One of the objectives in organizing SABR was to provide a forum for the exchange of historical and statistical information among mem­bers, as well as to disseminate this information to the public. The primary vehicle for the latter is the Baseball Research Journal, which has been published annually by the society since 1972. The journal has carried articles by the members on a wide range of subjects and much research that has not been previously published. Most of this material was generated in the various SABR research committees: biographical research, minor leagues, Negro Leagues, statistical analysis, baseball records, collegiate baseball, and ballparks.

What new information has the society uncovered and published in the past ten years? Here are some examples:

• The dates and circumstances of Ty Cobb’s 35 steals of home 
• All the pitchers who struck out Joe Sewell in his career
• The game ambidextrous Tony Mullane pitched with both hands
• A black player who pitched in the Pacific Coast League in 1916
• The list of Lou Gehrig’s 15 career steals of home versus Lou Brock’s one
• The fact that Sam Crawford hit 50 of his 97 home runs inside the park
• A 17-game streak of runs batted in by an obscure player with the 1922 Chicago Cubs
• Willie Mays’ record of 22 home runs in extra innings and the fact that Elroy Face gave up 21 in overtime
• Regulation major league games played since 1900 in such places as Grand Rapids, Michigan; Fort Wayne, Indiana; Dayton, Ohio; and Providence, Rhode Island.

Some fans may consider this type of information to be baseball trivia. Members of the society look upon it more as significant historical information that bolsters the concept of baseball as the national game.

Nearly fifty articles from SABR publications of the past ten years have been selected for inclusion in this anthology, Insider’s Baseball. The society appreciates the opportunity provided by Scribner’s to publish this volume for a broader segment of the American sports-loving public. We hope you find the articles interesting enlightening.

I joined the Society for American Baseball Research (SABR) in 1975, one of a series of steps that I needed to cross the bridge and enter the private fantasyland (24 baseball hours a day) that I am now privileged to inhabit. Most of the people whose work is collected here were there before me, going about their obsession. If the Baseball Writers’ Association of America is an organization of those to whom baseball represents a way of making a living, SABR is an organization of those to whom baseball is a way of life.

To go through these articles, for me, is like walking around a room shaking ideas and exchanging hands with 40-plus old friends, and not only because many of the people who have contributed to this long-overdue collection are, in fact, friends of mine.

An introduction, you say? Very well … meet SABR, an organization heading into its second decade, with over a thousand members, heading toward two thousand. Meet Bob Davids, the guiding force behind SABR from its beginnings and the editor of this book. I don’t believe that I know anybody who has worked harder, or longer, to create anything than Bob Davids has worked to create, preserve, and strengthen SABR.

Meet Bill Borst, St. Louis publisher. Bill revives the memory of Helene Britton, the nearly forgotten woman who once owned a St. Louis baseball club. Meet Mil Chipp, statistician of the San Diego Padres, in the process of separating inside-the-park home runs from the indistinct masses of four-base hits. Meet Eddie Gold, whose memory embraces warmly every detail of each and every Cub inning and season. Eddie’s “Baseball Rhyme Time” is a classic in the history of self-indulgent literature. (I keep intending to have a copy framed.)

Meet Ernest Infield. Actually, I don’t think I know Mr. Infield, and he doesn’t have an article in this collection, but you’ve got to admit it’s the best name for a baseball fanatic that you’ll ever hear. Meet Pete Palmer, head of SABR’s stat analysis committee, whose disheveled gaze belies a command of details and an impressive ability to produce and organize work. I estimate that I have owed Pete a letter 97.284 percent of the time for the last six years. The formula for this is … well, never mind.

Meet Emil Rothe, a retired school administrator with a great dignity about him and a long list of published articles.

In passing through each of us, baseball becomes a different game. These men share a deep and intensely personal love of the game that breaks it down like forty-plus mirrors and reflects it out to the world a new game. These images of the game will seem strange, almost bizarre, to those who know baseball only by the cliches into which journalism unrecognizably renders it, morning by morning. These are not the sterile, one-dimensional images of the game produced by men foolish enough to adopt the position that they must remain uninterested in the results so that they can report accurately on the games.

There are many differences between what I do for a living and what these people have done because they wanted to do it, but there is one paramount similarity. One of my goals in writing is never, ever, to tell the reading anything that he already knows. These pages pour forth a profusion of fresh and fascinating details covering more than a century of the Pastime and representing probably as many years spent in libraries reading microfilm.

How many hours has Ray Gonzalez spent reviewing the career of Lou Gehrig? How many hours did John Tattersall spend analyzing Hank Aaron’s home runs? It’s hard to imagine, but I’d bet nobody in this book would want any of those hours back. Beisbol, as Chico would say, has been bery, bery good to all of us.

After writing this foreword in 1983, BILL JAMES became the best known baseball analyst in the world and he has been a prolific author with his eponymous Baseball Abstracts, Historical Abstract, Baseball Analyst, Handbook, and many other works. He worked as a Senior Advisor on Baseball Operations for the Boston Red Sox from 2002 to 2019, a period in which the franchise won four World Series championships. He was a recipient of the 2010 Henry Chadwick Award and the 2017 SABR Analytics Conference Lifetime Achievement Award.

Damon Runyon once wrote a story about me, saying this fellow McHale, who is not the greatest ballplayer that ever lived, is probably the most versatile man who ever took up the game. This was in the 1920s, after I had left baseball. So Johnny Kieran of the New York Times asked Babe Ruth about it, knowing he and I had been on the Red Sox together. Johnny said, “Marty played in the big leagues, he played football in college, he was on the track team, he was on the stage, he wrote for the Wheeler Syndicate and the Sun, he was in the Air Service” — and so forth. He went on listing my accomplishments until the Babe interrupted to say, ‘Well, I don’t know about all those things, but he was the best goddamn singer I ever heard!”

You see, I sang in vaudeville for 12 years, a high baritone tenor — an “Irish Thrush,” they called it then, and Variety called me “The Baseball Caruso.” But even before vaudeville, before baseball even, I used to work in a lot of shows around Boston and made trips down to Wakefield, Winchester — minstrel shows, usually — and sometimes these little two-act sketches.

So when I joined the Boston club, a bunch of us — Buck O’Brien, Hughie Bradley, Larry Gardner, and myself — formed the Red Sox Quartette. After a while Gardner gave it up and a fellow named Bill Lyons stepped in. This Lyons was no ballplayer, but Boston signed him to a contract anyway, just to make the name of the act look proper. We were together three years, and when we broke up I was just as well satisfied because it was quite an ordeal keeping the boys on schedule. They just couldn’t get used to that buzzer that tells you you’re on next. They’d be a couple of minutes late and think nothing of it, but you can’t do that in vaudeville, you know — you’re on.

I did a single for about another three years, which was not very good — just good enough so that they paid for it — and then Mike Donlin and I got together. Now, you may not remember Mike, but he was — well, he was the Babe Ruth of his day. “Turkey Mike,” they called him, because when he’d make a terrific catch or something he’d do a kind of turkey step and take his cap off and throw it up like a ham, a real ham; but he was a great one, he could live up to that stuff in the field or at the bat. His widow gave me some of his souvenirs: a gold bat and ball that were given to him as the most valuable player in 1905, some cufflinks, and a couple of gold cups, one from the Giants and the other from the Reds. He hit over .350 for both of them.

Mike and I were together for five years, doing a double entendre act called “Right Off the Bat” — not too much singing, Mike would only go through the motions — and we played the Keith-Orpheum circuit twice in one year. We were booked into the Palace in New York and that was when it was the Palace, not the way it is now! They had nothing but the big headliners. When Mike left for Hollywood, I went back to doing a single. He made a bunch of pictures out there, and that’s where he died.

Which did I like better, baseball or vaudeville? Well, I’d call it about 50-50. The vaudeville was more difficult because of the traveling. Sure, you had to travel a lot in baseball, but you always had somebody taking care of your trunk and your tickets and everything; all you had to do was get your slip, hop onto the train, and go to bed. When you got to the hotel your trunk was there. In vaudeville you had to watch your own stuff. I used to say to Mike, you’re the best valet I know, because he was always on time with the tickets and had our baggage checks and everything all taken care of, right on the button all the time.

Of course, Mike and I wouldn’t have been such an attraction if it hadn’t been for baseball, so maybe I ought to tell you how I came to sign with the Red Sox in 1910. First of all, Boston was almost my home town — I grew up in Stoneham, that’s nine miles out and if you took a trolley car and changed two or three times, you could get to the ballpark. Which I’d done only once — I only saw one big-league game before I played in one, and Cy Young pitched it; I wasn’t really a Red Sox fan. But here comes the second reason for my signing: they gave me a big bonus. How big? Two thousand dollars, and back then that was money!

You see, that year for Maine University I had thrown three consecutive no-hitters, and the scouts were all over. I had a bid from Detroit, one from Pittsburgh, one from the Giants, and another from the Braves. And there was sort of a veiled offer from Cincinnati, which is an interesting story.

This Cincinnati situation, Clark Griffith was down there managing and when I reported to the Red Sox, which was in June, following the end of the college term, his club was playing the Braves, over at Braves Field across the tracks from the Huntington Avenue park. Now, the Red Sox were on the road when I and some other college boys reported. We had signed, but the Red Sox didn’t want us with them right away; they had to make room for us, they could only have so many players. So I remember that Griffith came over to the Red Sox park one morning to watch the boys work out. The clubhouse man told us we were all being watched — like you’d watch horses, you know, working out each morning, and he said if we wanted to stay with the club, better take it easy and not put too much on the ball and so on. See, the club usually asks waivers on the newcomers immediately upon reporting to see if anybody else is interested in them, and if so they can withdraw the waivers after a certain time.

I remember very definitely — I went out there and I was pitching to the hitters and I put everything I had on the ball, because after looking over that bunch of Red Sox pitchers I could see there was not much chance for a young collegian to crack that lineup.

At any rate, Griffith must have put in some claim, you see, because two days later I was on my way to Chicago to join the Red Sox. They had withdrawn the waivers. I joined them in Chicago and we went from there to Cleveland. I remember my pal Tris Speaker hurt his finger in Chicago and he was out for a few days, and Fordham’s Chris Mahoney, who was an outfielder, a pitcher, and a good hitter, took his place.

He and I weren’t the only college boys on that team, you know: Bill Carrigan, Jake Stahl, Larry Gardner, Duffy Lewis, Harry Hooper. . . even Speaker went to — not the University of Texas, but Texas Polyclinic, Polytechnic or something of that kind out there; only went for two years, but he went. And Ray Collins and Hughie Bradley, too. Buck O’Brien, he came the next year. He said, “I got a degree, I got a B.S. from Brockton.” He said B.S. stood for boots and shoes, meaning that he worked in a factory.

Now on this day in Cleveland, we had Chris Mahoney playing right field, Harry Hooper moved over to center, and Duffy Lewis stayed in left, and Patsy Donovan put me in to pitch my first game in the big leagues against Joe Jackson and those Cleveland boys.

I wasn’t what you’d call sloppily relaxed, but I wasn’t particularly nervous, either. You see, I was one of the most egotistical guys that God ever put on this earth. I felt that I could beat anybody. I struck out ten of those Naps, including Jackson. The first time he was up, I had Joe two strikes, no balls, and I did something that the average big-league pitcher would never do. Instead of trying to fool him with a pitch, I stuck the next one right through there and caught him flat-footed. He never dreamed I’d do that.

So the next time up there the same thing happened. He hit a foul, then took a strike, and then Red Kleinow, an old head who was catching me, came out for a conference. He said, “What do you want to pitch him, a curve ball?” And I said, “No, I’m going to stick another fast one right through there.”

He said, “He’ll murder it.” Well — he did! Joe hit a ball that was like a shot out of a rifle against the right-field wall. Harry Hooper retrieved it in left center!

Yes, I had ten strikeouts, but I lost the ballgame. It was one of those sun-field things: a fellow named Hohnhurst was playing first base for Cleveland and, with a man on first, he hit a long fly to left-center field. Harry Hooper, who was in center this day, was dead certain on fly balls, but when Speaker was out there, as Harry said afterwards, he used to let Speaker take everything within range. Harry said he and Duffy Lewis didn’t exactly get their signals crossed, but they were not sure as to who was going to take the ball.

Finally Duffy went for it, and just as he made his pitch for the ball the sun hit him right between the eyes and he didn’t get his hands on the thing and the run, of course, scored, and Hohnhurst, the fellow who hit the ball — he got himself to second base. Ted Easterly got a single on top of that, and anyway, the score ended up 4-3. That was it.

I was supposed to be a spitball pitcher, but I had a better overhand curve, what they called a drop curve. You’d get that over spin on it and that ball would break much better than a spitter. I had what they call a medium-good fastball, not overpowering but good enough, and if you took something off your curve and your spitter, your fastball looked a lot better. For my slow one, the changeup as they call it now, I tried a knuckler but never could get any results with it, so I stole Eddie Karger’s slow-breaking downer. He and I used to take two fingers off the ball and throw it with the same motion as we used for the fastball.

They still have those fellows today that throw spitters, but it doesn’t make much difference because even when the spitter was legal in my day, in both leagues you couldn’t pick six good spitball pitchers. You’d take a fellow like Ed Walsh with the White Sox, the two Coveleski’s, Burleigh Grimes, and the left-handed spitter in the National League, who has since lost both legs, Clarence Mitchell.

Now, Clarence was a good spitball pitcher, but Walsh was the best. He worked harder at it, had a better break, had better control of it, and he pitched in more ballgames than any pitcher in either league over a period of years.

Eddie Cicotte, he was with us in Boston, you know, he was going with a spitter for a while. He used to throw that emery ball, too, and then he developed what we call the “shine” ball. He used to have paraffin on different parts of his trousers, which was not legal, and he would just go over all the stitches with that paraffin, making the other part of the ball rougher. It was just like the emery situation, but in reverse, and an emery ball is one of the most dangerous, not like the spitter, which can be controlled. But Cicotte’s main pitch was the knuckleball, and he used that to such an extent that we called him Knuckles.

Joe Wood was with the Red Sox when I joined them, too. Now there was a fellow who could do nearly everything well. He was a great ballplayer, not just a pitcher; he was a good outfielder, he was a good hitter, he was a good baseman, and he could run like blazes. He used to work real hard before a ballgame. He was just a good all-around ballplayer and a great pitcher. And he was a fine pool player, too, and billiards. He could play any kind of a card game and well; also he was a good golfer. I think that he could have done nearly everything. If he were playing football he’d be a good quarterback.

Joey was a natural — and talking about egotistical people, there’s a guy who had terrific confidence, terrific. Without being too fresh, he was very cocky, you know. He just had “the old confidence.”

I wasn’t with Boston the year they won the world’s championship and Joey won those 34 games and then three more against the Giants, but I was at the Series and wrote a story about that final game. I saw the Snodgrass muff — he was careless, and that happens. But right after that he made a gorgeous running catch.

Earlier in that game Harry Hooper made the best catch I ever saw. I hear from Harry twice a year or so; he lives in California, and he’s got plenty of the world’s goods. Harry made this catch — he had his back to the ball — and from the bench it looked like he caught it backhanded, over his shoulder. After I sent my story to him, he wrote to me. “I thought it was a very good catch, too,” he said, “but you were wrong in your perspective. When I ran for that ball, I ran with my back toward it and you guys with your craning necks were so excited about it, when I ran into the low fence” — you see, the bleachers came up from a low fence in Fenway — “the fence turned me around halfway to the right and I caught the ball in my bare right hand.” Imagine!

In 1913 I joined the Yankees — they weren’t called the Highlanders any more — and then three years later I went back to the Red Sox. Bill Carrigan, who was the Boston manager then, said, “Now that you’re seasoned enough you can come back and pitch for a big-league team.” The Yankees in those days were a terrible ballclub. In 1914 I lost 16 games and won only 7, with an earned-run average under three. I got no runs. I would be beaten one to nothing, two to nothing, three to one, scores like that. You were never ahead of anybody. You can’t win without runs. Take this fellow who’s pitching for the Mets, Roger Craig, what did he lose — 22, something like that? What did he win — 5? One to nothing, two to nothing. Terrible.

When I got to New York Frank Chance was the manager, a great guy. He had a reputation as a really tough egg, but if you went out there and worked and hustled and showed him that you were interested in what you were doing he would certainly be in your corner, to the extent that he would try and get you more money come contract time.

I have a watch, one of these little “wafer” watches, that Chance gave me in 1914 after I guess about the first month. I had won a couple of games for him. One of them was the opening game against the world champion A’s, and one day, just as a gesture, he said, he gave me this watch.

Frank and I were such good friends that late in 1914, when we were playing a series in Washington, after dinner one evening he said, let’s take a little walk. So we went out to a park across from the hotel and sat down. “I’m going to quit,” he said. “I can’t stand this being manager, can’t stand being the manager of this ballclub.”

He said, “We’re not going to get anyplace. I’ve got a good pitching staff” — and he did have a good pitching staff — “but you fellows are just batting your heads against the wall every time you go out there, no runs.” The owners wouldn’t get him any players, see, and he said, “I just can’t take it — I’m going to quit.”

He had already talked it over with the front office in New York and one of the reasons he took me out to the park was that he had told them which men he thought they should keep, and I happened to be one of three pitchers along with Slim Caldwell and Ray Fisher, and he said I know that you’ll be working in vaudeville next winter and I would advise you to get yourself a two-or three-year contract, if you can, before you leave New York on your tour, which was very good advice — which advice I didn’t take. I was too smart — you know how it is, very smart — so Mike Donlin and I went out on the Orpheum circuit that winter after opening at the Palace.

So Mike, before we left New York, he said, you better go over to the Yankee office and get yourself signed in before we leave for Chicago. He said, you never can tell what’s going to happen. I, being very, very smart, I said, “No, I’ll be worth more money to them in the spring than I am now after the publicity we will get in vaudeville this winter.”

But I was wrong, because during the winter, while we were in Minneapolis at the Orpheum theatre, Devery and Farrell sold the team to Ruppert and Huston. I’m quite sure I could have made a deal with Frank Farrell for a two- or three-year contract before leaving, but as I say I wasn’t very smart.

When we got back east Bill Donovan (that’s Bill, not Patsy) had been appointed manager of the Yankees, and he was not in favor of anybody having a long-term contract. I didn’t even last out the year with him.

It seemed every time I pitched against Washington I had Walter Johnson as an opponent, or Jim Shaw, either one. Griffith, he used to … I don’t know … I had an idea he didn’t pitch them against Caldwell. It seemed that every time Slim pitched, the team would get him three or four runs — though he didn’t need them, he was a great pitcher.

Was Johnson as great a pitcher as they say? Let me tell you, he was greater than they say. He was with one of the worst ballclubs imaginable, not quite as bad as the old Yankees but almost as bad.

When I got out of the Air Service, after the war — you see, I quit baseball on the 4th of July, I think, in 1917 and went into the Air Service — when I came out I went to work for the New York Evening Sun. I wrote articles, and the Sun used to run them every Saturday. The Wheeler Syndicate used to sell them to wherever they could sell them: Boston, Philadelphia, Newark, anywhere they could, you know — and I used to get five, two, four, eight dollars apiece for them, and one of the stories that I wrote was about Walter Johnson.

I wrote one about Joey, too, and about Cicotte, and Mathewson, oh, so many of them. In the story about Johnson, I wondered what would have happened if he had been pitching for the Giants, who could get him five or six runs nearly every time he started, and I’m wondering if he’d ever lose a ballgame. I found out from Joe Vila, who was the sports editor for the Sun, that Matty didn’t care very much for that.

Matty was a very good friend of Mike’s, and so was McGraw, who was my sponsor into the Lambs Club. He was a Jekyll and Hyde character. Off the field he was very affable, but the minute he’d get in uniform, he was one of the toughest guys you’d ever want to know. Mike used to tell me a lot of inside information which of course helped me when I was writing these stories.

Do you know about the movie Speaker and I made? In 1917, just before I went into the Service, we produced a motion picture of the big stars in both major leagues. We had $80,000 worth of bookings for the picture, and then they declared baseball during the war not essential, so all the bookings were cancelled. We sold the rights to the YMCA to use it in the camps all over Europe, in the ships going over and back, and in the camps here.

After the war was over I showed the film to my friend Roxy, God rest him, and he took the thing over and showed it at the Rivoli and the Rialto and down to Fifth Avenue, and then I happened to come into Wall Street to work as a stockbroker — in 1920 I started my own firm, which I still run today — and I forgot all about the film.

It was put in the morgue some place up at the Rialto or the Rivoli, and the YMCA lost their prints somewhere over in France, but I had left in the tins some cuts and out-takes of the shots of — well, Speaker, Hooper, Ruth, Wood, Matty, and Johnson and all, and I still have them. I showed the clips only about two years ago at the Pathe projection room one day and they still look pretty good.

The game’s a lot different today from what it was when I played. The biggest change — and the worst one, in my opinion — is the home run. Now, let’s first talk of the fellow going up to the plate. Seventy-five percent of the time he goes up there with the thought of hitting the ball out of the ballpark, and it’s not too difficult to do, because they have moved the ballpark in on him. Now in right field and center field and left field, you’ve got stands. They used to have a bleacher, way out, in the old days, but the only home run you’d get would be if you hit it between the fielders. “In grounds,” they’d call it, a home run in grounds; if a ball got in between those fielders and if you had any speed, they wouldn’t be able to throw you out. Today, if you hit a good long fly it’s in one of these short stands.

In the old days they juiced up the ball some, but when they talk about the dead ball — there never was any dead ball that I can remember. I’ve got a couple of scars on my chin to prove it. I saw Joe Jackson hit a ball over the top of the Polo Grounds in right field — the top of it — off one of our pitchers, and I have never seen or heard of anyone hitting it over since, and that was around 1914-15, in there.

Today’s ball is livelier, no doubt of that. They are using an Australian wool now in winding the core of the ball. In the old days they used wool but not one that is as elastic as this wool. The bats are whippier, too. But the principal reason for all these homers is the concentration of the hitter on trying to hit the ball out of the park.

The fielding today? Well, any of these boys in the big leagues today could field in any league at any time. I think the better equipment has more to do with the spectacular play. You take this here third baseman up with the Yankees — Clete Boyer — he’s terrific, just terrific. Larry Gardner, who played third on the Boston team with me, he was a great third baseman, and he had that “trolley-wire throw” to first, but Larry was not as agile as Boyer. I think Boyer is a little quicker. But, if you want a fellow to compare with Boyer, take Buck Weaver of that Black Sox team. He would field with Boyer any day, and throw with him, and he was a better hitter. He would be my all-time third baseman.

Players of my day, give them the good equipment, and they would be just as good or better. Now, you take a fellow like Wagner — I don’t mean the Wagner we had with the Red Sox, but the Pirates’ Wagner, Honus Wagner, who came to see us in Pittsburgh at the theatre — and he took up the whole dressing room with that big can of his. There was one of the most awkward-looking humans you ever saw, but he made the plays, without the shovel glove. And Speaker — could a big glove have made him any better?

As an outfielder, Speaker was in a class by himself. He would play so close to the infield that he’d get in on rundown plays! Then the next man perhaps would hit a long fly into center field and he would be on his bicycle with his back to the ball — not backing away, he’d turn and run — and you’d think he had a radar or a magnet or something because just at the proper time he’d turn his head and catch the ball over his shoulder.

Those fellows, Speaker, Lewis, and Hooper, they used to practice throwing, something that you don’t see anymore. Those fellows would have a cap down near the catcher and they’d see who would come closest to the cap when they’d throw from the outfield. They all had marvelous arms. Nobody would run on them and I think that most of the people who ever saw them play would say there was no trio that could compare with them.

Mike and I, in our act, we used to do a number called “When You’re a Long, Long Way From Home.” In it I used to do a recitation, and the last two lines were, “When you’re on third base alone, you’re still a long, long way from home.” It was serious, about life being like a game of baseball. Times have changed — a boy can’t peek through a knothole in a concrete fence — but that’s still true.

Consider that most of baseball’s rules operate to prevent runs from being scored. The offensive team does not control the ball. Most of the time, the game is played by nine players against one, and at best nine against four. Of the nine offensive opportunities a team has, scoring in only one of them is often sufficient to win a game. In the majority of games, the winning team scores in only two or three of their allotted times at bat.

Since 1900, only two teams have managed to score in each of nine innings of a game. On June 1, 1923, the New York Giants did it against the Philadelphia Phillies, winning 22-8. On September 13, 1964, the St. Louis Cardinals beat the Chicago Cubs 15-2 and likewise never gave the opposing pitchers an inning to be proud of.

How did the Giants and Cardinals manage their scoring binges? Simple. They had a day when hitters could do no wrong, opposing pitchers could do no right, and a more than moderate amount of luck was thrown in. Let’s look at these games in detail, starting with the New York-Philadelphia game in 1923.

The Giants entered Baker Bowl in Philadelphia on June 1 solidly in first place, 5½ games ahead of Pittsburgh and 17½ games ahead of the day’s opponent.

New York scored quickly in the first. Dave Bancroft and Heinie Groh both singled. After Frankie Frisch flied out, Irish Meusel walked to set up Ross Youngs’ bases-clearing triple to right-center. Walter Holke dropped George Kelly’s fly to short right, scoring Youngs.

In the second, Bancroft hit a one-out single to left and scored on Groh’s double to right-center. Following an out, Groh went to third on a passed ball. Meusel walked and Groh scored on Youngs’ single.

The Giants scored only one run in both the third and fourth innings. In the third, walks to Jimmy O’Connell and Claude Jonnard, who had replaced Rosie Ryan on the mound, were followed by Groh’s two-out single to score O’Connell. O’Connell’s solo home run, the only homer of the game, put across the Giants’ run in the fourth.

After four innings, the game was still close, 8-6 in favor of New York. The next two innings saw the Giants pull away for good, sending nine batters to the plate each inning and scoring five runs each time. Bancroft opened the fifth with a walk and Groh was safe on Russ Wrightstone’s error. Then, Frisch doubled, scoring Bancroft and Groh, and Meusel singled, scoring Frisch. Youngs singled, and one out later O’Connell doubled, scoring Meusel. Youngs stopped at third, to score on Earl Smith’s infield out.

Bancroft, Groh, and Frisch led off the sixth with consecutive singles. Meusel’s out was only a breather. Youngs doubled, scoring Bancroft and Groh. Kelly singled, scoring Frisch. O’Connell doubled, with Kelly stopping at third. Heinie Sand’s error on Smith’s grounder allowed Kelly to score with the fifth run.

With the score 18-7 after six innings, the only matter to settle was whether the Giants could continue their magic. Groh punched a one-out single in the seventh, and was forced by Frisch. Freddie Maguire ran for Frisch. Following Meusel’s third free pass of the game, Maguire scored on Youngs’ single.

In the eighth, O’Connell led off with a single. Alex Gaston, who had taken over for Smith behind the plate, walked. Jonnard sacrificed both runners along, and O’Connell scored on Wrightstone’s second error of the day. Gaston moved to third on the error and scored when O’Connell was forced at second.

It looked like the scoring streak would end in the ninth when Maguire and Bill Cunningham, playing for Meusel, both made quick outs. But Youngs tripled and Kelly’s double to left-center scored him to set the record.

The Giants were clearly in offensive control that day, sending 63 men to the plate. Three batters: Groh, Youngs, and O’Connell, had five hits; and Youngs had seven RBIs. O’Connell’s five hits included three doubles and one home run. Only once, in the ninth, did the first run of the inning score with two out. Only once, in the eighth, did the first run score by the aid of an error.

Click here to view the box score of this high-scoring game at Baseball-Reference.com.

Forty-one years later, the St. Louis Cardinals matched the Giants inning for inning in cozy Wrigley Field.

Curt Flood led off the Cardinal first with a single. After Lou Brock struck out, Dick Groat singled, Flood taking third. Ken Boyer’s infield hit scored Flood, and Groat took third on Cub pitcher Dick Ellsworth’s error. Groat scored on Bill White’s grounder to second.

The Cardinal run in the second inning scored on Julian Javier’s lead-off home run.

In the third inning, Groat led off with a single to center and was joined on base by Boyer, who drew a walk. White sacrificed, but all runners were safe when a force play failed. Mike Shannon then singled, driving in Groat and Boyer.

Lou Brock, blossoming with the Cardinals after having been acquired from the Cubs earlier in the season, opened the scoring in the fourth inning with a lead-off home run. Two outs later, Boyer was safe on Joe Amalfitano’s error, taking second on the play. Boyer scored on an error by Andre Rogers off White’s bat.

With one out in the fifth, Bob Uecker stroked a single to left, his only hit of the day. Curt Simmons, the Cardinal pitcher, who was breezing along with a 7-I lead, bunted Ijecker to second but was safe himself on Don Elston’s error. Flood sacrificed Uecker and Simmons to third and second respectively. Groat singled, scoring Uecker, and Simmons continued home on Amalfitano’s second error of the day.

Shannon’s solo home run with one out in the sixth kept the Cardinal scoring string alive.

In the seventh, with Sterling Slaughter pitching for the Cubs, the top of the potent Cardinal batting order struck again. In quick succession, Flood singled, Brock doubled, and Groat doubled, scoring Flood and Brock. Dal Maxvill, running for Groat, scored on Boyer’s single. That was all for Slaughter, but that was all for St. Louis, too, as John Flavin took over on the mound and retired the side.

Javier hit a lead-off double in the eighth inning and advanced to third on Simmons’ grounder to Ron Campbell, who had replaced Amalfitano at second. Flood singled Javier home to set up the history-making ninth inning.

With one out in the ninth, Boyer was safe on Campbell’s error. White singled Boyer to third, and Shannon scored Boyer with a sacrifice fly.

The key to the Cardinal’s success was making the most of the opportunities they had. Each player, except Ray Washburn, who did not bat, scored, knocked in a run, or kept a rally alive for a subsequent run. Cardinal players reached base 25 times. All except two, Uecker in the third (walk) and Javier in the sixth (double), figured in the scoring.

Both New York in 1923 and St. Louis in 1964 went on to win pennants, the Giants in a laughter, and St. Louis with the help of the famous Philadelphia collapse. Both teams beat the New York Yankees in the World Series, the Giants in six games and the Cardinals in seven.

Here is the St. Louis-Chicago box score of September 13, 1964, at Baseball-Reference.com.

ADDENDUM

On the Probability Of Scoring Every Inning

The way to find the probability of scoring in nine consecutive innings is to find the probability of scoring in one inning (pR) and raise that to the ninth power. Trying to find pR directly is difficult, since there are so many ways of scoring a run. The most useful method is to find the probability of not scoring in an inning (qR), from which pR can be easily found:

pR = 1 – qR

In a shutout game, a team does not score in any inning. Therefore,

pShO = (qR)⁹

and

In 110,098 regular season games from 1901 through 1980, 15,725 shutouts have been thrown.

or once every 225,917 games. It is assumed that the instances of extra-inning games balance rain-shortened games so each game can be considered to last nine innings.

Practically speaking, only the visiting team can score in each of nine innings. If the home team scores in the first eight innings, it should be so far ahead that the game would end after the visitors’ last turn at bat. Though there are two chances for a shutout game in each game, there is only one chance for a nine-inning scoring spree, making an expected occurrence of once every 451,834 games.

• Related link: May 5, 1999: Rockies score at least one run in every inning in win over Cubs

Major league baseball had been through a trying experience with the players revolt of 1 890 which resulted in the one year operation of the Players’ League, and then the collapse of the American Association after the 1891 season. The National League picked up four AA cities and expanded from eight teams to 12 for the 1892 season. Consideration was given to adopting a first half and a second half of the season based on an apparently successful experiment in the Eastern League in 1891. The Reach Guide for 1893 described it this way:

To add to the novelty which a 12-club league might have, the season was divided into two championships, the first to end on July 15 and the second to terminate late in October. At the same time the complement of championship games was increased from 140 games to 154. So the season began two weeks early and ended ten days later than in 1891. The result was that the opening games were played in weather which was far from being inducive to enthusiasm and that fact threw a damper upon the year’s sport from the beginning.

Attendance was down in many cities and particularly in New York where the Giants got off to a bad start. A real financial crisis developed. The 12 clubs had assumed a debt of $125,000 to cover the four clubs dropped in the consolidation and a sinking fund had been created requiring 10 percent of gross receipts to go to the general treasury. That figure had to be increased to 1 2Y2 percent.

At a meeting in New York in late June, club representatives decided to make a sweeping reduction in salaries all along the line for the remaining half of the season. The player salaries had increased until “they became in general most unreasonable. The wars of 1890 and 1891 had forced salaries nearly 100 percent above what they had been in 1888-89.” The players were now informed that their salaries were cut 30-40 percent. Any player refusing to take the cut was to be unconditionally released. Pitcher Charlie Buffinton of Baltimore was one and his major league career ended right there. Tony Mullane of Cincinnati also quit for the season. Only Pittsburgh and Cleveland made expenses; all other clubs lost money, including Boston, which won the first half by a few games over Brooklyn.

Many clubs reorganized on financial grounds for the second half, which followed without delay. Cleveland, which had finished fifth in the first half, won the second half on the strength of Cy Young’s fine pitching. He was 36 and 10 over the full season and led in winning percentage, shutouts and earned run average. Boston, led by hurlers Jack Stivetts and Kid Nichols, who each won 35 games, finished a close second. The Beaneaters had the best record over-all. The Reach Guide gave this background:

At the close of the second championship, the Cleveland club, winner of the second series, was extremely anxious to meet the champions of the first series, the Bostons, in a series of firsts. But the Bostons expressed an unwillingness to play any such games. They alleged that an impression prevailed among baseball patrons in their city that their team had not tried to win the second series in order that they might, in that way, secure the financial benefit which would arise out of a subsequent struggle for the Championship of the United States. The officials of the Boston club wanted to refute such an insinuation or belief by foregoing any postseason games with the Clevelands, and so decided not to meet the Clevelands in the final games.

But the league insisted that such a series take place and it did. A nine-game play-off was agreed upon to decide the championship. Three games were scheduled in Cleveland, three in Boston and three in New York, if necessary to decide the winner. The series opened in Cleveland on October 17 and almost 6000 turned out to witness a great 11-inning 0-0 pitching duel between Boston’s Jack Stivetts and Cleveland’s Cy Young which was halted by darkness. The next day a crowd of almost 7000 saw Boston nip the home club 4-3, with Harry Staley beating John Clarkson. Clarkson, incidentally, had spent the first half of the season with Boston and pitched for Cleveland in the second half.

On October 19, Boston won another one-run contest, 3-2 (Stivetts over Young) before 6000. After a day off the teams moved to Boston where, on October 21, Kid Nichols blanked the Spiders 4-0 before a gathering of 6547. Boston won its fourth straight the following afternoon 12-7 (Stivetts over Clarkson), wiping out an early 6-0 Cleveland lead. Only 3466 witnessed the contest. After a Sunday rest, Boston won 8-3 (Nichols over Young) on October 24 for its fifth straight and a sweep of the series. The final game drew the smallest crowd of the series, only 1812 showing up on a cold day. Boston fandom showed little interest in the majors’ first play-off champs. Nevertheless, as a reward for winning the championship, the Boston directors gave the team $1000 to split up among the 13 players. Center fielder Hugh Duffy was the batting star, collecting 12 hits in the six games, including two doubles, two triples, and a home run.

It was not a very successful season. As the editor of the Reach Guide stated: “The clubs have this year acknowledged their error in both the double championship and the lengthened season by abolishing both. This year (1893) there will be one continuing season beginning late in April and ending about the first of October.”

The really important change, however, was in the playing rules. In 1893 the pitching distance was increased from 50 feet to 60½ feet, with the pitcher being required to work off a plate instead of a pitcher’s box. This resulted in increased batting and it proved to be the magic that lured the fans back to the ballparks.

Here are the club records for the 1892 split season.

In simplest terms that historical background began in 1912. That year two attempts were made to start independent leagues without the blessings of the National Association of Professional Baseball Leagues. The United States League, composed of eight eastern cities, survived only a month and the Columbian League, made up of cities in the Midwest, didn’t even open the season.

In 1913 the United States League opened the season but folded after only three games. The midwestern organization, rechristened the Federal League with John T. Powers as its president, not only opened as a six-team league but completed a 120 game season. Chicago, Cleveland, Covington, Indianapolis, Pittsburgh, and St. Louis had teams in that loop. When the Covington club was unable to attract the attendance that had been anticipated, the franchise was transferred to Kansas City 41 games into the season. Competing head-to-head with major league teams in four of the six cities proved to be a serous financial strain and there was talk of dissolution of the league.

Later in the season, however, James A. Gilmore, a Chicago manufacturer, was appointed temporary president of the league when Mr. Powers was given a “vacation.” Mr. Gilmore proved to be a dynamic leader and was certainly not of a mind to give up the venture. His positive enthusiasm convinced the owners to continue their league in 1914. He interested Charles Weeghman, a wealthy Chicago restaurateur, in the Federal League and with him as an ally, attracted strong financial backing in other cities: Phil Ball and Otto Stifel in St. Louis; Robert B. Ward, president of the Ward Baking Company in Brooklyn; and in 1915, the multimillionaire oil tycoon, Albert Sinclair. Earlier Weeghman and Ball had both sought to purchase major league franchises but had been turned down. Their eagerness to own a baseball club of stature made them even more enthusiastic when the Federal League proclaimed itself a major league. Initially the established leagues ignored that boast but when the Federal League began to sign some of the stars of Organized Baseball and when eight new ball parks began to take form, the National and American Leagues realized that a Baseball War was indeed in the offing.

Early in January of 1914, Gilmore had stated that clubs in this league would respect existing major league contracts but that players who were merely on the reserve list were fair game. The Feds quickly signed many major leaguers. The first to “jump” was Joe Tinker who doubled his Cincinnati salary when he agreed to manage and play shortstop for the Chicago Feds. Following Tinker’s defection, other established major league standouts including Otto Knabe, Three Finger Brown, Hal Chase, and Russ Ford signed FL contracts.

In its February 7, 1914 issue, Literary Digest reported that the Federal League had 40 major league players in the fold but, jocularly, “the American and National leagues still had 250 left.” The same article pointed out that the Feds sought to have at least five players of major league stature on each of its teams.

As the Federal League was evolving, another phenomenon was also developing. In October 1912, David L. Fultz, a former outfielder with the Athletics and Highlanders (Yankees) and subsequently a lawyer, organized the Baseball Players’ Fraternity. By 1913 he had a membership of 700 and, as a consequence of that impressive number, he was able to command respectful attention when he presented a set of 17 “demands” and 17 “requests” to the National Commission to improve conditions for those playing in the major leagues. The impact and consequences of Fultz’ actions is another story but the net results were improvements in players’ rights and an improved salary structure.

On March 3, 1914 Dave Fultz stated that a league must be judged as a major league on the basis of the salaries it paid and “the Federal Leaguers are paying unlimited salaries.” He freely admitted that the Feds had done more for the players than his Fraternity or anyone else. Thus, Fultz did the Federal League a favor when he tacitly recognized it as a “major” league. However, he may have hurt the Feds as a result of being instrumental in improved pay and better working conditions offered by the existing major leagues. It is conceivable that many more stars might have responded to offers from the Feds if those improvements had not been made. Another deterrent to jumping to the Feds was the fact that men who did sign Federal League contracts were blacklisted by the National Commission.

In November of 1913, Charles Comiskey and John McGraw took the Chicago White Sox and the New York Giants on a World Tour. The teams were actually conglomerates. Only seven had been members of the White Sox and only five Giants made the trip. The balance of the two squads were bolstered by players from other teams. The tour ended in New York on March 5, 1914, and the Federal League was there to meet them, offering contracts to Tris Speaker, Sam Crawford, Ivy Wingo, Mickey Doolan, Steve Evans, Lee Magee and others. The last three named accepted the offers, the others did not. Many other players of rank, among them Walter Johnson, Ty Cobb, and Christy Mathewson were approached by agents of the Federal League but they chose to stay with their clubs when their salaries were substantially upgraded.

The first legal battle of the Baseball War began when the Chicago Whales obtained the signature of Bill Killifer on a Federal League contract on January 14, 1914 and paid him a $500 advance. Reindeer Bill had been a catcher for the Phillies since 1911 but, as of that January 14 date, was not under contract to the Philadelphia club. Less than a week later (January 20), he had second thoughts and signed a contract to play with the Philadelphia Nationals in 1914. Two clubs in different leagues now claimed his services. The Federal League claimed that the sanctity of a contract was the fundamental issue at law. Philadelphia lawyers took the position that the seducer of an employee should not be entitled to equity in the courts. On March 18 the Chicago Feds filed suit in the United States District Court of Western Michigan to prevent Killifer from playing with any team other than the Chicago Federal League Club. Judge Clarence V. Sessions was assigned to the case. Final arguments were heard on April 4.

Manager Joe Tinker of the ChiFeds said, “We can’t lose. If our contract is good, we’ll have Killifer and Fred Blanding and George Kading (those two had also signed Chicago FL contracts while on the Cleveland reserve list though not under contract to that club). If the decision is adverse, baseball contracts will no longer have validity, enabling us to offer inducements to major league stars even if they are under contract to National or American league teams.”

Judge Sessions handed down his decision on April 10. He denied the Federal League petition on moral rather than legal grounds and castigated Killifer as one whose pledged word could not be relied upon. He ruled that the contract of January 14 with the Chicago Feds and the one of January 20 when he jumped back to the Philadelphia Phillies were both valid. Organized Baseball claimed victory by virtue of the fact that the Federal League petition had been denied. The Feds claimed victory because the judge’s ruling of “moral rather than legal” invalidated the reserve clause and fans could expect open war between the rival leagues and players from the established leagues will “jump right and left.”

Following Sessions’ ruling, the picture changed. Gilmore sent wires to his clubs to go after any player whether he was under con tract or not. Ban Johnson, president of the American League, responded with, “I don’t care a rap what the Feds do and I would just as soon have war as not.” Those were brave words considering he fact that the Federal League was backed by very wealthy men to the tune of $50 million (a considerable sum in those days).

While it is difficult for us, today, to sense the intense emotions generated on both sides by player raids and counter-raids and by legal actions by both sides against organizations and players alike, we could judge the depth of feelings in those days by reading the front page headlines of the 1914 Sporting Life. Sporting Life was a tabloid baseball weekly that was considered “must” reading for anyone interested in baseball. From before the start of spring training in 1914 until a week before the start of the World Series between Connie Mack’s Philadelphia Athletics and Boston’s Miracle raves, EVERY page one banner headline that season contained a reference to the Baseball War to the exclusion of any other event of interest that might have occurred in Baseball the preceding week. The headline of the March 14, 1914 issue illustrates the extent and intensity of the confrontation: FEDERAL WAR PLANS — The Independent Stirred into Reprisals by Personal Attacks — Prepare to Prosecute the War Vigorously — By Legal Proceedings, Establishment of Minor Alliances, and Wholesale Capture of Players. Similar “war” announcements appeared each week until World Series time.

Just before teams headed south for spring training, Sporting Life opined that the National and American leagues would not know the full extent of the Federal League inroads until players actually reported. When, on April 1, the Federal League published the 1914 rosters for its clubs, 59 players had jumped, 39 from the National League and 20 from the American. The Feds had made good their threat to have at least five major leaguers on each of their clubs; they averaged a little better than seven per team. Of the 39 National League defectors, Philadelphia lost nine men while Brooklyn lost only two. American losses ranged from one (Danny Murphy of Philadelphia) to four from the New York Yankees. The original jumpers were augmented by additional deserters all through the 1914 season. More major leaguers made the crossover for the 1915 season.

In the two years of its existence as a self-appraised major league, a total of 286 men appeared on the rosters of the Federal League during 1914 and/or l9l5. It is reasonable to assume that to qualify as a major league, a baseball organization must put on the field men who are recognized as having major league talent. What is that talent if it is not the skill to perform for teams in the National or American Leagues? If that assumption is valid, the next logical step is to analyze the rosters of the Feds. Almost 60 percent of the FL players had had previous NL or AL service 172 players by actual count.

Many of those, it is true, sensed that their major league careers might soon come to an end and they welcomed the generous Federal League offers as well as a chance to extend their playing days at top dollar. At the other end of the scale were those who had played only a year or two as fringe hangers-on.

Those who deserted their teams in Organized Baseball for a fling with the Feds varied in big league experience from the 14 years that Danny Murphy starred, mainly with the Athletics in the first decade of the century, to the one inning that Estey Chaney pitched for the Boston Red Sox in 1913. Incidentally, Chaney didn’t do much more for the Brooklyn Feds in 1914 (one game — four innings).

All in all, 101 men who had worn uniforms of an NL or AL team and then had jumped to the outlaw league ended their days as major leaguers with the Federal League. When the Federal League died so did their careers as major leaguers.

Another group that attracted the attention of the Federal League were those players who had already called it quits as big league performers, voluntarily or by request, BEFORE the 1913 season. Sixty-one men were lured out of retirement to don again a baseball uniform with a major league logo on the shirt. Thirty of them had last played in the bigs in 1912; eight had closed their careers in 1911; seven dated from 1910 and seven more from 1909. The Feds even signed four from the retirement class of 1908 and four from the year before that. Charlie Carr, who had last played for Cincinnati in 1906, was resurrected to play 11 5 games at first base for the Indianapolis Federals in 1914.

For 71 of those 172 with previous major league experience, the time they spent in the Federal League proved to be merely an interlude. When the terms of settlement dissolving the renegade league included the canceling of the blacklist that had been established for those who had deserted, they were able to return to the sites of their former employment. Most of them returned in time for the 1916 season. When the United States entered World War I, major league clubs lost some men to the draft or by enlistment. Those vacancies were filled by another 24 players who had not been signed in 1916 but were called back, seven in 1917 and 17 in 1918. For some the return was hardly worth the bother. Fred Jacklitsch, with ten years in the big time and two more with the Feds, got into one game with the Boston Braves in 1917 and didn’t even get to bat. Benny Meyer, who had played the outfield in 309 games in 1913-15, didn’t appear in a major league lineup again until 1925 and then it was for only one game with the Phillies. He did get one AB, hit a double, and is in the records with a BA of 1.000 for that year.

Of all the men who ever appeared in a Federal League game, only 89 of them never played with a National or American league club. The Federal League did unearth some rookies who demonstrated enough ability to attract the attention of the big league clubs. Twenty-five men who had their rookie experience with the FL later signed on with the surviving major organizations. Twelve made it in 1916 while the others surfaced in the next three years. Pitcher

Dave Black had to wait until 1923 when he landed employment with the Red Sox. For one FL rookie, Frank “Sugar” Kane, the return was for only one game for the Yankees in 1919.

A summary of the foregoing might be useful:

• 286 — Played in the Federal League in 1914 and/or 1915
• 172 — Had previous major league experience
• 101 — Who had played in the majors before, ended their careers with the FL
• 71 — Played in the majors both before and after their FL sojourn
• 89 — Never played in the majors before or after their FL days
• 25 — Were FL rookies who later signed with major league Clubs

Four leagues and triple occupancy in two cities made Federal League scheduling difficult. The Chicago Whales and the St. Louis Terriers each faced competition from two major league clubs. The Brooklyn Tip Tops and the Pittsburgh Rebels had NL rivals. The Kansas City Packers and the Indianapolis Federals (sometimes Hoosiers) were confronted by established American Association clubs and the Buffalo BufFeds and the Baltimore Terrapins had firmly entrenched International League teams to contend with.

The two majors and two minors announced their schedules well before the Federal League published its dates. There were 264 game conflicts with Organized Baseball. The greatest problem was in St. Louis where a total of 70 conflicts were discovered. The Whales in Chicago were home on the same dates as the White Sox 24 times and were attendance rivals with the Cubs on 28 occasions. In Pittsburgh there were 27 days when the Pirates and Rebels were in town the same days. The Brooklyn Feds were head-to-head with the Brooklyn Nationals 21 times but if the Giants’ and Yankees’ schedules were included, the entire season would have found two and sometimes three games in greater New York each day of the baseball year. The American Association was in conflict on 34 dates in Kansas City and 20 in Indianapolis. The International and Federal schedules clashed in Baltimore and Buffalo on 20 dates in each city.

In mid-May John Tener, president of the National League, announced that the Federal League was not hurting any city in his league except in Chicago where the Whales of Joe Tinker were more popular than the Cubs of Hank O’Day.

By the end of June, Buffalo and Baltimore of the International League were in trouble and appealed to the National Commission for financial assistance and suspension of the draft rule to enable them to compete with their Federal rivals for the baseball fan dollar. Both appeals were denied. Ban Johnson, American League president, proposed consideration of another major league composed of the better cities in the International League and the American Association. The idea was applauded by both of those organizations but the Pacific Coast League objected to any change in status that did not include it. Their position was based on the Organized Baseball Agreement of 1903. NL President Tener remained noncommittal and Federal League prexy James Gilmore said, “We’re too busy planning to obtain more players to worry about another major league.” By July the idea had lost appeal although Sporting Life reasoned that eventually there would be a third and maybe a fourth major league regardless of what might happen to the Feds. As we now know, the expansion that Sporting Life foresaw took the form of more TEAMS in the two existing leagues rather than more leagues.

Indianapolis won the 1914 FL championship. Chicago finished second, 1½ games out. In June, President Gilmore had said there would be a “world series” the winner to play an All Star team selected from the other seven teams — but that event never materialized. Benny Kauff of Indianapolis was the batting champ with .370. The Feds led the other two leagues in homers with 295 and Dutch Zwilling of the Whales was the individual leader with 16. The Nationals managed 266 with Cactus Cravath of the Phillies hitting 19 for top honors. The Americans fell far short with only 148 and the best individual record was eight. Late in April, Otto Knabe, manager of the Brooklyn Tip Tops, had predicted heavy hitting in the Federal League. “I told President Gilmore that our ball was too lively but Joe Tinker said it wasn’t lively enough so nobody listened to me. In spring training I noticed how our guys hit the ball. I had trained on the same grounds when I was with the Phillies. My boys were hitting 25-30 yards farther than Art Wilson, Dode Paskert, and other long distance Philadelphia hitters.”

Russell Ford of the BufFeds posted a 21-6 W-L mark. Claude Hendrix, Chicago’s standout mound ace, won 29 games. Ed Lafitte pitched the only FL no-hitter that year. He beat Kansas City, 6-2, on September 19. The two runs were the result of his own wildness. Indianapolis amassed 24 hits in a 21-6 conquest of Pittsburgh and the Hoosiers also ran up a consecutive win streak of 15 games.

With all teams in the three leagues suffering financially, August Herrmann, Chairman of the National Commission, offered to meet a representative of the Federal League early in November. Charlie Weeghman represented the Feds and they met for two days with Ban Johnson and James Gilmore also on hand. The meetings proved to be fruitless and early in December the Feds called a halt to further proceedings.

In January 1915 the Federal League instituted an anti-trust suit in the U.S. District Court in Chicago before Judge Kenesaw Mountain Landis. Judge Landis endeared himself to Organized Baseball when he successfully “sat” on the case by legal delays until the following December when the suit was dropped because then there no longer was a Federal League.

In February Gilmore announced that the Federal League would put a team in the Bronx or in Newark for the 1915 season. He had Pat Powers and Harry Sinclair poised to buy the Kansas City franchise and move it to the New York area. Later that month Kansas City obtained an injunction to prevent such a move. At a “peace” meeting in New York, arrangements were made to move the Indianapolis franchise instead. Newark was selected as the site for the new FL member.

The 1915 season was played with continued animosity between Organized Baseball and the Federal League. While some of the action was still conducted in the courts, there was not nearly as much legal maneuvering as in 1914. The Federal League anti-trust suit was still pending; Benny Kauff sued the New York Giants for a promised $5000 bonus; and the St. Louis Terriers won the Armando Marsans case (The Cincinnati Reds claimed that Marsans ran out on a contract but the judge ruled the document was not binding).

All three leagues enjoyed unusually close races in 1915. Almost all the teams except the Athletics (Connie Mack had dismembered his AL champs) had early season pennant fever. Three teams battled for the AL championship almost to the last week. The NL was so well balanced that the ultimate pennant winner had the lowest ever winning percentage and the team in last place had the best won-lost record ever achieved by an eighth place club. The FL had six teams in the fight. In the last series of the season the title was still on the line and the first four teams were in head-to-head competition, Chicago vs Pittsburgh and Kansas City vs St. Louis. In the very last game of the season the Chicago Whales defeated Pittsburgh while the St. Louis Terriers beat the K. C. Packers and Chicago claimed the flag. St. Louis finished second and Pittsburgh was third and only five percentage points separated the trio.

Besides an exciting 1915 race, The Feds had four no-hit games. Frank Allen of Pittsburgh posted the first on April 24 against St. Louis. Three weeks later, May 15, Chicago’s Claude Hendrix made Pittsburgh the victim. On August 16 Alex Main of K. C. pitched one against Buffalo. Dave Davenport of St. Louis hurled the fourth in a game with Chicago on September 7.

Kauff repeated as the batting champ with a .342 mark and Hal Chase, Buffalo first baseman, captured the home run crown with 17. Eddie Plank had a solid 2.08 ERA and a won-lost mark of 21 and 11. Chicago’s George McConnell won 24 and lost 10.

In spite of the close races, only three National League clubs showed a small profit; four teams in the American League posted heavy losses; and, in the Federal League, only two clubs ended in the black — just barely. The exciting pennant races should have been profitable but weren’t. Schedule conflicts that placed two teams in the same city on too many days hurt. Economic depression threatened; the cost of living was on the rise; our relations with Mexico were unstable; the war in Europe was a grave concern; and there were other competitors for surplus dollars — movies, the automobile, and other sports like golf and tennis. But, the main problem was the persistent challenge from the Federal League. Continuing the war was senseless.

President Tener of the NL initiated conferences with representatives from the Feds in the fall of 1915. Other conferences followed without progress until in mid-November the Federals announced that they intended to place a team in Manhattan. That stirred Tener to renewed activity and his league and the FL finally reached a tentative agreement in mid-December. It was presented to the American League which promptly approved and a committee was set up to work out details. In Cincinnati, on December 22, the most costly baseball war came to an end. The main issues of the settlement included reinstatement of all players who had been blacklisted. Charles Weeghman, owner of the Chicago Whales, was permitted to buy the Chicago National League Club and Phil Ball, owner of the St. Louis Feds, was allowed to purchase the St. Louis Browns. Federal League players except those from Chicago or St. Louis were to be sold to the highest bidder. The Federal League withdrew its anti-trust suit. While there were other stipulations, these are the main ones that ended the conflict.

From the 1915 rosters of the Feds, the National League teams selected 39 men for the 1916 season and the Americans added 20. The Chicago Cubs, in effect, were half Cubs and half Whales, with 17 of the latter. The St. Louis Browns and the Terriers also became a single unit (12 Feds were included). For one reason or another the St. Louis Cardinals did not add one player from the dissolved league. Three American League teams, Boston, Chicago, and Philadelphia, also passed up the opportunity.

With all the movements of players between three different leagues during the two-year Federal League interlude, only two men in all baseball history can claim to have played in three different leagues in the same city and both names start with Z! Rollie Zeider, an infielder, and Dutch Zwilling, an outfielder, each started with the Chicago (AL) White Sox in 1910, joined the Chicago (FL) Whales in 1914, and, finally, in 1916 they played for the Chicago (NL) Cubs.

It must be noted that six Federal Leaguers were eventually inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame. Not, of course, on what they accomplished in their Federal League stint, but one or two of their baseball years were spent with the Feds. The selectees included three pitchers, Chief Bender, Mordecai Brown and Eddie Plank, plus Bill McKechnie, Edd Roush, and Joe Tinker.

If the Federal League was not a major league, there is room for conjecture that in 1914 and 1915, with the drain of quality players from the established leagues, maybe, in those days at least, there existed three high level minor league organizations instead.

*Assisted by Richard L. Burtt

In 1978, for example, National League players stole 1533 bases and were caught only 725 times, a record success rate of 68 percent. Compare this with 1921 when the league had 803 steals and 771 caught stealing, a success rate of only 5 1 percent. In 1976 the Oakland A’s stole a record 341 bases. They were thrown out 123 times, but this was not a major league mark for caught stealing. In 1924 the Cubs were thrown out 149 times while stealing only 137 bases. The theft record of the A’s was very good in 1976, particularly in light of their great activity, but the Cincinnati Reds that same year did considerably better. Led by Joe Morgan, they stole 210 bases and were caught only 57 times. Their success rate was 79 percent compared to 48 percent for the 1924 Cubs.

Full documentation is lacking to compare base stealing proficiency of different eras. The National League, for example, kept caught stealing records only for the periods 1920-25 and 1951 to the present; the American League has caught stealing data from 1920 to the present with the exception of 1927. The one great record from the old days that has not been surpassed is the 1922 season record of Max Carey of the Pirates. He stole 5 1 bases and was thrown out only two times. He did this in a season where National League players overall were successful in only about 54 percent of their attempts (755 SB to 634 CS). Carey’s great success had to balance out the futile effort of players like Pat Duncan, for example, who stole 12 sacks in 40 attempts.

It is rare in modern times for a player with 30 or so theft attempts in a season to have less than a 50 percent success rate. In 1977 when the Pirates were having one of their big running years, Al Oliver had 13 steals and 16 caught stealing, and Dave Parker was 17 and 19. In 1974 Greg Gross of Houston was 12 and 20. In the old days these minus marks were much more common. In addition to Pat Duncan, who had 12 steals and 28 misses in 1922, Charles Hollocher was 19 and 29 that season. Barney Friberg was 19 and 27 in 1924; Babe Ruth 17 and 21 in 1923; Jack Fournier 20 and 22 in 1921; Billy Southworth 23 and 25 in 1920; and Miller Huggins 32 and 36 in 1914. The worst record was that of Larry Gardner of the Indians in 1920 with only three steals in 23 attempts. Even Ty Cobb had some less than average years, stealing only nine times in 22 attempts in 1922.

In the six years 1920-1925, there were only two great theft percentage years by players – Max Carey’s 51-2 mark in 1922 and Jack Smith’s 20-2 combination for the Cardinals in 1925. In the last six years, 1975-1980, there have been more than a dozen outstanding theft records. Davey Lopes could qualify for three of them, a 77-12 mark in 1975, 45-4 in 1978, and 44-4 in 1979. Joe
Morgan had marks of 67-10 in 1975 and 60-9 in 1976; Larry Bowa was 32-3 in 1977; Cesar Cedeno 23-2 in 1978; Bake McBride 28-3 in 1978; Larry Lintz 50-7 in 1974; Willie Wilson 83-12 in 1979 and 79-10 in 1980; Jerry Mumphrey 52-5 in 1980; and Ken Griffey 23-1 in 1980.

Lou Brock’s especially big season in 1974 is also cited, not so much because of the percentage (118-33) but because of the sheer magnitude of the effort. He made 151 attempts that season, averaging almost one per game, and seemingly would have been a logical candidate for the most caught stealing record. Ironically, the NL record is still held by Miller Huggins, who in 1914 was caught stealing 36 times while stealing only 32 bases.

Cobb still holds the American League record by being thrown out 38 times in 1915 when he was swiping 96 bases. Clyde Milan was 88-33 in 1913. Willie Wilson and Maury Wills show up very well in a comparison of the most active runners of this century. Wilson’s percentage figures for both 1979 and 1980 and Wills’ first big effort of 104-13 in 1962 were really outstanding. The 1980 records of Rickey Henderson (100-26) and Ron LeFlore (97-19) also were remarkable considering how frequently they were running.

Both Willis in 1962 and Wilson in 1979 and 1980 led in theft percentage even though they had a very high number of attempts. Such an outstanding performance is unusual, as can be seen in the accompanying tabulation of those players since 1920 with the best annual steal percentage. The compilation is based on at least 20 attempts for a 154-game schedule and 21 for the 162-game slate. In the second column at right are listed the players caught stealing the most each season. To put their sometimes futile efforts in perspective, we have listed also their number of thefts. Note that in the National League in 1962, Wills and Bill Virdon led in caught stealing with 13. Wills, however, had 104 steals to only five for Virdon. It also should be noted that in a few seasons the player with the most caught stealing nevertheless had the highest stealing percentage. See for example Willie Mays in the NL in 1956 and Luis Aparicio in the AL in 1964.

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A strikeout artist, Barnhill threw so hard that he scared himself. “I was afraid I might hit somebody,” he says. Fortunately, his control was as good as his fastball. When he was “right” he could throw as hard as the legendary Satchel Paige. Hall of Famer Buck Leonard of the Homestead Grays, who faced Barnhill year- in and year-out, concurs, “He was a humdinger. He was one of the best we had in our leagues. He threw just as hard as anybody. He was right up there with Slim Jones and Satchel Paige, right next to them.”

Indeed, there were some who maintained that there really wasn’t any difference between Satchel and Dave. This contention was illustrated one year when Barnhill was recruited to pitch behind Satchel Paige for the Kansas City Monarchs on a barnstorming trip. This particular day the Monarchs were playing the Toledo Mudhens, a AAA white ballclub. Satch shut out the Mudhens over the first four innings, yielding a single hit while striking out 10 batters.  The slightly embarrassed Toledo manager approached Frank Duncan, the Monarch’s manager, and said, “Hey, how about putting somebody else in so we can kinda even things up. After all, We’re a major league farm club.” Duncan looked down to the bullpen where Barnhill was warming up and said, “How about that little guy down there?” The Toledo manager quickly agreed, “O.K., put him in.” Dave walked out to the mound, wound up and threw the first pitch – and the batter just stood there with his bat on his shoulder, not believing a little man could throw so hard. And so it went for the rest of the ball game. Dave pitched the last five innings without allowing a hit while striking out 11. After the game Toledo’s manager came into the clubhouse and said to Duncan, “You think you’re smart, that you pulled a fast one or something.” Duncan said, “What do you mean?”  Toledo’s manager explained, “You said that you’d take Satchel out but you didn’t. You just took him over behind the dugout and cut his legs off and put him right back in.” Dave chuckles when recounting the incident.

Satchel figured prominently in Barnhill’s career. As the “ace” on the New York Cubans’      pitching staff, he and Satch were matched up every time the Kansas City Monarchs came to town. Dave remembers, “Normally when Satchel pitched against other teams he would only pitch three innings and if he got one score ahead, he would come out. But anytime he came to play the Cubans, I had to pitch against him so he had to pitch nine innings. He didn’t let my team get nothing and I didn’t let his team get nothing. We didn’t have any of that foolishness about pitching three innings and coming out.”

It was the same way in the East-West game, which was the Negro Leagues’ All-Star game. When Satchel pitched, Dave pitched and when Satch started, Dave started. This classic match-up provided Dave with his biggest thrill in baseball, as he and Satchel were the opposing pitchers starting the 1943 All Star game at Comiskey Park in front of 52,000 fans.

Some might think that this would make anyone nervous. After all, facing a legend in front of 52,000 screaming fans is a far cry from playing stickball in the streets of Greenville, North Carolina, where he learned his baseball skills as a youngster. But Dave Barnhill was always cool and collected on the mound. He recalls, “When I walked out of the clubhouse and saw all those people, then I wanted to put on my big show. That ain’t no time to be nervous.”

And the record backs up his claim. In his three All Star appearances from 1941 through 1943, he pitched a total of nine innings, giving up only two runs, while striking out six batters. This was accomplished against the best in the Negro American League, including such stalwart hitters as Cool Papa Bell, Newt Allen, Alex Radcliffe, Neil Robinson, Ted Strong, Buck O’Neill, Parnell Woods, Willard Brown and Jimmy Crutchfield. The veteran Crutchfield, who was then playing with the Chicago American Giants, vouches for what the Toledo players had found out earlier. “There were days when he could throw as hard as Satchel.” Hard-hitting All-Star outfielder of the Newark Eagles, Johnny Davis (who had to face Barnhill all season long), picks Dave as the pitcher who gave him the most trouble. Hall of Famer Cool Papa Bell is more direct and to the point: “He threw smoke.”

It was during these halcyon years that Barnhill received the first hope that he might get the opportunity to pitch in the major leagues. In a telegram dated July 24, 1942 (more than three years before Robinson signed with the Dodger organization and before any black player had a tryout with a major league team), he received the following message from Sports Editor Nat Low: HAVE JUST ARRANGED WITH  WILLIAM  BENSWANGER, PRESIDENT PITTSBURGH PIRATES, A TRYOUT FOR YOU WITH TEAM IN PITTSBURGH SOON. CONGRATULATIONS. WON’T YOU PLEASE GET IN TOUCH WITH ME SO THAT WE CAN MAKE FULL ARRANGEMENTS?

For whatever his reasons, Benswanger backed out of his commitment, denying Barnhill a chance to be the first black player in Organized Baseball in modern times. Regarding the incident, Dave remembers, “He (Benswanger) was scared to take a chance.”

Dave wasn’t discouraged. He knew from his barnstorming trips that he was good enough to play in the major leagues. He continued his winning ways in the Negro National League, coming back from a sore arm to team with Luis Tiant, Sr., and pitch the New York Cubans to a championship in 1947. Neither he nor Tiant lost a game during that season. He also picked up another victory in the Negro World Series that year, shutting out the Negro American League champion Cleveland Buckeyes, 6-0, as the New York Cubans took the series four games to one. That winter Dave went to Cuba for the first of three winters that he spent with the Mananao team. He led the league in strikeouts while compiling a 2.26 ERA. One game, played January 10, 1948, was especially noteworthy. In this game Barnhill locked up with Connie Marrero, who was to spend five major league seasons with the Washington Senators, in a 15 inning 0-0 marathon in which Dave struck out 15 batters while allowing only two walks and five hits before the game was called. In the opposing lineup were future major leaguers Monte Irvin, Sam Jethroe and Dee Fondy as well as Negro League All Stars Gene Benson and Pee Wee Butts.

The next winter Dave did even better, leading the Cuban League in victories as well as completed games. The Giant organization signed him and Ray Dandridge, veteran black third baseman, to contracts. Buck Leonard states, “Now you take Dandridge and Barnhill, they could have gone right on to the majors.” Ray Dandrige himself agrees and says of Barnhill, “He was one of the best pitchers there was. During that time he was great.” But the major league “powers-that-be” thought that black players needed time in the minors to adjust to playing with white players. And although both Barnhill and Dandridge had been playing with white players for years in the winter leagues, they were sent to the Giants’ AAA farm team, the Minneapolis Millers. There they pitched and batted the team to the championship in 1950. Dandridge batted .311 and earned MVP honors while Dave compiled an 11-3 won-lost record. This earned him a second brush with the major leagues.

Dave remembers, “The year we won the championship, Leo Durocher was going to call me up because I had a pretty good year and he was going to call me up like they do a lot of ballplayers at the last part of the season. Let them play with the major leaguers. But we got into a play-off. I told Dandridge, “My goodness, I could have gone up and got a cup of coffee and come on back.”

But it was never to be. By then Dave was 36 years old and past a player’s prime, instead of going to the major leagues he stayed at Minneapolis and helped launch a youngster named Willie Mays. Later the Giants sent him to Oakland in the Pacific Coast League. From there he returned to Florida to be near his family and pitch for Pepper Martin’s Miami Beach Flamingos. He closed out his O.B. career with Fort Lauderdale in 1953.

After ending his baseball career, he began work for the Miami Department of Recreation and Parks, from which he just recently retired. A handsome plaque presented to him by the Miami City Commission upon his retirement reads as follows:  TO DAVE BARNHILL IN GRATEFUL APPRECIATION FOR YOUR OUTSTANDING DEMONSTRATION OF SKILLS AND DEVOTION TO DUTY WHILE EMPLOYED BY THE CITY OF MIAMI FROM SEPTEMBER 1953 THROUGH JANUARY 1981. YOUR PERFORMANCE HAS BEEN AN EXCELLENT EXAMPLE TO THOSE WHO WORKED WITH YOU. This vividly describes the qualities that made Dave the kind of ballplayer he was as well as the kind of man that he is.

Today, Dave Barnhill lives in Miami with his gracious wife, Susie, and their lovely daughter, Scherry Lee.

At one time Lou Gehrig was credited with an American League record of ten consecutive RBI games, which he achieved twice in 1931 and once in 1934. Then further research shoed that Babe Ruth and Al Simmons each had 1 1-game streaks in 1931. Then it was found that Red Sox playing manager Joe Cronin knocked in runs in 12 straight games in 1939 and that his star outfielder, Ted Williams, also had a 12-game string in 1942. In the National League, Mel Ott for many years was carried as the leader with an 11-game streak made in 1929, but two years ago it was discovered that Paul Waner had achieved a 12-game run in 1927.

The Elias Sports Bureau felt that it was time that this evolving run production drama be brought to a climactic conclusion. We decided to research all the official records of runs batted in since they achieved that status in 1920 to see what “great slugger” had achieved the longest string of RBI games. It took considerable checking and rechecking but we finally came up with a 13-game record-holder in the American League and a surprising 17-game streaker in the National League.

They were two Chicago players of modest reputation – Taft Wright of the 1941 White Sox, and Oscar Ray Grimes of the 1922 Cubs. They were good hitters, with lifetime records well over .300, but they didn’t have very long careers and were not regarded as Particularly good run producers. Nevertheless, they did have legitimate streaks which are of interest also because of some unusual aspects.

First the 13-game streak of Taft Wright in 1941.

The hefty White Sox outfielder was in his third season and playing his first full game of 1941 when the string was launched modestly on May 4 with an RBI single in four trips against Philadelphia. The streak became even more “modest” in the third, fourth and fifth games when Wright failed to hit in each contest, yet was credited with an RBI each day. On May 7 he hit a sacrifice fly; on May 10 11e was walked twice, once with the bases loaded; and on May 11 a run scored on his infield out. After driving in two runs with two hits on May 13, he had another hitless day on May 14 but drove in a run with an infield out. He knocked in four runs with a homer and a single on May 15 and then had two more hitless games where he moved one runner home with a sacrifice fly and another with a force out. He made up for the hitless days with four hits on May 18, producing four runs. After two more run-producing games, the 13-game streak came to a close in Philadelphia on May 21.

The remarkable achievement was magnified in that in six games he knocked in runs without any hits. In that way he edged out the great AL sluggers like Ruth, Gehrig, Foxx, Simmons, and Ted Williams of an important run production record. Wright ended the 1941 season with 97 RBIs, the most on the White Sox team, and the best of his nine-year career.

The NL record was established by Ray Grimes, who made it to the majors with the Red Sox in 1920. That was also the debut year of his twin brother Roy. Roy lasted only one year, but Ray went on to the Cubs where he played first base and had a very good season in 1922, hitting .354. That was the year of his streak, which started in the second game of a twinbill with Pittsburgh on June 27. The next day he had lumbago and did not play. He returned to the lineup on June 30 and had at least one RBI through the July 8 twinbill. Ironically, he played only one inning of the second game, but connected for an RBI single before leaving the game with a wrenched back.

The injury was serious and he did not return to first base until July 18 when he celebrated with a homer, double and two singles to lead the Cubs to a 6-3 victory over the Phils. On July 21 he doubled in the only run of the game to give Grover Alexander a 1-0 thriller over Dutch Ruether of the Dodgers. Grimes continued to hit well, driving out extra-base hits in six straight games. Finally, on July 25, in a game against Boston he failed to produce a run. His big chance came in the fourth inning with two teammates on base, but Grimes was walked to load the bases.

His spectacular 17-game RBI streak was not noted at the time, probably because he was absent from the lineup on two occasions, once for nine days. However, the RBI streak, like a consecutive game hitting streak, is based on the games the individual plays and not necessarily those that the team plays.

Ray Grimes, Cubs, 1922

Taft Wright, White Sox, 1941