“The Brutality of Baseball During the Constructive Period”

24 Sep

In 1910, after close to 40 years in baseball, Jim O’Rourke talked to Tip Wright, a former Cleveland baseball and boxing writer, then with The United Press, about his life in baseball:

“As I like back to the day before we wore gloves I can scarcely understand how we went through the ordeal of a game. Before gloves were used, the catcher suffered unbelievable torture. On a hot day, when the blood circulated freely, the catcher’s hands would swell about the third inning. When the swelling started, the pain caused by the impact with the ball decreased, because the swollen flesh made sort of a cushion.

“But on a cold day, when the blood did not course freely, and the hands would not swell, the pain was intense. I have seen catchers hold a piece of soft rubber in their mouths, and whenever the ball was pitched they would screw up their faces and bite on the rubber as hard as they could to offset the pain.”

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Jim O’Rourke

O’Rourke said that when the weather was warm it was sometimes said by catchers:

“Oh, I am getting along fine—my hands are swelling up in great shape.”

In addition to the scars carried by catchers, O’Rourke told Wright about the many players he saw “knocked senseless many times,” and that he still suffered from the effects of those early days:

“Talk about the roughness of football in these days, and the hopelessness of trying to stop it, but it is nothing compared to the brutality of baseball during the constructive period .

“My head has been so sore from being hit that I could not think and my hands so sore from catching that I could not hold an orange tossed from a distance of six feet.”

O’Rourke told Wright about joining the Boston Red Stockings as a 22 year-old in 1873, and his relationship with another Wright—Boston manager Harry:

“They called me ‘Harry Wright’s boy.’ He took me to live with his family, and, had I been spoilable, I would have been spoiled in a short time. But the things my mother taught me kept me straight. I never touched liquor or tobacco in my life. I never dodged temptations; in fact I exposed myself to them. When the boys went out they asked me to go along, knowing I would care for them when they got into difficulty.

“Had I headed wrong at this time my bright future would have been ruined…I advise young ballplayers that if they leave liquor alone they can dodge the other evil—late hours and loose living—that have ruined so many bright players.”

Of his brief stint as an umpire in 1894, O’Rourke said:

“I couldn’t stand it—I wouldn’t be an umpire for anything, so I went to Bridgeport, and because I could not keep out of the game, I played that year with the St. Joseph’s Temperance team.”

As for young players, O’Rourke said most didn’t compare with his son—James “Queenie” O’Rourke was in 1910, a 26-year-old infielder and outfielder for the Columbus Senators in the American Association:

queenie.jpg

Queenie O’Rourke

“I think James is as steady as I was. Every year when he leaves home, I say to him, ‘Now, James, if you will just leave stimulants alone, no harm can come to you. You can’t help but being a good man.’ And up to this time he has not touched either liquor or tobacco, and I know he won’t.

He kisses his mother goodbye each year, just as I used to kiss mine. I often look at the young fellows and wonder why they do not behave.

“Maybe one reason is they have too easy a time, compared with we old veterans, as many of the hardships of baseball have been removed by appliances and safeguards.”

More from O’Rourke on Thursday.

“I knew but Little, but Schaefer Taught me.”

19 Sep

Ty Cobb had a dilemma in the fall of 1910.  After being presented with a new Chalmers automobile (along with Napoleon Lajoie) for leading the league in batting.  Ed Grillo of The Washington Evening Star said he found a solution:

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Cobb in his Chalmers

“Ty Cobb has presented Herman Schaefer with his old automobile.  The car which he has been using will be of no further use now that he has received the one offered for the best major league batsman.

“In giving Schaefer the machine Cobb is repaying ‘Germany’ for the many kindly turns he did for Cobb.”

Cobb told Grillo:

“If it were not for Schaefer’s interest in me I would not have made myself the ballplayer I am…When I joined the Detroit club (in 1905) I knew but little, but Schaefer taught me.  The very first day he got after me because I did not pick my feet up and run as he thought I should.  Then he told me to turn toward second when going to first so that if anything happened to the ball I could take another base.”

Schaefer told Grillo his most difficult task was teaching the 18-year-old Cobb to slide—Cobb agreed:

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Schaefer

“I thought it was too dangerous in those days and would not try.  But one day in an exhibition game at Indianapolis I saw Schaefer slide away from the baseman holding the ball, and I made up my mind that I would learn the trick.  I asked Schaefer to teach me, and for the next two weeks we would go to the park every morning and he would go through the motion of catching and touching me with the ball.  He would tell me just when and how to slide, and if I made a mistake he would change places and he would do the sliding.

“In that way I learned everything I know about base running, and I owe it all to Schaefer, and I gave him my machine in appreciation of the many kindnesses he has shown me.”

“This Player has More Honor Than 99 Business men out of 100”

17 Sep

James Palmer O’Neill was the President of the 1890 Pittsburgh Alleghenys—one of baseball’s worst teams of all-time.  With mass defections to the Pittsburgh Burghers of the Players League, the club won four of their first six games, then began a free-fall that ended with the team in eight place with 23-113 record.

O’Neill, who held an interest in the club, but bought controlling interest from Owner William Nimick before the 1891, kept the team afloat during that disastrous 1890 season, and according to The Pittsburgh Dispatch, never lost his faith in the prospects of National League baseball in the city right through the final road trip:

“(The team) landed at Jersey City, bound to play the last series of the disastrous season…They had great difficulty in raising the  money to pay ferryboat fares to Brooklyn and things were awfully blue.  It was raining hard when I met Mr. O’Neill later that morning at Spalding’s Broadway store, and the prospects of taking the $150 guarantee at the game in the afternoon were very slim…(reporters) asked Mr. O’Neill about his club and the outlook for the League.

‘”Never better!  Never Better! We shall come out on top sir, sure.  We’ve got the winning cards and we mean to play them.’”

The paper said O’Neill’s luck changed that day as “he wore his largest and most confident smile, and used the most rosy words in his vocabulary…such pluck compelled the fates to relent.”

The rain stopped and O’Neill was able to leave Brooklyn “with $2000 or more in his clothes,” to meet expenses.

Before the 1891 season, O’Neill told Tim Murnane of The Boston Globe, just how difficult it was to run a National League club during the year of the Brotherhood:

“I think I could write a very interesting book on my experience in baseball that would be worth reading.  How well I remember the opening game in Pittsburgh last spring, and how casually President Nimick was knocked out—and O’Neill laughed heartily at the thought of Nimick’s weakening

“After witnessing the immense crowd of nearly 10,000 people wending their way to the brotherhood grounds, Nimick and I went to the league park.  As we reached the grounds, Nimick walked up to the right field  fence and looked through a knot hole. ‘My God,’ said he, and he nearly fell in a heap at my feet,  ‘Can it be that I have spent my time for 10 years trying to build baseball up in this city and the public have gone entirely back on me?’”

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O’Neill trying to catch a championship, 1891

O’Neill said:

“I looked and could see about two dozen people in the bleachers, and not many more in the grand stand (contemporary reports put the attendance at 1000).  Nimick and I then went inside the grounds, and when the bell rang to call play we started up the stairs to our box, carrying the balls to be used in the game.  When about half way up, the president staggered and handed me the balls.  I went up to throw one out for the game.  Nimick turned back, went home without seeing the game, and was not in humor to talk base ball for several weeks.”

O’Neill then told how he managed to keep the team going for the entire season while Nimick planned to fold the team:

“When he came around about four weeks later it was to disband the club, throw up the franchise and quit the business.  I talked him into giving me an option on the franchise for 30 days.  When the time was up I put Nimick off from time to time, and as I didn’t bother him for money he commenced to brace up a little.  I cut down expenses and pulled the club through the season, and now have the game on fair basis in Pittsburgh, with all the old interests pulling together.”

Despite the near collapse of the franchise—or maybe because the near collapse allowed him to get control of the team—O’Neill had good things to say about the players who formed the Brotherhood:

“I have great admiration for the boys who went with the Players’ League as a matter of principle, and will tell you one instance where I felt rather mad.  About the middle of the season, Captain Anson was in Pittsburgh and asked me if I couldn’t get some of my players to jump their contracts (to return to the National League).  “All we want,’ said Anson, ‘is someone to make the start, and then (Buck) Ewing, (King) Kelly, (Jimmy) Ryan, (Jim) Fogarty and other will follow.’

“I told Anson that I had not tried to get any of my old players back since the season started in, but that Jimmy Galvin was at home laid off without pay, and we might go over and see how he would take it.  The Pittsburgh PL team was away at the time.

“We went over to Allegheny  , where Galvin lived, and saw his wife and about eight children.  They said we could find him at the engine house a few blocks away, and we did.  Anson took him to one side and had a long talk, picturing the full downfall of the Players’ League and the duty he owed his family.  Galvin listened with such attention that it encouraged me.  So I said: ‘Now, Mr. Galvin, I am ready to give you $1000 in your hand and a three year contract to return and play with the League.  You are now being laid off without pay and can’t afford it.’

“Galvin answered that his arm would be all right in a few days, and that if (Ned) Hanlon would give him his release he might do business with me, but would do no business until he saw Manager Hanlon.  Do what we would, this ball player, about broke, and a big family to look out for, would not consent to go back on the brotherhood.”

galvin

Galvin

O’Neill said he told Anson after the two left Galvin:

“’I am ashamed of myself.  This player has more honor than 99 business men out of 100, and I don’t propose any more of this kind of business.’ I admire Galvin for his stand, and told Anson so, but the Chicago man was anxious to see some of the stars make a break so the anxious ones could follow.”

O’Neill, after he “lit a fresh cigar,” told how Murnane how he negotiated with his players:

“At the close of (the 1890) season (George “Doggie”) Miller came to me and wanted to sign for next year, as he had some use for advance money.  I asked him how much he thought he was worth, and he said $4000 would catch him.

‘”My goodness son, do you what you are talking about?’ said I, and handing him a good cigar asked him to do me a favor by going home, and while he smoked that cigar to think how much money was made in base ball last season by the Pittsburgh club.  I met Miller the next day at 3 o’clock by appointment, and he had knocked off $800, saying he thought the matter over and would sign for $3200.

“’Now you are getting down to business,’ said I.”

O’Neill sent Miller home two more times, and after he “smoked just for of my favorite brand,” Miller returned and signed a three year contract at $2100 a season.

O’Neill said:

“You see that it always pays to leave negotiations open until you have played your last card.”

Murnane concluded:

“For his good work for the league and always courteous treatment of the players’ league, Mr. O’Neill has the support of not only his league stockholders, but such men as Hanlon, John M. Ward, and the entire Pittsburgh press.  He has the confidence of A.G. Spalding, and is sure to give Pittsburgh baseball a superior quality next season.”

Reborn as the Pirates under O’Neill, the club improved slightly in 1891.  O’Neill, who according to The Pittsburgh Press, lost as much as $40,000 during the 1890-91 season “a blow from which he never recovered financially,”  left Pittsburgh to start the Chamberlain Cartridge Company in Cleveland; he returned to Pittsburgh and served as president of the Pittsburgh Athletic club—which operated the Pirates—from 1895-1898.

He died on January 6, 1908.  The Associated Press said in his obituary:

 “(He was) known from coast to coast as the man who saved the National League from downfall in 1890, ‘the brotherhood year.’”

.

“The Brown Stockings, A Gloomy Title”

14 Sep

Shortly before the 1875 National Association season, the St. Louis Brown Stockings visited Louisville to play an exhibition against the semi-pro Olympics.

The Louisville Courier-Journal wrote with admiration about the building of a professional club in St. Louis:

“The signs of the times indicate a far livelier season of base ball than has ever been enjoyed in America by lovers of the great national pastime.  Especially will this be the case in the west, to which part of our country the great baseball wave has been slowly moving for several years.”

The paper said St. Louis was acting to eclipse Chicago as the “capital” of baseball in the west:

“In order to be honorably represented in the base ball arena, the Mound City folks formed a stock company; gathered in $20,000 from wealthy merchants and millionaires, procured twelve experts in the national game, and now the city smiles while she thinks how her club will walk forward to the pinnacle of fame this year.”

Recruited from “Eastern states,” The Courier-Journal said of the St. Louis team:

“The Brown Stockings, a gloomy title for so gay a set of fellows, though it is rather the fault of St. Louis papers than the base ballists, that they are forced to wear it.  All in all, the St. Louis club is composed of as handsome a set of fellows as ever handled the willow or tossed the ball.  We refer to face as well as form.  Since their engagement by a St. Louis stock company the base-ballists have been under gymnastic training…The members have perfect understanding of each other’s movements, and act accordingly.”

Noting that many of the players had spent the previous season in Brooklyn, the paper said they chose to “come west, like all good people ought to do.”

The Courier-Journal reporter interviewed outfielder Jack “Death to Flying Things” Chapman, who offered a wealth of information on the 19th Century ballplayer:

chapman

Jack Chapman

“(He) is six feet high, and splendidly built, being a ‘man as is a man.’  He only weighs one hundred and seventy-seven and isn’t married, though he contemplates taking a partner someday.”

Chapman, the “best looking man on the team,” who “is much liked by his associates,” was designated the “team scholar” to talk to the press in the absence of manager Dickey Pearce who was ill.  He said:

“St. Louis is bound to be the greatest place on the continent for base ball this season.  Her stock company offered big inducements, and we accepted.”

As for the people who had built the club, Chapman said, they were:

“Very rich and nice people…(the club’s) officers are mostly millionaires, who desire their city ably represented in base ball.  The people ‘turn out’ there in the thousands, and are all agog with base ball excitement.  Five thousand people witnessed our practice game last week.”

Chapman was asked about salaries:

“Substitutes get from $900 to $1200.  Regulars receive $1000 to $2500.  Bob Ferguson (the other “Death to Flying Things), of our old club, gets $2500 this year for captaining the Hartfords.”

Asked what players did in the off-season, Chapman said:

“A good many loaf, and others work at different jobs.  Generally whatever they hit upon that suits.”

As for the St. Louis club’s prospects to overtake the Boston Red Stockings as the nation’s dominant team:

“We hope to do it, and I believe we shall.  The Reds are a good team, made excellent by having stuck together so long.  I consider the (Philadelphia) Athletics the stronger nine this year.  Harry Wright is the best captain in America.  The (New York) Mutuals were the best club last season, and but for the bad feeling among the members would now be champions.”

Finally, Chapman was asked whether he thought Louisville could support a professional team:

“I do, indeed, and am surprised she hasn’t one.”

Chapman was hit and miss on his predictions.  The Brown Stockings were the best club in the west, finishing the season 39-29, but no where close to playing at the caliber of Wright’s Red Stockings (71-8) , the Hartford Dark Blues (54-28), or the Athletics (53-20).

He was correct about Louisville’s chances to get a professional club, The Grays, with Chapman as manager finished fifth in the inaugural season of the National League.

“I’m the Only Michael”

12 Sep

The Chicago press treated Michael “King” Kelly’s return to Chicago like a coronation.  Kelly was sold by the White Stockings for a then record $10,000 in February of 1887, and arrived for his first series in Chicago on June 24.

kingkelly

Mike “King” Kelly

 

The Chicago Tribune said he was greeted at the Leland Hotel on Michigan Avenue with a brass band, a crowd estimated at 5000, and a song:

“Michael Kelly, he came down to sing a little chanson; says he, ‘I’ve come from Boston Town to do up Baby Anson.  I love Chicago, but you know the Hub spondulicks bought me—I hated like the deuce to go, but $10,000 caught me.  I’ve come to lay Chicago flat and knock you all to blazes, for I’m a corker don’t forget—the daisy of the daisies.  Away with every Bill and Jim that’s in the baseball cycle—the dickens take the whole of thim!  Sure, I’m the only Michael.’”

The Chicago Inter Ocean described the “King” as “terribly bored…fast losing his good nature by this ovation business.”  Despite his boredom, The Chicago Daily News said:

“Kelly was taken to the grounds in a four-horse carriage, escorted by a band and all the players.”

There were more than 12,000 fans in the stands when the procession arrived

The Tribune described the arrival at the ballpark:

“(Fans) kept on yelling as the procession wended its way past third base, back of the home plate and over towards Anson’s territory.  When the carriage with its four proud horses stopped in front of the grand stand and the Hon. Mr. Kelly stretched his red-hosed legs and hopped out to the ground the volume of yelling was doubled.  The Hon. Mike took off his grey cap and smiled.  The crowd howled some more.  Then the Bostons scattered themselves over the field and began practice.  Every play, good, bad, or indifferent of the ex-member of the home team was applauded.”

The game itself was interrupted on at least three occasions, according to The Inter Ocean “to allow presentations of flowers,” to Kelly, and at another point to present Cap Anson “a pillow in white roses with the words ‘Old Man’ in red with roses therein.”  The paper noted that the “interruptions wasted several moments of the playing time.”

The Tribune said Kelly was also presented with “a gay satin jockey cap of red, white, and blue, which the Hon. Mr. Kelly was induced to wear during a part of the first inning.”

The game, and Kelly’s performance, according to The Inter Ocean were anti climatic after the buildup.

Chicago and John Clarkson, beat Boston and Old Hoss Radbourn 15-13, the paper said:

radbourn

“Old Hoss” Radbourn

“Strange to say, however, the expected Kelly tactics in base running was not made manifest during the course if the game.  He did not play with the vim that used to make him the great man when he played here.  Kelly misses his place, and all the flowers and gold watches in the country will never make him the same ‘Old Kel’ of yore.  Kelly with the Chicagos may be worth $10,000, but Kelly with any other team would not bring $2000.”

Kelly was 3 for 6 and made two errors at second base.

Chicago took three of four games  from Boston , Kelly 6 for 11 with six errors in the first three games, and sat out the final game, a 19 to 6 Chicago victory.

The Tribune noted that Kelly’s return brought 34,000 fans out for the series:

“Fully 17,000 represented 75 cents each and the others 50 cents each.  This gives a total in the neighborhood of $21,000.  They got $10,000 for Kelly and the club is still playing winning ball.  This is some evidence of good business management on President (A.G.) Spalding’s part.”

The Kelly-less White Stockings finished in third place.  Boston ended the season in fifth.  Kelly, who led the league with a .388 average in 1886, hit .322 for Boston in 1887.

“A Weird and Wonderful Thing.”

10 Sep

Although the paper never said how he obtained them, The Buffalo Times said in 1905 that Chicago Cubs pitcher Herbert “Buttons” Briggs “is the possessor of some valuable old bombast documents in the way of contracts of the Chicago club players back in 1884…He also has a contract between the Chicago Baseball Association and Oscar Bielaski for the season of 1875.”

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Buttons Briggs

The paper said of the 1875 contract:

“This contract is a simple one, and calls for the service of Bielaski for eight months, from March 15th to November 15th, at a salary of $1400.  The player agrees to play for the Chicago club only and to obey all rules and regulations and “to refrain from any dissipation which may impair his physical condition.’”

Briggs also had the 1884 contract of Cap Anson, which the paper called:

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Anson

“(A) weird and wonderful thing compared with the present day player’s contract.  It consists of seven pages and twenty-three sections, and a ballplayer was forced to almost sign his life away in those days…Anson’s contract calls for $2500 for seven months services and is payable monthly…Nowadays the greenest youngster breaking in from the minor leagues wants, and usually gets, that much per season, while players of the present day who rank with Anson in his day get twice and three times that amount.”

The paper outlined other features of the contracts:

“In the 1884 contracts the team is never referred to as the club, but always as the ‘nine.’ Different sections of the contract provide for expulsion of the player if he be guilty of drunkenness, gambling in any form, insubordination, conspiring to lose and game, or be interested in any pool or wager on a game.  This expulsion could be given without any notice.  This section regarding injuries and illness reads as follows:

“It is understood and agreed that the said party of the second part (the player) assumes all risk of accident in play or otherwise, and of illness from whatever cause, and of the effects of all accidents, injuries, or illness occurring to him during the period of his employment.

“It is also required that when requested by the club a player must submit to an examination at the hands of the club’s physician, the player to pay for such examination.”

In addition to paying for their own medical examination, The Enquirer said:

“It was required that each player furnish himself at his own expense with a uniform designated by the club, the uniform to consist of two pairs of flannel pants, two flannel shirts, two pairs stockings, one pair leather shoes with spikes, one cap, one belt and one neck tie, ‘all of which during the whole of his term of employment, he is to keep in thorough repair and replenish as required, at his own expense; and he agrees to appear on the field at the beginning of each and every game in which he is to play in an entirely clean uniform, all cleaning of the same to be paid for by himself.’”

Finally, the paper said the “funniest” portion of the 1884 contract was the section that addressed road expenses:

“It reads as follows: ‘It is further agreed that while absent from Chicago with the ‘nine’ in other cities and while traveling with the ‘nine,’ the sum of fifty cents per day shall be deducted from the player’s wages on account of his board.’

“What a howl would go up from most of the present day players if they were asked to pay any part of their living expenses while on the road.”

“The ‘Deacon’ Seemed to Have Been Entirely Overlooked”

6 Sep

Deacon White died on July 7, 1939, just after being snubbed for inclusion in the Hall of Fame—a move that The Sporting News, among others, had campaigned for.

The Associated Press said, “By strange coincidence,” they had sent a reporter to interview the 91-year-old on “the eve of his death.”

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Deacon White

White was living on his daughter’s summer home, 45 miles west of Chicago:

“The gentle tapping of a cane on the stairs became more distinct.

“In the living room doorway, presently, appeared a bent, aging figure—James ‘Deacon’ White, 92 years old [sic], and the oldest living player of baseball, which this year is celebrating its centennial.  The ‘Deacon’ seemed to have been entirely overlooked in the hullabaloo.

“Slowly, the bespectacled old gentleman lowered himself into his favorite chair.  Almost as old as the game itself, the ‘Deacon’ was hard of hearing, his memory was uncertain, but he loved to talk about the game he learned from a union soldier, just returned from the Civil War.”

The reporter, Charles Dunkley, said, “White’s gnarled fingers—he was a barehanded catcher—bore trademarks of the game.”

White, who appeared in his final game in 1890, said:

“’Batters of my day would have little success with present day pitching, but by golly, you haven’t got any better fielders now than we had in the first days of the game.  We fielded bare handed and that took a lot more skill than the present day fielders need with their gloves.’

“’The science of batting and pitching have advanced a long way in 70 years.  When the game was first originated, we never had fast ball pitching as the pitchers do today, when they wind up or throw overhand or sidearm.’”

White also weighed in on the origins of the curve ball:

“’(Arthur “Candy” Cummings) was one of our first great pitchers and I know that he used to curve a ball as early as 1868, but not in regulation games because the rules prohibited them.’”

White dismissed the suggestion that Fred Goldsmith introduced the curve ball:

“’I knew Goldsmith as an infielder and later as a pitcher,’ recalled the old-timer, ‘and if he threw curves before Cummings, he must have kept it a secret.  But in my day, all the young pitchers were learning to throw curves two years before the rules permitted them.”’ (and presumably before Goldsmith demonstrated the pitch to Henry Chadwick in 1870).

White, who said he hadn’t attended a major league game “in several years,” was scheduled to attend a “a celebration in his honor and in honor of other old time stars,” in Aurora, Illinois.  But died just two days before the event.

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White

White closed his final interview attributing “his longevity to the fact he never smoke or drank,” and:

“(White) always practiced clean, simple living.

“To the present crop of young players, he gave this advice.

“’Live a clean life and keep in condition.  You’ll never regret it.”

 

“The Foxes of Balldom are Listed”

4 Sep

After the publication of Franklin Pierce Adams’ “Baseball’s Sad Lexicon” in The New York Evening Mail in 1910, two poems were written three years later to mark the end of the double play combination and relationships that had devolved into public feuding.

James P. Sinnott, Adams’ colleague at The Evening Mail, penned “Said Tinker to Evers to Chance,” lamenting the fate of the three—all three now managers, Johnny Evers’ Cubs finished third, Frank Chance’s Yankees and Joe Tinker’s Reds finished seventh.

Then there was a poem commissioned by The Day Book, the Chicago-based Scripp’s-McRae owned free daily paper and written by poet Berton Braley, called “Ballads of Past Glories.” Which ended with the line:

“Fans, we may rightly be blue, over the land’s vast expense;

Busted this trio—boo hoo! ‘Tinker to Evers to Chance.”

 

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But they were not the only two poems to pay homage to Adams.  One poem appeared about a month after the publication of “Baseball’s Sad Lexicon.”   First, in The Chicago Daily News, then later printed in papers across the country, attributed only  to “some other near poets:

“Piteous in Gotham’s the oft written phrase,

‘Tinker to Evers to Chance.’

This is the dope that has Grif in a daze,

‘Tinker to Evers to Chance.’

Cardinals, Dodgers and Doves, Phillies

fairish

All know the play that is neat if not

garish

Know how their ambitious rallies can

perish

‘Tinker to Evers to Chance.’

Get down your coin on the double-play

kids

‘Tinker to Evers to Chance.’

Under the Pirates they’ve slickered the

skids

‘Tinker to Evers to Chance,’

Not of the boneheads whose noodles get

twisted,

These with the foxes of balldom are

listed—

Grabbing a pennant almost unassisted,

‘Tinker to Evers to Chance.’

Aye, there is a dolor in Smoketown at

this:

‘Tinker to Evers to Chance.’

But in Chicago it’s pretty fine biz,

‘Tinker to Evers to Chance.’

Here are the regular Wind City

queries:

Hunting a pennant pole, ain’t they the

Pearys?

Think they will cop the post-season series.

‘Tinker to Evers to Chance.’”

Lost Pictures: Cap Anson, Politician

31 Aug

 

cap1903.jpg

A 1903 photo of Cap Anson on horseback which was printed with stories announcing his new foray into politics.

The Chicago Inter Ocean said:

Adrian Constantine Anson, who was captain of the Colts in the good old days when the National League pennant floated over the West Side ball grounds, has signed with another club , and will make his first appearance next Saturday when he will assume charge of the Chicago Democratic Club at its annual picnic.”

Among Anson’s duties were promoting Chicago Mayor Carter Harrison Jr. as a potential nominee for the presidency in 1904, and leading uniformed marchers at club events; at Anson’s first event, the group welcomed William Jennings Bryan, the Democratic candidate for president in the two previous elections.  Anson led a procession of more than 500 members of the club to meet Bryan at Chicago’s Northwestern Station and accompany him to the picnic.

The Chicago Evening Post said, “Harrison feels under much obligation to Anson for bringing all the baseball men over to him,”  during his first campaign in 1897.

Harrison fell short in his bid for the Democratic nomination in 1904, partly as a result of the negative national press he received after 602 people died in Chicago’s Iroquois Theater fire in December of 1903.

Anson’s role with the Democratic Club led to the party slating him as a candidate for city clerk in 1905.  According to The Chicago Tribune, Anson told the crowd when he received the nomination:

“I believe the baseball boys will roll up a big score for the captain of the ticket and the rest of us.  Now, I hope you’ll excuse me–I have the inclination to go on, and if I had the vocabulary I’m not sure I’d ever stop.”

He was elected clerk and served one term.  Two years later Anson was defeated in his campaign for Cook County Sheriff, ending his political career.

 

Murnane’s Plan to Save Baseball

29 Aug

For as long as there has been a game, there have been plans intended to “save” it.

Tim Murnane considered himself a diet expert, and a baseball expert.

murnane

Tim Murnane

The baseball player and pioneer turned sportswriter proposed his plan to save baseball in the fall of 1895 in the pages of The Boston Globe.

Murnane said:

“Many lovers of baseball claim that the sport is degenerating, owing to leading clubs engaging players from all parts of the country.

“How can a man, they ask, born and brought up in New York city, join the Boston club and be as anxious to defeat the Giants as would a man hailing from the East?”

Murnane used Cincinnati Reds catcher Morgan Murphy “the great Boston favorite” as an example:

“Year after year he is forced to go out to Cincinnati from his home in Rhode Island when the Boston public would be delighted to see him in a Boston uniform.”

In addition to Murphy, said Murnane, there was Boston infielder and Chicago native Herman Long:

“Now wouldn’t he look more in place in a Chicago uniform.”

In order to give the game “more local coloring” Murnane proposed:

“The National League to be composed of eight clubs, representing Boston, New York, Philadelphia, and Baltimore in the east, Pittsburgh, Chicago Cleveland and Cincinnati in the west.”

Murnane then set up a series of territories, for example, all Chicago players would have to come from Illinois, Iowa, or Minnesota—New York could only sign players From Connecticut, New York, and New Jersey. Each team could only sign players from their territory.

Players from all western states except California would be eligible to play for any of the “western” teams, and California players would be able to sign with any club.

Next, Murnane proposed reestablishing the American Association as a feeder league with franchises in in Providence, Brooklyn, Washington D.C., Buffalo, Louisville, St. Louis, Indianapolis, and Columbus. These teams could sign players from anywhere and the entire rosters would be eligible to be drafted by the National League clubs at the close of each season.

Part of Murnane’s plan also addressed one of his personal crusades:

”Abolish Sunday ball playing by league clubs and make it optional with the clubs of the association.”

The Globe published a list of every current major leaguer, and showed which team they would be with under the plan.

Murnane was convinced his proposal:

“Would give baseball a grand boom from Maine to California, as it would revive the interest among the amateur players and give each section of the country something special to work for.”

The Globe’s larger rival, The Boston Post, couldn’t wait to tell readers how horrible Murnane’s plan was.

Never mentioning the rival paper’s writer by name, The Post said:

“The recent scheme of how to enliven baseball in the East and give the game more local tinge has given the gossiper a chance to assert himself.”

The “scheme” said The Post had already been “exploded by many of the enthusiasts, ball players, and ex-ball players in this vicinity.”

One local businessman and “greatest enthusiasts of the game in this city,” noted that the champion Baltimore Orioles did not have a single player from their “territory,” and “There would be a great deal of kicking,” from Orioles fans.

Beaneaters president Arthur Soden told the paper he was against the plan despite the fact that:

“We might, of course, have a winning team, as we have such a lot of men to pick from, but it looks to me that the other teams in consequence would be handicapped for good men.”

An Eastern League umpire named John Bannon, noted that the geographical restrictions would be a boon for owners as players would “be forced to sign for any amount the magnates offered them, “ and pronounced the plan “ridiculous.”

James “Doc” Casey, a Massachusetts native then with the Toronto Canucks in the Eastern League, who would later play 10 major league seasons—none in Boston—was also against the plan:

“If directors were forced to make up their teams from a certain territory, then the extremes would be reached. One club would have all of the cracks and another would be forced to go through the season with a crowd of men who be incompetent.”

With that, Murnane’s plan to “save” baseball died a quiet death.