UNCLE MERL'S BAR & GRILL

GAME TWO:

A ‘By-Line’ in the Brooklyn Courier

By

Peter "Lou" D'Alessio

Copyright 2010

 

Brooklyn Team Devastates Opposition,

Hell Beaten, 8 to 0 in Second Game

                              October 3, 1919    Brooklyn New York

 

 

 

After the tragic and undeserved loss yesterday, one might expect to have found our very own Brooklyn Ball Club disheartened and floundering, but such was not the matter.  John McGraw’s team rose mightily from its own ashes spurred on by the bat of a single soul.  Shout his name to the rafters and tout his virtues throughout our fair land, for a fallen hero has returned to us!  Let it echo over the nation as it echoed over the grounds and stands of our own grand Ebbets Field.  Joe Jackson has arrived to reclaim his title as Baseball’s greatest hitter.

This writer must admit that he did indeed question the soundness of Mister McGraw’s decision to set upon our sacred ground those very same Chicago White Sox that not so long ago cast a black, ugly shadow upon the very game itself.  But for those of our readers who were unable to attend this magnificent confrontation yesterday, never have I seen such flawless infielding, daring base running, or superb batsmanship.  On behalf of the infamous Chicagoans, they played as men possessed.  The wisdom of Muggsy McGraw to field a nearly complete unit was sound indeed.

Complementing the primarily White Sox infield, Cleveland has lent us Mr. Napolean Lajoie and his .422 batting average who, and as per league rules, guarded the second base.  Despite his seniority, he did so most admirably until releasing his assignment to Mr. Rogers Hornsby, late of the Saint Louis Ball Club, and his .424 batting average.

Betwixt Mr. Oscar Felsch and Mr. Jackson, Mr. Tres Speaker roamed center field, having replaced the beleaguered Ty Cobb.  His glove proved to be as damaging to the opposition as Shoeless Joe’s bat, robbing Mr. Yen-lo Wang and Mr. Abaddon of several hits.  Speaker did this by pulling down the balls driven to the deepest points of centerfield wall, not once but twice in each case.  He also delighted Brooklyn spectators by creating an unassisted double play, catching a short fly ball in shallow center at full pace and racing forward through the outfield to tag a base runner returning to second base.  Bravo, Mr. Speaker!

 

It should be noted, however, the day was not totally without mishap for the Brooklyn Club.  McGraw’s Starter, senior moundsman Rube Wadell, the man who once out pitched Cy Young for twenty innings, failed to perform.  As is seemingly his custom, Mr. Wadell arrived late, entered the field through the grandstands undressing as he crossed the field and exited in full uniform through the gate to pursue a fire brigade on its way to a local fire.  He did this despite a valiant attempt by Mr. McGraw’s own catcher, Art Devlin, to collect and return him for the opening pitch.

Realizing Wadell was no longer going to pitch on this day, McGraw produced upon short notice Mr. Grover Cleveland Alexander of the Philadelphia Phillies.  Alexander pitched seven innings, five of which produced neither hit nor run for the opposition.  He was removed in the top of the eight in favor of Batsman C. Stengle, formerly of the New York Highlanders.

Alexander made short effort of his adversaries, retiring two on called strikes and the third on a ground ball to the shortstop.  At the bottom of the inning Napolean Lajoie bunted cleanly and was called ‘safe’ at first.  He was moved neatly to second by sox batter Buck Weaver, who singled through the gap.  First baseman Gandil popped up to the catcher, setting the stage for the great Jackson.  Shoeless Joe placed a well-thrown curve ball into the upper level seating.

Be mindful, dear reader, that the immediate success of the Brooklyn bats was not due to a failure of pitching for the opposition.   Mr. Angra Mainya had, as they say, his stuff working quite well.  According to plate Umpire Robert Emslie, of the first dozen pitches thrown, clearly eleven were strikes!  However, with the advent of the batter subsequent to Jackson, Rogers Hornsby, it was obvious to all at the park, this was not Mr. Mainya’s day!  Mr. Hornsby’s line drive double brought the crowd to its feet and Mr. Scratch to the mound.

If the day did indeed belong to anyone, clearly it was Jackson.  Shoeless Joe was four for five at bat with an intentional walk being offered in the fifth.  Mr. Hornsby who obtained his first RBI curtailed this practiced from repetition by again doubling.  Thus being freed of this lame practice, Jackson collected another home run over the right field wall.  In all, he collected two home runs, a tremendous opposite field triple and a single on the day.  Add to this a spectacular run-saving catch against the outfield wall and one readily sees the havoc caused by this most capable of players throughout the course of the game.

Of the eight runs collected by the Brooklyn squad, Jackson accounted for five, Hornsby for one and a spectacular one by Mr. Casey Stengle of the Highlanders on an in-the-park home run to the insane delight of the Brooklyn crowd, who forgave him for being a Highlander.

On to the stadium!

WORTHY OF NOTE:

                The partisan Brooklyn fans strenuously questioned Mr. McGraw’s removal of Alexander from the mound.  However, much to McGraw’s credit as a Manager, his selection of the young Boston Red Sox Pitcher, left-hander George Ruth, could not have been more correct.  Ruth ably dispatched the last six batters in a row and with the game well in hand young George added a final run by hitting one that was but a foot or two short of escaping Ebbets field altogether.

 

 

                Max folded the paper he had been reading out loud to the small crowd that had gathered about him and looked over at me.  “Das’ how you saw the game?” he said, his voice rising, giving me cause to think that wasn’t the way it happened?

            I nodded.

            “Me too!”  His eyes returned to the newspaper.  “Oi!  Listen to dis!  We jus’ picked up Miller Huggins from the Yankees for the nex’ game!”  The room, which had been spattered with conversation, grew quiet with conversation.  “Huggy’ll go with what he knows best to vin!  The game’s in da bag!”  He laid the paper down and placed his paws flatly on top of it with a bang.  “He’ll bring his 1927 Yankees!  Combs, Meusel, Lazzari, Gehrig… and ‘The Babe’!  Murderer’s row is comin’ home to the Stadium to give the devil a beatin’!”

            Campy, returning with a couple of brews, plopped down joyously in the seat.  “Yo, kid!  If I know Huggy, he’s gonna fill his line up wid player like nobody seen in fify years.  Watch!  He’s gonna grab Mickey Cocrane from Detroit to catch an’ Walter Johnson an’ ‘Lefty’ Grove to pitch, Pie Trainor an’… an’ I’ll bet all the tea in china he’ll bring Jimmy Foxx—jus’ ta pizz’off The Babe!”

            I must have had a questioning look on my face, and Campy looked over at Max and grinned.  “I tol’ja!  Nobody ever remembers Jimmy Foxx.  Da guy had no poisinality!”  Max looked at me.  “Jimmy Fox hit Fify-eight homers in one season, two shy of The Babe’s record.  But he couldn’ drink, carouse, or clown like Babe.  Nobody ever h’remember who finished second in the record books!”

            “And that’s da troot!”  Campy snatched his favorite pacifier from its holder on the table and tossed it hand to hand.  “Kid, you’re gonna see the greatest gang a’ human players ever put ta’gedder!  Yesterday, old Shoeless Joe started rollin’ and we rolled right wid ‘em!  Today?  We got us a wreckin’ crew!  Kid!  We’re goin’ up two games to one da foist time the Bambino reaches da plate!”

 

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