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NOTE: HBP data for Wagner, Crawford, Dahlen and Anson are incomplete. All pre-1950 players’ SH/SF are combined and Interference/Obstruction data is missing. A-Active. E-Estimated.

Ted DiTullio is SABR’s only fur designer.

FEW ASPECTS OF BASEBALL capture the imagination as forcefully as the home run. The pages in record books devoted to home-run hitting outnumber those of any other hit many times over. While the number 50 signifies the single-season slugger par excellence, the team that reaches 200 home runs is equally distinguished.

Nineteen-eighty-seven marked a watershed year in home-run hitting. Both leagues, arguably aided by a hyperthyroid baseball, and/or internally altered hats, shattered league home-run records. For the first time no fewer than five teams hit over 200 home runs apiece, and six others smashed 190 or more. This new extreme in team prowess begs an inquiry on teams that have accomplished this feat – who they were, how they did it and how significant the accomplishment was.

All teams that have hit 200 or more home runs are listed in the accompanying table, with the pennant winner of that season if different. All date from the post-World War II era, starting with the 1947 Giants.

Considering that 182 homers was the team record before 1947, it is astonishing that that year’s Giants belted almost 40 more, upping the record to 221. In the next decade they were joined by three other National League clubs, the 1953 and 1955 Dodgers and the 1956 Reds, the latter of which tied the Giants’ record of 221.

The American League did not produce a 200-homer club until 1961, and then produced four consecutive seasons in which a team hit that many. The 1961 Yankees shattered the Giants’ and Reds’ record by establishing the current standard of 240. There followed the Tigers of 1962 and the only back-to-back 200-homer team, the 1963-64 Twins, who slugged 446 home runs in two years. The 1962 Giants hit 204 home runs, while the 1966 Braves closed the decade of the 1960s with 207.

In the 1970s the 1970 Red Sox, 1973 Braves and 1977 Red Sox joined the list. The 1980s have proven the busiest 200-homer decade, with the 1980 and 1982 Brewers, 1985 and 1987 Orioles, 1985 and 1987 Tigers and 1987 Blue Jays, Cubs and Giants.

To sum up, the Giants and Tigers have performed the feat three times each, while the Dodgers, Twins, Braves, Red Sox, Brewers, and Orioles appear on the list twice. The Yankees, Reds, Cubs and Blue Jays did it once each.

While the thought of a 200-homer team conjures up visions of an entire roster bulging with sluggers, the fact is that the hulk of the slugging is done by a select few. On no club did the top three home-run hitters account for less than 38.5 percent of the club’s production, ranging to a high of 60.1 percent. The average percent of homers hit by the top three sluggers on all 200 home runs clubs is 49.7. We also see that most of these clubs were accompanied by at least one hitter who produced 20 or more homers in addition, further concentrating the power. On the record-holding 1961 Yankees, Berra’s 22 homers and Howard and Blanchard’s 21 apiece mean that 207 of the 240 homers were produced by six men, 86.2 percent of the total, and the sixteenth best team total of all time from just those six.

Most 200-homer teams consistently field the same lineup. And most of these clubs repeat the accomplishment, though not necessarily in the short span of time that the Tigers and Giants did. While you must have the personnel to do the job, it would seem that having a park conducive to slugging doesn’t hurt. However, home and road figures belie that assumption. Six of the twenty-two 200-homer teams hit more road than home four-baggers, and in most of the other cases the differential between home and road totals is around 20. As we get further into the era of the all-purpose stadium, the ability to tailor a lineup to a ballpark will become more difficult to achieve. It would appear that even when this was possible, loading up for your home field didn’t produce that many more home runs.

There are those who would mark the expansion era as the beginning of the decline in the science of pitching, or at least as the age when the percentage of competent hurlers in the major leagues dropped steadily. Whether this is true or not, it is undeniable that eighteen of the twenty-two 200-homer performances came in the post-expansion era. Expansion also brought with it a longer schedule, as Ford Frick was quick to remind Roger Mans and the world in 1961. Considering a 200-homer team produces at a pace of about 1.25 homers a game in a 162-game schedule, we can assume that any team hitting fewer than 209 homers in that span would not have hit 200 homers in the old 154-game scheme. Seven of the eighteen post-expansion teams fall into this category.

While the year 1947 is significant for this study as the first appearance of a 200-homer team, it is better known as the year that baseball’s racial barriers were dropped. Could the emergence of the black and Hispanic major leaguer have played a part in the growth of team home-run production? As we have noted, the ability to achieve 200 home runs in a season depends to a great extent upon the production of the three or four top home-run producers on the club. Of the sixty-six individuals we find in the table as top producers for 200-homer clubs, twenty-five are either black or Hispanic, a total of almost 38 percent. This figure is disproportionate to the general population, and would seem to indicate a definite contribution by these groups.

Almost all baseball fans, even those who swear that the 1-0 pitcher’s duel is the greatest spectacle in sports, are turned on by powerful offense. Take many of the greatest games in baseball history, and they’ll turn on a famous home run hit at a crucial moment. Logic dictates, therefore, that the team crushing 200 or more homers in a season must have extraordinary success.

The facts speak otherwise. Of the twenty-two teams that have hit 200 or more home runs in a season to date, only seven won their league or division. Of these, only two went on to be world champions.

Of the fifteen non-champions, one finished last, two next to last, and only two second. Why doesn’t enormous home-run production correlate with victory?

In two notable cases, the answer is one-dimensional ballclubs. The 1947 Giants and 1973 Braves, knowing they had little else to offer, purposely stocked their teams with sluggers to create excitement amid the losses. In most cases, however, the clubs that hit 200 home runs, expecting to succeed in this fashion, simply were not able to keep up with a somewhat less powerful club that outpitched them. In every case, when the 200-homer team did not win the pennant, the team that did had an earned run average lower not only than that of the 200 home-run team, but of the league average as well. Only the 1987 Blue Jays had an ERA lower than that of the pennant winner.

Only the 1947 Dodgers and 1987 Cardinals were relatively weak in this department – the latter outscoring both 200-homer National League teams that year with half the power, and a third of that coming from just one player.

Considerations of performance aside, major league baseball remains a business, and the bottom line for any general manager is money passing through the ticket windows. Does hitting 200 home runs bring more people to the ballpark? Fifteen of the twenty-two 200-homer teams saw attendance rises of 13,000 to more than 1,000,000 fans. Most of these clubs were either pennant winners, in the race, or improving their position in the standings. The 1963-4 Twins saw their attendance drop both seasons, a total of almost a quarter million in two years, as they fell further back from the pennant winners.

The 1970 Red Sox, well behind the rampaging Orioles of that year, lost 240,000 in attendance in a single year. The lesson to general managers is that the fans will pay for visceral thrills for just so long. Over a long schedule, a team has to win to draw crowds.

Finally, it would be remiss to leave this subject without a tip of the cap to the only two 200-homer teams outscored by their opponents — the 1987 Cubs and Orioles. Their performances prove that it don’t mean a thing if all you can do is swing.

Ed Goldstein is a computer analyst in Palos Verde, California, and secretary of SABR’s Allan Roth chapter.

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LATIN AMERICANS called Willie Wells “Diablo”- the Devil. In 1930 he showed why.

The little shortstop hit .404 to lead the western clubs in hitting. (Bill Terry led the white majors with .401; it would have been exciting to see the two compete in the same league.)

Willie also slugged 14 homers, the best in the West, though second to big George (Mule) Suttles, his St. Louis Stars’ teammate who hit 20 splitting his season between St. Louis and New York. A short left-field fence in St. Louis aided both men.¹

Wells was also tops in doubles, hits, and total bases, and second in stolen bases. His 17 steals were two more than his close friend and teammate, Cool Papa Bell, and one behind the league leader, Terris McDuffie of Birmingham.²

These figures were compiled by a team of researchers, in and out of SABR, who scoured hundreds of box scores in both black and white newspapers of that year. Although some games will be forever missing from the record, we believe these to be the definitive totals, as complete as they will ever be.

This is part of an on-going project, under editor Dick Clark, to compile the most compete statistics possible for the Negro leagues, whose stats were rarely published, and, when they were, were often inaccurate. The 1921 Negro National League stats were published in the 1985 “Baseball Research Journal.”

We have counted all league games in 1930, about 60 games per team. We have also counted additional games, about 10 or so per team against other top black clubs, such as the independent Homestead Grays. This gives us two sets of figures – league games and total black games. (We did not, however, count contests against white semipro clubs.)

In league games only, rookie Herman (Jabbo) Andrews of Memphis and Birmingham was the batting champ with .399 to Wells’ .397. (If Jabbo or Willie had known how close they were to .400, they might have sat out some games or dropped a few bunts, as Ty Cobb, Roger Hornsby, and others had been known to do, to top the goal.) And Andrews and Dale Alexander are the only batting champions ever traded midway through the season. Andrews remained in the black leagues for 13 years but never approached his 1930 performance again.

Among the pitchers, Eggie Hensley of first-place St. Louis edged Big Bill Foster of the Chicago American Giants as the biggest winner in the West. Hensley was 17-6, compared to Foster’s 16-10 with a sixth-place team overall.

Foster was the younger brother of Hall-of-Famer Rube and is considered by many the best lefty in Blackball annals³. In addition to managing the American Giants, he was also the strikeout king that year, with 134 in 199 innings.

Satchel Paige, who jumped to the East for the first half of the season, finished with a 9-4 record for fifth-place Birmingham. (He was 3-1 at Baltimore for 12-5 overall.)

Paige had 69 Ks in 102 innings. (His Baltimore totals are not yet available.) At Birmingham Satch scored well in TRA (Total Run Average – earned runs were not given in box scores). He had a 3.17, second best in the hard-hitting black league.

The league leader was Ted (Double Duty) Radcliffe, the popular speaker at the 1986 SABR Chicago convention, with 2.80. Duty had a 9-3 record for the champion Stars and tied Foster for the lead in saves, with three. He also batted .289, splitting his time between pitching and catching, hence the moniker “Double Duty,” given him by Grantland Rice.

Two other Birmingham hurlers, who taught Paige his fabled control, also did well in 1930. Harry Salmon was second in strikeouts, and Sam Streeter (see “Smartest Pitcher in Negro Leagues,” BRJ, 1984) led in complete games.

As the season opened, the two top sluggers in the West – indeed, the two top homer hitters in Blackball history – Suttles and Detroit’s Turkey Stearnes⁴ – joined Paigein jumping to the East. The Depression had settled over the league, and they hoped to make more money from the move.

St. Louis replaced the big Mule with speedy, fancy-fielding George Giles (pronounced Guiles), sometimes called “the Black Terry” and grandfather of Brian Giles, who played infield for the Mets in 1981-83. But the Detroit Stars had no way to replace Stearnes, a seven-time home-run champ. The powerhouse St. Louis club, with a team batting average of .327, won the first half of the split season, beating Kansas City, whose 17-game winning streak was not enough.

Both Suttles and Stearnes returned for the second half. Mule moved to left field, leaving Giles on first.

Stearnes hit only three homers, playing in huge Hamtramck Stadium, but he pumped new life into the Detroiters, who captured the second-half title.

The Monarchs, meanwhile, went on an extended barnstorming tour against the Grays. A bus accident put several key Monarchs out of action, including the great Bullet Joe Rogan, and the Grays won 13 of the 15 contests. The most famous one pitted Homestead’s forty-four-year-old Joe Williams against the Monarchs’ Chet Brewer⁵. They dueled for 12 innings under the lights, Brewer striking out 19 men and Williams 27 before Joe won it on a one-hitter. Homestead’s eighteen-year-old rookie Josh Gibson got his baptism in the series, hitting .243, with one home run.

In the NNL playoff, St. Louis and Detroit split the first two games in the cozy St. Louis park. Stearnes ripped two homers in the first game and went five-for-five in the second, including a homer. Moving to Hamtramck, Wells and Suttles homered, but Stearnes’ two doubles gave Detroit a 7-5 win. The next day Turkey tripled and became the first man to hit a ball over the park’s distant right-field wall; Wells trumped him with two singles and an inside-the-park homer, as St. Louis won 4-3 to even the Series.

Willie got three more hits in Game Seven, while the St. Louis pitchers finally stopped Stearnes, and St. Louis won 13-7. St. Louis went on to win the Series in nine games. Turk hit .481, the Devil .438.

There was no Black World Series that year against the champions of the East, the Grays (Williams, Gibson, Oscar Charleston), who defeated the New York Lincoln Giants (Pop Lloyd, Chino Smith) in a challenge series. That’s the series when Gibson reportedly hit one ball over the roof of Yankee Stadium and another over the centerfield fence of Forbes Field.

The year came to an end with the death of Rube Foster in the Kankakee insane asylum in December. With him, coincidentally, died his creation, the Negro National League, a victim of the Depression.

But perhaps the most historic event of the year was the birth of night ball. The Monarchs unveiled their lights at Enid, Oklahoma, on April 28 in a game against Phillips University, the same night that Organized Ball saw its first night game about 100 miles away at Independence, Kansas. (The putative pioneer, Des Moines, played its first night game May 2.)

“What talkies are to movies, lights will be to baseball,” Monarch owner J.L. Wilkinson predicted. He took his lights all over the country, including Sportsmen’s Park in St. Louis and Forbes Field in Pittsburgh. Cardinal president Sam Breadon ordered a set for his Houston farm team.

The leagues began to crumble under the hard times, and many veteran teams succumbed. But the new invention of lights probably saved both the Negro-league teams and the white leagues in the long decade to come.

Dick Clark and John B. Holway are leading Negro-league historians.

Acknowledgments

The following persons have contributed to the Negro leagues statistics project: Terry Baxter, John Bourg, Harry Brunt, C. Baylor Butler, Elizabeth Cale, Dick Clark, Harry Conwell, Dick Cramer, Deborah Crawford, Paul Doherty, Garrett Finney, Bob Gill, Troy Greene, Richard Hall, John B. Hoiway, John Holway Jr., Men Kleinknecht, Larry Lester, Jerry Malloy, Joe McGillen, Bill Plott, Jim Riley, Susan Scheller, Mike Stahl, A. D. Suehsdorf, Lance Wallace, Edie Williams, and Charles Zarelli.

Notes

¹ Wells set the Negro league single-season home-run record with 27 in 1929. That October he bedeviled a white big-league all-star team of Charlie Gehringer, Heinie Manush, Harry Heilmann, and others, hitting .500 with two triples and two steals of home, as the blacks won three games of four. Wells’ lifetime average against white big leaguers was .396.

² McDuffie would later take up pitching and receive a reluctant tryout from Branch Rickey of the Dodgers in 1944.

³ Foster leads all Negro leaguers in lifetime victories, with a 129-62 record for games researched so far. Paige is fifth with 80-37.

⁴ Stearnes hit 160 homers in games found so far; Suttles hit 150, and Gibson 137 (most of them in Latin America). “Wells is sixth on the list with 111. All totals are incomplete.

⁵ Brewer now lives in Los Angeles, where his boys’ baseball program has rescued many youths in trouble and has sent Dock Ellis, Enos Cabell, Bob Watson, and many others to the major leagues.

1930 Negro National League statistics

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Imagine what National League won-lost records would have looked like if a plan proposed by league president John Heydler had been adopted in 1922. The following item from the Chicago Herald and Examiner of May 14, 1922 denotes the plan he proposed to amend the scoring rules:

“John Heydler, president of the National League, is in favor of changing baseball scoring rules to permit more fairness to be shown toward pitchers in crediting them with defeats or victories.

“He thinks it advisable to amend the scoring rules so that a pitcher can be credited with half a victory or half a defeat in games where two or more pitchers share in winning or losing.”

When Bill Lange, who had been struck out twice by pitcher Jouett Meekin, came to bat in the eighth inning, he surprised the players, spectators, and umpires by carrying the oversized bat with him. He pleaded with umpire. John McQuaid to let him try it just once. Neither McQuaid nor the Giants, who were six runs ahead, objected, and the crowd howled happily. A big roar went up when Lange hit an easy grounder to first baseman Jack Doyle, who fumbled the ball for an error. Next batter Charlie Irwin also wanted to use the big bat, but Manager John Ward of the Giants objected and the umpire had the oversized lumber returned to the bench. New York won the game 8-5.

BILL TERRY IS PROBABLY BEST KNOWN as the last National League player to hit .400 (.401 in 1930). He had a lifetime batting average of .341 over 14 seasons and had enough extra-base hits to give him a .506 career slugging average. Less well-known is that Terry was an excellent first baseman. He led the NL five times in putouts, five times in assists, and three times in fielding percentage. As a player-manager he led the New York Giants to three pennants and one world championship.

Almost completely forgotten is Terry’s record as a minor-league pitcher. A native of Georgia, he started with Dothan in the Class-D Georgia State League in 1915. The slender six-footer was only sixteen but looked older. He pitched three games for Dothan, losing two and getting a “no-decision.” In one outing the young lefthander walked 10 batters. He was cut in mid-May, and there was no published news about him until the June 21 Griffin Daily News said that “Harry Mathews, of the Newnan club, has signed Lefty Terry, who failed to make good with Dothan in the Georgia State League. Terry is just a kid, but it is said that he has the goods all right. He was released down there over the manager’s protest.”

Newnan, a town of about 5,500, was in the six-team Class-D Georgia-Alabama League. The other clubs were located at Griffin, LaGrange, and Rome, Georgia; and Anniston and Talladega, Alabama. Newnan did not have a newspaper. Fortunately, the Griffin Daily News provided some information and the Birmingham Age-Herald carried box scores of all league games during the short summer season.

In spite of the lack of publicity, Terry s 1915 pitching stint with Newnan bordered on the sensational. (He batted only .143 in 28 at bats. At Dothan he had two hits in 10 at bats.) Bill pitched in his first game on June 16, beating Talladega and allowing only five hits and one run. He was then put in the starting rotation and on June 21 defeated Rome, allowing two runs on six hits and no walks.

Terry then reeled off three consecutive shutouts. The second was a no-hitter against Anniston on June 30. The third was a 13-inning victory over Rome in which he yielded only four hits and one walk. After winning his first six starts, Terry went down to his only defeat, dropping a 2-1 decision to Talledega on July 10.

Bill pitched in the last game of the season on July 14. It would be a fitting climax to this story to say that the pennant was on the line. However, Newnan had a one-game lead over Talladega going into the final day and even with a loss could clinch the pennant by percentage points. Nevertheless, the young southpaw came through with a sparkling 1-0 win over LaGrange.

Terry’s game-by-game record is carried in the accompanying chart. Each of his eight games was complete and four were shutouts. He never allowed more than two runs in a game, including his one loss. On a 9-inning game basis he gave up 0.8 runs, 4.9 hits, 1.9 walks, and struck out 4.0 batters. He obviously was not a strikeout pitcher. What was surprising in light of his wildness at Dothan was that he had such good control, particularly for a sixteen-year-old.

Terry returned to Newnan at the beginning of the 1916 season. He didn’t dominate as he had the year before, but his record was good enough (11 wins and 8 losses) for him to be sold July 20 to Shreveport in the Texas League. He was 6-2 there with a 1.07 ERA. Spending the 1917 season at Shreveport, he won 14 and lost 11. By this time he was playing part-time in the outfield and pinch hitting. However, his batting average in 95 games was only .231. It was time to make a decision about his career.

Although only eighteen years old, Bill married a Memphis girl and went to work for Standard Oil in Memphis. For the next four years, 1918-21, he played semipro ball on the strong company team and developed a basis for the future nickname of Memphis Bill. His diamond performance came to the attention of Tom Watkins, owner of the Memphis Southern Association team, who recommended him to manager John McGraw of the New York Giants. McGraw, more impressed with Terry’s hitting than his pitching, assigned him to Toledo in the American Association.

Bill spent the 1922 and 1923 seasons with Toledo. In the first season he pitched in 26 games with a 9-9 won-lost record, played first base in 48, and batted .336. He gave away his toe-plate and in 1923 hit a resounding .377. The Giants called him up at the end of the season, and he never looked back.

With his pitching career over – he never even made a token mound appearance in the majors – William H. Terry removed any possibility that he might he confused with William J. (Adonis) Terry, a well-known nineteenth-century hurler. Bill Terry the younger went on to a Hall-of-Fame career as a superb hitting and fielding first baseman. Once he became an established star, he dismissed his early pitching effort as “nothing to write home about.” But Memphis Bill didn’t have to be apologetic about his 47-33 mound record. In fact, he could be justly proud of his spectacular performance with Newnan in 1915 when he was only sixteen. Bill Terry died recently. His pitching record should not die with him.

Bob McConnell is a retired engineer and a charter member of SABR.

PERHAPS THE GREATEST DAY of Chris Von der Ahe’s life occurred in the spring of 1882, when he dedicated his new Sportsman’s Park on Grand Avenue and Dodier Street in north St. Louis. Leading his fellow American Association owners to the mound, the portly magnate, glowing with pride, is alleged to have said: “Look around chentlemen [sic], because this the largest dimundt in the welt ist.” Charlie Comiskey, the St. Louis Browns captain, tactfully reminded Chris that baseball diamonds were the same size. “Vot I meant to say,” said the “Boss President,” hastily correcting his grand claim, “vas this the larchest infield in the welt ist.”

This vignette is characteristic of Chris Von der Ahe, the German immigrant who knew virtually nothing about baseball, yet was one of the few owners in the early professional era to earn a substantial profit from his investment. Popular with his employees and the public as a magnanimous entrepreneur and flamboyant character, he was detested by many of his rival magnates as an interloper who degraded the “truly American” character of the pastime of baseball by charging lower admission rates, promoting Sunday play, and instituting beer concessions at the ballpark. National League magnates like Albert G. Spalding were dismayed by the marketing strategies of American Association owners like Von der Ahe and eventually forced Chris out of the game. But Chris’s impact is felt to this day. Quirky promotions like the installation of a shoot-the-chute, a “stadium club,” and sideshow attractions were later imitated in the modern era by the likes of Larry MacPhail, Charles O. Finley, and Bill Veeck. Even the conservative conglomerates of today, desiring a profitable return on their investments, offer premiums and extra-baseball entertainment to their customers. Yet for all of their efforts, today’s promotions pale in comparison to those of Chris Von der Ahe, baseball’s pioneering huckster.

Sources conflict as to exactly when Chris was born. Lee Allen tells us that Chris arrived at New York at seventeen in 1864. The Sporting News and the St. Louis Globe-Democrat in their obituaries say that Chris was born at Hille, Germany in 1850. By 1870, he was in New York. Later he moved to St. Louis, where he worked as a grocery clerk and eventually became the proprietor of a saloon on Sullivan and Spring Avenues at the western edge of the city. Within a few years he bought real estate in the neighborhood and made money as a landlord. Von der Ahe was also involved in neighborhood politics and used the back room of his tavern as a ward headquarters.

Just east of his saloon was a lot first used by German immigrants as a shooting park and later converted to a makeshift baseball field known as Sportsman’s Park. The games there were amateur events but drew large crowds, many of whom would repair to Von der Ahe’s saloon for friendly imbibing afterwards.

Alfred H. Spink, who would later know success in the establishment of The Sporting News, backed a professional independent club known as the Browns – a name recalling an earlier St. Louis ball club that held membership in the National League. In the spring of 1881, Spink contacted Cincinnati sportwriter O. P. Caylor and asked him to organize a club for an exhibition at St. Louis. Caylor readily accepted the invitation and had little trouble finding players in a town that had become baseball-starved. (An 1880 NL ban on Sunday games had effectively removed Cincinnati from the league.) The game at Sportsman’s Park was a tremendous financial success. “Vot a fine pig crowd [sic],” Chris, holder of the concession nights, said to Spink after the game. “But the game, Al, how vas the game? You know, Al, I know nawthing.” Whether the game was good or not made no difference to Chris and Al, but the success at the gate indicated to Spink that it would be profitable to arrange for other exhibitions with other independent clubs. So successful were these exhibitions that these clubs came together in the fall of 1881 to create a formal relationship. A meeting held at Cincinnati resulted in the formation of the American Association, which granted franchises to Baltimore, Cincinnati, Louisville, Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, and St. Louis.

The constitution of the Association was based along the same lines as the National League. Although the American Association copied the National League in respect to the philosophy of honest play, it was far more liberal in other respects. Member clubs could play outside clubs on open dates. Players were not bound to the reserve clause as were their National League brethren. Indeed, a player could be released from his club without prejudice, given two weeks salary, and allowed to sign immediately with any Association club that desired his services. Other distinctions were two innovations in play: that the club with the highest percentage instead of the most wins was champion, and the hiring of a permanent staff of umpires. But the greatest differences between the League and the Association were that the interlopers allowed Sunday ball, charged twenty-five cent admission, (half that of the League), and sold beer and liquor. The latter was not surprising, given the brewery and distillery money behind several clubs.

Spink approached Von der Ahe in early 1882 and asked him to sell 180 shares of stock in the Browns at ten dollars a share. Von der Ahe had bought the stock himself as an opportunity to expand his bar business. From the beginning, the Browns were a success. During the exhibition season of 1881, Spink had spotted a talented first baseman named Charles A. Comiskey playing for the Dubuque Rabbits. Persuaded to sign with the Browns, “Commy” was given a free reign to manage the club. By 1885, Comiskey built the Browns into baseball’s most dominant club. They won four consecutive pennants between 1885 and 1888, a feat that was not matched until John McGraw’s New York Giants of 1921-1924 and not surpassed until Casey Stengel’s New York Yankees of 1949-1953.

Von der Ahe was fortunate to have Comiskey, a good player and intelligent leader who got the most out of his talented players. Among them were Arlie Latham, a clownish but dazzling third baseman; Bob Carruthers and Dave Foutz, two outstanding pitchers who over three years won 195 games; and Tip O’Neill and Curt Welch, two staples in the outfield who provided power and finesse. Von der Ahe fawned over his Browns during the glory days. He paid them well and outfitted them in broad-stripe blazers that served as warm-up jackets. Chris always got some of his money back from his players by insisting that they live in his boarding houses and do their drinking in his saloon. The players, however, were not always willing to spend their free time under the Boss’s constant eye and frequently sneaked across the street to a rival public house. Von der Ahe tried vainly to keep tabs on those players by occasionally visiting the rival. But the recalcitrant players always managed to evade detection because Chris could easily be spotted under the tavern’s short-bottomed swinging doors. His spatted shoes and ever-present greyhounds were dead giveaways. Seeing trouble, the players would hightail it out the back door.

Von der Ahe was not a baseball man in the sense Spalding or NL founder William A. Hulbert were, but an entrepreneur. As such, he saw the value of postseason exhibitions for his champions. A three-game series was established in 1884 in which Providence of the National League beat New York of the Association. In 1885, the Browns played a series of touring exhibition games with Chicago. The Browns won three games of seven played, one ended in a tie because of darkness, and a second was forfeited by the Browns when Comiskey took them off the field after an adverse umpiring decision. In search of larger receipts, Von der Ahe suggested to Al Spalding in 1886 that the series be played on the contestants’ fields. Spalding, whose White Stockings were the perennial League champions, agreed to the format and set forth other conditions to avoid “the misunderstandings of last year” in a winner-take-all series. Spalding promised his players half of the receipts and new suits if they won. Inspired by such a magnanimous promise, the White Stockings won two of the first three games at Chicago. But the Browns came storming back, sweeping three at Sportsman’s Park. The last game was won in the tenth inning after Chicago blew a 3-0 lead in the seventh. The Browns rallied, scoring one run followed by a single by Comiskey and a bunt single by Curt Welch. Arlie Latham, known as “the freshest man on earth,” came to bat with the calm confidence of Thayer’s Casey silencing the crowd by saying, “Don’t worry folks, I’ll tie it up.” And he did with a two-run triple. The Browns scored in the tenth to win the series when Welch stole home with the famous “$15,000” slide. Spalding was reported to be so upset with his players that he refused to pay their train fare home. Von der Ahe was so elated with his Browns that he arranged a parade in which the club rode in a large carriage bearing a huge woolen pennant proudly proclaiming: “St. Louis Browns: Champions of the World.”

During the 1880s a baseball game featuring the Browns was an event almost akin to the Fourth of July. At home or on the road, the Browns virtually guaranteed a full house. Going to the game was as momentous as the game itself. “The Boss President,” as Chris liked to call himself, personally led his club to the ballpark. In those days, many parks did not have clubhouses, so players dressed in their hotel rooms or apartments. In St. Louis, the Browns would assemble at Von der Ahe’s saloon and march down to Sportsman’s Park. A silk-hatted, swaggering Chris would lead the formation, flanked by his two sleek greyhounds, Snoozer and Schnauzer. Chris would beam as he acknowledged cheers, but he was always bewildered by the laughter that followed him. Had he ever bothered to look back, Chris would have seen third baseman Latham aping the Boss’s gait and wearing a bright red false nose reminiscent of Chris’s bulbous proboscis.

The festivities continued on the field with an aggressive brand of play. Consistent with the American value of achieving success at any cost, baseball players in the 1880’s seemingly observed only one rule: Everything was fair. One contemporary umpire noted that only the closest watch of players could keep them from tricks like sliding spikes-high, which became such a hazard that spikes were barred from the major leagues for several years. The Browns were not the only club that resorted to such tactics, but because they won so many pennants they were singled out for rowdy play and accused of “stopping at nothing” to win.

Following the action on the field, Chris would lead his customers back up Sullivan Avenue for a nightly wassail. Chris would even occasionally spring for drinks, declaring “money, dot [sic] ist to schpend!”

The 1880s were heady days for Von der Ahe and the Browns; not even the threat of a third league could slow the Von der Ahe juggernaut. The key behind the Browns’ success was that Comiskey could deal diplomatically with the mercurial Von der Ahe and prevent the Boss from interfering with running the club on the field.

The Browns’ fortunes, however, turned with the formation of the Players League in 1890. Comiskey was one of 30 AA stars to defect. The PL’s collapse did not help the AA, and after the 1891 season, Von der Ahe and his Browns were begrudgingly accepted into the National League.

Looking for new ways of drawing customers, Chris decided that old Sportsman’s Park was outdated. A new 10,000-seat stadium was built near a convenient trolley line. Chris hoped that access to mass transportation would lure the fans. However, the Browns became losers. Chris was unable to find a suitable replacement for manager Comiskey. Between 1892 and 1896, Von der Ahe convened a “reign of terror.” Between 1894 and 1896, the Boss ran through a dozen managers; the eight he used in 1895 is a record that not even George Steinbrenner could assault.

*****

AMONG THE MANAGERS was George Miller, known as “Calliope” because of his booming voice.

When not hung over, he was at least an able hitter and catcher. Calliope’s tenure was briefly broken in August, 1894, when the Phillies came to town. At the time Chris’s secretary George Munson was out of town promoting a melodrama written by Al Spink. Harry Martin, the Browns’ official scorer, was left to fill in as interim secretary, while continuing to score. When the Phillies scored eight runs in one inning, four of which were unearned on an errant throw by Calliope, Von der Ahe telephoned Martin in the press box and demanded to see him forthwith. Martin appeared in Chris’s office.

“Why,” demanded Chris, “didn’t you go down there and kick the manager out of the game? Should I do everything around here – Is it up to me to manage those lousy low-lifers?”

“But I am only the official scorer, Mr. Von der Ahe,” replied Harry, “I am no manager.”

“Well then, from now on you are the manager too. You go down there and tell that Calliope feller [sic], that good-for-nothing bum to get the hell out of my park and you sit there on the bench and tell `em what to do.”

Martin had no choice but to relieve Miller of his duties. Calliope, slightly hung over as Martin recalled, was quite happy to give his gear to someone else. Martin sat quietly on the bench and watched Philadelphia score some more unanswered runs. The next day, however, Chris and Calliope made up, and Harry gratefully returned to the press box.

Chris believed he was a good judge of baseball talent. Browns scout Billy Gleason brought in a young man named McGraw for a tryout with the Browns. Chris took one look at the skinny kid and without seeing him work out snorted, “that little feller, take him over to the Fairgrounds track and make a hoss yockey [sic] out of him!” Gleason sold the “little feller” to Baltimore, and John McGraw enjoyed a ten-year career as a third baseman for the Orioles followed by thirty years as one of the most successful managers of all time. Another example of Chris’s mismanagement occurred in 1894 when he ordered Martin to trade shortstop Frank Shugart to Louisville. In return, Chris wanted an outfielder named Tom Brown. Martin drafted a telegram spelling out the deal in plain language, but it was vetoed by the Boss. Chris told Martin to write in a more obfuscated manner. The trade somehow went through. In 1895, Brown hit an unimpressive .217 before being traded to Washington where he hit .233. Shugart, who was batting .436 for the Browns, dropped to all of .374 with Louisville.

It was during this time that baseball evolved more and more into the game we know today. Overhand pitching became routine by 1890, diamonds were laid out by geometric principles in 1893, and the pitcher’s mound was set at the present 60′ 6″. In 1896 efforts were made to codify scorekeeping. The immigrant-baiting Sporting News, which was antagonistic towards Von der Ahe throughout the 1890’s as his entrepreneurial schemes subordinated his baseball interests, asked Chris’s opinion of uniformity in scorekeeping. The recorded reply can only be taken as an attempt to discredit Chris as a baseball magnate:

“Vot [sic] do I think of uniformity in scorekeeping? Now vot do reporters want with uniforms on? Are they stuck on the dames and do they want to show off? Let the players wear uniforms, but not the reporters.”

The Browns lost game after game, and Chris lost money to rainouts. Complaining of so many rainouts at a league meeting, Chris allegedly suggested that in all fairness, rainy days should be distributed more evenly throughout the league. Selling his highest-paid players to make up these losses, he reinvested not in players but promotions. To Von der Ahe, money was invested to draw patrons who sought diversions other than baseball. In fairness, his thinking was not unique. In an era in which people sought various forms of entertainment, a baseball magnate had to find ways to ensure that his customers would not seek their pleasures elsewhere. The choice was either to field a competitive club or resort to the extremes Chris did. His first such investment was the building of a “stadium club” under the grandstands at new Sportsman’s Park. The clubhouse motif, which has since been copied by modern owners as a luxury premium, was simply a shaded area protected from stray balls by a screened fence and was open to all on a first-come, first-serve basis. In the relative comfort of the shade, a fan could watch the game and eat and drink to his heart’s content. The clubhouse idea seemed to work well, and beer sales increased. Harry Martin recalled, however, that when Chris discovered that the Cincinnati club’s beer sales were greater, he took measures to expand his bar.

Another innovation was the installation of a shoot-the-chute in center field. After an elevator trip to the top of the water slide, the passenger was strapped in a boat by a nautically-clad attendant. As the passengers were about to take their plunge, they would be sent off by a women’s silver cornet band that Chris hired for general entertainment. The Sporting News satirized the shoot-the-chute with a cartoon in which Chris was portrayed as a ship’s captain with the boat taking its plunge. The cartoon was an apt analogy to the sinking fortunes of the Browns.

*****

ANOTHER ATTRACTION CHRIS BROUGHT to Sportsman’s Park was a Wild West show featuring fifty Indians and forty cowboys and cowgirls. The Indians were full-blooded Sioux whom the Boss rented from the government at the rate of $12 a month each. When doubts of the Indians’ authenticity reached Chris’s ears, he was furious, “I should pay an actor feller [sic] $50 a month when I can get squaws, bucks and a real Indian chief [Sitting Bull] at $12 a head?” After the 1895 season, Chris took his show on a southern tour but was crestfallen when it did not produce the desired profit. Undeterred, Von der Ahe continued to expand his ballpark enterprise and billed it as “the Coney Island of the West.”

In 1896 Chris began building his most controversial enterprise: a one-third mile race track inside Sportsman’s Park. The track was leased with concession rights to race promoter Fred Foster for two years. Von der Ahe expected to collect $20,000 over two years. The Sporting News, which held up baseball as a public icon, decried the electrically-illuminated pony track as an assault on baseball’s integrity. League officials warned Chris that he violated Section 3 of the league’s constitution. Chris replied that the specifics of the rule applied only to baseball. The league had no reply to that.

Critics clamored for Von der Ahe’s removal from the game. The Sporting News advocated that the league protect itself from Chris, whom they called “Von der ‘Ha-ha’” and referred to as a “maggot” as opposed to a “magnate.” The Sporting News claimed that the league’s toleration of Chris and his gambling associates would result in baseball’s reputation being tarnished. Additionally, The Sporting News propagated the myth that baseball was still in the realm of upper-class entertainment, and that by ousting Von der Ahe and his cronies, the game would somehow be wrested from its democratized status and returned to its proper place in society. Von der Ahe ignored the bad press. The Coney Island venture demanded all of his attention, and the quality of baseball sank to ridiculous depths. In less than a decade, the mighty Browns fell from contender to doormat. The pony track, shoot-the-chute’s water hazard, and fly-by-night sideshows took their toll on the condition of the playing field. Scorers had difficulty determining hits from errors because the pock-marked infield fell into disrepair. Losing interest in baseball, Von der Ahe concentrated only in making money to pay his mounting debts.

Von der Ahe’s profligate lifestyle led to his eventual failure. The Sporting News painted a picture of Chris with a peasant demeanor and dressed in outrageously flashy clothes who thought of himself as a veritable Apollo, but in reality attracted women because of his fabulous wealth. It’s true that Chris was adulterous. In 1896 his wife Emma sued for divorce while he carried on an affair with the housemaid, Anne Kaiser, to whom he had proposed. In August, Chris reneged on this promise and married Della Welles, a golddigger. Kaiser sued Chris for breach of promise but settled out of court. The marriage to Della was a disaster. In December, 1897, Chris filed for divorce citing Della as neglectful of her duties and physically abusive, as well as running “up large bills for things she does not need.”

Chris’s misfortunes came to a head in February, 1898, as the result of a suit originally filed against him in 1890. Mark Baldwin, a Pittsburgh club executive, had come to St. Louis in the midst of the Players’ war and tried to steal Chris’s star players. Chris had Baldwin arrested for conspiracy. When charges were thrown out of court, Baldwin sued Von der Ahe for false arrest and asked for $10,000 in damages. Baldwin was awarded $2,500 four years later, but could not collect because Chris avoided going to Pittsburgh. W A. Nimick, who posted bond for Chris, wanted his money back and hired a private detective to seize Von der Ahe. Chris was lured into a trap by the detective, handcuffed, and taken to the Allegheny County jail where he sat for several days unkempt and humiliated until his lawyers could bail him out. The league stepped in on Chris’s behalf and paid his debt. In return, Von der Ahe was required to retire from baseball. He complied and tried to sell the Browns, but couldn’t get a clean bill of sale because of his debts. The club was put in a receivership by the courts and later put up for auction. The league moved to protect itself from an undesirable purchaser by declaring that ownership of the Browns’ assets did not necessarily include league membership.

Mired in debt and out of baseball, Von der Ahe filed for bankruptcy in 1899. The onetime czar of the American Association left baseball a pariah. He returned to his old saloon but business was no longer booming. Chris was forced to rely on the benevolence of his old captain, Charles Comiskey, who had become a magnate in the fledging American League. In 1908, a benefit exhibition between St. Louis’ two major league clubs helped build Chris a nest egg in the face of declining health.

After a long illness, Chris died on June 5, 1913, of dropsy and cirrhosis of the liver. Thanks to Comiskey, Chris was given a dignified burial in keeping with his once lofty status. Comiskey eulogized Chris as “the grandest figure baseball has ever known.”

*****

HOW SHOULD Chris be appraised? Harold Seymour called Chris “quixotic.” Lee Allen suggested he “resembled something out of Rabelais,” and David Quentin Voigt said he was “part-genius, part-clown.” All these assessments capture the essence of a “character.” But there was more to Chris than that. Unlike his conservative rivals, who saw baseball as a purely “American” institution to be enjoyed by the upper classes, Chris and his American Association colleagues were instrumental in democratizing the game. With the introduction of beer concessions, they succeeded in showing up the puritanical National League owners.

But success and respectability often have limits in high-risk enterprises. Successful in undercutting the National League monopoly for a few years, Chris could not adjust to the second Association war. His sideshow attractions dismayed the other owners, and they helped force him out of baseball.

But Von der Ahe was the prototype for other owner-promoters who changed the face of baseball. Larry MacPhail introduced night baseball to the major leagues. Although considered a novelty fifty years ago, it is standard practice today. Bill Veeck imitated Chris with schemes like exploding scoreboards that were designed to create maximum publicity and bolster attendance. The strategy worked for years. Charlie Finley introduced colorful uniforms of the 1970’s and early 1980’s reminiscent of nineteenth-century styles.

Today, even corporate owners follow Chris’s example, albeit more conservatively. To lure fans, they offer cheap premiums like can wraps, socks, wrist bands, vinyl warmup jackets, and special-honoree promotions. These Barnumesque trappings are minor but integral aspects of baseball today. They are also the legacy of Chris Von der Ahe, baseball’s pioneering huckster.

Richard Egenriether is a graduate student in American studies at the University of Minnesota.

In decades gone by, local outfits were free to let their imaginations run wild, and the results were out of this world. When I studied this, I found basically three broad species of Nicknamus Baseballus: critters, flora, and occupations. Other genuses, such as ethnics and sock colors and even theology and owners, were also catalogued.

Let’s go first to the animal world. Who couldn’t find a warm spot in their heart for the Galveston Sandcrabs, the Evansville River Rats, the Wilson Bugs, the Perth Blue Cats, the Tarboro Serpents, the Grand Rapids Wolverines, the Jersey City Skeeters, or the Temple Boll Weevils?

There were less malevolent breeds found, too. The Union City Greyhounds, Columbus Foxes, Ada Herefords, San Francisco Seals, Newark Bears, Hutchinson Elks, Orlando Bulldogs, Cedar Rapids Rabbits, Smiths Falls Beavers. In a class by itself was Schenectady’s “Frog Alley Bunch” of the 1902 New York State League.

And let’s not forget our fine feathered friends. Nothing as prosaic as Cardinals, Orioles, or Blue Jays in this aviary.

Take the Leavenworth Woodpeckers for a starter. What about the Henryetta Hens, Dayton Ducks, Aberdeen Pheasants, Sioux Falls Canaries, Miami Beach Flamingos, Owls of the Two Laredos, New Orleans Pelicans, Columbia Gamecocks, Rayne Rice Birds, and that quintessential minor-league team, the Toledo Mud Hens?

And dare we slight that old chlorophyl crowd, the plant kingdom, in favor of more mobile forms of life? (Mobile, did someone say Mobile? What about the Mobile Sea Gulls or the Mobile Bears?) Opposition fans loved roasting the Idaho Falls Russets but weren’t above picking (on) the Suffolk Goobers, Selma Cloverleafs, Hammond Berries, Palatka Azaleas, Oakland Acorns, Toronto Maple Leafs, and for the historically minded, York White Roses and Lancaster Red Roses.

What gives more pride to a community (and a stranger name to a ballclub) than a favorite local product or occupation? “We make stuff around here and we’re darn proud of it!” virtually shout the uniform shirtfronts. Mull over the fine wares of the Amsterdam Rugmakers, Oswego Starchmakers, Troy Collar and Cuff Makers, Bassett Furnituremakers, Petersburg Trunkmakers, and Brockton Shoemakers. But wait, we’ve just begun: The Pueblo Steel Workers, Des Moines Undertakers, Mayfield Clothiers, Peoria Distillers, Oil City Refiners, Borger Gassers, Wausau Lumberjacks, Providence Clam Diggers, Welch Miners and the Blackstone Barristers. Who can ever forget the Kalamazoo Celery Pickers?

The races of mankind? Why not? We have many fine entries. Besides the overdone, and rather generic, “Indians,” consider the Dublin Irish, Terre Haute Hottentots, Memphis Egyptians (“Keep your eye on the ball, and walk like an Egyptian!”), Canton Chinamen, Baton Rouge Cajuns, Pawhuska Osages, Syracuse Onandagas, Edmonton Eskimos, Havana Cubans, and Laredo Apaches.

Theology? Ponder the Salem or Wichita Witches, Des Moines Demons, and Macon Brigands taking on the Los Angeles Seraphs, Lufkin Angels, and St. Paul Saints.

Tired of mundane Red Sox and White Sox? Here’s a veritable hosiery store of attire, including the Dublin Green Sox, Abilene Blue Sox, Amarillo Gold Sox, Reno Silver Sox, and the cryptically named Miami Sun Sox and Colorado Springs Sky Sox.

Think Charles O. Finley was egotistical? All he ever named after himself was the A’s mule. Consider the Omaha Rourkes, Auburn Boulies, Springfield Dunnmen, Duncan Uttmen, and Flint Halligans.

And not just teams had nicknames. Whole leagues did:

Pony (Pennsylvania-Ontario-New-York), Kitty (Kentucky-Illinois-Tennessee), Mint (Michigan-Ontario), Three Eye (Illinois-Iowa-Indiana), Sally (South Atlantic), and, my personal favorite, Mink (the long-gone Missouri-Iowa-Nebraska-Kansas League).

Then there was the just plain inexplicable – the Regina Bonepilers, Yakima Pippins, Wilmington Blue Rocks, Norfolk Mary Janes, Longview Cannibals, Lincoln Treeplanters, Houston Babies, and Springfield Foot Trackers. And the winner in the least imaginative category is. . . the Bangor Bangors.

David Pietrusza is working on a book about the Canadian-American League.

WITH THE EXCEPTION OF the almost extinct inside-the-park home run, the triple is rarest of hits. This was not always So. For more than fifty years after the founding of the major leagues, the home run was the rarest hit, followed by the triple, double, and single. The logic behind this was obvious: The farther a batter struck the ball, the more bases he could reach.

Even such changes as overhand pitching and enclosed ballparks did nothing to affect the natural order of hits. From 1901 to 1929 the average distribution was: 76.9 percent for singles, 15.2 percent for doubles, 5.3 percent for triples, and 2.7 percent for homers. In the pre-Ruthian years, there were roughly three to four times as many triples as homers. Furthermore, the overwhelming majority of everyday players who ended their careers before 1930 had more three-base hits than home runs. This list includes Home Run Baker, Honus Wagner, Ty Cobb, Joe Jackson, Eddie Collins, Tris Speaker, George Sisler, and Sam Crawford; the latter holds the career record for triples with 312.

The heyday of the three-base hit was the nineteen-teens. The newly built concrete-and-steel parks had huge outfields and distant fences, with foul lines often in the 370-foot range and with center-field fences more than 450 feet away. Although a new ball was used after 1910, it was dead by modern standards and often doctored by the pitchers, so outfielders played shallow. Balls hit over their heads or line drives in the gaps (especially in the early innings before the ball got soft) could roll to the deepest part of the park. With pitching dominant and low scores common, the strategy of the times was that it was often worth the risk of stretching a double in order to get one base closer to home. In 1912 Owen Wilson set the single-season record with 36 triples and helped the Pirates establish the team record of 129.

The emergence of the home run in the 1920s was the death knell of the three-base hit. This event was no accident, but a conscious effort by the team owners noting the correlation between the increase in home runs and the rise in attendance. The baseball establishment assisted the triples-to-homer shift in two significant ways. First, the architecture of the ballparks was changed. The outfield fences were moved in, shortening the distance for a home run and reducing the length of outfielders’ throws to third. The second alteration was the ball. In the 1920s it was given a more resilient center and many more new balls were used per game. When the “rabbit ball” was introduced in 1930, batting averages and home runs skyrocketed.

By 1920 the ratio of triples to home runs had dropped from three or four to one to only two to one. By the late 1920s triples and home runs were virtually even. In 1929 home runs surpassed triples for the first time. Over the years the gap has widened. In the late 1940s there were about 2.5 home runs for every triple. A decade later that ratio was more than three to one, and by 1988 there were almost four round trippers for every three-base hit – a level of domination the triple never enjoyed over the homer.

A review of the career leaders for the four types of hits reveals that none is more biased by era than that for triples. The singles, doubles, and home run leader lists all show “ancients” interspersed with “moderns.” Of the top fifty players on the triples list, however, only Stan Musial (twentieth place) and Roberto Clemente (twenty-eighth) played after World War II. Until 1945 it was fairly common for the triples leader to have 20 or more in a season. But since then, only Dale Mitchell, Willie Mays, George Brett, and Willie Wilson have reached that figure (and the latter two did it on artificial turf but more on that later). At the other extreme, Del Unser won the 1969 American League triples crown with eight, and in four other years (excluding the 1981 strike season) players with nine triples have taken the top spot in the AL. In the National League the low points were 1962 and 1982. In 1962 Johnny Callison and Willie Davis tied for the triples lead with 1-0, and in 1982 Dickie Thon won the triples leadership with the same number. To put this kind of hitting into context, consider that the notoriously torpid Ernie Lombardi had nine triples in 1932.

*****

SINCE THE BANNER YEAR of 1912, the frequency of three-base hits has fallen 64 percent, from 16.5 per 1,000 at bats to the 1988 figure of 5.9 per 1,000. Much of this slide was concentrated in the homer-happy 1930s, when the frequency of triples fell by four per 1,000 AB.

Upward and downward fluctuations have occurred over the years. However, major modifications in the game, such as expansion, the strike zone, and mound height changes of the late 1960s, and the introduction of the designated hitter in the American League have had only minor impact on the triple’s demise. Other factors, including the building of uniform ballparks and the trend toward faster outfielders, probably have increased the decline of the triple. On the other hand, one development that has had a positive statistical effect has been the proliferation of ballparks with artificial turf. Because the ball moves faster on turf and can get through the outfielders more easily, the number of triples hit on turf from 1985 to 1988 exceeded the number hit on grass by an average of 2.6 per 1,000 at bats. Over the long run, however, this development has not stopped the triple from dropping further; it has merely cushioned its fall.

Even with the beginning of the 162-game schedule in 1961-62 and the increased use of artificial turf in the 1970s, one must retreat to the 1932 Senators to find the last team that hit as many as 100 triples in a season. At the other extreme, the Baltimore Orioles may have set the rock-bottom standard for three-base hits. In 1977-88 they finished last in the triples column seven times and next to last the other five times. In 1988 the Yankees, with 12 triples, broke the 1986 Orioles’ record (13) for fewest triples in a season.

Based on at least 1,000 career at bats, all of the worst triples hitters played after 1945. Some notables in the triples Hall of Shame are Earl Averill (no triples in eight big-league seasons), Terry Crowley (1 triple in fifteen seasons), Cookie Rojas (621 at bats in 1968 without a three-base hit), and Darrell Evans (1 triple in his last 2,449 at bats).

*****

BY AND LARGE, CATCHERS form the bulk of bad triples hitters. Of those players with at least 1,000 at bats and a triples-per-1,000 ratio of less than 2.0, almost two-thirds have been catchers. Recently, however, the number of non-catchers on the list has been growing. To put the 2.0 ratio into perspective, again consider that Ernie Lombardi registered a career ratio of 4.6 triples per 1,000 AB. In contrast, Jose Canseco, the modern-day personification of speed and power, had a triples per 1,000 at bat ratio of 2.07 after three full seasons.

Despite these trends, the data seem to indicate that even in a boom year for extra-base hits, triples seem destined to remain an insignificant offensive statistic. In 1986 triples constituted 2.31 percent of all hits, the lowest ratio ever. In the extra-base-hit boom year of 1987, this figure barely increased to 2.36 percent, and by 1988 it was 2.32 – nearly back to the record low. If the pattern continues – and there is nothing to suggest that it won’t – one of the most exciting plays of the game, the three-base hit, will be relegated to baseball’s statistical scrapheap.

Tom Collelo is a Library of Congress research analyst specializing in Africa and the Middle East. Playing in an over-30 league, he has no triples.