BATTER UP!

[LizzieMaine]

For a smart politician, I'm surprised he wouldn't take in some games in Brooklyn. That would be a seemingly harmless thing to do for votes.

Funny, today, parts of Brooklyn now have a "superior" attitude toward Manhattan as Brooklyn is "cool," "hip," "authentic*" blah, blah, blah versus "boring" "sellout," "money grubbing" Manhattan. Whatever, it's all nonsense both ways as all that stuff always is.

* I had to excuse myself to go throw up.

He did occasionally, but not as often as the other two parks. He made a point of going to Brooklyn in early 1935 to throw out the first ball at the first game of the Negro National League's Brooklyn Eagles, which earned him points with the borough's African-American population. Given how many Italians lived in Brooklyn at the time, I imagine he figured his votes were safe there no matter what ballpark he went to.

 

[Fading Fast]

The definitve book on the scandal remains Nelson Algren's "Eight Men Out," which, even though it was written nearly sixty years ago, has not really been surpassed by any recent scholarship. Pretty much everyone still sees it as a badly-run operation with Rothstein furnishing the bankroll, but implemented on a practical level by a group of bumbling small-timers named "Sport" Sullivan, "Sleepy Bill" Burns, Abe Attell, and Billy Maharg. Sullivan was a friend of White Sox first baseman Chick Gandil, who in turn brought the other players into the scheme.

What's important to know is that the Black Sox affair was by no means something that suddenly sprang up to sully the honest and noble game. Baseball in the 1910s was riddled with gambling at every level, and there's a convincing argument that the 1917 and 1918 series were also fixed.

What's really interesting to me is how hard Charles Comiskey worked to cover up what happened in 1919. In the early 1960s, when Bill Veeck owned the White Sox, a work crew cleaning out an old office at Comiskey Park found a diary that had belonged to Comiskey's right-hand-man Harry Grabiner -- and that diary contained detailed information confirming that not only did Comiskey know about the game-throwing scheme by the end of the 1919 Series, he sent his own agents out to tail the eight players and determine exactly what happened. And when he knew, rather than go to the National Commision, he spent the entire 1920 season trying to obstruct any official investigation into the facts, in order not to lose his investment in the players involved, and possibly to win the 1920 pennant. But what Comiskey did *not* know is that the gamblers were *still in contact* with the remaining seven Black Sox (Gandil had retired rather than sign a new contract with Comiskey and went home to Arizova), and that games were being thrown almost to the very end of that season.

The corruption of The Game in those years was very very deep, and the Black Sox weren't the only ones involved. They were just the ones that got caught.

Great color as always - thank you.

It's funny how the lore today (and maybe even at the time considering the quote in "The Great Gatsby") is almost respect for the audaciousness of Rothstein to "nearly" pull it off. He is seen more as a brilliant puppet master than gangster or thug.

 

[LizzieMaine]

I think Rothstein gets too much credit for the scheme, to be honest, and that's due more to Fitzgerald than to Rothstein himself. He was a shadowy character who preferred to stay in the background, and wouldn't have been the type to go blabbing around anyway. According to "Eight Men Out," the entire scheme was created by Sullivan, Maharg, and Burns -- and Rothstein only got involved when Maharg, who knew him slightly, suggested to his co-conspirators that they approach him for financing. Attel, a low-level flunky in Rothstein's entourage, was sent from New York to represent the money man in the dealings, which perhaps suggests how Rothstein looked at the whole project.

BTW, that should be Eliot Asinof as the author of "Eight Men." Algren wrote a haunting poem about the Black Sox affair, which was sticking my mind when I gave him credit for the book.

"Do not be remembering the most natural man ever to wear spiked shoes.
The canniest fielder and the longest hitter,
Who squatted on his heels
In a uniform muddied at the knees,
Till the bleacher shadows grew long behind him.
Who went along with Chick and Buck and Happy
Because they treated him so friendly-like,
Hardly like Yankees at all.
With Williams because Lefty was from the South too.
And with Risberg because the Swede was such a hard guy.
Who made an X for his name and couldn't argue with
Comiskey's sleepers.
But who could pick a line drive out of the air ten feet outside the foul line
And rifle anything home from anywhere in the park.
For Shoeless Joe is gone, long gone,
A long yellow grass-blade between his teeth
And the bleacher shadows behind him."

-- "The Swede Was a Hard Guy," 1942.

 

[Fading Fast]

I think Rothstein gets too much credit for the scheme, to be honest, and that's due more to Fitzgerald than to Rothstein himself. He was a shadowy character who preferred to stay in the background, and wouldn't have been the type to go blabbing around anyway. According to "Eight Men Out," the entire scheme was created by Sullivan, Maharg, and Burns -- and Rothstein only got involved when Maharg, who knew him slightly, suggested to his co-conspirators that they approach him for financing. Attel, a low-level flunky in Rothstein's entourage, was sent from New York to represent the money man in the dealings, which perhaps suggests how Rothstein looked at the whole project.

BTW, that should be Eliot Asinof as the author of "Eight Men." Algren wrote a haunting poem about the Black Sox affair, which was sticking my mind when I gave him credit for the book.

"Do not be remembering the most natural man ever to wear spiked shoes.
The canniest fielder and the longest hitter,
Who squatted on his heels
In a uniform muddied at the knees,
Till the bleacher shadows grew long behind him.
Who went along with Chick and Buck and Happy
Because they treated him so friendly-like,
Hardly like Yankees at all.
With Williams because Lefty was from the South too.
And with Risberg because the Swede was such a hard guy.
Who made an X for his name and couldn't argue with
Comiskey's sleepers.
But who could pick a line drive out of the air ten feet outside the foul line
And rifle anything home from anywhere in the park.
For Shoeless Joe is gone, long gone,
A long yellow grass-blade between his teeth
And the bleacher shadows behind him."

-- "A Silver Colored Yesterday."

Any smart criminal will keep a low profile.

Reminds me of the scene in "The Godfather" when Sollozzo comes to the Godfather for financing for the drug trade and the Godfather refers to the request of one million dollars as "financing" and Sollozzo replies:

Sollozzo: If you consider a million dollars in cash merely finance...

[raises his glass]

Sollozzo: Te salut, Don Corleone.
​

Hard to believe today, but there was a time when poetry was close to mainstream entertainment in America

 

[LizzieMaine]

That whole poem is magnificent -- Algren was a White Sox fan as a child, and he was haunted by 1919 for the rest of his life. The Black Sox were a recurring motif in his work.

Of all the major sports, only baseball is capable of inspiring fine literature. Another great poet who loved the game was Marianne Moore, who lived and died a Dodger fan:

"To the tune:
“Li’l baby, don’t say a word: Mama goin’ to buy you a mocking-bird.
Bird don’t sing: Mama goin’ to sell it and buy a brass ring.”

“Millennium,” yes; “pandemonium”!
Roy Campanella leaps high. Dodgerdom

crowned, had Johnny Podres on the mound.
Buzzie Bavasi and the Press gave ground;

the team slapped, mauled, and asked the Yankees’ match,
“How did you feel when Sandy Amoros made the catch?”

“I said to myself”–pitcher for all innings–
“as I walked back to the mound I said, ‘Everything’s

getting better and better.’ ” (Zest: they’ve zest.
” ‘Hope springs eternal in the Brooklyn breast.’ ”

And would the Dodger Band in 8, row 1, relax
if they saw the collector of income tax?

Ready with a tune if that should occur:
“Why Not Take All of Me–All of Me, Sir?”)

Another series. Round-tripper Duke at bat,
“Four hundred feet from home-plate”; more like that.

A neat bunt, please; a cloud-breaker, a drive
like Jim Gilliam’s great big one. Hope’s alive.

Homered, flied out, fouled? Our “stylish stout”
so nimble Campanella will have him out.

A-squat in double-headers four hundred times a day,
he says that in a measure the pleasure is the pay:

catcher to pitcher, a nice easy throw
almost as if he’d just told it to go.

Willy Mays should be a Dodger. He should–
a lad for Roger Craig and Clem Labine to elude;

but you have an omen, pennant-winning Peewee,
on which we are looking superstitiously.

Ralph Branca has Preacher Roe’s number; recall?
and there’s Don Bessent; he can really fire the ball.

As for Gil Hodges, in custody of first–
“He’ll do it by himself.” Now a specialist–versed

in an extension reach far into the box seats–
he lengthens up, leans and gloves the ball. He defeats

expectation by a whisker. The modest star,
irked by one misplay, is no hero by a hair;

in a strikeout slaughter when what could matter more,
he lines a homer to the signboard and has changed the score.

Then for his nineteenth season, a home run–
with four of six runs batted in–Carl Furillo’s the big gun;

almost dehorned the foe–has fans dancing in delight.
Jake Pitler and his Playground “get a Night”–

Jake, that hearty man, made heartier by a harrier
who can bat as well as field–Don Demeter.

Shutting them out for nine innings–hitter too–
Carl Erskine leaves Cimoli nothing to do.

Take off the goat-horns, Dodgers, that egret
which two very fine base-stealers can offset.

You’ve got plenty: Jackie Robinson
and Campy and big Newk, and Dodgerdom again
watching everything you do. You won last year. Come on."

-- "Hometown Piece for Messrs. Alston and Reese."

 

[Fading Fast]

⇧ My guess (and that's all it is, but I could spin 1000+ words into a decent college paper from it 'cause that's what most college papers do) is because baseball doesn't have a clock - the pace and tempo better lend themselves to a poetic embrace.

To be honest, ninety-five percent of poetry doesn't work for me (probably my fault), but the five percent that does, sings.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Poetry of another kind:

"He is one out away from the promised land,
and Harvey Kuenn is comin’ up.

"So Harvey Kuenn is batting for Bob Hendley.
The time on the scoreboard is 9:44.
The date, September the 9th, 1965,
and Koufax working on veteran Harvey Kuenn.

Sandy into his windup and the pitch, a fastball for a strike!
He has struck out,
by the way,
five
consecutive
batters,
and that’s gone unnoticed.

Sandy ready and the strike 1 pitch:
very high,
and he lost his hat.
He really forced that one.
That’s only the second time tonight where I have had the feeling
that Sandy threw
instead of pitched,
trying to get that little extra,
and that time he tried so hard
his hat fell off —
he took an extremely long stride to the plate —
and Torborg had to go up to get it.

"One and 1 to Harvey Kuenn.
Now he’s ready:
fastball, high, ball 2.
You can’t blame a man for pushing
just a little bit now.
Sandy backs off,
mops his forehead,
runs his left index finger along his forehead,
dries it off on his left pants leg.
All the while Kuenn just waiting.
Now Sandy looks in.
Into his windup
and the 2-1 pitch to Kuenn:
swung on and missed,
strike 2!

"It is 9:46 p.m.

"Two and 2 to Harvey Kuenn,
one strike away.
Sandy into his windup,
here’s the pitch:

"Swung on and missed,
a perfect game!

(38 seconds of cheering.)

"On the scoreboard in right field
it is 9:46 p.m.
in the City of the Angels,
Los Angeles, California.
And a crowd of 29,139 just sitting in
to see the only pitcher in baseball history to hurl four
no-hit, no-run games.
He has done it four straight years,
and now he caps it:
On his fourth no-hitter
he
made
it
a
perfect game.
And Sandy Koufax,
whose name will always remind you of strikeouts,
did it with a flurry.
He struck out the
last
six
consecutive
batters.
So when he wrote his name in capital letters
in the record books,
that “K” stands out
even
more
than the O-U-F-A-X."

-- Vin Scully, KFI Radio, 9/9/65

 

[Fading Fast]

⇧ pure, beautiful poetry - extemporaneous and amazing.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Some years back there was an entire book of extemporaneous radio poetry taken from the broadcasts of Phil Rizzuto, not a name normally associated with the literary world. But damned if it doesn't work.

"My Secret"

When I'm driving


To Yankee Stadium and back,


I do it so often.


I don't remember passing lights.


I don't remember paying tolls


Coming over the bridge.


Going back over the bridge,


I remember...


"A Prayer For The Captain"

There's a little prayer I always say


Whenever I think of my family or when I'm flying


When I'm afraid, and I am afraid of flying.


It's just a little one. You can say it no matter what,


Whether you're Catholic or Jewish or Protestant or whatever.

And I've probably said it a thousand times


Since I heard the news about Thurman Munson...


It's just something to keep you from really going bananas.


Because if you let this,


If you keep thinking about what happened, and you can't understand it,


That's what really drives you to despair.


Faith. You gotta have faith.


You know, they say time heals all wounds,


And I don't quite agree with that a hundred percent.


It gets you to cope with wounds.


You carry them the rest of your life.

 

[Ghostsoldier]

Silver Lake, Ohio, 1905

Boston

Rob

 

[2jakes]

 

[2jakes]

When it was a game.

 

[2jakes]

 

[LizzieMaine]

"He's better than
His brother Joe --
Dom-i-nic Di-Mag-gio!"

 

[2jakes]

"He's better than
His brother Joe --
Dom-i-nic Di-Mag-gio!"

I always wondered about the specs!

 

[HudsonHawk]

"He's better than
His brother Joe --
Dom-i-nic Di-Mag-gio!"

What's the old line about th DiMaggio brothers...Joe was the best hitter, Dom was the best fielder, and Vince had the best singing voice.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Why Dom was never given serious consideration for the HOF is still a very bitter point in New England. Ted Williams campaigned for him till his dying day, and Enos Slaughter always said that if Dom had been in center field that day instead of Leon Culberson, he never would have even considered trying to score from first.

 

[Ghostsoldier]

Chicago - Pittsburgh, July 2, 1908

Rob

 

[2jakes]

Lavonne “Pepper” Paire-Davis.

The good part about working in TV-news is meeting
people in sports first hand.

 

[HudsonHawk]

Why Dom was never given serious consideration for the HOF is still a very bitter point in New England. Ted Williams campaigned for him till his dying day, and Enos Slaughter always said that if Dom had been in center field that day instead of Leon Culberson, he never would have even considered trying to score from first.

Johnny Pesky's noodle arm didn't help either.