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Old 03-30-2006, 04:47 PM   #51
SelzShoes
High School Varsity
 
Join Date: Apr 2005
Once, there were heroes, part 1

Theodore Samuel Williams detested events such as these. The annual Boston Hot Stove Dinner, something he would have avoided before the war but as a condition of his new contract, he was required to attend. “In an uncertain off-season,” Yawkey had told him, “the press and fans need to see the stars.” At $150,000 a year, Williams agreed he owed Yawkey that much.

The various Sox came and went from the podium. Making the pronouncement this Red Sox club was going to be the one to return Boston to the top of the baseball world. Maybe it would not carry the cache of the champs of the past, but first is still first, whether it be the American League or the National-American League.

A priest gave a mock eulogy for the departed Braves that broke the hall with the laughter. Ted just sorted through the hundreds of postcards with questions from the crowd. The rest of the Sox were fielding the questions live, softballs with no meat behind them. But Ted just knew the assembled press would lie in wait to pepper him with the heat. Preparation, just like in batting, was the key to a success. No way would Williams let Webb or the others trip him up with some stupid question about the Yankees’ courting. Contracts and money were his business, not theirs. All the damn reporters needed to know was he signed with Boston, anything else was irrelevant.

So the reasons why a man who fought with the press and sometimes the fans would turn down more money ($185,000) to play in a park perfect for his swing might seem interesting, but in the end, it came down to winning. The Yanks were sure to roll the thinned rosters of their Continental League foes, but victory in Boston would be earned. Anything accomplished for New York would be lost in the quality of the opponent.

A tap on the shoulder alerted Ted to his introduction, and he rose to thunderous applause. “The reigning batting champion of baseball, Ted Williams,” the flash of bulbs and echo of the crowd made the room almost stand still in his mind. Just remember, he told himself, they will turn just as quickly. A scorpion is still a scorpion.

“There isn’t much I can say that these guys already haven’t said, so I’ll just go straight to the questions you were kind enough to fill out. We don’t have time for them all, but I selected what I feel are the best.” Ted answered the obligatory questions about his service during the war, the thrill of .400 and the other questions he was expected to answer. “For our final question,” he started a scant ten minutes later, “something a little different. What do I think of Kansas City signing Negroes? I’ll tell you what I think—I think it has been too long in coming. I saw these men playing on service teams, and believe me, there are some ballplayers there; some that could help Boston to the title. And the sooner the men who run these clubs decide to sign the best players, and not just the best white players, the better this game will be. Thank you, and good night.” Ted turned and walked from the podium to a confused smattering of applause. He sat down next to Yawkey, who looked daggers at his star. Williams leaned over to whisper, “I bet you never ask me to one of these things again.”
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Old 03-31-2006, 09:14 AM   #52
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A death unmourned, part 4

January 25, 1946.

Mr. Rickey:

I must protest in the strongest terms the theft of Newark Eagles Leon Day and Ray Dandridge by your organization. In all my years in running a baseball club, I have never been witness to such egregious disrespect.

The theft by you and your organization of some of our top players has greatly endangered the livelihood of thousands of American Negroes. It is not enough that you steal our players, but you have also seen fit to uproot the Kansas City Monarchs, one of the top clubs of Negro baseball. It appears you will not be satisfied until our organizations; our investments will be rendered valueless.

The Newark Eagles demand compensation for the above ballplayers, and any players you may see fit to take from us in the future. For Day and Dandridge the sum of $20,000.00 will be acceptable to end this matter before we are forced to take legal action.

Yours,

{Signature} Effa Manley {End of signature}

Branch Rickey,
Kansas City, Missouri.

----------------------------
Ruppert Stadium
Kansas City, Missouri

January 29, 1946.

Mrs. Manley:

The Kansas City Blues are more than willing to compensate any organization we acquire players from; however, neither of the players you have named were under contract with your club. In fact, Mr. Day has stated the arraignment with the Eagles was informal and only veiled verbal assurances of compensation were made.

I would also like to note our organization did provide the owners of the Kansas City Monarchs compensation for the contracted players of theirs we signed.

If you can provide a signed contract for Mr. Dandridge and Mr. Day, we will gladly pay the fee you have suggested.

Yours,

{Signature} Branch Rickey {End of signature}

Effa Manley,
Newark, New Jersey.
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Old 03-31-2006, 11:47 AM   #53
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Dissent in the Empire, part 2

“Mr. MacPhail, are you drunk?”

“And what if I am you you, ah, forget it—can’t have my star player pissed at me. So, who’s the horse?”

“That’s my fiancée.”

“Damn, you got to marry that to get a little bit, in my day . . .” Greenberg landed a forceful right to the face of the Yankee GM.

“Get up and say that again you bastard,” the slugger stood over the motionless MacPhail.

“Jeez Hank, I think you knocked him out.”
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Old 03-31-2006, 01:20 PM   #54
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Looks like the ownership of the Yankees is doing a bang-up job in this new world.
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Old 03-31-2006, 01:28 PM   #55
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Wolfpack
Looks like the ownership of the Yankees is doing a bang-up job in this new world.
MacPhail's drinking and fighting drove him out of Cincinnati and New York in real life. He had the habit of going on a binge and fireing the manager. Durocher said he must have been fired hundreds of times in Brooklyn, but knew the next morning MacPhail would be sober and forget the whole thing.

I think, and I have no reference before me to make sure of this, he showed up drunk at the team's celebration of the '47 series win, punched a reporter, showered the crowd with insults and tried to fire the manager. He was bought out by Topping and Webb the next day. The DiMaggio/Williams almost trade was brought about by his drinking (but he wasn't drunk enough to throw in Yogi Berra to the deal!).
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Old 04-01-2006, 01:50 PM   #56
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Reality Check: Life of Larry MacPhail

This link has a great bio from Baseballlibrary.com, one of my fav bio sites, on Larry MacPhail. Baseball is the family business, current Cubs CEO Andy MacPhail is his grandson, and son Lee MacPhail was long time AL League President.
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Old 04-05-2006, 01:28 PM   #57
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Does the sun rise or set, part 1

[Note]To this point, I've tried to integrate real characters into the storyline, but my knowledge (and resources) regarding the PCL is limited. Whenever possible, I've used real people, but for the most part, the PCL characters are completely fictional. [/Note]

"So, as these charts show, the loss of the Angels and San Francisco economically is crippling. Hollywood and Oakland are seriously endangered; I'd say they have five years, at best, before relocation is necessary." The crew cut consultant continued to deliver the grim news to the assembled PCL owners.

"And all because the Eastern Leagues are playing there," Oakland owner Paul Rolph shook his head distastefully. The other six owners nodded in agreement.

"Well, it isn't the 'Major League' label that gives them status-it is the wages paid," the consultant offered. "Their five thousand dollar minimum makes it very difficult for the PCL to compete with the Eastern Leagues"

John Clearwater of Sacramento snorted, "Ridiculous! We have always been able to field players of equal talent to the American and National Leagues." Several owners harrumphed in agreement.

"And those players eventually left because the PCL would not pay like the National and American Leagues. With air travel and two west coast teams, the number of players willing to stay with the PCL for less money will be further reduced. The only way to protect your markets is to bring your salary structure in line with the NAL and CL. Do that, and the PCL has a chance to survive as an independent league."

"That would be at least $120,000 on payroll alone; probably $250,000! That would more than double our player expenses," Herbert Joski of Portland cried. "I can't afford that."

The consultant was measured in his reply. "I don't believe every owner, every city, can do it. But to keep the PCL profile high you must meet their standards."

"I could almost run a club for the monies being thrown at DiMaggio and Greenberg."

"And a D-League club can do it for a whole lot less. My job was to assess the situation the PCL is in; frankly it isn't a good situation. As I see it, you have two choices: Increase salaries and start making a play for stars in their prime; or do what you have always done and end up like the American Association and International Leagues. Your best cities taken over and the PCL reduced to developing talent for the Eastern Leagues."

"You've seen what they did in Columbus and Buffalo," President Rowland interjected. "Didn't offer a dime to the owners there; brought in their own people-with the cities just giving away the stadium leases."

"Don't they have what they want," San Diego owner Mac Roegers said hopefully. "I can't see Seattle or San Diego ever being territories they would want."

"Take that chance if you like," the consultant said. "But know this: if you keep to the status quo, all the PCL will be able to lay claim to is being the best minor league in America."
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Old 04-06-2006, 09:46 AM   #58
SelzShoes
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Does the sun rise or set, part 2

[Newsreel with narration] Spirits are high in Sacramento; after a lengthy owner's meeting, the Pacific Coast League declares itself Major League. Seeking to protect the west coast territories from the encroaching NAL, the PCL agreed to bring their salary structure in line with the former National and American Leagues. Long a showcase for near top-flight ball, the PCL has decided to back-up years of bluster with action. President Charles Rowland says, "We call upon the bickering league, for the betterment of baseball, to appoint a new commissioner to oversee player and territorial disputes. We of the Coast League nominate Connie Mack for such a position." A few months ago the World Series was assumed dead; but now a 3-sided series seems possible. [/newsreel]
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Old 04-06-2006, 09:46 AM   #59
SelzShoes
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Does the sun rise or set, part 3

Statement by NAL President Ford Frick

While we respect the Pacific Coast League's right to think itself of the same quality as the National-American League, the historical record indicates otherwise. Further, the suggestion to appoint Connie Mack as commissioner of Baseball is equally laughable. Mr. Mack has approved the blatant piracy of some of the National-American League's biggest stars.

The member franchises of the PCL, instead of trying to garner public support by attacking the 'Eastern Leagues', should focus on improving the quality of their players. The American sporting public, over the course of a long season, cannot be fooled into thinking an AA league anything near Major League quality.
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Old 04-06-2006, 07:40 PM   #60
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The Legend of the Perfesser, part 2

"Well, I've been just as good as the player I have had; Dodgers and Braves have never been known for spending money, as least not when I was there. Overall I'd say I was 10-12 games better than the players that I had under the terms of my employment with my former team. Which is to say without me, they would have been worse than they were."

"I understand you can make a bad team better, but how Mr. Stengel? What do you do?"

"Well, say you got a lefty pitching, then I bring in a righty to swing since this is what John McGraw used to do back with the Giants. It is doing the opposite of what the other guy wants you to do, because that is what you should do; unless of course, you don't have the man who can do the job, then I just go by my instinct. See Mack, we'd call him Mack-never to his face mind you, no, it was always Mr. McGraw to his face, but it was Mack when we just talked amongst ourselves, Mack would put me in the best position to succeed, unless he thought the other guy was better than me, then Mack would use him and not me, but usually me instead."

"So, you play percentage baseball, then?"

"Well, any amount you do of anything is a percentage, even if it is zero."

"I see. Well. What do you think you can accomplish here in Oakland?"

"Who is on the roster?"

"That's not settled yet."

"Then I can't answer your question."

"Every other man I've interviewed has talked about winning the PCL pennant."

"Every other man you have interviewed is a liar. Look, you should finish at least 6th because there are two teams getting late starts putting a team together. I don't know how much better I can make them beyond that, unless you let me know who I have to work with."

"I have the provisional roster here."

"Hmmmm. Too many kids, not enough pitching. With this roster I can finish 6th. Get me another starter and a catcher who can hit, we can finish over .500. I'll have to watch them play before I can tell you what we'd need to win it all."

"So, all you can promise is 6th place? That is best you can do?"

"In all honesty, yes. But without me, you'll finish last."


[Honestly, I don't care for this post, but we must keep moving forward]
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Old 04-07-2006, 02:08 PM   #61
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Me and the Devil, part 1

“What a god forsaken place this is,” PCL president Charles “Pants” Rowland as the air cooled car moved through the dusty roads.

“And Phoenix isn’t?” replied his right hand man and league treasurer Jackson Millbyrn replied. Sheepishly, Rowland nodded in agreement. The Pacific Coast League was now finding itself reaching out into the dessert to find almost suitable homes for its franchises. Long ago the mild weather of the coast made the endless summer of ball one of the most pleasant things in the world. Now, players and officials had July and August in the cauldron of Phoenix to look forward too.

The car pulled up to the hotel, almost completed, rising above the dead land majestically. A tribute to man’s ability to make nature conform to his needs. They two men strode towards the entrance, where the doorman greeted them, “Welcome to the Flamingo; we hope you have a pleasant stay.”
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Old 04-07-2006, 03:52 PM   #62
SelzShoes
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Me and the Devil, part 2

“There it is gentlemen, $3 million, cash for the entry fee into the PCL.” The money almost glowed in the case; the bills packed tight and uniform, waiting to be released.

“The entrance fee is only $1 million, Mr. Siegel,” Charles Rowland was having trouble containing the urge to reach out and touch that much money. Sweat started beading on his forehead, even in the air cooled room.

“Well, I figured a little extra couldn’t hurt,” Benjamin Siegel’s brash confidence made Rowland feel more and more like this was a bad decision to come to Las Vegas. “This is a growing city, tripled in population since the start of the war. A ball club, a Major League ball club, that would really help sell the city to the rest of America.”

“But even with the population explosion that is still, what, only 50,000 people in the whole county. How can you support a club if you are counting on half of the county to show up every night?”

“Let me worry about that,” the sharp dressed man laughed. “I’m not worried about losing some money with a ball club; I’m trying to help build a city here.” Siegel strolled around the room trying to create an easy going atmosphere where nothing but tension lived. “Besides, the tourist will love to see a major league game. Most people who follow baseball, don’t go to the games, we’ll give them a game.”

The question rested on the tip of Rowland’s tongue, “but how do you make your money?”

There was a flash of anger in Siegel’s eyes; a moment away from fury, before reason took over, “The casino, for the most part. I have other business ventures as well, all of them legitimate.” Benjamin poured himself a cool drink. “Look, I know that you baseball types have a problem with gambling because of that World Series thing. But I’m willing to have our sports book not take any action on the team, just to keep it on the up and up.” Siegel closed the case and handed it to Rowland. “That cash would help out the other teams wouldn’t it?”

Charles Rowland fought himself to keep from grabbing the case. “We would require a cashiers check, not cash Mr. Siegel.”

“An honest man. I like doing business with honest men; know where you stand when a man has integrity. I’ll have one of the girls cut you a check.”

“We do have one more group to meet with; some gentlemen from Salt Lake City.”

“Do you what you have to do. But I can cut through the red tape to have a park built, and can absorb the losses. I wonder if your Utah friends can do the same.”

Rowland stood to leave. “The league will meet in Sacramento to evaluate both offers. I will inform them of your willingness to triple the entry fee to get the franchise. Someone will call with the decision then.”
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Old 04-07-2006, 07:55 PM   #63
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Bugsy!
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Old 04-08-2006, 12:33 PM   #64
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Buccaneer
Bugsy!
You know, when I was thinking about where to put the last PCL team, first question I asked was, "Was Bugsy still alive?" Granted, I know little outside what Warren Beatty taught me, but that's more than some of the people I'm writing about.
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Old 04-08-2006, 02:48 PM   #65
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All a man wants, part 1

The bus pulled up to the former military training complex, a canvas and wood city in the middle of nowhere, Arizona. After a brief tryout camp, the hundreds of Negroes who had shown up for a chance to be scouted by Major League teams had been whittled to these 80. Hours ago they had watched friends and teammates turned away after only minutes to show their abilities. Even in this moment of triumph, there was no joy to be had.

Blues manager Clyde Sukeforth, who had scouted many of these same men during the tours of late 1945, addressed the bus. Seven Pacific League and seven Continental League teams-the Yankees abstaining; Larry MacPhail saying "To give tryouts to players whom you do not intend to employ is sheer hypocrisy"-- would be looking for players to sign. There were no guarantees of a contract. They would spend the next month, working out with coaches from the various clubs and play ball. Each player would receive $500 for the month; food and boarding would be at the military training facility. No radio, no movies, no music; just baseball all day long. "We don't just want to know what kind of players you are, we need to know what kind of men. We want to know who wants it most."

"This isn't good Buck," veteran Willie Wells whispered to Buck O'Neill. "Tell a man the only chance he has is at the expense of his friends."

O'Neill nodded, "Still, they wouldn't go to all this trouble not to sign anybody. Each one of us that gets a contract out of this makes it easier for the next one. Besides, I think they would rather have us fight each other than some of the southern boys on those teams." The men grabbed their bags and slowly exited the bus. As they exited, Sukeforth pulled Buck to the front seat.

"Buck, we want you to act as team captain for one of the squads," Clyde started. "You know these players, you know how to use them in a game." Sukeforth leaned closed and scanned the empty bus to be sure no one else was in earshot. "Baltimore is looking for someone who can advise Ruth, help him along but," Sukeforth paused.

"But what Clyde?" O'Neill bit his lip, knowing what was coming next.

"But they don't want someone who will undermine his authority," Sukeforth felt sick to his stomach saying those words. "They don't think the team would respect a Negro enough to undermine Ruth's position." For the first time that day Sukeforth could look Buck O'Neill in the eyes. "I'm sorry Buck. Sorry it has to be that way." After months of watching the Monarchs grind out game after game with limited resources and substandard conditions, Sukeforth knew he was sitting with one of the five best managers he had ever seen.

Buck O'Neill extended his hand. "Clyde, it's not how it should be; but it is the best I got right now. And I'm not going to turn it down because it's not perfect. I'll be waiting too long for that day."
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Old 04-10-2006, 09:33 AM   #66
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All a man wants, part 2

“Mr. MacPhail, Mr. MacPhail” the young assistant was bursting with joy. This thrilled Larry MacPhail to no end. “Always have these empty suits who think because ‘Yankees’ is on their paycheck that they know something about baseball. All they know is three strikes and you’re out, and even then, they usually bug me or Topping just to be sure.” Disdain did not begin to describe what he felt for most of the staff.

“What! I’m a busy man, don’t waste my time.” In truth, MacPhail was looking to meet some of his army buddies for a couple drinks, and did not want to waste time working.

“Our man in Arizona; I didn’t think we sent anyone to the Negro tryout camp—he has sent a telegram,” the office assistant was anticipating the praise and reward to come his way by being the one to bring the good news to MacPhail.

Larry rolled his eyes at the hopefulness of the faceless gray flannel suit. “Oh, enough of them bitched about our not being there that Topping and Webb thought we should send someone. They still are ticked about that Powell thing from, God, ten years ago.” MacPhail moved some papers around while mimicking a Stepen Fetchit voice about the protest of the Yankees boycott of the camp.

The assistant laughed, because that is how one moved up the ladder in any business, at least that’s what the book he read told him. MacPhail grabbed the telegram to confirm that no one in this organization knew anything about baseball.

PROBLEM AT THIRD SOLVED
SEEN MAN WHO WILL CHANGE GAME
ORESTES MINOSO CAN DO EVERYTHING
A STEAL AT THE LEAGUE MIN—AWAIT INSTRUCTIONS

MacPhail looked thoughtfully or at least the look he had when he wanted someone to think he was being thoughtful, and then dropped the telegram into the trash. He looked at the young go getter, “Did you see what I just did?” The faceless suit nodded vigorously. “That’s what I want you to do with every telegram that comes in from the Arizona camp. Do you understand?”

“But, what if the player . . .”

“Son, this isn’t some two-bit operation you are working for. We are the New York Yankees. And I’m not letting just any colored bastard come in and wear that uniform. Especially not one who has a non-American name and probably can’t speak a word of English either. We have standards.” The suit felt very dejected, what he thought was a moment of glory had turned sour.
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Old 04-10-2006, 11:40 AM   #67
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All a man wants, part 3

Buck O’Neill to Josephus Bricker:

“Joey, I’m telling you this because you’ve got a chance to make it. Stop trying to kill the ball, that’s only going to result in strikeouts. Shorten up, just drive the ball. And defensively, think about your positioning more—those ‘just missed’ balls that go for doubles stay in those scouts minds longer than the occasional fancy dan play. I’m putting you out there because I believe you can do this. But that’s all I can do for you—the rest is on you.”
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Old 04-11-2006, 10:17 AM   #68
SelzShoes
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Drinks with Dizzy, part 2

Yeah, I guess I’ve been a little quiet tonight—only told you guys 10 stories instead of my usual 12. Well, I got an invitation to spring training—wait, wait, don’t raise those glasses to me yet. I’ll be dammed if it isn’t just a piss-ant little Coast League team. Phoenix. That’s right the middle of the f-----g dessert. And get this—it isn’t even a invite to the, well, I guess ‘major league’ camp, if the Coast League could have such thing. Yeah, they want me to maybe make a minor league’s minor league. Can you believe it? I told them I needed to think about it, cuz, well, I’m not spending any more time than I have to working for a roster spot. If I don’t have it in March, I’m not gonna have it in June. No I don’t know what I’m gonna do. Rickey wants me to come to Kansas City to do radio; NBC wants me to do a show and this Phoenix team might want me to pitch. Huh? Man, I thought at least Columbus would want me, with the veter’ns they signed, they’d surely have a slot to give ol’ Diz a shot, wouldn’t you think? Hell, I’d rather freeze my n—s off in Minnesota or Buffalo than swelter in Arizona. God, it’s bad enough in the summer here in St. Louis, can’t imagine how miserable it’d be in August out there. I’m so ready to pitch again, and not just exhibitions neither. But, I don’t know if I want it that bad. Radio sure looking purdy good to me now. Well, I can always go to camp, and if it doesn’t work out, do the Kansas City or NBC thing. Man, I thought once I decided to pitch, it would be easy to go down that road again, but man, it’s always sumthin!
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Old 04-11-2006, 10:56 AM   #69
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Note to my readers

A word of warning: there are some ‘out of chronological order’ posts coming up. We are in February 1946, but I’m going to start doing some post for Spring Training for the NAL clubs. Since these clubs will not be integrating this season, there is no reason to wait for the end of the tryout camp to start some ST post for those clubs. Each club will have its ST roster posted in the roster thread (separated into the 40 men at Major League camp and the rest at the minor league camp), and most will have a storyline post or two. Spring training games will begin after the tryout camp. For ease of storytelling, all the NAL clubs are in Florida, the CL and PCL will be out west.
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Old 04-11-2006, 11:39 AM   #70
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The Worst Place in the World, part 1

William Cox was the happiest man in America. Three years prior he had outbid John Kelly Jr to acquire the Philadelphia Philles, and now they were finally coming together as a club. As lead investor, he called the shots and answered to no one. He was 35 and living the American Dream.

Players had been filing into the sleepy Hialeah complex for the past few days. Cox had moved training to this area because of the proximity of the Horse and Dog tracks. The racing season would not be in full swing until June, but there would still be plenty of action to be had on and off the tracks.

Howard Bruce, the club’s director of Physical Fitness and Cox’s high school track coach, approached his former pupil. “Looking good in that uniform, Billy.” Even though he was in Cox’s employ, the coach still couldn’t help but be informal.

To the untrained observer, Cox appeared every inch the athlete in his Phillie jersey. “Fit and young, it is the only way to be.” The owner did a quick mock calestinic routine to show he was ready for spring. “When is the morning workout scheduled?”

”Well, Billy, hasn’t the manager posted the schedule or anything like that?”

“Oh s—t! I haven’t hired one yet.” Turning to his personal secretary Dorothy Massey, he asked, “Has Chuck Klein reported yet?” Miss Massey flipped through the pages of her notebook to affirm what she thought she knew.

”Yes, he is in bungalow A-10.” Chuck Klein, once a feared slugger was not expected to make the club. Like many veterans who saw the war take away the end of their career, Klein received a courtesy invitation to Spring Training. A chance to spend a few days in camp, remind fans of the good old days, and then bow out respectfully on ‘their’ terms.

“Well, that’s taken care of then,” Cox triumphantly crowed.

Massey and Bruce gave each other a double take. “Shouldn’t you ask him to be sure he wants the job?” Mr. Bruce finally asked.

Cox half-suppressed a giggle, “What player doesn’t want to manage? Dorothy, write a quick release for the press. The fans back in Philly will love this move.”
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Old 04-11-2006, 07:54 PM   #71
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Ah. A Daniel Snyder in his previous life sighting.
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Old 04-11-2006, 08:15 PM   #72
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Ah. A Daniel Snyder in his previous life sighting.
The bit about dressing up in uniform and working out with the team: That's true. He fired manager Bucky Harris by announcing it at a press conference in Philadelphia while the Phils were in Saint Louis getting ready to play. Harris did not know he had been fired until the press told him.
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Old 04-13-2006, 09:55 AM   #73
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Inerlude: Stories I Didn't Tell, part 1

In the roster thread I mentioned I wanted to do a storyline of the 4 big free agents who both leagues were courting: Johnny Mize, Hooks Wyse, Schoolboy Rowe and Arky Vaughan. Try as I might, I just never seemed to get something together that read well. So, I scrapped the idea, and just moved on. There were some, well, not important, but things that would have set down some of the ground rules this universe is working with.

The main problem I had with the storylines I was dropping almost exclusively into dialogue, which is not my strong suit. It is very hard to make negotiations sound interesting and even harder if you have several negotiations to do. The Greenberg and DiMaggio bits worked because the negotiations were not directly addressed; I couldn’t think of a similar way to do the four free agents. I just kept repeating myself; which to me is worse than not doing anything at all. (Ok, ok, so there are similarities to this world and the Prologue/Prequel world—but in fairness to me, Prologue/Prequel initially was going to build to this timeline, it just didn’t make it that far)

I did think about doing the newspaper reporting style to tell these stories, but I’ve (other than some newsreel post) purposely stayed away from that motif. That style was so big in Prologue/Prequel, I wanted to hold off on that and work on other storytelling devices.

Anyhoo, since setting up the rosters is more involved than I thought it would be (what with the adjusting salaries and such) I’m going to take a little break from posting of the narrative. Instead, for the next couple days, I’m going to focus on two storylines I, for one reason or another, didn’t think I could pull off, but think are important enough to warrant some mention:

1. The first true free agents
2. A rose by any other name
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Old 04-15-2006, 11:22 AM   #74
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Interlude: Stories I didn't tell, part 2

The First True Free Agents

"In January of 1942, faced with the uncertainty of the status of Major League Baseball and, more importantly, the uncertainty of their contractual obligations to their players; the Saint Louis Cardinals released Johnny Mize. It would be almost four years before Mize realized this was the best thing to happen to him."

I wrote that over a year ago. When I was in the waning days of 3rd&4th League, I started the planning of what would become CIE. Integration, expansion, great personalities, the late 40's was perfect for an alternative time line. So, I started taking notes and reading more about the era. And I now have these notebooks filled with bits about players and persons involved with baseball. Some of our key players-Ruth and DiMaggio for instance-I've got several pages and places in books indexed for reference. Other players like a Bobo Newsom, have a line or two; just in case. Then there is Johnny Mize, HOFer, All-Star, key part of the early Stengel Yankees. Maybe I was looking in the wrong places, but it seemed I was able to find more out about lesser players and Lou Perini than a player of Mize's caliber. I did know that his trade from the Cardinals was financially motivated (conflicting stories: either to cut the budget, or Branch Rickey, who received 20% of the Cards' profits was trying to paid his pocket), so I chose Mize to be the player I to be my first "true" free agent. As I found out, not have a decent image of who Mize was made the story difficult to tell. From there it was all downhill.

Summary of the story

True, Joe DiMaggio and Hank Greenberg have jumped leagues, but a team in the other league owned their rights. Mize had no attachment to any club. He was free to auction his services to the highest bidder. As alluded to in a couple post, he would set his asking price at $100,000 and listen from them. This would actually backfire on Mize since it would limit who could get into a bidding war. The Yanks had Greenberg (though Mize would actually be a better fit), Boston still has the ghost of Jimmie Foxx; basically only the Lancers, Cubs and Giants-all NAL squads-would be able to bid on him. As a show of league support, the Lancers and Cubs drop out and the Giants get him $85,000.

Arky Vaughan and Schoolboy Rowe would follow Mize's model, signing for more than they normally would, but not as much as they wanted, Hooks Wyse would usher in a new era: Overpaying mid-level pitchers. Hooks, in this storyline, had a brilliant career pitching in the military circuit. Truthfully, the talent level of the military circuit is somewhere between what we now call AA and AAA, but the numbers against Major Leaguers seems to indicate success. By setting his starting price relatively low, he watches the three leagues bid up the price for a pitcher with no major league experience to almost $50,000.

Why didn't I do it?

So, other than showing that the Yanks will overpay in any era, what would have been the purpose of this storyline. Well, I was trying to set down the "rules" of free agency without telling you "These are the rules of Free Agency," which I've ended up doing anyway. I've tried hard, to this point, not to address you from the perspective of Seth. I really wanted to stay in "in the era" as much as possible. Unfortunately, some things are too boring to do this with. And try as I might, this was just too boring of a story (at least how I was trying to tell it) to inflict upon you, loyal reader.

I mean, this is important for the long-term life of the league. Hooks Wyse would be his era's Curt Flood by opening the door wider than the previous Free Agents. But each story was so similar, and there was too much dialogue (I don't think I do good dialogue), I just couldn't keep my interest level in the story up. DiMaggio leaving the Yankees is exciting; Schoolboy Rowe going to Cleveland isn't. Now, in June when Hooks Wyse is getting booed like Ed Whitson, I might have some regret about not doing a little more with his story, but I don't think we'll miss it.


So what does this mean?

Free agency will work like this:

The PCL and CL will respect each other's contracts and reserve option; they will respect the NAL's contracts, but not their reserve option. NAL has the same attitude. So, leagues will not steal a contracted player, but a player without a contract is fair game-players who have been released are the only ones who can go to any league. In this era of the 1-year contract, everyone has limited free agency. A Red Sox can either resign with the Red Sox, or with any interested CL/PCL team. A Red can resign with Cincy or see if a NAL club has a better offer. The owners don't want to push the issue, since they'd rather have limited control and massive free agency (to keep cost down, they used the war as an excuse to curb many salaries) than 100% free agency and no control at all.
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Old 04-15-2006, 10:33 PM   #75
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I don't think I do good dialogue

Don't underestimate yourself, you write dialogues better than just about anybody here.
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Old 04-18-2006, 11:41 AM   #76
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Jolly Cholly and the Good Guy Club, part 1

“Does he ever put that damn banjo down?” Arky Vaughan laughed at the impromptu sing a long lead by the Cub manager. Coming from the high rolling, hard living Bucs, the spectacle of a leader filling down time with songs struck the shortstop as quaint. Odd fellows, these Cubs. Jolly Cholly and Smilin’ Stan; the nicknames did not inspire fear or respect, just reflected the joy surrounding the team. “It’s like the part in that Gable/Lombard movie,” as the team went into the second verse of ‘The Daring Young Man (on the flying trapeze)’.

“Hey Cholly, we need to trade for that Musial kid in St. Louis,” one of the giddy shouted, “I hear he plays a mean harmonica.”

“Accompaniment throws me off,” Grimm laughed back. “Beside, we got Eddie!” On cue the veterans and rookies alike threw up a whoop for young Eddie Waitkus.

The good cheer and congeniality of the camp should have put the shortstop at ease. He had seen teams lose it down the stretch, being too tight from trying to be all business. The Dodgers tried to go the other way, yukking it up with Uncle Robbie, but not having the focus or talent to contend. Grimm had won two titles, and never was worse than third in his full seasons. Something had to be working for that to happen. But, winners, in Vaughan’s eyes, needed something other than constant joy to win. They needed an edge; a killer’s conscience. “They’d make great neighbors,” Arky thought to himself, “but a ball club?”

A hand landed firmly in Arky’s back, “So, waddya think?” Phil Cavaretta, the captain in waiting, was also in the good humor business.

“Too many left side batters, but if the pitching holds, we should be ok.”

Spit flew out of the outfield/first baseman’s mouth as he stifled a laugh. “Heck, don’t worry about that yet. I mean camp. Not as tight as some clubs, from what I hear.” Phillibuck was incredulous over such concern so early in camp, “Man, worried about the season already—just be glad we’re playing again, my friend. Time for worry is September.” Cavaretta grab the arm of the Cubs’ newest jewel in the line up. “We need to get you to spend more time with Stan; no one worries less about everything than him.”

“That’s why he’s called Smilin’ Stan,” Vaughan repeated the line he had heard already a dozen times at camp.

“Now you’re thinking right!” Phil started leading Arky back to the sing a long. “It’s all sunshine and baseball down here friend, not a care in the sky.” The plink of the banjo called from around the crackle of the bonfire. “It’s a great bunch of guys, just stop thinking so dam much and have a good time.”

“And why shouldn’t I have a good time,” Vaughan thought as they drew closer to a scene straight out of an old college football movie. “Money, baseball and beer—what else can a man want?”
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Old 04-18-2006, 12:35 PM   #77
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Me and the Devil, part 3

Charles Rowland was near tears; it appeared the votes would allow Las Vegas to enter the league. All of his pleading, arm twisting and invocation of the sacred rule of baseball—thou shall not gamble—fell to mostly deaf ears. The money was too good to pass by. Portland, Sacramento and San Diego would be able meet payroll for an entire year with the check Siegel would cut to the league. Only Seattle and Hollywood, announced their opposition to expanding into the barely there city. Seattle wanted the Salt Lake City group to be awarded a team, just to even out the north/south balance of the league. Hollywood, and Rowland, felt the admittance of Siegel could undo all of the agreements forged with Connie Mack’s Continental League. “Men who lived through the Black Sox scandal have no interest in allowing such men into their fold,” Rowland implored the owners before the vote. “Admitting Vegas would be the final step in dooming the Pacific League to serial mediocrity.”

“Please announce your preferred bid when I call your club. Seattle?”

“Salt Lake.”

“Portland?”

“Las Vegas. We need that money to compete, and anyone who says otherwise is a liar.”

“Please, no politicking. I think the stance of Portland on matters financial is well known. Sacramento?”

“Las Vegas.”

“Oakland?”

“Salt Lake.”

“Could you please repeat?” Oakland had long been chalked up to the Las Vegas camp. This switch at least added some drama to the proceedings.

“I said Salt Lake. After talking with Casey, I don’t see how we can turn a team over to someone who owns a casino. It just; I don’t think we can do this and feel the games are 100% clean.”

”Hollywood,” Rowland moved quickly before Portland could object.

”Hollywood proudly backs the Salt Lake bid.”

“San Diego?”

“Vegas.”

All eyes turned to Phoenix. The poor expansion club, surely they would go the money and the natural rival Vegas could provide. “Phoenix?”

“Salt Lake City.”

Portland exploded as the vote was made. “You goddamned fool! How can you turn your back on so much money, you’ll ruin us all?”

“Phoenix, as per our entrance agreement, does not receive any of the expansion monies. That was a clause you sponsored I believe. So, why should I hand more money over to you, when you went to great lengths to keep us poor?”

“We can work something out, we can do something,” the Portland owner was gasping like a drowning man. “A share of everyone’s cut, we can work this out.”

“I’m sorry, but now is not the time for new business. We have settled the matter, Salt Lake is the newest PCL member,” the anxiety of the vote was now passing. The owners, Rowland felt, had done the right thing, barely.
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Old 04-18-2006, 07:07 PM   #78
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Interlude: Stories I didn't tell, part 3

A Rose by Any Other Name

Early on, Wolfpack at FOFC asked the following:

"Are you planning on division play with ten teams, or will it just be two best teams at the top play the World Series?"

Well, this was going to be the storyline dealing with what to do with the World Series.

Summary of the story

With the PCL and CL announcing their agreement to respect contracts, the two leagues also agree to a post-season series. The CL also agrees to extend its season to 168 games to fit with the PCL's habit of longer seasons. Now, while they don't call their series "the World Series", the press does start suggesting this is the new "World Series," since the NAL only has a regular season and no post-season arraignments. Lou Perini, who is always ahead of the curve, even if the rest of the owners do not seem to follow through on his plans, would suggest a divisional setup. Still angry over the Yankee debacle (which was not his fault), the other owners explore other options.

When Frick announces a Shaughnessy Playoff right before spring training, it is a public relations disaster. And as a bonus, Joe Cronin gets to ask his "Who'd watch a 12th place team" question 20 years earlier. The NAL realizes it's error and, with tails between legs, they vote to adopt a divisional set up. The NAL also, to stay even with the CL adopts a 168 game schedule.

Why didn't I do it?

In some ways the hardest thing about writing about this was not the subject matter; it was the man I picked for the lead. It would be very easy to cast Frick as a Bud Selig (or more appropriately, what the caricature of Bud Selig is). But I think the proper way to play it would be Frick as honestly tortured over this decision. He is the commissioner who suggested, though never officially adopted, the asterisk on Maris. He believed in the 154 game schedule and 1 winner from a league. This conceivably is the breaking point for this man. So much of what he held dear about the game was already fractured.

But did I want to waste that kind of emotion over a schedule? Shouldn't tears be saved until they are better spent?

Taking the Frick option off the table, all I had left was a repetitive cycle of owner meetings-really, how often do owner's meet. Even granting a couple more just because you are putting things back together differently, it can't be as many as I needed to do this. It just didn't work without the Frick angle.

So what does this mean?


I think the divisional setup for the NAL was a forgone conclusion. If you know anything about OOTP you know it won't support a 12-team league. All 3 leagues have a 168 game schedule, with the PCL and CL meeting in a post-season series. The is no plans to 'officially' have a PCL/CL versus NAL series (I think I have to have one for the game, but it won't count.)
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Old 04-18-2006, 08:30 PM   #79
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This dynasty is so good that I started my annual OOTP career a little early this. I normally start the league after the war but decided this time to start in 1939. I know more players in the 50s and 60s (because of my card collection) but it is interesting to see the players of the 40s (as well as those leftover from the 30s) in my league and in this dynasty as well.
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Old 04-19-2006, 08:34 AM   #80
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This dynasty is so good that I started my annual OOTP career a little early this. I normally start the league after the war but decided this time to start in 1939. I know more players in the 50s and 60s (because of my card collection) but it is interesting to see the players of the 40s (as well as those leftover from the 30s) in my league and in this dynasty as well.
Hope you will do a dynasty with it Buccaneer.
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Old 04-21-2006, 02:59 PM   #81
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Dissent in the Empire, part 3

Dissent in the Empire

[newsreel with narration]The newest Yankees show off their stuff in a workout for the cameras before heading to spring training. There’s Hank Greenberg showing the form that should drive in plenty of runs for the Bombers. And hurler Bob Feller shows his form on the mound of the House that Ruth Built. Yes, with additions like these, expect another pennant to fly over the Bronx. [/newsreel]

After spending the workout avoiding Hank Greenberg, Larry MacPhail approached the Movietone crew hired to film the workout. The three men were gathering the equipment preparing to leave. “You fellas, do you have anything to do with the editing?”

“Not really,” the crew chief said. “Sometimes we’ll make suggestions to the editor, on what the good stuff we filmed is.” The young men nodded.

Larry bunched his nose in thought. “You boys like the Yanks?” The GM moved his hand inside his coat and started to remove an envelope.

“Love ‘em, I was here for Gehrig’s farewell.” The crew nodded in unison. Who didn’t love the Yankees in this town?

“How about your editor? Yankee fan?” MacPhail stroked, nearly caressing the envelope in front of the men. Again, the question was answered in the affirmative. A smile cracked across Leland’s face. “I bet you boys would go to more games if you could, probably the same for your editor, right?” The nods continued. “Great, well I’ve got four season passes here as a thank you, if you do me a favor.”

“Sure, Mr. MacPhail, anything for season passes.”

“Now I know you shot a lot of film, and only have a few minutes you can show. Well, I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t use any footage of those swats of Hank’s that just died out there in left. There was a couple that left the park, just use those. Be a big favor to me if you did.”

The crew looked at each other. “I don’t think there would be anything wrong with that Mr. MacPhail. After all, he did get . . . a couple out of the park. Heck, we could probably use the same shot a couple times; make it look like he was hitting ‘em like the Babe.”

MacPhail slapped the crew chief on the arm playfully. “That’s what I wanted to hear. You’re doing the Yankees a great service.”
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Old 04-22-2006, 02:04 AM   #82
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Interlude: Populations

These are the populations of all of the member cities according to the 1950 census. New York City's total population (7,891,957) is divided as such: Manhattan goes to the Giants, the Bronx to the Yankees, Brooklyn to the Dodgers; Staten Island and Queens give 1/3 credit to each team. For Los Angeles the total population (1,970,358) is divided as follows: 2/3 to the Lancers, 1/3 to the Stars.
Code:
Chicago 3,620,962 New York 2,540,903 Philadelphia 2,071,605 Detroit 1,849,568 Los Angeles 1,313,571 Cleveland 914,808 St. Louis 856,796 Washington 802,178 Boston 801,444 San Francisco 775,357 Pittsburgh 676,806 Milwaukee 637,392
Code:
Brooklyn 3,318,975 New York 2,032,079 Baltimore 949,708 Minneapolis 833,067 Kansas City 586,175 Buffalo 580,132 Cincinnati 503,998 Columbus 375,901
Code:
Hollywood 656,787 Seattle 467,591 Oakland 384,575 Portland 373,628 San Diego 334,387 Salt Lake City 182,121 Sacramento 137,572 Phoenix 106,818
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Old 04-26-2006, 11:29 AM   #83
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A death unmourned, part 5

[NOTE]I’ve tried to track down some of Wendell Smith’s columns to try and get a better flavor of what his style was; unfortunately, I have not been able to find more than a paragraph or two lifted from larger pieces. If someone has more insight to the man’s writing, I would appreciate a link. [/NOTE]

I received a very angry telephone call from the owner of one of the ECL’s clubs accusing me of using my column to ‘drive fans away from the negro game’ and into the arms of the new major leagues. This owner, who watched ‘home’ attendance dwindle into the hundreds by the start of the war, feels the attention I and others in the black press have paid to the integration of the former Saint Louis Browns has contributed to the unmarketability of black baseball in many cities. Yes it is true that a few bastions of black baseball are watching the fans, such as they were, show more excitement over the integrated club in their city, but this is not the case in every city where black ball was king.

Philadelphia, Chicago, Detroit and Newark are all in cities without an integrated major league team, and even there the excitement is not for the NAL or ECL. The mismanagement of the past has unsurprisingly failed to create a feeling of loyalty on behalf of the Negro baseball fan. Even in the city of New York, with three major league clubs and only one Negro at spring training, the word in the barbershops and corners is about that one player; and not the Black Yankees or Brown Dodgers.

For years I and other members of the reporting community have urged the moguls of the NAL and ECL to adopt a formal schedule, major league style contracts, and a commissioner to oversee the disputes of territory and player rights which were a yearly occurrence. To illustrate my point, of all of the Negro players in at major league spring training, only one—Satchel Paige—was signed to a formal contract. Demands of compensation for these players, notably from the Newark Eagles, have fallen on deaf ears. The NAL and ECL are Leagues in name only.

Will I be saddened when the last of the all-negro teams closes shop for good? Only a little, as I cut my journalistic teeth covering and writing about the Stars, American Giants, Crawfords and Elite Giants. Overall, it will be a sense of relief. Relief that segregated businesses of any race can not survive integration. Relief that the yearly charade of an organized league will no longer be foisted on the Negro baseball fan. And relief that our best and brightest stars will no longer struggle in anonymity, but have the opportunity to win more of white America to our cause by their example and hard work.

When Rube Foster founded the Negro National League in the 1920’s, he said it was to prepare the black ballplayer for the day integration came. The press is ready. The fans are ready. The players are ready. The only one not ready is the owners; even though they were the only participant with anything to lose. Cry not for those who refuse to prepare.

--Wendell Smith, Pittsburgh Courier
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Old 04-28-2006, 02:41 PM   #84
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The Man Unhappy, part 1

Something did not sit well with Stan Musial; it showed in his smile, it showed in his walk. To the uninformed the easy target was $6,400 salary the big hitting first baseman was drawing. While not out of line with players of similar experience; it was greatly reduced for a player of his caliber. “A Williams for the Midwest,” the local papers called him counting the number of triple crowns this batsman would win for the Cardinals. Money, however, was not a concern for Stan; the money would come as easy as the hits once the leagues started rolling again. This was something deeper, something that, on the surface concerned him not.

During his time with the Cards in the 1941 pennant chase the thrill of the bigs kept the city of St. Louis from making an impression on him. Trying to help push the Cards over the top was all that mattered. But as training camp opened, a darker side of St. Louis was exhibiting itself in the humid cool of the Florida morn. Reporters and fans alike were jubilant over the Cardinals defection to the National American League. Not because of the (expected) higher level of play or the chance the Cards would be playing meaningful games the last weeks of the season. No, the joy was the fact the Cards had left the “n----r league.” One sportswriter, who had writing a glowing piece on Stan when he first came up, had related his initial disgust that “Those people” would be playing at Sportsman Park, maybe even for the Cards. “That’s not what our city is about,” he told Stan, “things like this make them forget their place.”

What bothered Stan most was, if not for the war, he might feel the same way. The time in the service had affected him more as a man than he thought it had. The separate accommodation seen during his service in Maryland, contrasted with the relative openness with his time in Hawaii was the first time he had ever thought something in the American Way was wrong. Men senior to him in service treated like dogs even though they wore the same uniform.

Stan knew what “their place” was; it was no different from “his place.” It was too late to do anything for this season, but the PCL and CL offered leverage. “If I’m the hitter everyone thinks I am,” Stan thought, “then I can make a stand for what is right.” If the Cardinals will not integrate for 1947; The Man resolved to take his trade elsewhere.
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Old 05-01-2006, 03:14 PM   #85
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The Crash of the Casino on Wheels, part 1

“Waddyameanurthrownusout?” Frankie Frisch, the Fordham Flash, had a tendency to speak quickly when he was upset. This morning, three in the am to be precise, he felt justified in his rage.

The night manager of the hotel was very firm in his stance. “We can not have caterwauling—drunk—baseball players disturbing our other guest as yours have done the past 3 nights.”

“Drunk? FanymyboysrdrunkthenImmamonkey,” Frisch’s argument of the sobriety of his players at this point was only relative. The players were not drunk, at least when compared to their manager. Frisch took a swing at the manager missing by a country mile. The only real effect was Al Lopez, one of the few Pirates who had been sleeping, lost his grip on the shoulders of the besotted skipper.

"Geez Frank," Lopez wheezed under the effort of trying to hold up the Flash, "Give it a rest." The prospect of trying to move scores of players in the middle of the night, with no set destination did not hold much appeal to the veteran catcher. Lopez knew he had to act quickly before any hope of finishing the night in bed and not on the street. "Look, can't this wait until morning?"

The manager quickly shook his head to the negative. "I've had 12 complaints since midnight alone. This will not stand."

Frisch had slowly settled onto the floor, laying his hot head on the cool tile. He was mumbling something about showing the hotel manager some manners.

"Look, if I can get the boys to bed, let us just finish out the night." Al Lopez was noted for his occasional lapses into passion; tonight that fire would not suit his purpose. "That many men trying to move out would cause quite a ruckus--more than they're kicking up now. You know what kind of trouble kicking one drunk out can cause--this many, whew. Better just call John Law now if you know what I mean."

Frisch gurgled a not-so-veiled threat against the ancestors of the hotel manager. A threat thankfully obscured among the spit and vomit that had collected in his mouth.

The manager was doing math in his head. The cost and consequences of throwing out an entire ballclub at this hour, as compared to the cost and consequeces of throwing them out in the morning. Time and sleep, as well as the day manager, made it entirely possible this scene would repeat itself in the near future. "How long before they are confined to rooms?"

"Only a handful left."

"I'm in a forgiving mood--have them in quarters in ten minutes, we will delay discussion of your eviction until the morning." While the Pirates slept, the manager knew he would have the time to craft his argument to the day manager. They may not be thrown out come morning, but the noose would at least be tied.

Lopez pulled Frisch back to his feet, before turning to the Buccs assembled to watch the show. "What are you waiting for bums, get yer asses back upstairs--NOW!" The men scrambled towards the elevator without stopping to help thier fallen manager. "Bastards," Lopez whispered under his breath as he only was left to navagate the Fordham Flash back to his room.
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Old 05-01-2006, 04:07 PM   #86
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The All-American A-----e, part 1

“I understand a few of you boys are not happy with the presence of two n-----s in training camp. I want to make a couple points:

First, the n-----s are coming. They will be here in numbers you never imagined in a few years. The only way you will be on a team without them is if you crawl back south to play in some piss-ant Industrial or County League. Hell, I’m pissed I don’t have more than two—because they will help us win; they will help make us rich.

Second, if you really don’t want to play with n-----s then let me tell you your options. Only two clubs we deal with don’t have n-----s, the Yankees and a PCL team in Salt Lake City. We will accommodate your request for a trade—but we ain’t trading you to the Yankees. If they don’t want, or can’t use you in Salt Lake City, then you are going to our top minor league club until your contract runs out—We’re not releasing you so you can sign with whoever you want. So before you’re bitching about who your teammates are gets out of hand think about where you want to spend your summer. Here, Salt Lake City or Montreal?”
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Old 05-05-2006, 04:34 PM   #87
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Saints and Sinners, part 1

How did it come to this?

Stuck out west on some B League squad, praying just to make the team.

How did it come to this?

I was a Yankee. A m-----------g New York Yankee. 3-time champion.

Now? Hoping none of these young bucks played much in the army. Hoping the legs can cover more ground than I know they can. Praying that a man can be forgiven his sins and finally the Lord will take that boot off my back.

God, I need that money.

Lord, show some mercy. Make those line drives fall. Put me in the right spot to catch every fly. Show me that I am worth saving.

Give me a reason to put the gun down.

How did it come to this?
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Old 05-09-2006, 11:23 AM   #88
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The Man Who Never Was, part 1

Four years went by so quickly. Four years went by so slow. It was like his grandma always said, “the journey means nothing if you don’t know where you’re going.” At 35, Claude Thoby was pretty sure where he was going; what that meant for the journey, he was unsure.

If not for the war, this would be the beginning of Thoby’s 12th year in Sacramento. He had become something of a local legend; known by even the youngest of Solon fans who dreamed of playing pro ball. In the spring of 1934, Thoby talked his way into a tryout and showed enough to make the team at the end of the bench. After a couple key injuries, the Solons had no choice but to play him everyday—and play he did. The result: .325, 15, 75 in just over a half a season of regular play. The gamble on the unknown paid off. While never showing superstar skills or statistics, he became one of the iconic players of Sacramento. Faces came and went, but you could count on Thoby to be at first, right, left, or anywhere else the Solons needed a bat.

Sportswriters occasionally pressed for the scoop on Thoby’s life before coming to California. He would always politely refuse saying, “the only thing that matters to me now is the Solons.” Speculation ran rampant: he was an escaped convict, he was running from a bad marriage, he was an amnesiac. But the truth was much worse than that.

Claude Thoby was a black man.
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Old 05-10-2006, 10:14 AM   #89
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Drinks with Dizzy, part 3

“Pitching coach? I thought I was here to throw. Good Lord, what is a man to expect?”

Al Simmons held his next bite of steak aloft. “Diz, both of us are pulling double duty too. Sam is the hitting coach. The club is just getting off the ground, we got to make every dollar stretch a little bit further than other teams,” Bucketfoot Al lobbied the ownership group hard to spend the money to bring Dizzy west, now he was lobbing Dizzy to stay. “Look, would you be having these doubts if the Phillies or the Browns had called you.”

Aside from the fact the Browns no longer existed, Dean accepted the point. “Yeah, but I don’t know anything about coachin. That’s not what I do.”

“But brother, you know about pitching. Sam is in the same boat—he’s never coached, but he can hit. I’ve never managed, but I know the game.” Simmons was somehow managing to devour his dinner while conversing; word and bites never seemingly mingling. “The beautiful thing is: They don’t expect us to win. We can have a helluva great time, and if we win, that’s just gravy brother. That’s just gravy.”

Dean leaned back in the booth. “Just how bad is it going to be?”

Knife and fork lay crossed on the plate. “We’re going to be young. Tony Cuccinello just backed out. But we got a couple crack Negro players, but, man, it’s going to feel like varsity day most days.” Simmons reached out and put his hand on Dizzy’s shoulder. “They need someone to teach them to win.” The gravity in his voice started to slip, “and if we have a great time doing it, well, then life is good.”

Dizzy pushed his potato around with his fork. “So all of the fun, none of the pressure?” Simmons and West nodded in tandem. “I’m willing to give it a shot gents.”
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Old 05-10-2006, 12:51 PM   #90
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Beautiful City, Lousy Team, part 1

Spring; the time when a young man’s fancy turns to love. Or if you have already got the love (or given up on it completely) then the young man turns to baseball. For Lefty O’Doul, there was no difference between the two.

This should have been a joyous time for the San Franciscan; the City’s greatness was getting more attention, simply because it’s baseball team now wore the “Major League” label. Lefty knew better than to be excited about this team. For a Pacific League club, it was nothing special; for a major league club it could be downright ugly. The management, so struck by the offer to play with the big boys did not put any thought into how the new arraignment should have affected player signings. No thought at all. The only thing about joining the NAL O’Doul found somewhat satisfying was as long as the Phillies were around the Seals would not be the worst team in the league.

Even if the Seals future at the "Major League" level was better than he could imagine, O'Doul wondered if this was the road he should travel. He had wrote to Douglas MacArthur offering his services to help restart the Nippon Baseball Leagues. "The game," O'Doul had observed to friends, "encourages democracy." It stung Lefty that Tokyo's main stadium had been reduced to a trash heap in the aftermath of Japan's surrender. The people of the rising sun loved the game like Americans, if he could help bring the formerly warring nations together with a game; that would be more worthwhile than trumpeting the virtues of his beloved home town.

And it would be better than watching this club struggle.
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Old 05-10-2006, 07:38 PM   #91
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Lie Still, Little Bottle, part 1

"I just don't know how you can be so full of it so early in spring."

"Meet my new best friend. Uncle Sam gave these out to his nephew paratroopers. I'm telling you, no wonder we stuck it to the Nazis."

"They work that good?"

"If you ain't feeling your best after one of these, you're already dead."
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Old 05-12-2006, 09:34 AM   #92
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Dissent in the Empire, part 4

It was nine in the morning, and already the heat was unbearable. Leland MacPhail, hunched over his desk in the Yankees temporary Arizona office, longed for the Florida days of his Brooklyn and Cincinnati experiences. When a man could go to the cooling breeze of the ocean to find relief from too much John Barleycorn. Instead, he was packed inside a trailer with too many (noisy) worker bees.

The support staff had seen this before from MacPhail; and tried their best to not bother him, less he rage at any and all of them. A taste of blood was all that was needed; someone would be taking a long trip home today. MacPhail waited for his excuse to rage.

Fate, however, decided to spare the drones.

To say Jerry Priddy was fresh from the morning workout was to use ‘fresh’ in the sense of the immediate—not in the sense of a crisply cut lawn or just washed sheets. His entrance, coupled with the noticeable reek of sweat dripping from his uniform and body, filled the trailer with no regards to the nostrils of those assembled.

Lee MacPhail choked back vomit from the stench.

With great pride and confidence, Priddy approached MacPhail. The office staff sighed relief, someone else was foolish enough to engage the General Manager. “Mr. MacPhail?”

Leland lifted his head slightly, only to return to his hunch upon seeing who was disturbing his attempted rest.

“Mr. MacPhail, I feel my talents and value to this club deserve to be appropriately compensated. And in light of this I wish . . .”

“Who. The. Hell. Are you?”

“J-Jerry Priddy, your second baseman.”

MacPhail raised his head slightly. “Joe Gordon is my second baseman, and you look nothing like him.” Slowly the General Manager raised his body to sitting upright. “Are you even one of my players?” he asked dismissively.

Priddy nodded.

Lee moved papers around, pulling out a neatly typed roster sheet. “You have a contract with us?”

“Yes sir.”

“How much?”

“Well, I was hoping for ten thousand.”

The office staff began to draw back, lest MacPhail decided to batter the player with objects and not words. “No you moron, what did you sign for. Not what you want.”

“$6,800.”

“And what did you do for the Yankees in 1941, refresh my memory.”

“I started the season as the everyday second baseman,” Priddy truthfully, but incompletely offered.

“And? What did you do with the stick?”

Jerry mumbled an answer.

MacPhail stood motioning to the office staff. “I’ll tell you what he did, he hit .213 and was such a load of c—p with the glove his a— was shipped to Kansas City. And this bastard has the nerve to come to me--a man who should have his head examined for giving such a piece of s—t a second chance with the New York Yankees—and he asks me for Ten Thousand Dollars?”

“If this is a bad time, I can. . .”

“NO! This is a perfect time. You know why? I’m in the f-----g mood to just throw money away.” MacPhail took his wallet out and pulled a wad of cash out, and then proceeded to throw the bills towards the office staff. “See, those people work. They deserve everything they get and more—pick it up boys, don’t be shy. But you. Man, if I gave you $6,800 I must be drinking too much, because the best you should hope for is making enough on relief so you don’t starve to death.”

Priddy turned, realizing that this was not a good time at all.

“Trying to sneak out on me? Alright, you’re suspended—15 days without pay.”

“But, that’s most of the rest of spring training, I, I . . .”

“You want to make it 30? Then get the hell out of my office. I don’t want to see you, smell you or hear about you for two weeks. And by God if I’m lucky enough to find someone stupid enough to take you .213 hitting a--, Hell, Red Ruffing hit .303, you’ll never wear that uniform again as long as I’m around. You got that.”

Priddy nodded weakly and scampered out the door.

MacPhail turned to his office staff. “Good morning so far boys. Hell, let’s take an early lunch. Oh, and someone tell Joe that he will be without the services of that nobody for a couple weeks.”
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Old 05-12-2006, 07:14 PM   #93
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I thought Priddy would have been killed and buried in one of those holes in the desert.
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Old 05-12-2006, 11:09 PM   #94
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Buccaneer
I thought Priddy would have been killed and buried in one of those holes in the desert.
You only kill the players with no trade value.
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Old 05-16-2006, 02:14 PM   #95
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The King of the Blues, Part 1

“Now why are you out here?” Satchel Paige was indignant; he was settling into a groove and Sukeforth once again interrupted him.

Sukey, as the players called him, was quick to the point. “That last throw, looked like you were having some pain.”

“Sukey, a pitcher who don’t feel pain ain’t pitching.”

“The homilies only work on the press and the kids. You’re coming out, we’ll have the trainer look at you.”

“All these people, come out to see Ol’ Satch, and you pull me out for a little twinge. Lord, I thought you white boys knew how to run a league.”
_______

“So, what’s the Doc got to say?”

“Satchel, we’re going to shut you down for a week or so. Your elbow has some swelling and we just want to be sure you’re ready to pitch when the season opens.” Paige lay back and laughed that loud country laugh of his.

“Man, how do you get a season done if you so scared of a little swelling; I’ve thrown with much worse than this.” Paige shook his head. “But if you are going to pay me not to pitch, then Satch has no problem with that.”

Paige had been, to be gentle, something of a prima donna in spring training. While the other negroes at the Blues camp had been quiet, almost deferential, in their relations with management and their white teammates; Paige made no bones about being a star. He was paid almost twice as much as any teammate, white or black. On days he was scheduled to pitch, the crowds tripled. Everyone wanted to see Paige pitch against the best.

“Know what the problem is, Sukey?”

Sukeforth shook his head, eager to see how Paige would turn this into his benefit.

“See, you’re not throwing me enough.” Satch held his right arm high, “This old wing needs to flap to stay loose. This two or three days off stuff is killin’ me Sukey. I need to pitch more. Now you expect me to stay loose just sittin round for a week. Shoulda stayed a Monarch, they’d let me pitch.”
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Old 05-19-2006, 04:48 PM   #96
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Rajah's Kingdom, part 1

[NOTE] As I've said before, the Spring Training post are NOT chonological[/NOTE]

“Where do you boys think you’re going,” Rogers Hornsby held his arm out as the trio started to enter the bus. The three negroes—Josh Gibson, Lennie Pearson, and Larry Doby–had expected a confrontation from a teammate at some point, but not their manager. The plan, as agreed upon by the group, was to not confront any hostility, to let the moment go. The players on and around the bus gathered quickly. Gibson refused to allow the group to be humiliated in front of the club.

“We’re getting on the bus to the game,” his face and chest now inches from the Rajah.

Hornsby chuckled and spat at the ground. “No, you’re not getting on this bus.” He licked his fingers like a gunfighter of old. “This bus is for veterans; you boys belong on that bus.” His thumb jerked back to the beat-up, patched-up and generally ill maintained vehicle the rookies were expected to take. Luxury was for men who had earned it.

“I’ve been playing longer than some of those kids have been alive.” The black Babe Ruth felt Pearson and Doby take his arms to pull back. Together they still did not have the strength to move him.

Hornsby cocked his cap, “How many hits you got n----r?” Pearson gripped Gibson’s right arm as tightly as he could, trying to hold back the uncoiling power. “How many?”

“I got more hits than you can count cracker.”

Hornsby didn’t move. “Funny, never seen your name among the league leaders. See, the games we play count for something—not just getting hooch money.” Hornsby pressed even closer to Gibson, “Now, if you can show me anything showing you’ve played in the Pacific, American or National League—then you can ride in this bus. Until then, you ride with the rookies.”

“You know I can’t show you that,” Gibson’s teeth were clinched so tight, they almost exploded in his mouth.

Pearson started to pull harder on Josh. “This isn’t the time Josh, this isn’t the time,” Lennie kept repeating. Even as his stance softened, Gibson’s glare did not.

Hornsby turned to the white rookies, “See that. Everyone falls in line behind me. Is that clear?”
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Old 05-22-2006, 11:14 AM   #97
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The Man Who Never Was, part 1

“I mean, how would you feel if you lost your job to one of them?” Jo-Jo White had reason to fear for his roster position. The Solons had taken a waiver on the ex-Yankee to vie for a “teaching” role for their explosive kid centerfielder, Jim Rivera. Even early in the spring there was thought, in both White and manager Bill Sweeney, that the veteran had seen his moment pass. The sudden influx of Negroes changed the stakes in spring training. Under the old older, White would figure on having bench slot sewn up early in camp. Major League experience and that old Yankee magic would weigh heavily in his favor. Now, White saw a world wear his abilities and talent would have to carry him. Abilities and talent which were quickly slipping away.

Thoby laced them up quietly, listening to the frazzled White trying to rally support to his cause. Sacramento had signed only one Negro in the off-season. Unlike the Kansas City Blues, most teams stepped wearily into the first year of integrated play. “It’s only one roster spot,” Thoby calmly stated, “No need to be all in a panic.” Claude stood tall after his shoes were laced, “Anyway, this guy is a first baseman, no need for you to worry.”

“No need to worry?” White was beside himself, “Kansas City might play seven—SEVEN—at a time. How long before that happens with every team?” Jo-Jo was pacing excitedly, “Won’t be any place for us when that happens.”

“Heck, Claude probably is sad only one is on the club,” Bill Knickerbocker playfully chided.

Thoby was quick to the utility infielder’s face. “What do you mean by that?”

Knickerbocker held his arms up defensively. Thoby was a man of few words, but his once in a blue moon rages were legendary. “N-n-nothing man. I just; I know how you. Well you.”

“WHAT?” Thoby lifted and pushed the slight fielder up and into the nearest locker. Pressing hard, feeling the resistance of the metal doors as the flesh pushed hard.

The gathered Solons found themselves caught halfway between wanting to watch the show and keeping Knickerbocker from being strangled in front of them. The unspoken consensus being to wait until Knickerbocker at least started to turn blue.

Bill stained to speak, his wind slowly betraying him. “You just. Seem to like. Hanging out at. Spook joints. Jazz. Clubs. That’s all.” Thoby eased his grip and Knickerbocker slide to the floor. Gasping to refill his lungs.

With the matter safe at hand, the remaining players crowed to help Knickerbocker to his feet. Anton Gogolak and Spider Jorgensen pulled the slugger out of the room.

“Christ Claude, what the hell got into you?”

Thoby’s face remained sullen, filled with hurt. “I didn’t like where he was going with that.”

Gogolak slapped his head mockingly. “You got a thing for black women, and you don’t think anyone is going to say something about it? Especially now?”

The slugger held his head down. The captain was right.

“If you get this riled about one of us ribbing ya, what are you going to be like in Oakland?” Jorgensen offered. “I don’t know you that good, but we can’t have a guy blowing up like that on the field.”
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Old 05-22-2006, 04:38 PM   #98
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The Worst Place in the World, Part 3

Highlights from the Philadelphia Inquirer’s coverage of Spring Training:

“Chuck Klein has been running the show but without the passion expected of a field manager. Who, however, can blame this once proud warrior?”

“Instead of two clubs for the city to hope and root for; there is only one hopeless city.”

“Jimmy Outlaw, playing centerfield as well as a third baseman can be expected to . . .”

“Perhaps, the wrong team left Philadelphia.”
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Old 05-23-2006, 09:42 AM   #99
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The Return of the Babe, part 6

The Babe wanted to see more of the minor leaguers. He had embraced the role of manager to its fullest and felt he needed to know what the future of the Athletics looked like. Hastily a game was arranged with one of the local college squads.

With little notice a crowd of a couple dozen showed up at the game. Mostly bored girlfriends from the college, but sprinkled were the die-hards. The men and women who were, as they said in the olden times, baseball mad. Nothing was amiss, until the Bambino found out the crowd was charged admission.

“This is horses—t!” He bellowed loudly in the dugout cage. For what little advertising there was, it all shouted the same: Athletics v Miners. To the Babe, that meant the patrons were expecting real live major leaguers, not this group of kids. “Screw this, give me that line up card,” Ruth scratched and scribbled before handing it to the umpire. It now read, in part:

3. Ruth, G 1B

“You sure this is a good idea,” Buck O’Neill asked his manager. Ruth had been, to the surprise of the A’s management, extremely receptive to the advice of O’Neill. In the dugout and after games, O’Neill was almost attached to Ruth at the hip. Talking game situations and breaking down what needed to be done in a regular season game as opposed to an exhibition. For Ruth, that was proving to be the hardest part of his learning process. “This is not the time to manage to win, you just need to see what everyone can do,” Buck had told him. “You’ll get killed managing like this during the regular season; but you’ll get killed if you don’t manage like this during the spring.”

Ruth nodded back to Buck. “Those people paid good money to watch this; they deserve at least one star on the field.”

O’Neill smiled back, “Just don’t forget your specs out there.”

“Don’t need them to strike out,” Ruth laughed.

After a single and pop out, the umpire announced Ruth. The small crowd roared with the sound of twice their number. Even the bored girlfriends sensed the moment and stood with the rest of the crowd. The Babe tipped his cap, and took his place in the box.

The Junior on the mound felt his knees start to buckle. As he thought he was expected to, the first pitch was an easy lob, very hittable. Ruth let it pass for a strike.

“C’mon kid, pitch to me!”

The next two were as wild as the first one was slow. The A’s rookie on base now stood at third, waiting for a long fly ball. The fourth pitch approached; Ruth swung mightily.

And lined it foul down the first base side.

Ruth dug in, determined to give the small crowd a thrill. The kid pitcher reared back and let loose.

This time, Ruth didn’t even make contact. The crowd did not care. They stood and applauded the great man for the effort on their behalf. Even the collegians clapped. Ruth tipped his cap again, and strolled to the dugout.

Reinvigorated by the sound of the crowd, Ruth took his position at first. O’Neill tried to talk him out of taking the field, but Ruth felt he owed the crowd two at bats. The glove was a little small for his hand, but he managed to make it through the warm ups with little problem. But the lights were not fully on, and the dusky haze was making it harder and harder to see.

The collegians were quickly down to two outs after a fly and strikeout. The third batter rolled one to the shortstop. The infielder gloved the ball threw in one solid motion.

Ruth put out his glove and stretched as much as his body would allow.

He never saw the ball.
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Old 05-23-2006, 10:36 AM   #100
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OOO. cliff-hanger
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