by David Nemec
Ironically, less than a month after he saddled Musial with an empty time at bat, Stanky was involved in another batting order boo-boo that saw his team profit from having a player hit out of turn, even though the mistake was caught. In a game against Cincinnati on August 21, 1953, first baseman Steve Bilko led off the Cardinals’ half of the second inning by grounding out. As rookie third baseman Ray Jablonski strolled to the plate, Stanky, suddenly realizing that Jablonski—not Bilko—had been scheduled to lead off the frame, sprinted up to home plate umpire Bill Stewart and notified him of the mixup. Stewart ruled Jablonski out for missing his turn, and Bilko was sent back to the plate since he was due up after Jablonski. Given a second opportunity, Bilko homered off Harry Perkowski for the game’s first run, and the Cardinals went on to win, 4–0.
The incident, though stemming from a seemingly honest mistake by a manager (though with Stanky you could never be sure), purportedly raised a thought-provoking issue that Baltimore manager Paul Richards seized upon in a 1960 game against Detroit. The story goes that Richards, knowing full well that his pitcher, Gordon Jones, was due up, instead sent leadoff hitter Jerry Adair to the plate. The story then has Richards later saying he purposely had Adair bat out of turn hoping he would work the count to 3-and-0 and Jones could then be rushed to the plate to finish the at-bat and get a walk before the Tigers appealed Adair’s batting out of order. But Adair spoiled his skipper’s plan by hitting a two-run single that was nullified when Tigers pilot Jimmy Dykes brought the violation to the umpire’s attention.
Many Clevelanders in the 1950s believed the Indians picked the wrong former major-league catcher to manage the Tribe after Lou Boudreau was fired when they went with Al Lopez. Had they instead gone with Paul Richards (right), the Indians and not the Yankees might have dominated the decade of the 1950s and then some. One more thing we will never know.
Nifty idea by Richards, right? Actually not. The tale, though widely circulated for many years (perhaps starting with Richards himself), is apocrophal from beginning to end. Adair wasn’t even on the team in 1960—let alone its leadoff hitter—until he was called up at the tail end of the season for a grand total of five at-bats. Nevertheless, as the rule presently stands, a manager—particularly in the National League where there is no DH for the pitcher—can still send up his leadoff batter with a weak-hitting pitcher due at the plate. Even if the leadoff batter reaches base and the opposing manager appeals—as he almost certainly will if he’s paying attention—little is lost since the pitcher is an almost certain out anyway. Meanwhile, the leadoff hitter has gotten an extra look at the pitcher that he may be able to turn to his advantage, as did Bilko.
5.04 (a) (3)
The first batter in each inning after the first inning shall be the player whose name follows that of the last player who legally completed his time at bat in the preceding inning.
In the early days of the game, this was not the case. In the first inning, teams were free to shuffle their batting orders at will depending on developments. After that, the batting orders were locked in for the rest of the game, but the first batter in each inning was not always the next batter in the order. Rather, he was the batter that followed the man who had made the last out in the previous inning. As an example, Smith is on first base with two outs and Jones is up; Jones singles Smith to second base. Brown, the next batter, rifles a single to center field but Smith is thrown out at the plate trying to score. Since Smith made the last out, Jones leads off the next inning with Brown to follow him. This process as a result often led to players deep in the order receiving more turns at bat than those near the top of the order.
Subsequent to the 1878 season, a form of the present rule was first introduced: “After the first inning the first batsman of subsequent innings shall be the striker who follows the last batter to complete a time at bat.” Its essence has remained a rule ever since.
5.04 (b) The Batter’s Box
The batter shall take his position in the batter’s box promptly when it is his time at bat.
Early rule books had no equivalent to Rule 5.04 (b) (formerly 6.02 (c)). In its absence an umpire, for the lack of an alternative, would simply rule a player out for “refusing to bat” if he did not come up to the plate for whatever reason. In a National League game against the Philadelphia Phillies on August 22, 1891, New York Giants hurler Amos Rusie was declared out in this fashion by umpire Tim Hurst. The following notation appeared in the box score of the game to explain why the Phillies registered only 26 putouts: “Rusie declared out for refusing to bat.” Adding to the puzzle is the fact that Rusie was on the losing end of the game, 9–5.
Whatever reason Rusie had for declining to take his cuts, it was not that he was a poor hitter. In 10 seasons he had a .247 career batting average, well above the norm for a moundsman in his time.
Tim Hurst defended his profession as an umpire by saying, “The pay is good, and you can’t beat the hours—three to five.” The pay was decent but nothing extraordinary, around $1,500, and Hurst would actually rather have been a player or a manager. Yet, for a small, hot-tempered Irishman from a coal mining family who was quick-witted and fast with his fists it was the ideal venue in the 1890s.
5.04 (b) (3)
If the batter refuses to take his position in the batter’s box during his time at bat, the umpire shall call a strike on the batter. The ball is dead, and no runners may advance. After the penalty, the batter may take his proper position and the regular ball and strike count shall continue. If the batter does not take his proper position before three strikes have been called, the batter shall be declared out.
But if the rules in 1891 on batters who were loath to bat were open-ended, there is still considerable leeway in how they are enforced. For instance, the amount of time a batter has to return to the batter’s box after being warned to do so depends heavily on the situation and the umpire. At the beginning of the 1993 season, with umpires under pressure to speed up games, there was an illustrative incident on April 16 in the Atlanta Braves’ first visit of the campaign to San Francisco’s Candlestick Park. In a game already studded with several heated disputes involving home-plate umpire Mark Hirshbeck, the Braves trailed the host Giants, 1–0, in the top of the ninth with two out, the potential tying run on second base, and Ron Gant at bat.
With the count at 1-and-0, Gant looked at a pitch from Giants reliever Rod Beck that he thought was ball two. Hearing it called a strike, Gant stepped out of the box and swatted the air with his bat—the traditional way for a batter silently to voice his disagreement with a call. Hirshbeck ordered Gant back into the box, and when he dallied, Hirshbeck signaled Beck to throw and then called the pitch a strike. Braves manager Bobby Cox flew out of the dugout to protest and was speedily ejected. Behind now in the count 1-and-2, Gant flied to right on the next pitch to end the game.
Afterward, Gant said of Hirshbeck’s decision, “It was worse than anything I’ve seen in Little League. What a joke.” Crew chief Bruce Froemming contended that Hirshbeck was merely following what was then Rule 6.02 (c) that had been on the books for a while, albeit seldom invoked until umpires were told to enforce it conscientiously to help speed up games. One San Francisco reporter chortled that the pitch to Gant while he was out of the box had looked low and outside but, given Hirshbeck’s wrath toward the Braves by that point, he probably would have called the delivery a strike even if Beck had heaved it into the stands. The reporter was apparently unaware that once Hirshbeck set the machinery of Rule 6.02 (c) into motion, he was obliged to call Beck’s pitch a strike regardless of where it was delivered.
5.04 (b) (4) The Batter’s Box Rule
(A) The batter shall keep at least one foot in the batter’s box throughout the batter’s time at bat, unless one of the following exceptions applies, in which case the batter may leave the batter’s box but not the dirt area surrounding home plate:
There are eight exceptions to the above rule, but this historic moment of action was not one of them. In
a 1965 game against the St. Louis Cardinals on August 18 at Sportsman’s Park, none other than Hank Aaron had a home run rescinded when he left the batter’s box in his hunger to tackle a Curt Simmons changeup. In the eighth inning, the Milwaukee Braves slugger rocketed the ball onto the right-field roof, but even before Aaron could start his tour of the bases, plate umpire Chris Pelekoudas signaled him out and soon afterward ejected Braves manager Bobby Bragan for protesting the decision. The Braves nonetheless won the game, 5–3.
“Aaron was running up on the pitch,” Pelekoudas said later in defense of his call. “His left foot was at least three feet out when he swung.” The lost four-bagger deprived Aaron of a home run that would have hiked his career total to 756. However, almost every other great slugger, including Babe Ruth, Jimmie Foxx and Lou Gehrig, also lost at least one home run during his career to a rule technicality or violation.
5.05 When the Batter Becomes a Runner
(a) The batter becomes a runner when:
(1) He hits a fair ball;
This rule seems so self-evident at first look as to be unnecessary. Surely a batter has always become a baserunner the moment he hits a fair ball. On the evidence, however, the rules were originally silent on the point. As a result, in 1874, a rule was introduced saying that when a batter has fairly struck a fair ball, he shall vacate his position and be considered a baserunner until he is put out or scores a run. This seemed clear enough, until some players began to test the rule in ways that its originators had not considered.
Ezra Sutton, a valued member of the Boston National League team for more than a decade and one of its seven ironmen in 1878 that played in all 60 official league games. The club’s other two regulars—shortstop George Wright and pitcher Tommy Bond—participated in 59 games.
On June 30, 1883, in a National League game between the Providence Grays and Boston Red Stockings, Boston scored the winning run in its 3–2 victory over Charley Radbourn through an imaginative bit of baserunning—or more accurately, non-baserunning—by Red Stockings left fielder Joe Hornung. With teammates Ezra Sutton on second base and Sam Wise on first, Hornung hit a routine groundball to Providence second baseman Jack Farrell. Sensing an easy double play in the making, Hornung stood fast in the batter’s box rather than running to first base. Since Hornung refused to try to make his base, in umpire Stewart Decker’s judgment he kept Sutton and Wise from being forced to vacate theirs, although both had started running as soon as the ball was hit. No longer subject to being forced out at second base, Wise had to be tagged in a rundown play between first and second involving Farrell and Providence first sacker Joe Start while Sutton whipped around third and scurried home safely.
On the evidence available, Decker was wrong in his judgment even at the time. Nevertheless, Hornung’s maneuver induced rule makers to tighten the 1883 equivalent to the present rule and apprise both umpires and the defensive team that even if a batter refused to leave the batter’s box, it could no longer be a sanctuary once he put the ball in play.
5.05 (a) (2)
The third strike called by the umpire is not caught, providing (1) first base is unoccupied, or (2) first base is occupied with two out;
Why is it important that first base not be occupied with less than two out in order for a batter to be entitled to run if a third strike is muffed by the catcher enabling a batter to make first base and the runner on first to move up at least one base or perhaps even more? Well, because it protects the team at bat from falling victim to an intentionally dropped third strike that can result in a double play or, quite possibly, even a triple play. Not until fairly late in the nineteenth century did a version of the current rule first appear in rule books. Before that time, a catcher could almost routinely orchestrate a double or triple play under the right circumstances. For example, with the bases loaded a catcher could deliberately muff a third strike, pick up the ball, and touch the plate, forcing out the runner on third, then throw to the third baseman for a second force out, at which point the third sacker had his choice to throw to either second or first base and complete the triple play.
With the umpire having no recourse to prevent it, this exact scenario occurred on a several occasions before the rule was changed. Interestingly, on at least one occasion, an umpire stymied a triple play in the making under what were the ideal circumstances for one to occur at the time. Until the mid-1880s when season schedules were lengthened to well over 100 games, major-league teams frequently played exhibition games against minor-league and independent clubs on their off days for the extra revenue. Often these games took place at their rival’s park, and there was precious little reportage, if any, on them. In an exhibition game at Indianapolis of the League Alliance on May 18, 1877, the visiting National League Boston Red Stockings faced the minor-league Hoosier club’s ace, “The Only” Nolan, and trailed, 2–1, heading into the seventh inning. At that point Boston loaded the bases with none out, a tailor-made situation for a possible triple play if the Red Stockings’ batter, catcher Blower Brown, struck out. When he did, the Hoosiers’ catcher, Silver Flint, later a fine defensive backstop with the National League Chicago White Stockings, purposely dropped the third strike and then initiated a quick triple play, tagging home base before firing the ball to third baseman Fred Warner for a force out there. Warner then routed the ball to second baseman Joe Quest to seemingly complete the triple play, but umpire D. T. Titus wasn’t buying it. According to the Boston Globe, to Indianapolis’s dismay, Titus “decided” only the striker, Brown, was out, “and after a wrangle of half an hour play was resumed.” When Nolan retired the next two batters on a foul out and a strikeout, Indianapolis escaped the inning still holding a narrow 2–1 lead, which was the score when the game ended.
All that is known of Titus is that he was a “foreigner” from New Jersey, and his umpiring was judged by the writer at the game, presumably an Indianapolis rooter, to be “as foreign as his residence.” Probably no one will ever know the extent of Titus’s umpiring career or if he even had one. Nor will it ever be known if he was familiar with the rules at the time and simply chose to ignore them because he didn’t fancy allowing such an easy triple play on his watch or instead was unfamiliar with many of their intricacies and made the call that just seemed to him the most sensible under the circumstances. It is also conceivable that he was cowed into a wrongheaded decision by the eventual 1877 National League champion Red Stockings and their venerated manager Harry Wright.
Whatever the case, we would not be reading about Titus now if it were not for this one decision he made on May 18, 1877, in the seventh inning at Indianapolis. For, in the eventual scheme of things, his call a few years later, rather than a subject of ridicule, became the norm.
5.05 (a) (5)
A fair ball passes over a fence or into the stands at a distance from home base of 250 feet or more. Such hit entitles the batter to a home run when he shall have touched all bases legally . . .
This rule makes it clear that a batter must make a complete tour of the bases after hitting an outside-the-park home run unless he is so severely disabled that he cannot, in which case a pinch runner has to finish the base tour and Rule 5.12 (b) (3) (a) applies. One of the more painfully amusing examples of the extremes to which umpires once had go in order to enforce this rule was seen by Brooklyn fans on August 5, 1926. Hall of Famer Zack Wheat, then in his 18th season with the Robins, pasted a home run over the wall off Jesse Haines in the bottom of the 10th inning of an 11–9 loss to the Cardinals at Ebbets Field. But by the time Wheat reached second base, he had twisted an ankle so badly he couldn’t walk, forcing him to sit down on the bag while he tried to massage his leg into allowing him to continue. When five minutes had elapsed and Wheat was still in too much agony to cover the final 180 feet, Robins manager Wilbert Robinson requested permission to have a courtesy runner complete the home run journey. Wheat begged for more time, however, and eventually was able to crawl to his feet and limp the rest of the way home. The trip was worth the eff
ort, though Wheat could not have known that then. The home run was the last he would ever hit at Ebbets Field, for he was released after the 1926 season.
At the close of the 1919 season, his 11th in the majors, Zack Wheat owned a .299 career batting average. With the coming of the Lively Ball Era in 1920, his career mark jumped 18 points to .317 in his final eight seasons. What are we to make of that beyond the obvious: that Wheat had a long career? Whatever we care to.
Incidentally, the phrase “entitles the batter” is of significance. There is still no rule that a batter is required to touch them all when he swats a ball out of the park. In today’s homer-happy climate, it is unimaginable that any batter would not. But while unusual, it was not unheard of for a batter to smack a ball out of the yard and stop at third base in the nineteenth century. One such instance occurred in a National League game at New York on April 25, 1889, between the Giants and Boston. Since New York opted to bat first, Boston came up in the bottom of the ninth trailing the Giants’ Cannonball Titcomb, 11–9. Here is what the next day’s New York Times had to say about the finale: “The Giants held the lead from start to finish. With the exception of the last inning the on-lookers never felt fearful of the result. At that stage, however, with two men out, Hardy Richardson hit over the left-field fence for a home run, but preferred to remain at third base so as to make Catcher [Will] Brown get close to the batter [Billy Nash]. The latter, however, did not bite at his bait. He paid no attention to Richardson, but retired the batsman after the occupant of third base had walked home.”
What exactly did Brown not bite on by refusing to move closer to the plate? Richardson’s threat to steal home! Brown would of course had to have been an idiot to take the bait, for Richardson’s run on a steal would only duplicate the relatively meaningless one he already could have tallied on his home run. But to Richardson it was worth a try. That was how little home runs meant 130 years ago.