[SelzShoes]

Ever since acquiring interest in the Boston Braves along with the American Association Milwaukee squad in January 1944, Lou Perini, along with partners Guido Rugo and Joseph Maney, had patiently waited for the day their investment would pay off. Now with the war over, Perini felt he was close to being able to place a team on the diamond. The goal however, was not just to be happy in the fraternity of owners; no, the goal was to build value in a value-poor asset. There was only one obstacle to the Braves becoming the profitable in Boston: it was a Red Sox town.

In all of the two team cities—except New York—one club was seemingly fated to playing the role of the poor sibling; squeezing out an existence and hoping for that one or two year hot streak to capture the imagination of the public. The Braves’ best days were 30 years behind them, and the future, as long as the Sox held the majority of baseball fans’ fancy was equally as bleak. A change was possible; Saint Louis had been a “Brown’s town” for a quarter of a century, until the mid-1920’s when the Cardinals went to the World Series. Lou and his partners did not want to wait 25 years to change the minds of a city to bring crowds to the banks of the Charles River; two years of expenses and little revenue eat at a man’s tolerance.

Perini had, like all the other owners, kept informal contacts with one another; discussing how to handle the resumption of play, rights to players and all of the details necessary to recreate an industry. Until recently, this had all been theoretical—dreaming if you will, especially for the men who had purchased interest in clubs during the shutdown. Now, opportunity was at hand, and Perini felt he had the vision of what baseball could look like not only for the upcoming season but the decades over the horizon. “This war is going to change America,” he would tell his partners, “if we don’t strike fast our opportunity to change baseball will pass.” To return baseball to it’s prewar station, with no attempt to correct mistakes both geographical and economic, would be lunacy in Perini’s eyes. The four year hiatus was a blessing to a man with such grand plans; several prewar owners had sold out rather than risk losing more money. The public should be open to new ideas; while the time off had not erased memories of what had been, the vacuum of the war years had created a desire for recreation. In the public lust for baseball, John Doe and his brethren would be more accepting of new ideas that would have been baseball heresy at the start of the decade. While the new war time owners, Cox of the Phillies for example, would need little prodding to accept his ideas to increase franchise values and opportunities to win, an alliance with one of the established owners was key to broad support. Baseball owners were notorious for approaching new ideas with all deliberate speed; if one of their own, someone they knew and could rely on was the lynchpin. Fortunately he had one in his own city: Tom Yawkey.

Yawkey had purchased a Red Sox club as uninspiring on the field as it was at the gate. Fenway Park, a jewel when opened, had deteriorated to an ad plastered dump unfit for man, beast or New Yorker. The money and enthusiasm brought to the forlorn club in 1933 changed the philosophy and direction of the club. When the war hit the Sox were on the verge of challenging Yankee dominance, something unheard of since the days before Frazee. Even the four years off had not dampened Red Sox fever in the city and sport pages. Yawkey’s fortune and the batting eye of Theodore Williams lead many to hope a pennant would fly over Boston when the game returned. Perini had the bait to catch the noted sportsman’s attention. Once hooked, Perini was sure most of his plans would find favor with Yawkey, and a true new era of baseball would begin. “This is not for us alone,” Perini would tell his partners, “this is about what is best for the game.”