October 8, 1908—In one of the wildest days in one of the wildest seasons in the history of baseball, the Chicago Cubs won a sudden-death playoff by defeating the New York Giants, 4-2, at the Polo Grounds.
Bad blood has, of course, marked the 100-year-old rivalry of the New York Yankees and the Boston Red Sox. But for sheer pressure –even to the point of physical danger—I can’t think of anything that compares with this contest at Coogan’s Bluff, billed at the time as “The Greatest Game Ever Played.” The final score doesn’t even come close to capturing its ferocity. (The photo accompanying this post captures the Giants faithful in an uncharacteristically happy moment that day.)
If there were a Hall of Fame for managerial tempers, then Lou Piniella would find himself safely esconsed amid Leo Durocher, Billy Martin, Earl Weaver, and the petulant patriarch of them all, the New York Giants’ John McGraw. (And if you don’t believe me, then check out his performance as captured on YouTube.)
But maybe the Cubs of “Sweet Lou” (who, let it be noted, received his nickname for the picture-perfect swing of his playing days rather than his –ahem!—infinitely tolerant, forbearing manner toward errant umpires) could have used a little less of their skipper’s fire and a bit more of the sang-froid of their counterparts of 100 years ago. The latter, after surviving a rash of injuries to go 41-10 down the stretch, still had to endure the following on this early autumn afternoon before they could secure a pennant:
* At Grand Central Station, even before getting to the ballpark, mind you, the Cubs, after being continually jostled on a 14-hour train ride, had to put up with catcalls from a crowd annoyed that the game even had to be played. (The circumstances surrounding the pivotal game in their race with the Giants—involving a controversial “boner” by Giants youngster Fred Merkle—were explored in my post from two weeks ago.)
* At the stadium, the Cubs had to squeeze past another line of enemy fans just to enter the park, then watched the same fans—many now additionally infuriated because they’d been turned away at the sold-out venue: a) try to light the wooden fence on fire; b) continue through the fence, even after being soaked by firehoses; and c) fall back after finally repelled by mounted police. (How hard was it to get in, you ask? Well, consider this: Albert Spalding—the organizational genius behind the national pastime—despite possessing four box-seat tickets, a season’s pass, AND a chauffeur-driven car that testified to his importance—was turned away at the gate, and finally entered only after commandeering an ambulance. Moreover, Henry Taft—yes, the brother of the hefty Secretary of War who was running a successful Presidential campaign that very month—had to sneak into the Polo Grounds through the sewers!)
* Only 15 minutes into the Cubs’ batting practice, the Giants’ “Iron Joe” McGinnity rang a cowbell to end the proceedings. (Some say that, not content with this one blatant attempt to discompose the visitors, the pitcher then invaded the space of the Cubs’ Frank Chance, not only stepping on the toes of the player-manager but also launching a cloudburst of spittle and a number of words never heard in the Bible in the immediate direction of the “Peerless Leader.” Chance ignored these provocations aimed at getting him tossed out of the game.)
* Jack Pfiester of the Cubs was so anxious to play that he submitted to the ministrations of a self-taught osteopath, who miraculously snapped a troublesome tendon back in place in the elbow. (The procedure helped, but not enough—Pfeister was knocked out of the box in the first inning.)
* The Cubs had to face on the mound the great Christy Mathewson, then in the midst of perhaps the greatest season (37 wins) of his legendary career.
* As the arm-weary (he’d thrown 100 innings in September alone) Mathewson faltered and the Cubs scored, the Giants’ faithful poured abuse on the Chicago team—a cascade of insults and curses that these battle-hardened vets had never heard before.
* Cubs catcher Johnny Kling, on a single play, evaded “two beer bottles, a drinking glass and a derby hat,” according to the New York Journal.
* The Giants’ team physician, Joseph Creamer, had unsuccessfully attempted to bribe umpire Bill Klem to throw the game—thereby prefiguring, by a decade, the “Black Sox” scandal that nearly destroyed the game.
* When the Cubs won, they sprinted to center field to get out of the park—but not before: a) Pfiester was knifed in the shoulder; b) Chance was punched in the throat; and c) three other Cub players were also hit.
Even in the clubhouse, the victorious team was not safe, as many Giant fans—sort of like the crazed vampires in I Am Legend—began to shout, break windows and hurl themselves against the door.
It’s hard to believe this week, with the Cubs adding to their 100-year record of futility, but they dominated baseball in the early 20th century, winning a record 530 games, four pennants, and two World Series from 1906 through 1910. “Whoever heard of the Cubs losing a game they had to have?” Chance had asked. Who indeed?
Certainly nobody that year, when the Chicago crew not only beat out the Giants but also the Pittsburgh Pirates (with the nonpareil shortstop Honus Wagner) for the pennant and the Ty Cobb-led Detroit Tigers for the World Series.
But in baseball, glory is transitory—not just for players, but even more so for franchises.
Bad blood has, of course, marked the 100-year-old rivalry of the New York Yankees and the Boston Red Sox. But for sheer pressure –even to the point of physical danger—I can’t think of anything that compares with this contest at Coogan’s Bluff, billed at the time as “The Greatest Game Ever Played.” The final score doesn’t even come close to capturing its ferocity. (The photo accompanying this post captures the Giants faithful in an uncharacteristically happy moment that day.)
If there were a Hall of Fame for managerial tempers, then Lou Piniella would find himself safely esconsed amid Leo Durocher, Billy Martin, Earl Weaver, and the petulant patriarch of them all, the New York Giants’ John McGraw. (And if you don’t believe me, then check out his performance as captured on YouTube.)
But maybe the Cubs of “Sweet Lou” (who, let it be noted, received his nickname for the picture-perfect swing of his playing days rather than his –ahem!—infinitely tolerant, forbearing manner toward errant umpires) could have used a little less of their skipper’s fire and a bit more of the sang-froid of their counterparts of 100 years ago. The latter, after surviving a rash of injuries to go 41-10 down the stretch, still had to endure the following on this early autumn afternoon before they could secure a pennant:
* At Grand Central Station, even before getting to the ballpark, mind you, the Cubs, after being continually jostled on a 14-hour train ride, had to put up with catcalls from a crowd annoyed that the game even had to be played. (The circumstances surrounding the pivotal game in their race with the Giants—involving a controversial “boner” by Giants youngster Fred Merkle—were explored in my post from two weeks ago.)
* At the stadium, the Cubs had to squeeze past another line of enemy fans just to enter the park, then watched the same fans—many now additionally infuriated because they’d been turned away at the sold-out venue: a) try to light the wooden fence on fire; b) continue through the fence, even after being soaked by firehoses; and c) fall back after finally repelled by mounted police. (How hard was it to get in, you ask? Well, consider this: Albert Spalding—the organizational genius behind the national pastime—despite possessing four box-seat tickets, a season’s pass, AND a chauffeur-driven car that testified to his importance—was turned away at the gate, and finally entered only after commandeering an ambulance. Moreover, Henry Taft—yes, the brother of the hefty Secretary of War who was running a successful Presidential campaign that very month—had to sneak into the Polo Grounds through the sewers!)
* Only 15 minutes into the Cubs’ batting practice, the Giants’ “Iron Joe” McGinnity rang a cowbell to end the proceedings. (Some say that, not content with this one blatant attempt to discompose the visitors, the pitcher then invaded the space of the Cubs’ Frank Chance, not only stepping on the toes of the player-manager but also launching a cloudburst of spittle and a number of words never heard in the Bible in the immediate direction of the “Peerless Leader.” Chance ignored these provocations aimed at getting him tossed out of the game.)
* Jack Pfiester of the Cubs was so anxious to play that he submitted to the ministrations of a self-taught osteopath, who miraculously snapped a troublesome tendon back in place in the elbow. (The procedure helped, but not enough—Pfeister was knocked out of the box in the first inning.)
* The Cubs had to face on the mound the great Christy Mathewson, then in the midst of perhaps the greatest season (37 wins) of his legendary career.
* As the arm-weary (he’d thrown 100 innings in September alone) Mathewson faltered and the Cubs scored, the Giants’ faithful poured abuse on the Chicago team—a cascade of insults and curses that these battle-hardened vets had never heard before.
* Cubs catcher Johnny Kling, on a single play, evaded “two beer bottles, a drinking glass and a derby hat,” according to the New York Journal.
* The Giants’ team physician, Joseph Creamer, had unsuccessfully attempted to bribe umpire Bill Klem to throw the game—thereby prefiguring, by a decade, the “Black Sox” scandal that nearly destroyed the game.
* When the Cubs won, they sprinted to center field to get out of the park—but not before: a) Pfiester was knifed in the shoulder; b) Chance was punched in the throat; and c) three other Cub players were also hit.
Even in the clubhouse, the victorious team was not safe, as many Giant fans—sort of like the crazed vampires in I Am Legend—began to shout, break windows and hurl themselves against the door.
It’s hard to believe this week, with the Cubs adding to their 100-year record of futility, but they dominated baseball in the early 20th century, winning a record 530 games, four pennants, and two World Series from 1906 through 1910. “Whoever heard of the Cubs losing a game they had to have?” Chance had asked. Who indeed?
Certainly nobody that year, when the Chicago crew not only beat out the Giants but also the Pittsburgh Pirates (with the nonpareil shortstop Honus Wagner) for the pennant and the Ty Cobb-led Detroit Tigers for the World Series.
But in baseball, glory is transitory—not just for players, but even more so for franchises.
