1940's Baseball

[LizzieMaine]

I went for the first time when I was seven years old, and it was a lot cheaper, and a lot easier to get in then -- the razzmadoodle stuff they have now didn't really take over the experience until the last ten years or so. The first game I ever attended, I saw two hippies get beat up by a Boston cop and a gigantic rat eating a half-decayed hot-dog as we walked in, and my cousin got punched in the face by two drunks when she accidently walked between them in front of a beer stand. The place reeked of urine, cigarette smoke, and stale beer, and you got splinters from the seats. But when you came up from the ramp and saw the field and the Wall, live and in color, and Tony Conigliaro shagging flies in the outfield, nothing else mattered.

My mother is seventy-six years old, has followed the team all her life, and has never seen a game in person. "Too many ***holes in Boston," she says.

 

[HudsonHawk]

My mother is seventy-six years old, has followed the team all her life, and has never seen a game in person. "Too many ***holes in Boston," she says.

I found the fans at Fenway, and the people of Boston in general, to be very friendly and hospitable. Of course, they knew right away that I wasn't from around those parts, and that I wasn't from New York, so I'm sure that scored me a few points.

 

[Fading Fast]

I lived in Boston from '96 - '04 and my experience of the "razzmadoodle stuff," as LizzieMaine beautifully calls it, aligns with her view. In '96 and really up until about when the economy started heating up in the early part of this century, I could buy scalped tickets - in the open, nothing untoward, police around - an hour before the game at or below face (not for Yankee games, of course).

My girlfriend and I would decide that morning if we wanted to go (we usually went to a Saturday or Sunday day game), we'd walk out to Fenway and buy some tickets (and again, good seats at or below face). We'd then walk into a bit run-down stadium with uninspired concessions which was all great because the feel was 1950s - you knew your were under the seats, signage was a blend from the 40s - 70s, decades of accumulated grime coated everything - the place said: this part is unimportant, the field and game matter. And you did get an ah-ha moment when you came up from the cement bowels to the see the field - right there, very close - and the Big Green Monster. The seats were old - narrow, slats - but close to the field - with the city around you right outside, but with its taller buildings peaking in for a look.

And when the game was over, we walked home in a half hour. Having moved up from NYC, that was a new to me, outstanding and throw-back experience that I'm glad I had, but it quickly went away. Not sure exactly when, but as they started to "improve" Fenway - more seats, luxury "seating", louche seating on the wall itself, corporate accounts, fancy concessions (LM's razzmadoodle stuff) - the scalped tickets became insanely expensive - literally, good seats were now a multiple of face and we stopped going.

I'm glad I had that experience for several years, but sad it is gone. And don't even think about the new Yankee Stadium. Okay seats are always north of a $100 a pop, plus it's all razzmadoodle inside - Tommy Bahama rum bar, the luxury seats are padded leather, the place lights up like a pinball machine when the Yankees hit a home run - it's what works today I guess, what many people want (or are willing to pay for), but I don't enjoy it, it feels like (I imagine) Disneyland feels like - a simulacrum of real Americana.

 

[LizzieMaine]

There was a move during the 90s by the former ownership to put on the heat for a "New Fenway," which would be a cheesy replica of the original with all the "modern amenities," and there was a lot of propaganda to the effect that the old place was falling apart, structurally dangerous, etc. etc. etc. The John Henry ownership gave us the alternative of "tasteful renovation" to keep the old place, and under the circumstances that was pretty much the only real way to go. A lot of the "renovation" has been very far from tasteful -- I think the seats on the Wall are an aesthetic horror, and completely changed the feel of the place -- but at least it's still the same field and there are still recognizable parts of Yawkey-era Fenway in place.

My favorite place to sit is the right-field grandstand. The seats there are still wooden -- the only wooden seats left in any major league park -- and most of the people who sit out there are actually there to see the game. The pinkhats and the cellphone-yappers and the wave-doers and the beachball bouncers and the bandwagon hoppers tend to sit along first and third base, the better to be seen on the scoreboard-cam, and the drunken beer-swilling college boys usually sit in the bleachers. You'll still find the real Fenway crowd out in right.

As far as concessions go, I have a Coke and two hot dogs with Gulden's mustard. Nothing more, nothing less. Anybody who eats sushi at a ballgame needs to be sent to a re-education camp.

 

[HudsonHawk]

My favorite place to sit is the right-field grandstand. The seats there are still wooden -- the only wooden seats left in any major league park -- and most of the people who sit out there are actually there to see the game. The pinkhats and the cellphone-yappers and the wave-doers and the beachball bouncers and the bandwagon hoppers tend to sit along first and third base, the better to be seen on the scoreboard-cam, and the drunken beer-swilling college boys usually sit in the bleachers. You'll still find the real Fenway crowd out in right.

As far as concessions go, I have a Coke and two hot dogs with Gulden's mustard. Nothing more, nothing less. Anybody who eats sushi at a ballgame needs to be sent to a re-education camp.

This is where I sat at the one game I attended. They were old wooden seats, with at least five layers of paint showing. They were exceptionally narrow and faced away from home plate, but it was a cool feeling sitting in them. I have no idea what they cost, as they were free (it's good to have Theo Epstein's cell phone number).

 

[Fading Fast]

Here's the crazy thing: my favorite seats are behind home plate - I love the angle it gives to the game - and I was able to buy them at or below face at Fenway up until early '00s. A beer or a coke, peanuts (in the shell, unfortunately, the wax bag with a serrated edge was no more; instead, they came in some obnoxious sealed plastic bag with garish print - but I used my imagination) and, if still hungry, an ice-cream or Cracker Jacks and you have one of the best days possible. All for less than $100 for two and, then, in an instant it all went away. Susan (my girlfriend) and I want to go up to a Sea Dogs game in LM's territory as we are hoping we can recapture some of the magic, but it won't have the Fenway of old vibe.

 

[hatguy1]

I know in other cities with multiple teams, fan loyalty was often based on neighborhood geography. In Chicago it was a north side/south side pattern. In New York, the Giants were the dominant team in Manhattan, the Yankee ruled the Bronx and of course the Dodgers owned Brooklyn.

In the Ken Burns "Baseball" series, it was pointed out that back in the Dodgers days in Brooklyn, part of their loyalty stemmed from the fact that quite likely the players lived in the same neighborhood areas as most of the fans (until the late 1950s). They didn't have private jets and live in some other city and jet out of town the minute the homestand was over. Instead, on game days it wasn't unusual for fans and players to ride the same subways to the stadium.

 

[A Bomber General]

I think Lizzie makes some good points. Even in the "Golden Era," baseball was nostaligic, the pedestrian pace of the game harkening back to the horse and buggy era. In some ways, baseball was the "Fedora Lounge" of the 1930s and 1940s- a place to go back to a simpler time.

I would also argue that the overall quality of the game was higher than what we see today- with just 16 teams, the collective talent of the country was more concentrated than it is today. The repeated expansions of both leagues have diffused the truly high performers to a degree. I also think that a good portion of baseball's popularity stemmed for its accessibility- ticket prices were relatively cheap, placing it well within the price range of the average wage earner.

 

[HudsonHawk]

I would also argue that the overall quality of the game was higher than what we see today- with just 16 teams, the collective talent of the country was more concentrated than it is today. The repeated expansions of both leagues have diffused the truly high performers to a degree.

That argument is countered with the fact that the talent pool today is vastly larger. In addition to there simply being more people (think post-war baby boom), think of all the black, Hispanic and Asian players today, and then imagine them not being there.

 

[LizzieMaine]

That argument is countered with the fact that the talent pool today is vastly larger. In addition to there simply being more people (think post-war baby boom), think of all the black, Hispanic and Asian players today, and then imagine them not being there.

I think in terms of overall concentrated talent, the game probably peaked in the early to mid sixties -- by then the first generation of integration-era black players were fully assimilated into the major leagues, and there wasn't yet the bleed-off of talent that's occured in the years since due to the rise of other pro sports. Pro football was only beginning to really catch on, pro basketball was still being played in armories by a few stars and a lot of gangling unknowns, and pro hockey was nothing unless you were in one of the "original six" cities. Baseball, for any kid looking for a career in pro sports, was the number one choice.

This is no longer the case. A lot of that athletic talent is now being drawn off by football, basketball, or whatever -- and young people don't play baseball anywhere near in the numbers they used to, especially urban kids. African-American presence in the major leagues is the lowest it's been in decades -- more and more, the black players you see on the field came from the Dominican Republic, not the US. The Minnesota Twins ended the season just past with no African-American players on their roster at all.

I think the jury is still out on Asian players in the major leagues. I may be biased by watching Daisuke Matsuzaka's steady disintegration over his time in Boston, but I think the road is still uphill for their success.

Players of Hispanic descent have been a significant factor in the majors since the thirties -- the last man to hit .400 in the major leagues had a Spanish-Mexican mother, and there were quite a few quality Cuban, Mexican, Puerto Rican, and Venezuelan players in the majors well before the expansion era: Luis Aparicio, Chico Carrasquel, Camilo Pascual, Orlando Cepeda, Minnie Minoso, Bobby Avila, Pedro Ramos, Juan Marichal, and Roberto Clemente were all active and starring in the big leagues by 1961.

 

[HudsonHawk]

I think in terms of overall concentrated talent, the game probably peaked in the early to mid sixties -- by then the first generation of integration-era black players were fully assimilated into the major leagues, and there wasn't yet the bleed-off of talent that's occured in the years since due to the rise of other pro sports. Pro football was only beginning to really catch on, pro basketball was still being played in armories by a few stars and a lot of gangling unknowns, and pro hockey was nothing unless you were in one of the "original six" cities. Baseball, for any kid looking for a career in pro sports, was the number one choice.

I would say closer to the late 60's, in terms of "concentration of talent", but I agree with your reasoning. But I think the "overall quality of play" is better today than it's ever been. I think that's true of almost all sports, with the exception of basketball. Fundamentally, the current level of basketball, at the professional level, and especially at the college level, is abysmal.

 

[Fading Fast]

I would say closer to the late 60's, in terms of "concentration of talent", but I agree with your reasoning. But I think the "overall quality of play" is better today than it's ever been. I think that's true of almost all sports, with the exception of basketball. Fundamentally, the current level of basketball, at the professional level, and especially at the college level, is abysmal.

Basketball could return to the game you reference if it did two thing - (1) raise the basket six inches (or some amount) to reflect the increase height and jump of the average player and (2) call traveling. Then it would no longer be a game about muscling inside to slam the ball in the hoop - the old skills would be needed again. I can't even watch it now (and haven't for years).

Interestingly though, away front he steroid monsters, baseball's geometry / construct seems to continue to balance the offense and defense of the growing size and strength of the players so that (again, away from the steroid distortions) the metrics of success are pretty consistent. What an elegant game.

 

[hatguy1]

Until 1947, all teams broadcast their home games live from the ballpark, and their road games live by recreation -- the announcers would be in the studio, reading a Western Union teletype description of what was happening on the field, and recreating the action, often with sound effects to make it sound like they were actually on the scene.

Your comment reminded me of something they said about former Cardinals (later Cubs) announcer, the late Harry Carey, when I took a Cardinals Stadium tour in St Louis once. They said that radio networks blocked out a certain amount of time for a ballgame and in the old days had no backup programming to fall back on. Additionally, the sponsor breaks (aka commercials) were at previously scheduled intervals during the game broadcast. However, a quick 3 up, 3 down X 2 inning would've left a lot of dead air waiting on the previously scheduled commercial break OR they would've been in mid-at bat/inning when they had to leave to go to commercial break. Harry Carey simply solved that problem by inventing all kinds of extra pitches, foul balls and singles that ultimately would leave stranded runners so the score stayed as it should be but filled the airtime with lots of excitement until the commercial break. And nobody back then had any way of knowing the difference because the coverage of the game was his broadcast or nothing.

 

[hatguy1]

That argument is countered with the fact that the talent pool today is vastly larger. In addition to there simply being more people (think post-war baby boom), think of all the black, Hispanic and Asian players today, and then imagine them not being there.

Yeah; you make a good point. And in a big way, I kinda think this sucks. I mean, Caribbean players begin playing basically full-time in middle school and live, eat, breath and sleep nothing but the game from then on. Some poor American kid who's trying to go to school and have a life in high school and college finds that a tough field of competitors to compete with for the pros.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Your comment reminded me of something they said about former Cardinals (later Cubs) announcer, the late Harry Carey, when I took a Cardinals Stadium tour in St Louis once. They said that radio networks blocked out a certain amount of time for a ballgame and in the old days had no backup programming to fall back on. Additionally, the sponsor breaks (aka commercials) were at previously scheduled intervals during the game broadcast. However, a quick 3 up, 3 down X 2 inning would've left a lot of dead air waiting on the previously scheduled commercial break OR they would've been in mid-at bat/inning when they had to leave to go to commercial break. Harry Carey simply solved that problem by inventing all kinds of extra pitches, foul balls and singles that ultimately would leave stranded runners so the score stayed as it should be but filled the airtime with lots of excitement until the commercial break. And nobody back then had any way of knowing the difference because the coverage of the game was his broadcast or nothing.

Recreations gave lots of leeway for creative embellishment -- Ronald Reagan loved to tell the story of how, when he was a broadcaster for the Cubs in the mid-thrities, the Western Union line went dead and he had the same batter foul off pitch after pitch until it came back up. And then he found out he'd popped out on one pitch.

Whether that particular story is true or not, broadcasters knew that recreations weren't an exact science, and they felt free to improvise however they wanted. One, however, took the opposite view -- Red Barber refused to ever ham up his recreations, used no sound effects, and insisted that the ticker be right there near the microphone so the audience could clearly hear it. He wanted there to be no doubt that he wasn't actually at the ballpark, so there wouldn't be any embarrassing backtracking if he got something wrong.

In the only surviving recording of a Barber recreation, a spring training game between the Reds and the Yankees from 1939, he gets one of the starting pitchers wrong -- and when the wire brings this to his attention he simply acknowledges the mistake and moves on. Not as colorful as some of the other broadcasters might have done it, but certainly more honest.

 

[Fading Fast]

Recreations gave lots of leeway for creative embellishment -- Ronald Reagan loved to tell the story of how, when he was a broadcaster for the Cubs in the mid-thrities, the Western Union line went dead and he had the same batter foul off pitch after pitch until it came back up. And then he found out he'd popped out on one pitch.

Whether that particular story is true or not, broadcasters knew that recreations weren't an exact science, and they felt free to improvise however they wanted. One, however, took the opposite view -- Red Barber refused to ever ham up his recreations, used no sound effects, and insisted that the ticker be right there near the microphone so the audience could clearly hear it. He wanted there to be no doubt that he wasn't actually at the ballpark, so there wouldn't be any embarrassing backtracking if he got something wrong.

In the only surviving recording of a Barber recreation, a spring training game between the Reds and the Yankees from 1939, he gets one of the starting pitchers wrong -- and when the wire brings this to his attention he simply acknowledges the mistake and moves on. Not as colorful as some of the other broadcasters might have done it, but certainly more honest.

That is character, integrity and a inner sense of right and wrong that doesn't bend to "what is acceptable." That says a lot about the man. We need more people like that in baseball and, well, everywhere. Great story, thank you for sharing.

 

[Hatter4]

the old negro leagues had some great players and teams. they are forgotten my most people today.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Last night, it was announced that Dodgers broadcaster Vin Scully will return to the booth in 2016 for his 67th season at the microphone. He joined the Dodgers in 1950, replacing Ernie Harwell as the third man alongside Red Barber and Connie Desmond on the Dodger broadcast team.

Think about that for a moment.

In the sixteenth year of the twenty-first century, there is still an active broadcaster who has childhood memories of listening to sports events called by Ted Husing and Graham McNamee.

When Scully began his career, Connie Mack was still an active manager. Jackie Robinson was in his fourth major league season, and the vast majority of major league teams had yet to integrate. There were sixteen teams in two eight-team leagues, concentrated in the Northeast and Midwest, with no team further west than St. Louis. No franchise had relocated since 1903. The newest ballpark in the National League was Braves Field in Boston, which opened in 1915.

Stan Musial and Warren Spahn had not yet turned thirty. Few outside of Birmingham, Alabama had ever heard of Willie Mays. Henry Aaron was a sixteen-year-old boy playing semipro ball in Mobile, Alabama. Sandy Koufax was a high school freshman in Brooklyn. Rick Monday, who's been in the Dodger booth with Scully for twenty-three years, was looking forward to starting kindergarten. Charley Steiner, Scully's other current colleague, was not yet nine months old.

When Shea Stadium in New York opened in 1964, Scully had already been on the air for fourteen years. He's still on the air going on seven years after its demolition.

Scully was at the mike when the Brooklyn Dodgers won their only World Series in 1955. He is still at the mike twenty-seven years after the Los Angeles Dodgers won their last World Series in 1988.

In sixty-six seasons on the air, Vin Scully has seen in all probability seen more major league baseball games than any individual who ever lived. His career is one of the last tangible links to an otherwise lost era -- and has to stand as the single most remarkable accomplishment in all of professional sports.

 

[pawineguy]

Last night, it was announced that Dodgers broadcaster Vin Scully will return to the booth in 2016 for his 67th season at the microphone. He joined the Dodgers in 1950, replacing Ernie Harwell as the third man alongside Red Barber and Connie Desmond on the Dodger broadcast team.

Think about that for a moment.

In the sixteenth year of the twenty-first century, there is still an active broadcaster who has childhood memories of listening to sports events called by Ted Husing and Graham McNamee.

When Scully began his career, Connie Mack was still an active manager. Jackie Robinson was in his fourth major league season, and the vast majority of major league teams had yet to integrate. There were sixteen teams in two eight-team leagues, concentrated in the Northeast and Midwest, with no team further west than St. Louis. No franchise had relocated since 1903. The newest ballpark in the National League was Braves Field in Boston, which opened in 1915.

Stan Musial and Warren Spahn had not yet turned thirty. Few outside of Birmingham, Alabama had ever heard of Willie Mays. Henry Aaron was a sixteen-year-old boy playing semipro ball in Mobile, Alabama. Sandy Koufax was a high school freshman in Brooklyn. Rick Monday, who's been in the Dodger booth with Scully for twenty-three years, was looking forward to starting kindergarten. Charley Steiner, Scully's other current colleague, was not yet nine months old.

When Shea Stadium in New York opened in 1964, Scully had already been on the air for fourteen years. He's still on the air going on seven years after its demolition.

Scully was at the mike when the Brooklyn Dodgers won their only World Series in 1955. He is still at the mike twenty-seven years after the Los Angeles Dodgers won their last World Series in 1988.

In sixty-six seasons on the air, Vin Scully has seen in all probability seen more major league baseball games than any individual who ever lived. His career is one of the last tangible links to an otherwise lost era -- and has to stand as the single most remarkable accomplishment in all of professional sports.

What I love about Scully is that he, along with other great TV announcers of his era, knew when to keep his mouth shut. Not the best quality but the audio is good below. What's striking about this great call is that after he says the ball is gone, he rightly allows the pandemonium of the crowd to be the star... would any announcer today keep quiet for as long as Scully does here?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U157X0jy5iw

 

[LizzieMaine]

Given how little local baseball broadcasting before the 70s exists, we're fortunate that, relatively speaking, so much of Scully's work has been preserved. When you watch his call of Larsen's perfect game in the 1956 World Series, he's so poised and composed that it's hard to believe he's only 29 years old there.

What's interesting to me is that he really does seem to have been the first of his generation of broadcasters. He learned at Red Barber's knee, but when you listen to what survives of Barber's work from the 1930s and 1940s, he is a bit less willing to let crowd noise tell the story than he liked to remember that he was. Scully, on the other hand, as far back as you can go in his available recordings -- that 1956 World Series game is the earliest example of his work that I've heard, although there are a few fragments extant from 1955 -- seems to have had an instinctive feel for when to shut up.

[video=youtube;VJdli-ONL-8]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VJdli-ONL-8[/video]

This clip might be the most perfect ten minutes of baseball broadcasting ever done by anyone, anywhere. It's not just great sportscasting, it verges on great literature.