselves playing under the old name of Red Stockings but in a new city–Boston, where they were joined by a couple of other Cincinnati teammates, the Rockford stars Spalding and Barnes, and Cleveland’s Deacon White.

That Lively Corpse

From Wild Oats, Aug 1, 1872.

From Wild Oats, Aug 1, 1872.

Last month, Bryan Curtis of ESPN’s Grantland came up to Catskill to chat with me about baseball’s annual burial rites. His fine story, “The Dead Ball Century,” may be read here: A couple of days ago I gathered with my neighbors at the Beattie-Powers Place to deliver my annual Hot Stove League talk and to gab afterwards with my baseball-loving friends. My talk reprised a good bit of my conversation with Bryan and to some degree expanded upon it. Warmed over, you might pronounce this blogpost but, I hope, sturdy like a casserole brought to a covered-dish supper.

There was much woe and lamentation in the seventies that the game was dying. Commentators bemoaned the sluggish play by roving mercenaries who had no loyalty to the teams or their fans; the players’ rampant abuse of controlled substances and the all-too common consort with criminals; the inept and fractious ownership. But baseball bounced back in the next decade to reclaim its place as the national pastime: new heroes, spirited competition, and booming prosperity gave birth to dreams of expansion, both within the major leagues and around the world.

And then came the nineties, when management, suddenly frightened that they had ceded control to the players, sought to restore baseball’s profitability by “running the game like a business”: they looked for ways to clamp down on salaries, reorganize the leagues to favor the big-market cities, and make real-estate fortunes from their ballparks.

And then came the boom years, capped by home-run heroics on a scale that once seemed unimaginable.

If I haven’t made myself clear, this worrisome chain of events describes the game of a hundred years ago and more. Yes, we’ve seen it all before. And yes, those who do not study history are condemned to repeat it. But no, the sky is not falling—baseball is such a great game that neither the owners nor the players can kill it.

A captain of a championship club once said: “Somehow or other, they don’t play ball nowadays as they used to some eight or ten years ago. I don’t mean to say they don’t play it as well. … But I mean that they don’t play with the same kind of feelings or for the same objects they used to.” The man was Pete O’Brien of the Brooklyn Atlantics; the year he said this, the first known baseball death notice, was 1868.

Pete O'Brien, 1865 Atlantics.

Pete O’Brien, 1865 Atlantics.

Simple charms, simple pleasures. In the late 1860s, advancing had skills led to heightened appetites for victory, which led to hot pursuit of the game’s gifted players, which inevitably led to sub rosa payments and, by 1870, rampant professionalism. (Doesn’t that chain reaction put one in mind of college football or basketball?) The gentlemanly players of baseball’s first generation retreated from the field, shaking their heads in dismay at how greed had perverted the “grand old game”—now barely 20 years old—and probably ruined it forever.

By the 1880s pundits were forecasting the imminent demise of the game because of its extreme violence, much as we see today with professional football. “The records of our hospitals,” wrote a New York Times editorialist, “confirm the theory that fewer games of baseball have been played during the past year than were played during any single year since 1868…. Probably the time is now ripe for the revival of cricket.”

So what have been the tell-tale indicators of baseball’s looming end? Let me count the signs, in no particular order.

1. Baseball is too expensive.

In a letter to the editor of a Philadelphia newspaper on July 6, 1874, an aggrieved patron wrote: “Sir: On the Fourth, I felt rich, and I concluded to take it on the shell, no matter what the price. Well, the game–Athletic-Philadelphia–cost me nearly $2, as follows:– Entrance 50 cents, seat $1, fares 25 cents, four beers 20 cents…. If they would reduce the price to a reasonable figure, I would go out occasionally–but, it is really too heavy.” A simple Purchasing Power Calculator would say the 2014 cost of this 140-year-old ballpark excursion for a single fan, which included no food, would be $41.10.

2. Ballplayers are not as skilled today.

Baseball’s statistics, unlike those of, say track and field—are flexible, products of a particular time and place. Does anyone truly believe that players were better in 1887, when ten men hit over .400?

3. High salaries are killing baseball.

Giancarlo Stanton recently signed a contract for $325 million over 13 years. A reporter asked him if he was embarrassed to be paid so much. But in 1922, when the Yankees were paying Babe Ruth $75,000, a Michigan paper argued that baseball had birthed a “salary-frankenstein.”

4. Free agency has created too much movement of players from city to city.

Players have always moved around. But in former times it was owners trading players — treating players like chattel. Only a quarter of a century removed from the Civil War, the Milwaukee Journal warned in 1890, in a story called “The Decline in Baseball Interest”: “You cannot put [a player] up like a slave on auction block.”

5. Other sports are more appealing.

Today baseball’s rivals for fan favor are football, basketball, and soccer. But in 1892, the Boston Journal noted — in an article yet again titled “The Decline of Base Ball” — that bicycling was the true sport of the age. In 1917, the Colorado Springs Gazette argued that baseball was losing ground to trap shooting. “The modern young man takes up a sport that he can actually do,” the Gazette reported. “No longer is he to be a bench warmer.”

First man on the line,  Puck, L.M. Glackens April 2, 1913.

First man on the line, Puck, L.M. Glackens, April 2, 1913.

6. Young people today have too many electronic distractions.

This also is an old argument, dating to a time before TV, internet, iPhone, and video gaming. Silent movies were regarded as a big challenge to baseball; a scout told the Colorado Springs Gazette in 1917 that people preferred nickelodeons to stadiums.

7. Baseball is too slow for the modern age.

In 1945, columnist Westbrook Pegler wrote, “I detect a sad and desperate admission that the game, itself, is outmoded.” In 1969 media theorist Marshall McLuhan wrote: “Baseball is … a dying sport … just too individual a sport for our new age.” Baseball will experiment with ways to quicken the pace, but the challenge will not be to alter the essence of the game–which is one of expectation, reflection, and surprise.

The past is prologue. Baseball’s revenues and fan interest are booming right now, despite the annual eulogies, but it may still endure some hard times. Franchises may fail, or relocate, or relocate and fail. Television contracts, real-estate valuations, and capital-gain speculation—the forces that blew the baseball bubble up, might make it burst, as it did in the 1890s. But the elements of further popularity and prosperity are already in place, and have been for a hundred years: the international movement, spearheaded by Albert Spalding with his world tour in 1888-89, and now carried forward by the World Baseball Classic, and the incredibly hardy minor leagues, where the business of baseball still has a human scale and a connection to the spirit of play.

Baseball’s 100 Most Important People, Part 8

Continuing from yesterday (, this marks the eighth and final installment of the series, offering biographies of the men ranked from 81 through 100. To revisit the complete list from 1 to 100, go back to the launch of this series:

Baseball’s 100 Most Important People

Alan Schwarz and John Thorn


Livan Hernandez.

Livan Hernandez.

Livan Hernandez, a star member of the world-renowned Cuban National team, defected to the U.S. in 1995. He was not the first Cuban to do so—Rene Arocha and Rey Ordonez had preceded him in the 1990s and Barbaro Garbey had come over in 1980. And he was not the last—his brother Orlando, for example, fled in a ramshackle boat in 1997.

But Livan was the most important. He signed with Florida as a free agent, whereas Arocha and Ordonez had been signed through a lottery, much as Tom Seaver came to the Mets after Atlanta bungled his initial signing. Ariel Prieto was the last notable Cuban defector to expose himself to the amateur draft, back in 1995; ever since Hernandez, the sponsors or agents of defectors from the Cuban National squad have made certain that these top-rank players jumped to a country other than the U.S. before offering their services to U.S. major-league clubs. This made defecting more lucrative and spawned even more defections.

Hernandez cost the Florida Marlins a $2.5 million signing bonus in 1996, when the club was determined to expand its Latin American fan base, but he was worth every penny. After only 30 minor-league games, the durable right-hander established himself as a major leaguer with a nine-game winning streak in 1997. He became an overnight sensation by virtue of his performance in October 1997. He was chosen the Most Valuable Player of the Championship Series after beating Atlanta twice, including an NLCS-record 15 strikeouts in Game 5. Then, in the Marlins’ World Series victory over the Cleveland Indians, Hernandez won two more games and the WS MVP.


Hal Richman.

Hal Richman.

Strat-O-Matic baseball has amused 11-year-old boys for more than 40 years. Few of those know that the game was invented by an 11-year-old boy himself.

Hal Richman, who grew up in New York in the early 1950s, loved playing Ethan Allen’s All-Star Baseball—a simulation game in which players’ performances were determined by spinning discs—but grew frustrated by that game’s not having pitchers involved. Richman invented his own game, which first used a deck of playing cards to randomize the outcome of at-bats. He played the game with friends in summer camp, added strategies such as stolen bases and sacrifice bunts, and later made the probabilities more realistic by using two dice to determine outcomes. After earning an accounting degree at Bucknell University, Richman decided on a nifty name for his game—Strat-O-Matic—and borrowed $3,500 from friends in 1961 to launch the game commercially.

Within three years, the game was a hit. It wound up selling millions of editions and still is in production today with, of course, the inevitable computer edition. For generations of young fans, Strat-O-Matic was one of the favorite connections to the sport, and their main lens into strategy and team-building. The impact of Richman’s game and others like it (APBA, Pursue the Pennant and so on) goes far beyond kids’ basements: In a 2002 Baseball America survey of major-league teams’ front-office executives, 50 percent of them said they played Strat-O-Matic or a similar game as a kid.


Peter Seitz.

Peter Seitz.

Peter Seitz never swung a bat or pitched an inning during a major-league game, yet his impact on Organized Baseball was enormous. As an arbitrator for MLB and the MLBPA, he laid the groundwork for baseball’s current system of free agency.

Andy Messersmith of the Los Angeles Dodgers and Dave McNally of the Montreal Expos requested free-agent status after pitching in the 1975 season without signing new contracts. Thus the two challenged the legality of the automatic-renewal clause in the standard contract.

Their appeal was heard by three officials: John Gaherin, who represented the owners; Marvin Miller, the economist who was executive director of the MLBPA; and Seitz, a professional arbitrator from New York who served as an impartial judge.

In a 70-page opinion, Seitz cast the deciding vote that ruled Messersmith and McNally free agents. “It was represented to me,” Seitz said, “that any decision sustaining Messersmith and McNally would have dire results, wreak great harm to the reserve system and do serious damage to the sport of baseball and would encourage many other players to elect and become free agents.

“The panel’s sole duty is to interpret and apply agreements and understandings of the parties. If any of the expressed apprehensions and fears are soundly based, I am confident that the dislocations and damage to the reserve system can be avoided or minimized through good-faith collective bargaining between the parties.” Following his decision, Seitz was immediately fired by baseball’s owners, who called his action detrimental to the game.

Seitz held other important positions as a labor-management arbitrator, including work with the National Basketball Association, New York City and the Defense Department.


Ken Griffey Jr.

Ken Griffey Jr.

Those too young to have seen Willie Mays in his prime could see in Ken Griffey, Jr. the player nearest to Mays in ability. Just 30 years old, and finishing the 1999 season with 398 career home runs, Griffey had already placed himself in elite company. He had led the AL in homers four times, including back-to-back seasons in 1997-98 with 56 homers. He also won 10 consecutive Gold Gloves and made numerous leaping catches in center field to rob opponents of home runs. Elected by experts to the “All Century Team” announced in July 1999, he was then voted by fans as one of the top 25 players of the 20th Century.

Griffey, Jr. was also baseball’s most marketable star, despite playing in a medium-sized market in Seattle. He was the consensus pick to challenge Hank Aaron’s home-run record, and he more than anyone may have saved major-league baseball in the Northwest. And yet, when the opportunity came to exercise his free agency and go home to Cincinnati, where he had grown up watching his father star for the Reds, Junior pulled up stakes. (Griffey, Sr. had finished with the Mariners in 1991, playing 51 games over his last two seasons alongside his son.)

After a 40-home run, 118-RBI debut in the National League, Griffey ran into an incredible string of injuries that reduced him to part-time duty and left many wondering whether he would ever again display the form he had exhibited with Seattle.


Bob Feller, 1937.

Bob Feller, 1937.

He grew up on a farm just west of Des Moines, Iowa, in the small town of Van Meter. Farm chores made him strong, and his father made him a pitcher. According to Feller, his father “made a home plate in the yard, and I’d throw to him over it. He even built me a pitching rubber. When I was 12, we built a ballfield on our farm. We fenced the pasture, put up the chicken wire and the benches and even a little grandstand behind first base. We formed our own team and played other teams from around the community on weekends.” That was the way it was, not so long ago, and Bob Feller stands as a proud symbol of what made baseball America’s game.

In July 1936 the 17-year-old Feller made his debut for Cleveland in an exhibition game, striking out eight St. Louis Cardinals in three innings. From that moment on, he was major-league news. After several relief appearances, he made his first start in mid-August and struck out 15 St. Louis Browns in a 4-1 victory. In September he struck out 17 Philadelphia Athletics, tying the major-league mark and setting a new AL record. Then he went home to finish high school.

In 1941 Feller went 25-13 with 260 strikeouts but missed more than a month of the season. The day after Japan bombed Pearl Harbor he enlisted in the Navy. While some baseball stars spent the war playing exhibition baseball games to build the troops’ morale, Feller served as a chief specialist on the battleship Alabama, winning five campaign ribbons and eight battle stars.

Feller came back from the war better than ever. He won 26 games for the sixth-place Indians, 10 of them shutouts shutouts, while striking out 346.

Named to the Hall of Fame in 1962, his first year of eligibility, Feller was bothered by his Hall of Fame plaque, which lists his baseball career as spanning “1936 to 1941” and “1945 to 1956” with no explanation. He once suggested to Commissioner Peter Ueberroth that the plaque might be changed to reflect the facts. The commissioner answered that such a change would be “inconvenient.” “Well,” said Feller, “it was inconvenient to get shot at.”


David S. Neft.

David S. Neft.

It’s hard to believe today, with books such as Total Baseball in every baseball fan’s library, but for most of baseball’s first 100 years there was no such thing as a comprehensive book of historical statistics. Then David Neft came along.

The closest thing baseball had was The Official Encyclopedia of Baseball, first published in 1951, but that listed only a few statistics per player. Neft, a New York formal statistician working for Information Concepts Incorporated in the 1960s, sold his bosses—and the Macmillan publishing company—on a book that listed more than a dozen statistics for every player, all the way back to 1876. It was a mammoth undertaking, and it changed the course of baseball fandom.

The business of building a credible baseball encyclopedia was amazingly complicated in the 1960s. Computers were only beginning to handle the type of data entry, storage and checking required. Second, baseball’s records, particularly before 1920, were in complete disarray. Players were missing or identified incorrectly. Sources such as old Spalding Guides were notoriously shoddy, and even the official statistics put out by the leagues back then had hundreds of errors. Neft’s team of researchers criss-crossed the country, from library microfilm rooms to long-lost graveyards, to look up old box scores and recreate statistics from 1876-20 virtually from scratch, and to resolve other conflicts.

Finally published in 1969, The Baseball Encyclopedia ran 2,338 pages and weighed six and a half pounds. One New York Times reviewer raved that it was “the book I’d take with me to prison.” It flew through its first printing of 50,000 books and ultimately sold more than 100,000 copies. The book began a new era of fanaticism for baseball statistics and history.

Neft went on to create encyclopedias in other sports, and his Sports Encyclopedia: Baseball has been issued annually for three decades.


John Schuerholz.

John Schuerholz.

No modern general manager has been able to win more often, and in more places, than John Schuerholz. He has been a master at juggling batting lines with bottom lines, and has been able to keep his teams in contention every season for 20 years.

Schuerholz’s job is barely recognizable compared to the one that former GMs such as George Weiss held, before arbitration and free agency, before the media and ownership demands, before the draft and international market, before 29 other clubs and three rounds of playoffs. With that in consideration, some might consider Schuerholz the best general manager in baseball history.

His Braves have won one World Series, five pennants and 12 straight division championships (a professional sports record). In doing so, Schuerholz did have the advantage of a large payroll, but he never lost sight of the player-development aspects of running a club, deftly weaving in top prospects while acquiring established veterans through trades and free agency. As other large-revenue teams such as the Orioles and Dodgers floundered, the Braves kept winning season after season.

Before heading to Atlanta in 1990, Schuerholz ran the Royals, with whom he won the 1985 World Series. He helped build Kansas City into baseball’s model expansion club throughout the ’70s while serving in player development, presiding over a minor-league system that produced the likes of George Brett, Frank White, Dennis Leonard, Bret Saberhagen, Danny Jackson and Bo Jackson, feeding teams that finished first or second every year from 1975 to 1985.


Minnie Minoso.

Minnie Minoso.

Saturnino Orestes Armas “Minnie” Minoso was the first dark-skinned Latin to play in the U.S. major leagues and an inspiration to generations of Caribbean youth. It is not too much to say that he was the Jackie Robinson for Latin America.

Minoso, who grew up in Cuba’s Matanzas Province, left school at age 14 to work in the sugar fields. In 1946 he signed with Alex Pompez’s New York Cubans for $150 a month plus a boat ticket to Key West and train fare to New York. Cleveland’s Bill Veeck purchased the 25-year old Minoso in 1948 and assigned him to Dayton in the Class A Central League. He made it to Cleveland the next year, but he lasted only nine games.

He returned to the majors as a 28-year-old rookie in 1951, but after eight games with the Indians he was traded to the White Sox. He hit .326 that season and led the league in stolen bases and triples.

In December 1957, after hitting .310 with 103 RBIs, Minoso was traded to Cleveland but in 1960 Veeck reacquired Minoso for the White Sox in a seven-player trade. Minoso responded in 1960 by leading the AL in hits, with 184, and by finishing second to Roger Maris in RBIs. He was 37.

Father Time was catching up with Minoso. He retired in 1964—sort of. On September 11, 1976, Veeck, who was again running the White Sox, reactivated the 53-year-old Minoso so he could become a four-decade major leaguer. For once in his baseball career Minoso was nervous.

“It’s been many years since I face pitching like this,” he said. “I hope [the fans] forgive me.” That day he went hitless against the Angels’ Frank Tanana. But the next afternoon he faced 25-year-old Sid Monge, who had been only 20 days old when Minoso first appeared in the American League. Minnie singled to left.


Harry Caray.

Harry Caray.

When young Harry Carabina decided he wanted to be a baseball announcer, he conned his way into an audition with Merle Jones, owner of KMOX, St. Louis’ largest radio station. After the audition Jones commented, “Your voice has an exciting timbre.” He helped Carabina land his first broadcasting job, in Joliet, Illinois, and the voice of the renamed Harry Caray went on to excite fans for well over half a century.

Caray’s first major-league job was with his hometown Cardinals, and he stayed there for 25 years, from 1945 to 1969, working with four different owners—Sam Breadon, Fred Saigh, Bob Hannegan, and August Busch, who fired him.

He went on to work for Charlie Finley in Oakland, but after one season with the A’s he returned to the Midwest. The Chicago White Sox hired him in 1971 and he stayed on when the team was sold to Bill Veeck in 1976. On Opening Day that year, when the crowd began singing “Take Me out to the Ball Game” during the seventh-inning stretch, Veeck noticed that Caray was singing along in the broadcasters’ booth.

Without the announcer’s knowledge Veeck had a microphone set up in the booth, and Caray’s raspy singing voice was soon booming throughout the stadium. Confronted by Caray, Veeck explained, “Anybody in the ballpark hearing you sing that song knows he can sing as well as you can. Probably better than you can. So he or she sings along.” From that day on Caray’s enthusiastic rendering of the song was a Chicago tradition, especially on the North Side when he moved to the Cubs for the final years of his career.


Dick Young.

Dick Young.

Dick Young began his career with the New York Daily News as a messenger boy in 1937. After 45 years there he moved to the Post, but he had already changed the style of covering a baseball game forever. In the age of day baseball, the writers for afternoon papers had the players all to themselves after a game. Young, working for a morning paper with multiple editions, hung around the clubhouse to pick up quotes, “like a chipmunk looking for nuts,” in the uncomplimentary phrase that stuck. With these he would not only flesh out his game stories but also pepper his popular and, to the targets of his gibes, enfuriating column, “Young Ideas.”

No beat reporter today would dream of filing a game story without a quote. No baseball writer has ever dipped his pen in vitriol to greater effect. And no baseball writer prior to him would risk utter alienation from the source of future stories, as he did on a habitual basis.

Love him, hate him, you couldn’t ignore him. Even as his readers came increasingly to resent his testiness and his tendency to expound on the decline of society in general, he remained influential to the last.


Scott Boras.

Scott Boras.

No player agents has been more hated by management and vilified by the media than Scott Boras, and no agent has been more effective for his clients.

Boras began his involvement in professional baseball as an infielder/outfielder in the St. Louis organization during the mid-1970s. He never advanced past Class AA, retiring in 1977. In the off-season he pursued a law degree, becoming convinced of the inequity of minor-league contracts. “The deals were unilaterally imposed and the team could get out of them at any time,” he said later. “There was never any negotiation.”

In his new career as an agent, Boras looked to challenge the system. After drawn-out, confrontational negotiations, he secured ever-larger amounts for top picks Andy Benes, Ben McDonald and Brien Taylor, the New York Yankees’ first selection in 1991 who signed for $1.55 million—and never reached the major leagues. Although Boras continually added to his major-league client roster (he won for Kevin Brown baseball’s first nine-figure contract) it was another amateur, Florida State outfielder J.D. Drew, who gained him his greatest notoriety.

In 1996 amateurs Travis Lee and Matt White had escaped the draft through a loophole and commanded deals for over $10 million each; Boras envisioned even bigger numbers for Drew. “When you remove the barrier of the draft, you see what teams are willing to pay for select amateur players,” Boras said.

He warned frugally minded teams not to select his client, but the Philadelphia Phillies called his bluff and tapped Drew with the second overall pick. Drew rejected Philadelphia, demanding $11 million. He spent the season in the independent Northern League, which Boras maintained freed him from the draft. An arbitrator rejected his position, but Drew refused to sign with Philadelphia and went back into the draft. This time, the Cardinals signed him for $8 million.


Frank C. Bancroft.

Frank C. Bancroft.

He never played professional baseball, he managed his last game over a century ago, he won only one pennant, and he’s not in the Hall of Fame. So how does this gent make the list?

In a baseball career that spanned more than 40 years, he led the first professional U.S. team to visit the Caribbean. The one pennant he won was capped by victory in the very first World Series (1884, not 1903). He was talented enough as a manager to be hired by six big-league clubs—and contentious enough to wear out his welcome mat with seven, a record unequaled unless you count Billy Martin playing Judy to George Steinbrenner’s Punch.

Oh, and one last thing. He was the pioneer of platooning, with his 1884 Providence Grays of 1884, and perhaps earlier, with his Detroit Wolverines.

Bancroft first managed during the Civil War, arranging baseball games between Union Army regiments. Later he settled in New Bedford, Massachusetts, ran several successful businesses, and in 1878 became manager of New Bedford’s entry in the International Association, the first minor league. After the season he took his team barnstorming to Cuba. Two years later he was at the helm of Worcester when it entered the National League.

His other managerial stops were (in sequence) Detroit, Cleveland, Providence, Philadelphia, Indianapolis, and Cincinnati. In 1892 he became business manager of the Reds, a post he held until his death in 1921.


Arch Ward.

Arch Ward.

Notre Dame graduate Arch Ward’s first job was as the first sports publicity director his alma mater ever had. After one year there he moved to the Rockford Star to write sports. Five years later he was in the big leagues of sports journalism: sportswriter and, later, sports editor of the Chicago Tribune.

In 1933, Ward hit upon the idea of having a baseball game between stars from both leagues, as a sporting way to tie in to the “Century of Progress” Exposition in Chicago that year. He saw that July 6 was an open date for all major-league clubs, so he began to push the idea in his columns. In addition to promoting the city and the fair, Ward felt it could serve a charitable cause as well: raising funds for the “Professional Ball Players of America.” (He was surely connecting baseball officials to their memory of the 1911 All-Star benefit game on behalf of the family of Cleveland’s Addie Joss.) This was during the cold heart of the Depression, and Ward figured some former players who were financially strapped would benefit. Many owners disliked the idea, and when they finally agreed to it, they firmly stipulated it would be a one-time event.

As history has demonstrated, the concept was a smash from the very beginning. John McGraw came out of retirement to manage the National League. Babe Ruth, even though he was 38 years old, was the star, with both a two-run homer and a critical running catch. Seventeen future Hall of Famers played for the 47,595 fans that came to Comiskey Park. Of the $52,000 raised, $45,000 was donated to former players in need of financial assistance.

In 1934, Ward conjured up another all-star idea: the College All-Stars against the champions of the NFL, an event that ran annually through 1976.


Martin Dihigo.

Martin Dihigo.

Only Martin Dihigo has been elected to the Cuban, Mexican, and United States Baseball Halls of Fame. His speed, size, and strong throwing arm made him one of the most versatile players in baseball history. During his 30-year career Dihigo played every position on the field—sometimes more than one in the same game—and played each of them exceptionally well.

Dihigo was arguably the greatest Cuban ballplayer of all time. Among Cuban-born players, only Cristobal Torriente was considered his peer at the plate. Johnny Mize, who played for a team Dihigo managed in the Dominican Republic winter league in 1943, said Dihigo was the greatest player he’d ever seen. Buck Leonard shared Mize’s opinion: “He could run, hit, throw, think, pitch, and manage.”

Known as “El Maestro” in Mexico and “El Immortal” in Cuba, Dihigo began his U.S. career as an 18-year-old second baseman for the Cuban Stars. After five years he moved on to the Homestead Grays, and had short stints with the Philadelphia Hilldales, the Baltimore Black Sox, and the New York Cubans. Dihigo won three Negro League home run crowns and tied Josh Gibson for another. As a pitcher, he racked up more than 200 wins in American and Mexican ball.

He played sparingly as player-manager for the New York Cubans in 1945 and continued to play and manage in Cuba and Mexico until the early 1950s, when he returned to Cuba to stay. Dihigo served as Cuba’s minister of sports until his death in 1971. In 1977 he became the first Cuban to be elected to the National Baseball Hall of Fame.


Roger Kahn.

Roger Kahn.

Brooklyn-born Roger Kahn began covering the Dodgers for the New York Herald Tribune as a kid out of college. Ebbets Field was his graduate school, where he learned about baseball and baseball players, and most enduringly, the boys of summer in their ruin.

In his prolific career as an author of notable sports books, none of his titles stands above The Boys of Summer. Indeed, when Sports Illustrated selected its 100 Greatest Sports Books in 2002, Kahn’s masterpiece ranked #2; only a boxing book stood above it.

Kahn showed a generation of writers that even if they start their careers in the toy department of a newspaper, to use Red Smith’s phrase for the sports department, they can aspire to literature. He showed a generation of fans that as their boyhood heroes grow frail, as they themselves soon will, the road to heroism remains open and wide.

Within half a decade, 1966 to 1972, baseball books grew up, with other monumental accomplishments such as Larry Ritter’s The Glory of Their Times (1966), Harold Seymour’s Baseball: The Golden Age (1971), Roger Angell’s The Summer Game (1972), and, in an altogether different vein, Jim Bouton and Leonard Shecter’s Ball Four (1970). Roger Kahn was in the thick of this golden age and, in a personal golden age that extended into the current century, went on to write such fine books as A Flame of Pure Fire and October Men.

Lefty O'Doul.

Lefty O’Doul.


They called Lefty O’Doul “The Man in the Green Suit” because he was given to wearing a bright green sport jacket day in and day out. They might have also called him the American father of Japanese baseball, the NL batting champion of 1929 (with a .398 average), and “Mr. Pacific Coast League,” because, in his lengthy and varied career, he was all of these things.

O’Doul started out as a pitcher. He was signed by the San Francisco Seals of the PCL in 1917, and pitched a handful of games with the Yankees in 1919 through 1922.Traded to the Red Sox, he ended his pitching career in a blaze of ineptitude, surrendering 13 runs in one inning of work in a 27-3 loss.

Returning to the majors as a 31-year-old outfielder, he hit .319 for the Giants in 1928 but John McGraw didn’t like his fielding and traded him. With the Phillies O’Doul banged out a league-leading .398 average, 32 home run and, in what remains an NL record, 254 hits. He won another batting title in 1932 with the Dodgers.

He is famous as the answer to the trivia question, “Who has the highest batting batting average of any man eligible for the Hall of Fame who isn’t in it?” (He hit .349 over 11 seasons; only Joe Jackson’s .356 is higher.) How good a hitter was he? With Vancouver, at age 59, O’Doul sent himself up as a pinch hitter and walloped a triple. How did he do it? There were two reasons, he said: “The first is clean living, and the second is to bat against a pitcher who’s laughing so hard he can hardly throw the ball.”

Starting with the Seals in 1935 O’Doul began a long career of managing in the Pacific Coast League. He remained with San Francisco until 1951 (serving as vice president of the club from 1948 to 1951), and also managed San Diego, Oakland, Vancouver, and Seattle.

Starting in the early 1930s O’Doul made the first of more than 20 trips to Japan. There he assisted Matsutoro Shoriki in founding the first professional team, which he dubbed the Giants in honor of his last major league club. After Japan’s defeat in World War II, O’Doul returned to the country to help restore baseball and the defeated nation’s morale.

On leaving baseball in 1958, O’Doul founded a popular San Francisco restaurant. It remains a landmark on Geary Street just off Union Square, and they make a heck of a corned-beef sandwich.


Ned Hanlon.

Ned Hanlon.

Though never a strong hitter, Edward Hugh Hanlon was a fine outfielder and, more importantly, a leader. At age 24 he was named captain and found himself leading a team of luminaries when the Detroit Wolverines roared to the world championship in 1887. In 1892 he received an offer to manage the Baltimore Orioles, a team that had been absorbed into the NL when the American Association disbanded after the 1891 season.

The Orioles were awful. They finished 1892 dead last, 541/2 games out of first. Hanlon built a new team by gambling on young, unproven players. In 1893 he acquired third baseman John McGraw, outfielder Joe Kelley, and catcher Wilbert Robinson. The next year he added outfielder Willie Keeler, shortstop Hughie Jennings, and veteran first baseman Dan Brouthers. All six were eventually named to the Hall of Fame. By 1894 Hanlon’s club was fully established, and the Orioles won the pennant for three years running.

Attendance fell off as the Orioles finished second in 1897 and 1898. In 1899 the team merged with Brooklyn, and Hanlon received 10 percent of Brooklyn’s stock. He was now both president of the Orioles and manager of Brooklyn. He shifted most of Baltimore’s best players to Brooklyn, creating a powerhouse that was christened “Hanlon’s Superbas,” after a vaudeville act of the same name. (Hanlon himself had been nicknamed “Ned” after a famous contemporary oarsman named Ned Hanlan.) The Superbas won pennants in 1899 and 1900, giving Hanlon five flags and two second-place finishes in his seven years as a manager.

Hanlon’s greatest legacy is not his string of pennants but the success of the managers he influenced: Joe Kelley, Hughie Jennings, Wilbert Robinson, and John McGraw. Hanlon joined his disciples in the Hall of Fame in 1996.


Whitey Herzog.

Whitey Herzog.

Dorrel Norman Elvert “Whitey” Herzog changed the face of managerial strategy in the 1970s and 1980s as he transformed lackluster franchises in Kansas City and St. Louis into AstroTurf-exploiting, speed-dominated division champions and pennant winners. Stolen bases, defense and relief pitching were at the heart of “WhiteyBall.”

His career as a ballplayer was undistinguished and marred by injuries. Having been traded to Baltimore at the start of the 1961 season, he missed Opening Day after being hit in the nose by a ball coming through the back of a batting cage. Herzog was dealt to Detroit in 1962, and in early 1963 he was beset by an ear infection that hastened his retirement.

In 1965 he became a Kansas City coach and lasted until getting into a shouting match with Charlie Finley regarding traveling expenses. The next year he was named a coach for the New York Mets, and later became director of player personnel for the team.

In 1973 Herzog replaced Ted Williams as the Texas Rangers’ manager but couldn’t turn their fortunes around. In July 1975, however, Jack McKeon was fired at Kansas City, and Herzog was offered the managerial post. It was with the Royals that WhiteyBall first took shape, and it paid off with three successive AL West titles, but each time the Royals lost to the Yankees in the Championship Series. After Herzog finished second in 1979, he was gone.

“I thought I did my greatest job of managing that year, and yet I got fired,” said Herzog. “It’s amazing how fast you can get dumb in this game.”

Yet as one door closed, another opened. In June 1980 Herzog was got a job across the state with the Cardinals. The results were a world championship in 1982 and pennants in 1985 and 1987.


Carl Hubbell.

Carl Hubbell.

Carl Hubbell was nicknamed “the Meal Ticket” because that’s what he was to the New York Giants and manager John McGraw during his career. Hubbell earned two Most Valuable Player Awards and over two seasons won 24 games in a row. He is best remembered for the 1934 All-Star Game during which he struck out future Hall of Fame sluggers Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, Jimmie Foxx, Al Simmons, and Joe Cronin in succession. But what made him important (as opposed to merely a great player) was that with his trademark screwball he showed the baseball world that—even after the 1920 ban on spitballs, emery balls, and other trick pitches that had been dead-ball era staples—a pitcher without much of fastball or curve could still be a star.

Hubbell didn’t throw a screwball in high school, and the rest of his arsenal didn’t interest baseball scouts, but Hubbell refused to give up. Persistence paid off, and he caught on with the Class D Oklahoma State League’s Cushing Refiners. In June 1924 the circuit collapsed, and by season’s end Hubbell was with the Class A Western League’s Oklahoma City Indians. There Hubbell met an older pitcher named Lefty Thomas who worked with him on developing a sinker. As Hubbell tinkered with the new delivery he kept turning his wrist farther and farther over, and as he did he developed an entirely new pitch—the screwball. Christy Mathewson had thrown a “fadeaway,” a changeup with a reverse break, but Hubbell threw his pitch hard—so hard and so often that when his career was done, his left arm turned inward.

The Tigers purchased him at the close of the 1925 season but told him not to throw that crazy pitch. He never threw a pitch of any sort for Detroit despite three years in their system.

Hubbell was about ready to quit baseball when scout Dick Kinsella routed him to John McGraw’s Giants. There he registered five consecutive 20-game seasons, amid a myriad of other feats.


Mel Allen.

Mel Allen.

The single most recognizable—and likable—voice in the history of baseball broadcasting may well have been that of Mel Allen. Although his broadcasting career included stints covering football and other sports, his many years of broadcasting the Yankees, the World Series, and the All-Star Game have forever linked his comfortable style with the Golden Age of Baseball on the air. His easy drawl and signature “How ‘bout that, sports fans?” were inextricably connected with the pleasure of baseball.

In 1937 Allen obtained his law degree from the University of Alabama, where he had broadcast Crimson Tide football games for the CBS affiliate in Birmingham and, with the recommendation of pioneer broadcaster Ted Husing, he was hired as a CBS staff announcer for $45 a week. When Larry MacPhail broke the New York baseball radio blackout, Allen was hired as the Yankees’ broadcaster for the 1940 season. He and Red Barber, voice of the Dodgers, did the first of their World Series broadcasts together the following year. Allen proved to be an immediate hit with New York fans. He nicknamed Joe DiMaggio “The Yankee Clipper” and christened Phil Rizzuto “Scooter.” In 1948 Allen introduced his famous home run call: “It’s going, going, gone!”

In a move that devastated Allen for years to come, he was fired after the 1964 season. For a decade he was essentially gone from the national scene. But when Major League Baseball introduced its first syndicated series, This Week In Baseball, in 1977, Allen was back for a victory lap. When the Yankees hired him to work their cablecasts in 1985, Sports Illustrated waxed eloquent. “The Voice is back where it belongs…. When you hear it, it’s summer again, a lazy July or August afternoon with sunlight creeping across the infield.”


Baseball’s 100 Most Important People, Part 7

This the seventh installment of a book-length aeries that commenced on Monday ( Today we provide biographies for those ranked from 61 through 80. Tomorrow we wrap up, with 81 through 100. To revisit the full list from 1 to 100, go back to the launch of this series, at:

Baseball’s 100 Most Important People

Alan Schwarz and John Thorn


The Sporting News first issue, 1886.

The Sporting News first issue, March 17, 1886.

Viewed from the perspective of today’s role of journalists in the baseball world, it is hard to grasp the prestige the Spinks enjoyed—and the power they wielded—as publishers and editors of The Sporting News for nearly a century. Today an all-sports weekly, TSN was once regarded as the Bible of Baseball, and J.G. Taylor Spink, particularly, was the self-appointed guardian of the sport.

His uncle, Alfred H. Spink, founded The Sporting News in 1886, but he got his start in baseball as sports editor of the St. Louis Post and then as press agent for Chris von der Ahe’s St. Louis Browns. He brought his brother Charles (Taylor’s father) into The Sporting News as business manager and soon Charles controlled the company, championing challenges to the baseball establishment. Al went on to write The National Game in 1910, a valuable history.

When Charles died in 1914, Taylor took over the editorial reins. He expanded his weekly’s coverage to include the box scores of all major and minor league games—all the way down to D Class ball. He created a network of more than 300 stringers to make certain that every tidbit of baseball news in the whole country would be available to his readers. When World War I reduced subscriptions, Spink conjured up a scheme to get the publication into the soldiers’ hands free of charge; a generation of American men became avid Sporting News readers.

After Taylor passed away in 1962, his son, C.C. Johnson Spink (named for AL president Ban Johnson), guided the publication for 15 years until it was sold to Times-Mirror.


Ozzie Smith.

Ozzie Smith.

Ozzie Smith was in a class by himself at shortstop. Thomas Boswell of the Washington Post once wrote of him, “Instead of ‘1’ his number should be ‘8,’ but turned sideways because the possibilities he brings to his position are almost infinite.”

The National League’s career leader in Gold Gloves and by general acclaim the best-fielding shortstop of all time, Smith also made himself into an above-average hitter and fine base-stealer. It was Smith’s glove, however, that made him a legend. He not only got to balls that other players could not even reach, he turned them into double plays; in fact, Smith retired having taken part in more twin-killings than any shortstop in history. He also rarely missed games. Only Luis Aparicio played more games at the position than Smith.

After winning two Gold Gloves in San Diego and setting a record for assists with 621 in 1980, Smith was traded to the Cardinals for shortstop Garry Templeton after the 1981 season. He spent the rest of his career in St. Louis, learning to fit his talents to the spacious dimensions and artificial turf at Busch Stadium. In 1985 the switch-hitter improved his batting average to .276 and uncharacteristically won the deciding game of the NLCS with a ninth-inning home run, the only left-handed home run of his 19-year career.

Although he piled up 2460 hits and 580 stolen bases, it was his glove that won him his plaque in Cooperstown in 2002.


Jacob Ruppert, 1932.

Jacob Ruppert, 1932.

Yankee Stadium may be known figuratively as The House That Ruth Built, but in point of fact it was owner Jacob Ruppert who built not only the palace in the Bronx but also the Yankees’ tradition of excellence.

A high-living, big-spending son of a brewery magnate, Jacob Ruppert was no stranger to the elite of New York society. In fact, he had served as a four-term U.S. congressman from the “silk stocking” district of Manhattan. He went from silk stockings to sweat socks courtesy of Giants manager John McGraw. In 1915 McGraw introduced Ruppert to millionaire engineer and contractor Colonel Tillinghast L’Hommedieu Huston and suggested that the two of them buy the downtrodden New York Yankees.

Having paid $460,000 for the Yanks (back then everyone thought he had been taken for a ride, as the lowly Highlanders had previously been purchased for $18,000), Ruppert chose people to run his team and didn’t interfere with them. Behind Huston’s back, he hired Miller Huggins to manage the team. Huston’s dislike of Huggins eventually caused the dissolution of the partnership with Ruppert.

Ruppert obtained Babe Ruth from the Red Sox in the final days of 1919 and shortly thereafter hired Red Sox manager Ed Barrow as the team’s business manager. With the Huggins-Ruth-Barrow threesome in place, the Yankees won a rash of pennants and became the dominant team in the American League.

He was called Colonel Ruppert because of his rank in the seventh regiment of the National Guard. He looked after his own interests, building Yankee Stadium to house his star Babe Ruth. It cost $2.5 million but was well worth the investment.


Cap Anson, 1874.

Cap Anson, 1874.

Adrian Constantine Anson was a great hitter, manager, and innovator, one of the men who popularized baseball, and a star whose playing career ran so long (27 years at the major-league level) that his nickname went from “Baby” to “Cap” to “Pop.” When he finally left the team in 1897, the press called the young White Stockings he had managed the “Orphans.”

A big man (6’0, 227 pounds) who used his fists to enforce his rules, the least popular being his no-drinking edict, Anson was a martinet. Whether the players liked his style or not, he led his club to five pennants between 1880 and 1886.

He also helped segregate the national pastime. In 1883 the White Stockings showed up for an exhibition game in Toledo, Ohio. The presence of Moses Fleetwood Walker, an African-American ballplayer, in the opposing lineup so upset Anson that he cursed and raged from the dugout and threatened to withdraw his team from the game. Toledo countered with the possibility of withholding Chicago’s financial guarantee, and Anson backed down. Both he and Walker took the field. Anson’s threat did work on other occasions, however, and for later historians looking to ascribe blame for baseball’s segregation he became the lightning rod.

Following a brief stint in 1898 as manager of the New York Giants, Anson returned to in Chicago to run his poolroom. Elected city clerk in 1905, he came under official investigation and was turned out of office in 1907. To make ends meet he managed a semipro team and turned to the vaudeville stage, this time with his two daughters. But all his efforts failed, and Anson declared bankruptcy. The National League attempted to come to his aid, but the proud old first baseman refused all charity. When he died the next year, the league paid for his funeral.


Bill Veeck for Blatz.

Bill Veeck for Blatz.

Bill Veeck was baseball’s promotional genius, raconteur, bon vivant and patron saint of fun at the ballpark. His many memorable innovations included planting the ivy at Wrigley Field in Chicago, inventing the exploding scoreboard, letting fans manage his teams, using a midget as pinch hitter, and putting a shower in the bleachers. Veeck also brought pennants to two teams that had gone a combined 68 years without any and he integrated the American League by signing Larry Doby and Satchel Paige.

During his stints as owner of the Cleveland Indians, the Chicago White Sox (twice), the St. Louis Browns, and two minor-league teams, Veeck was part shaman, part sham. He believed that any team that relied solely on true baseball fans for its patronage would “go out of business by Mother’s Day.” With this in mind, Veeck the baseball purist became the game’s P. T. Barnum, a characterization he hated. He preferred to be called a hustler … and literally wrote the book on the art: The Hustler’s Handbook.

The Indians’ 1948 world championship, the Tribe’s first since 1920, was Veeck’s finest moment. That year the team drew an unprecedented 2,620,627 fans—a record that stood for three decades—and won their one-game pennant playoff against the Boston Red Sox. Pitching for Cleveland was Gene Bearden, a rookie knuckleballer acquired from the hated Yankees on the recommendation of Casey Stengel, formerly one of Veeck’s managers in Milwaukee. Bearden also won his only World Series start and saved the finale of the Tribe’s six-game Series win over the Boston Braves. “Lost in a lot of the showmanship was a tremendously sound baseball mind,” said son Mike Veeck.


Dizzy Dean Grape Nuts Poster.

Dizzy Dean Grape Nuts Poster.

Dizzy Dean was a man of many accomplishments and even more words, some of which were standard English. The National League’s last 30-game winner and a card-carrying member of St. Louis’ “Gas House Gang,” Dean often made good on his outrageous boasts. As he put it, “It ain’t bragging if you can do it.”

In 1934 the Cardinals won the pennant as rookie Paul Dean contributed 19 wins on top of his brother’s 30. The Deans were even better in the postseason. As the Cardinals prepared for the World Series against the Detroit Tigers, Dizzy predicted, “Me and Paul’ll win two games apiece.” That’s exactly what happened.

Dizzy Dean’s career began to unravel in July 1937. In the All-Star Game Earl Averill lined a ball off Dean’s left little toe, fracturing it. Coming back to the mound after only two weeks, with “splints on my foot, and a shoe two sizes too big,” he compensated by altering his motion. He hurt his arm and was never the same again.

During the off-season Branch Rickey traded Dean to the Cubs, with whom he lasted as both a player and a coach until June 1941, when he started broadcasting Cardinals and Browns games for Falstaff beer. Dean’s disregard for correct grammar caught the attention of the St. Louis Board of Education, which demanded that he be taken off the air. Dean stood his ground. “Let the teachers teach English, and I will teach baseball.” As for his use of “ain’t,” he said, “There is a lot of people in the United States who say isn’t, and they ain’t eatin’.”


Joe Spear.

Joe Spear.

Joe Spear may be the most important person on this list whose name you don’t recognize. He is the national pastime’s Christopher Wren, the head baseball architect for Hellmuth, Obata & Kassabaum—the Kansas City firm whose designs revolutionized the 21st century ballpark experience. He led the design of Oriole Park at Camden Yards and Jacobs Field in Cleveland, the only two ballparks ever awarded National AIA Awards for Architecture. He and his firm also designed the new ballparks in Cincinnati, San Francisco, Detroit, Denver, San Diego, and Philadelphia.

Spear helped pioneer the practice of building the stadium in deference to its neighborhood, as Camden Yards preserved the now-famous warehouse and Pac Bell lets home runs splash into San Francisco Bay. The former paradigm of concrete ashtrays moated by parking lots seems a distant memory.

The big story is that thanks to HOK, major-league baseball played in multipurpose stadiums is largely a thing of the past. Intimacy and human scale have returned to the old ball game.


Frank Robinson.

Frank Robinson.

Few ballplayers have had as much impact on the game as Frank Robinson. He won the Rookie of the Year Award in 1956 and Most Valuable Player Award in both leagues, with the Cincinnati Reds in 1961 and the Baltimore Orioles in 1966. He collected 586 home runs. In 1975 he became the game’s first African-American manager (hitting a home run in his first at bat to help register his first managerial victory). After becoming an influential major-league executive in the 1990s, at age 66 he returned to the field to manage the Montreal Expos. And at every stop along the way, he was an outspoken advocate of equal opportunity for African Americans in baseball.

Although Robinson played for five teams during his 21-year career, his main achievements came with the Cincinnati Reds from 1956 through 1965 and with the Baltimore Orioles from 1966 through 1972. In 1961 Robinson was voted league MVP as the Reds won their first pennant since 1940.

At the end of the 1965 season Cincinnati general manager William DeWitt traded Robinson to the Orioles for pitchers Milt Pappas and Jack Baldschun and outfielder Joe Simpson. DeWitt branded Robinson “an old 30,” a phrase that would ultimately cost him his job. In Robinson’s first season in Baltimore he led the Orioles to a pennant and a World Series sweep of the Los Angeles Dodgers, winning the Triple Crown and MVP. Finishing his playing career with the Dodgers, Angels and Indians, he remained a part-time DH in his two full years at the Cleveland helm.


Donald Fehr

Don Fehr

As executive director of the Major League Baseball Players Association, Don Fehr guided the players’ union through some of baseball’s most turbulent times. His first involvement with baseball came when he worked on the Andy Messersmith case. The MLBPA had just won the right to free agency in arbitration, and Fehr successfully represented the players in the owners’ federal-court appeal.

Fehr became the union’s executive director in 1984, two years after Marvin Miller retired. Where Miller was a fiery union leader, Fehr was more stoical but no less effective in defending and extending the players’ gains. His main successes have been proving collusion in the 1986-88 off-seasons and fighting off implementation of a salary cap in 1994-95. Fearing that the owners would implement their own plan unilaterally, Fehr led the players in a walkout on August 12, 1994.

Despite the fact that many serious financial issues remained unresolved after play resumed in 1995, Fehr felt that a much better rapport came to exist between the Players Association and the Commissioner’s office. “We don’t always agree, we don’t always get it done,” Fehr said, “but there is a much higher level of joint commitment to trying to avoid difficulties…. I would like to think that everybody will remember what we went through in ‘94 and do their level best to avoid it.”


George Weiss (left), Stengel

George Weiss (left), Stengel

“The last of the empire builders,” Weiss, more than any other man, was responsible for the unprecedented success of the New York Yankees from the mid-1930s until the mid-1960s: 22 pennants and 17 world championships.

He began with the Eastern League New Haven franchise in 1919 and advanced to become general manager of Baltimore of the International League in 1929. In 1932 Jacob Ruppert, admiring the farm system Branch Rickey had built for the St. Louis Cardinals, appointed Weiss farm director of the Yankees, a position he continued to hold under the new ownership of Del Webb, Dan Topping, and Larry MacPhail. The torrent of talent that flowed into the Yankee system was the envy of every other team in baseball, and it wasn’t just about money.

In 1948, after MacPhail was cast aside by his partners, Weiss became general manager of the Yankees. One of his first moves was to hire Casey Stengel as manager, despite Stengel’s reputation as a clown and a loser. With Weiss supplying the players and Stengel managing them, the Yankees won 10 pennants between 1949 and 1960.

Both he and Stengel were let go as “too old” after the 1960 season. Weiss became president of the expansion Mets in 1961, again hired Stengel as manager, and together they laid the groundwork for the future success of that team. In the meantime, the Yankees that Weiss had built continued to win pennants through 1964, and then collapsed into the poorest Yankees’ decade since before World War I.


Sadaharu Oh.

Sadaharu Oh.

Sadaharu Oh, the most prolific home run hitter of all time, played his entire career for the Yomiuri (Tokyo) Giants in Japan. Oh combined an unorthodox, one-footed batting stance and a uniquely Eastern hitting philosophy to help him slam 868 home runs during a 22-year career. As a product of the publicity surrounding Hank Aaron’s pursuit and capture of Babe Ruth’s home-run record, the two men became friends and U.S. fans became more attuned to Japanese baseball.

Oh signed with the Giants in 1959, and his early struggles at the plate gave no indication of the heroics to come. “My big weakness was that I had a ‘hitch’ in my swing,” Oh said. “The hitch grew more, not less, pronounced with time, so that at the beginning of my first year as a pro it was very deeply ingrained.”

In 1962 the Giants’ batting coach, a distinguished swordsman named Hiroshi Arakawa, taught Oh to hit the way master swordsmen learn to battle. According to Arakawa there were seven steps to proper hitting form—fighting spirit, stance, grip, backswing, forward stride, downswing, and impact.     As a result of this training Oh strung together 19 straight 30-plus home run seasons, despite a yearly schedule of only 140 games. He hit four homers in a single game in 1963, set the Japanese single-season home run record with 55 in 1964, and was named Most Valuable Player nine times. After retiring in 1980 Oh managed the Tokyo Giants.


Abner Doubleday.

Abner Doubleday.

In the words of historian Harold Peterson, “Abner Doubleday didn’t invent baseball. Baseball invented Abner Doubleday.” So what explains his presence on this list? He is important because, despite the efforts of generations of scholars, he remains the popular answer to the question, “Who is the father of baseball?” He is important because without him the Baseball Hall of Fame would be somewhere other than Cooperstown, New York. And he is important in the way that Casey of “Casey at the Bat” is important: he makes for a heck of a good story, full of twists and turns too convoluted to go into here (see “The True Father of Baseball” in this volume).

The real Abner Doubleday was a formidable person but the fraudulent one is the one we celebrate here. In 1861 he was at Fort Sumter, South Carolina, and commanded the first Union gun to answer the Confederate shelling that began the Civil War. Later he fought at Gettysburg and eventually rose to the rank of major general. When he died in 1893 no one who knew him could recall his ever mentioning his great invention.

In the 1905 Guide, Albert Spalding called for a blue-ribbon commission to investigate the origin of the game. The commission threw its support behind a letter from Abner Graves, a seventyish mining engineer in Denver who claimed Doubleday had “outlined with a stick in the dirt the present diamond-shaped Base Ball field, indicating the location of the players in the field, and [I] afterward saw him make a diagram of the field on paper, with a crude pencil memorandum of the rules for his new game, which he named ‘Base Ball.’”



Lou Gehrig, Joe McCarthy.

Lou Gehrig, Joe McCarthy.

His accomplishments on the field made him an authentic American hero, but Lou Gehrig’s tragic early death made him a legend. Sportswriter Jim Murray described the tall, strong Gehrig as “Gibraltar in cleats.”

Signed by Yankees scout Paul Krichell in 1923, Gehrig got into a few games as September callup that year, then became a Yankee for good in 1925, commencing his streak of 2,130 straight games on June 1. The streak nearly obscured Gehrig’s power-hitting exploits, especially as Babe Ruth began to decline in the 1930s. As only one example of his countless feats, on full display in his statistical entry, in his 13 full seasons Gehrig averaged 147 RBIs; no player was to gather so many in a single season for four decades.

Gehrig played the first eight games of the 1939 season, but he managed only four hits. On a ball hit back to pitcher Johnny Murphy, Gehrig had trouble getting to first in time for the throw. When he returned to the dugout, his teammates complimented him on the “good play.” Gehrig knew it was time to leave.

The next day, as Yankee captain, he took the lineup card to the umpires, as usual. But his name was not on the card. Babe Dahlgren was stationed at first. Later in the month, doctors at the Mayo Clinic diagnosed Gehrig as having a very rare degenerative disease: amyotrophic lateral sclerosis. There was no chance he would ever play baseball again. He died in 1941 at age 38.


John Dewan.

John Dewan.

Statistics have been described as baseball fans’ narcotic. If so, for most of the computer age, Dewan has been the main dealer.

A Chicago actuary who grew up playing Strat-O-Matic baseball and loving statistics, Dewan helped relaunch a failing company called STATS Inc. in 1985. (Before that, STATS had been a software company that helped three major-league teams keep their own numbers.) Dewan envisioned the company as a direct data provider to media, teams and fans. He aimed to deliver statistics instantly and electronically—in real time, as it was later called–years before that concept hit the mainstream. His vision brought billions of statistics to fans and made him a multimillionaire.

Dewan’s STATS Inc. broke the Elias Sports Bureau monopoly in the late 1980s by providing statistics to companies left and right, from Sports Illustrated to ESPN to USA Today. Dewan and partner Dick Cramer designed a new, bulked-up box score that presented far more information than the ones of old, with new categories such as pitch counts, ground balls and fly balls, blown save opportunities, runners moved up, and holds for middle relievers.

STATS aligned early with America Online, and in the mid-’90s brought fans an innovation they had only dreamt of before: the real-time box score. Fans with a phone line could “watch” every game unfold on their computers, through the statistics, live.   Rotisserie fans rejoiced. Sports leagues did not, however, claiming that real-time statistics delivery violated their property rights. Dewan and STATS fought the leagues in federal court and won the case in 1996, ushering in even more innovation in real-time data delivery.

Dewan and his partners sold STATS Inc. to NewsCorp in 2000 for $45 million. He later started a new company called Baseball Info Solutions.


Bill Doak.

Bill Doak.

“Spittin’ Bill” Doak may have been responsible for causing more batters to be retired than any other pitcher in the history of baseball. He did so not with his pitching, fine though it was (NL leader in ERA in 1914 and 1921), but by inventing a baseball glove so superior to any used earlier that he earned royalties from it for nearly 35 years.

Before Doak came along, fielders’ mitts were nothing but small leather pillows. They helped protect the hand but did not help the fielder make a catch, particularly before they were broken in. Players often spent several seasons pounding out a satisfactory pocket; some even cut the palm out of the glove to form a pocket.

Around 1920 Doak sketched a glove with a pocket already formed. He inserted a lace of leather strips between the thumb and first finger, which were previously connected with a single slab of leather. He took his sketches to the Rawlings Sporting Goods Company, and within a few years the Doak Glove was the most popular mitt on the market. It still protected the hand but for the first time helped the player snag the ball. Fielding improved dramatically in the 1920s, and, with continued improvement in glove design based on Doak’s breakthrough, new records continue to be set today.


Casey Stengel (left), 1963.

Casey Stengel (left), 1963.

Casey Stengel, who knew how to tell a story, sometimes started one like this: “Now take Ty Cobb, who is dead at the present time.” Or he sometimes said, “There comes a time in everyone’s life, and I’ve had plenty of them.” Stengel left behind too many stories, too many laughs, too many outrageous stunts, and too many run-on sentences that started at Point A and meandered through the rest of the alphabet. His version of the English language even developed a name—Stengelese. He is the James Joyce of baseball and a national treasure.

His record with the Yankees is one of unparalleled success—10 pennants in 12 years, 7 World Series wins, 5 of them in a row. That he was the least likely candidate to manage the Barons of the Bronx only adds to the charm of his life story.

After posting rotten records as manager of the Brooklyn Dodgers and then the Boston Braves, Stengel was thought to be washed up. But he bounced back with championship clubs in the minors and in 1948 his old friend George Weiss confounded the press and brought him to the Yankees. After losing the 1960 World Series to Pittsburgh in the final inning of the final game, both Weiss and Stengel were bounced.

But there was a final act for each, with the engagingly awful New York Mets. Stengel managed his last game on July 24, 1965, though he didn’t bow out quietly. That night at Toots Shor’s restaurant he attended a party to honor the invitees for the next day’s Old Timer’s Game. He fell, breaking his left hip.

The next year, Stengel was elected to the Hall of Fame, and both the Mets and Yankees retired his uniform No. 37.


Rube Waddell, 1906.

Rube Waddell, 1906.

Historian Lee Allen described Waddell’s 1903 season: “He began that year sleeping in a firehouse in Camden, New Jersey, and ended it tending bar in a saloon in Wheeling, West Virginia. In between those events he won 22 games for the Philadelphia Athletics, played left end for the Business Men’s Rugby Football Club of Grand Rapids, Michigan, toured the nation in a melodrama called The Stain of Guilt, courted, married and became separated from May Wynne Skinner of Lynn, Massachusetts, saved a woman from drowning, accidentally shot a friend through the hand, and was bitten by a lion.”

A muscular 6-footer with a wicked overhand delivery of a blazing fastball and an excellent curve, George Edward Waddell was a strikeout pitcher in an era when most batters choked up and slapped at the ball. He led his league in strikeouts seven times, six consecutively. Waddell’s 349 strikeouts in 1904 was baseball’s all-time record until Sandy Koufax broke it 61 years later.

As tough as he was on the mound, Waddell was even tougher to deal with personally; he was a low-intellect, high-spirited country boy who came by his nickname honestly. In a way he was a vestige of baseball’s past; college-boy Christy Mathewson pointed to the future. When Mark “The Bird” Fidrych came along in the 1970s, there was barely a man alive who could make the connection. For more about Rube’s place in baseball history, see John Thorn’s essay in this volume.


Hank Greenberg, 1942.

Hank Greenberg, 1942.

Giants manager John McGraw had his eyes out for a Jewish player to entice New York’s large Jewish community to the ballpark. But his scouts saw Hank Greenberg play high school baseball and reported that he was too clumsy. The Yankees and Senators made offers, but each had an entrenched star at his position. Greenberg signed with the Tigers and by June 1933 he was a fixture at first base. Two years later he drove in 170 runs and was named the league’s MVP

Throughout his early playing days Greenberg was subjected to ethnic taunts, even by the Cubs in the 1935 World Series. He never retaliated, claiming that the slurs only motivated him to play better. He lent his support to Jackie Robinson when the invective came his way in 1947.

Greenberg’s lifetime rate of .92 RBIs per game is matched only by Lou Gehrig and Sam Crawford, and when he retired in 1947, his 331 homers were the fifth-best total. Yet Greenberg’s career numbers could have been even better had he not missed four and a half seasons in the armed services. The second baseball player to join the military during World War II (Hugh Mulcahy was the first), Greenberg received his discharge on December 5, 1941. Two days later the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, and he reenlisted. He had barely swung a bat in more than four years when he returned to his team in front of nearly 50,000 delirious Detroit fans on July 1, 1945. He obligingly slugged a homer to lead the Tigers to a win.


Miles Wolff.

Miles Wolff.

More than anyone, Miles Wolff is responsible for the modern renaissance of minor-league baseball, as it emerged from the lean years of the 1960s and ‘70s to the boom of the 1980s and ‘90s. Wolff bought the Carolina League’s Durham Bulls for just $2,666 in 1979, nurtured it into a local success, and owned the franchise as it became a national symbol of the minor leagues after the release of the film Bull Durham in 1988. He sold the team in 1990 for $4 million just as the minors began to flourish again.

A baseball purist at heart, Wolff grew frustrated at the money- and marketing-driven approach exhibited by the regular minor leagues, whose clubs were beholden to the major-league organizations to which they fed players. (Communities rarely got to know the best players, because they were promoted to the next level within three or sixth months.) So in 1993, Wolff re-established the Northern League, a circuit in the upper Midwest made up of teams that operated outside the sphere of Organized Baseball. The Northern League’s six clubs signed players—often minor-league veterans on their way down or overlooked collegians—to stock their rosters. The Northern League was an instant success and spawned imitators across the country.

Wolff’s first baseball job came in 1971 as the general manager of the Double-A Savannah (Georgia) Braves, and he subsequently was a GM in Anderson, South Carolina., and Jacksonville, Florida.

Wolff also owned Baseball America, the Durham-based magazine of the minor leagues, for most of its lifetime. He bought the magazine from founder Allan Simpson in 1982 and served as president and publisher until selling the company in 2000.


KIng Kelly, 1887.

KIng Kelly, 1887.

Michael Joseph Kelly is regarded today as a lovable scamp, a legendary figure who played the archetypes of knave, fool, and jester at will. What has been lost along the way to the 21st century is that in his day he was the greatest player in the game and the hero of his age.

In 1880 Chicago manager Cap Anson induced Kelly to join the White Stockings and he soon became the darling of Chicago, the quintessential “man about town.” The only thing he consumed faster and in greater quantity than alcohol was Anson’s patience.

Kelly’s baserunning alone was worth the price of admission. The fans yelled, “Slide, Kelly, slide!” as soon as he reached base. An enterprising songwriter eventually turned the cheer into a song that enjoyed great popularity, particularly in Chicago.

After hitting .388 in 1886 and leading the White Sox to another pennant, Kelly was sold to Boston. The city of Chicago was stunned. Anson was certainly fed up with Kelly’s drinking, and player contracts had often been peddled before, but no player of Kelly’s stature had ever been sold and the $10,000 price tag was unprecedented.

By the 1890s Kelly’s indulgent lifestyle was beginning to catch up with him. His body, which once looked like that of a Greek god, began to look like a Grecian vase. In November 1894, his baseball days behind him, he was on his way to Boston to appear at the Palace Theater when he was stricken with pneumonia. As they carried his stretcher into the hospital, the attendants tripped and dumped Kelly on the floor. “That’s me last slide,” he said. A few days later he died.





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