August 26, 1930—It took only a year before the National League record for homers in a single season, set by Chuck Klein of the Philadelphia Phillies, was broken. In contrast, the new record, achieved by Hack Wilson of the Chicago Cubs during one of the greatest offensive seasons in baseball history, would last 68 years.
For a long time, I’ve wanted to write about the Cubs’ centerfielder. Part of it is because I’m a sucker for great sports nicknames, and the one given to Lewis Robert Wilson seems pretty fitting for a slugger who never stinted on a swing.
But I’ve also wanted to write about Wilson because the magnitude of his season of glory was inversely proportional to the brevity of his career—at least for someone of his great skills.
In a sense, Wilson was a far unlikelier athlete than Babe Ruth. The Bambino might have weighed a ton, too, but it was distributed on a 6-ft.-2-in. frame, and through most of his career it never affected his defensive prowess. Moreover, for all his bibulous activities, it’s not apparent that liquor seriously hampered his achievements.
None of this can be said about Wilson, who stood five ft. six inches but weighed 195 pounds. The man who covered the most ground of any position player in Wrigley Field was like a beer key chasing flying balls.
The 25,000 fans in attendance at Wrigley Field saw their hero near his zenith the day he surpassed Klein’s mark of 43 HRs. Wilson’s roundtripper formed part of his 4-RBI barrage that powered the Cubs to a 7-5 win, helping manager Joe McCarthy’s squad stay in first place. (No talk of futility in those days: the team had made it to the World Series the year before.)
For the rest of the 154-game season, Wilson amassed another 12 homers, giving him 56 for the year. While a number of NL hitters exceeded the 50-homer mark over the next half-century, nobody surpassed Wilson's achievement until the 1998 season.
Stop right there—I know what you’re thinking: It was McGwire and Sosa who broke it that year, wasn’t it? Well, they deserve to go into the record books, all right—as long as it’s with syringes next to their marks!
I’m with you on that, brother!
But there’s one record set by Hack that remains inviolable—his record for RBIs set in a season. Since 1938, no NL batter—not even in the steroid era—has come within 25 RBIs of Wilson’s 190.
Correction—make that 191. Hack is one of the few baseball players whose stats actually improved after he died. That amazing feat was accomplished when a modern statistician reviewed all the box scores for the season and decided Wilson had been been robbed of at least one run batted in.
It was typical of Wilson’s life that this bit of good news happened too late for him to enjoy it. The following year, peevish Rogers Hornsby rather than tough-but-fair Joe McCarthy managed—or, in the case of “The Rajah,” mismanaged—Wilson and the Cubs.
It’s true that baseball’s decision to “deaden” the ball that season would have led to poorer offensive totals for Wilson. But his boozing only exacerbated his power outage in 1931, as his 13 homers represented less than a quarter of those he belted in 1930. Moreover, Wilson was a chaotic, divisive presence on the field and in the clubhouse, with his antics finally leading to his suspension toward year’s end. By 1934, he was washed up and out of the game.
In his last years, Wilson came to enough self-knowledge to admit on a radio program that “Demon Rum” had shortened his career and adversely affected his relationships. When he died in 1948, his old drinking buddies had to pass the hat in their favorite pub to ensure that the penniless former slugger had a funeral.
It took another 31 years after that for sportswriters to ignore career offensive totals that look no better than ordinary. Instead, Cooperstown’s Committee considered what he did in his prime (1926-1930) and how he stood against the elite of his time, finally deciding this powerfully built, squad refugee from the coal region of Pennsylvania deserved induction into the Baseball Hall of Fame in 1979.
For a long time, I’ve wanted to write about the Cubs’ centerfielder. Part of it is because I’m a sucker for great sports nicknames, and the one given to Lewis Robert Wilson seems pretty fitting for a slugger who never stinted on a swing.
But I’ve also wanted to write about Wilson because the magnitude of his season of glory was inversely proportional to the brevity of his career—at least for someone of his great skills.
In a sense, Wilson was a far unlikelier athlete than Babe Ruth. The Bambino might have weighed a ton, too, but it was distributed on a 6-ft.-2-in. frame, and through most of his career it never affected his defensive prowess. Moreover, for all his bibulous activities, it’s not apparent that liquor seriously hampered his achievements.
None of this can be said about Wilson, who stood five ft. six inches but weighed 195 pounds. The man who covered the most ground of any position player in Wrigley Field was like a beer key chasing flying balls.
The 25,000 fans in attendance at Wrigley Field saw their hero near his zenith the day he surpassed Klein’s mark of 43 HRs. Wilson’s roundtripper formed part of his 4-RBI barrage that powered the Cubs to a 7-5 win, helping manager Joe McCarthy’s squad stay in first place. (No talk of futility in those days: the team had made it to the World Series the year before.)
For the rest of the 154-game season, Wilson amassed another 12 homers, giving him 56 for the year. While a number of NL hitters exceeded the 50-homer mark over the next half-century, nobody surpassed Wilson's achievement until the 1998 season.
Stop right there—I know what you’re thinking: It was McGwire and Sosa who broke it that year, wasn’t it? Well, they deserve to go into the record books, all right—as long as it’s with syringes next to their marks!
I’m with you on that, brother!
But there’s one record set by Hack that remains inviolable—his record for RBIs set in a season. Since 1938, no NL batter—not even in the steroid era—has come within 25 RBIs of Wilson’s 190.
Correction—make that 191. Hack is one of the few baseball players whose stats actually improved after he died. That amazing feat was accomplished when a modern statistician reviewed all the box scores for the season and decided Wilson had been been robbed of at least one run batted in.
It was typical of Wilson’s life that this bit of good news happened too late for him to enjoy it. The following year, peevish Rogers Hornsby rather than tough-but-fair Joe McCarthy managed—or, in the case of “The Rajah,” mismanaged—Wilson and the Cubs.
It’s true that baseball’s decision to “deaden” the ball that season would have led to poorer offensive totals for Wilson. But his boozing only exacerbated his power outage in 1931, as his 13 homers represented less than a quarter of those he belted in 1930. Moreover, Wilson was a chaotic, divisive presence on the field and in the clubhouse, with his antics finally leading to his suspension toward year’s end. By 1934, he was washed up and out of the game.
In his last years, Wilson came to enough self-knowledge to admit on a radio program that “Demon Rum” had shortened his career and adversely affected his relationships. When he died in 1948, his old drinking buddies had to pass the hat in their favorite pub to ensure that the penniless former slugger had a funeral.
It took another 31 years after that for sportswriters to ignore career offensive totals that look no better than ordinary. Instead, Cooperstown’s Committee considered what he did in his prime (1926-1930) and how he stood against the elite of his time, finally deciding this powerfully built, squad refugee from the coal region of Pennsylvania deserved induction into the Baseball Hall of Fame in 1979.
I first found out about Lewis "Hack" Wilson when I produced a interview with Woody English who was his teammate at shortstop. (see buckeyecubbie.com)
ReplyDeleteThat led me to read Clifton Blue Parker's great bio "Fouled Away: The Baseball Tragedy of Hack Wilson". I loved the story so much that I optioned the book and wrote the screenplay "The Slugger". The title describes the man on and off the field as he not only slugged balls and booze but many a player and fan as well.
I want Sean Astin for the role of Hack and Charlie Sheen to play his nemesis Rogers Hornsby. Not having a Hollywood agent, it's hard for me to get this project to them or to "pitch" studios for that matter.
If you'd like to read the script, please contact me at dearfrank@usa.com ... it's time this biopic gets made!