by Glenn Stout
RED SOX RUN EASY—CHOCK FULL OF CONFIDENCE AND NOTHING TO WORRY
As August unfolded and the Red Sox slowly and inexorably increased their lead over the Senators—stretching it to six, then seven, then eight games—the Senators, apart from Johnson, slowly ran out of steam, and any dreams Washington had in regard to the pennant slowly evaporated. Washington fans—indeed, fans of any American League team but Boston—had little to look forward to other than Johnson's march toward the record book.
His effort was immense—Johnson almost kept the Senators alive through his own force and will, starting and relieving without regard to his health. On August 15 he won his thirteenth game in a row with a win in relief against Chicago, then started and beat the White Sox the next day for his fourteenth consecutive victory, facing only twenty-nine batters and twirling a one-hitter. Four days later, on August 20, he entered a game in relief with only one out in the first inning against Cleveland and pitched a shutout the rest of the way, emerging with yet another victory, number fifteen in a row. And then, on August 23, he toppled Chesbro in the record books with his sixteenth straight win by beating the Tigers to run his record to 29-7.
In the meantime Joe Wood played the snake in the grass. While the attention of the baseball world was increasingly focused on Johnson, Wood just kept winning.
On August 10 in Detroit, with Ty Cobb under the weather and out of the lineup, Wood beat the Tigers 4–1 in the rain, scattering seven hits and striking out ten. But after the game Wood said his right arm felt "a little lame," and the Globe reported that "Joe Wood was complaining of a very sore arm yesterday." The paper noted that Wood would not pitch again until August 15 or 16. Once again, the wise move for Stahl might well have been to give Wood even more rest and possibly skip a start or two to make sure he was strong for the postseason, but that kind of progressive thinking was not yet in vogue.
Besides, there were other elements at play. The Red Sox, beginning to admit to themselves that an appearance in the World's Series was in the offing, cautioned fans to "hang on to their rain checks" so that they would have "indisputable evidence that they are general fans and regular attendants at the games, and thus gain special consideration in the award of tickets." Fans were beginning to look ahead as well, and a near-capacity crowd of eighteen thousand turned out for the doubleheader against St. Louis on August 14. Finally, with the weather no longer a concern and the Red Sox riding a wave, McAleer's club was beginning to fill Fenway Park on a regular basis. The owner was eager to maximize the gate, and Joe Wood put fans in the seats.
When the Sox arrived at Fenway Park to face the Browns, they were surprised to find brand-new home uniforms hanging in each locker, as well as new, garish, double-breasted crimson coats, each with six big white buttons, white trim on the collar and the pockets, and the name "BOSTON" and a "B" emblazoned over the left breast. Their old uniforms had been a creamy white with the name "RED SOX" across the chest in plain block letters, a plain white hat, and socks with a broad horizontal red stripe. The new uniforms were white with red pinstripes, but otherwise unadorned. They would also soon unveil new, pinstriped road uniforms that were similar to the new home uniforms in every way except for being gray and having the "RED SOX" name in block letters across the breast.
Whether it was because of pressure to appear before a big crowd, because his arm felt better, or because Wood was already thinking about his winning streak and didn't want to miss an opportunity to beat the worst team in the league, after Charley Hall won, 8–2, in a spot start in game 1, Wood took the mound in game 2. He was magnificent, shutting out the Browns, striking out nine, and adding two hits. But all might not have been well. Although one reporter observed that "Joe Wood's arm looked mighty good for a lame one," it was noted that "he lobbed 'em up a lot and altogether had an easy day's work."
RED SOX CELEBRATE WITH A DOUBLE WIN—HALL AND WOOD IN THE BOX—LATTER WINS FOR 25TH TIME IN 29 GAMES
Even then, he got little rest. Two days later Buck O'Brien and the Red Sox trailed the Browns 3–2 after seven innings. To start the eighth Stahl called upon Wood—who didn't give up a run and struck out the side in the ninth—but the Red Sox failed to score and still lost, 3–2. The next day, Saturday, Detroit came into Boston, and Red Sox fans turned out in droves. "Long before the game started," wrote Tim Murnane, "every seat was filled. The crowd kept on coming, filling the back walks of the grandstand and finally bursting out on to the field back of third base taking advantage of every spot where a view could be had of the players."
"Back of third base" referred to the empty space in foul ground between the end of the grandstand and the fence that marked the park's northern border. There was nothing so strange about that—overflow crowds had sometimes spilled over into that area before. But Murnane also noted that "many were forced to look through the wire screen at the foot of the grandstand, yet no one kicked."
Murnane was referring to a place where no fans had ever been before and have probably never been since: squeezed into the narrow space that once existed beneath the concrete slab that formed the floor of the box seats at the foot of the grandstand and the ground. Since the stand was not faced with solid concrete all the way to the ground but was supported by only the occasional column, the effect created a narrow "overhang" about two feet high and eleven feet deep that ran beneath the box seats. To prevent stray balls from rolling beneath the stands, the gap was covered with a wire grate. The club never envisioned that anyone would try to watch a game from that perspective and had not bothered to barricade access to the area underneath the stands. But on this day desperate spectators crawled into the ersatz cavern on their bellies, sharing the space with rats, and watched the game while lying prone on the ground, their faces pressed against the screen, only inches above the field. These were not standing-room seats, or seats of any kind at all. More accurately, they were "lying-down" seats. Boston fans were never more enterprising and insistent than when the stands at Fenway Park were full and they wanted to see the game in person.
They all got their money's worth and more. The game had to be stopped several times and the crowd pushed back behind ropes. Even Boston players lent a hand. Jerome Kelley's crew was overwhelmed by the task, and Paul Shannon reported that "Red Sox players drove home the posts that held the crowd in check," using bats as hammers. Boston fought back from a 3–0 deficit with five runs in the seventh inning to take the lead. In Washington, where the game between the Naps and Senators had already ended, eight thousand fans still desperately hoping for a Boston collapse stayed inside the park to watch the result on the scoreboard. When the five-spot went up in Boston's half, "a chorus of groans" reportedly echoed through the Washington park.
But Boston's rally extracted a price. Jake Stahl, perhaps because of the size of the crowd, decided to do all he could to squeak out a win and in the seventh inning had Olaf Henriksen pinch-hit for Ray Collins. The move worked, but now he needed a pitcher.
Stahl, apparently concluding that even if Wood's arm was too sore for him to start he could still relieve, sent him out to the mound to pitch the eighth. The crowd roared with approval as their hero strode onto the field and toed the rubber. He retired the side in order in the eighth, but in the ninth, leading 6–3 with two outs, he began to falter. Catcher Oscar Stanage tripled, and pitcher George Mullin singled to make the score 6–4 and bring up leadoff hitter Davy Jones, the tying run. Fortunately for the Red Sox, Wood had one more good fastball left in his right arm, and he jammed Jones, who lifted a weak infield fly to end the game.
Sunday was an off day, but after Bedient beat the Tigers on Monday, Wood, despite his obvious fatigue, got the ball on Tuesday to pitch the series' finale. He still wasn't right, as it was reported that he depended on a "rare assortment of curves" to tame the Tigers. But he was nevertheless effective, winning 6–2 and, according to Murnane, "working Ty Cobb as a mother would a rich mine owner for her daughter," teasing him with curves and slow balls, holding the Tiger star to one hit and co
llecting his twenty-sixth win. The victory was his third in the last ten days over five appearances and his eleventh in a row.
Rest was not part of Stahl's plan for his ace pitcher. Wood took his regular turn against Cleveland just four days later, on Saturday, August 24. Once again Fenway Park was packed to the rafters to see Wood and the Sox erupt for an early 6–0 lead. After getting the lead, Wood reportedly took things easy again, using his breaking ball and changeup more often than usual. He won, 8–4, but gave up runs in three of the last four innings.
Sunday gave all of Boston a chance to take a break from the day-to-day drama of the season and assess the state of the Red Sox. Apart from a complete and utter collapse of historic proportions, the Red Sox were on course to win the pennant by double digits—if Wood's arm held up. Tris Speaker was hitting .401, Larry Gardner .311, and Hick Cady a robust .295 since seeing regular playing time, while Wagner and Duffy Lewis were both enjoying perhaps the best season of their careers. Together they made Boston's offense the most potent in the league.
Wood, however, was still the big story, and now the writers and fans began looking ahead. The press noted that in another ten days or so Wood and Johnson, whose winning streak now stood at sixteen games, might just meet up. The specter of Johnson, who by then might be going after Marquard's mark, facing Wood, hot on the heels of the same record, was absolutely delicious, particularly for the sporting men in the crowd. Such a contest would draw heavy betting action not just in Boston and Washington but over the entire country.
Washington manager Clark Griffith was no more cautious with Johnson than Stahl was with Wood, and even though the Senators trailed Boston by nearly ten games, he was still pushing hard for every victory. On August 26, with Washington and the Browns tied 2–2 in the seventh inning, men on first and second, and one out, Griffith called on Johnson to pitch in relief of Tom Hughes, one of thirteen such appearances he would make over the course of the season. Johnson struck out the first hitter he faced, but then gave up an uncharacteristic wild pitch, followed by a base hit, to give up two runs. Washington then went on to lose the game, 4–3.
Under today's scoring rules, Johnson would not have been credited with the loss. The two runners on base when he entered the game would be considered the responsibility of the pitcher who was on the mound when they reached base. But scoring rules in 1912 were much less clear, and a consistent scoring system would not be put in place until after the 1912 season. Had the game taken place in the National League, Hughes, not Johnson, would have been given the loss, but in the American League it was up to the official scorer to assign credit for the loss. Given Johnson's streak, however, scorekeeper Joe Jackson of the Washington Post was uncomfortable making such a ruling. He wired Ban Johnson, whom sportswriters referred to as "the custodian of the last guess" in such situations, to render a decision. Johnson responded that since Walter Johnson was on the mound when the winning run scored, he should be given the loss. He later explained: "[Johnson] had a chance to win the game by saving it. He failed. Therefore he is entitled to shoulder the blame.... I will not stand for any 'padding.'" The loss halted Johnson's streak at sixteen games and dropped his record to 29-8.
All of Washington howled at the ruling, which they felt was unfair. But Johnson, true to form, was magnanimous in defeat, saying, "It would be unfair to charge Tom Hughes with a defeat just to keep my record clean ... I lost the game."
However, there may also have been a bit more to it than that.
The Giants, who had been virtually unbeatable over the first half of the season, now seemed out of steam. The NL pennant was still a certainty, but the question of the world championship remained open. Based on recent developments, not only did it seem likely that the Red Sox would win the pennant, but if they maintained their current level of play, the Sox seemed likely to beat the Giants in the Series. That was an outcome that Ban Johnson relished, for there was still considerable enmity between the two leagues and between Johnson and Giants manager John McGraw, who detested one another.
A decade before, McGraw, like James McAleer, had been one of Johnson's favorites when he was the player-manager of the American League's Baltimore franchise. But to John McGraw a baseball game was a battle to be fought every second and victory an outcome sought by any means necessary. After McGraw had incited a crowd to attack an umpire, Johnson suspended him, and the relationship between the two men began to sour. McGraw became increasingly belligerent and later that year got into a series of rows with umpires. Johnson had little choice but to suspend him indefinitely.
McGraw was both outraged ... and delighted. He was being courted by the New York Giants of the National League, and in his mind the suspension set him free. Sure enough, McGraw signed with the Giants, a treasonous act in the eyes of Ban Johnson, who was best described as a man who "always remembers a friend and never forgets an enemy." Ever since that time there was little that Johnson liked better than sticking it to McGraw in ways both large and small, and the World's Series of 1912 seemed likely to present another opportunity to do just that.
On August 24—two days before Johnson's streak came to an end—Ban Johnson and Boston owner James McAleer were in Washington. Johnson asked McAleer to meet him for dinner, and the Boston owner agreed. McAleer knew full well that when Johnson asked him to jump, it was time to leave his feet. After all, Johnson had much more money invested in the Boston club than McAleer, liked to keep tabs on his investment, and as league president apparently had a plan to increase the value of that investment. Washington club president Tom Noyes had just passed away, leaving Washington manager Griffith, whose 10 percent stake in the club made him the largest shareholder, temporarily in charge. With McAleer acting as his willing frontman, the two men asked Griffith to join them for dinner at a private club.
The three men extended their condolences, talked baseball, and chatted about league affairs over drinks and a multi-course dinner, and then, to no one's surprise, the dinner conversation eventually turned to Walter Johnson and his remarkable streak. As Griffith extolled the virtues of the game's best pitcher, McAleer and Johnson nodded in agreement. Then, during a brief lull in the conversation, McAleer turned to Griffith and dropped a bomb.
"I'll give you fifty thousand dollars for Johnson and you turn him over to me tomorrow. Here's a thousand dollars right here to bind the agreement."
Griffith was stunned. Raising an eyebrow and scanning the faces of both men, he asked, "Are you kidding me?"
"No, I'm not kidding," deadpanned McAleer as Johnson looked on silently. "Here's the thousand here on the table." With that, McAleer reached into his pocket, withdrew a fat roll of bills, and began counting out the money, stacking it on the table in front of Griffith. The cash had almost certainly been supplied by Johnson. McAleer neither had such resources himself nor could have made such a bold and expensive proposal without Johnson's input.
As the pile rose higher Griffith, processing the scene before him, slowly began shaking his head. "Nothing doing," he said. "You couldn't even buy him for one hundred thousand dollars." But McAleer left the money on the table. He maintained that he was serious in his offer and appealed to Griffith's allegiance to the American League, explaining that Johnson "would win the coming World's Series for my club alternating with Joe Wood."
From the perspective of Boston—and Ban Johnson—the tandem of Wood and Johnson pitching for the same team in the World's Series was absolutely delicious, as close to an unbeatable combination as it was humanly possible to create. Never again in the history of baseball, in fact, would two pitchers perform at such a high level during the same season in the same league. Together, not only is it likely that Johnson and Wood would have routed the Giants in the 1912 World's Series, but the deal could conceivably have tilted the balance toward Boston for a generation or more. Both pitchers were still young and presumably looking forward to another decade or more of success. The result might have been a dynasty to rival any in the game, for at some point, all at the same
time, the Red Sox roster might well have included Wood, Walter Johnson, Tris Speaker, and Babe Ruth.
But Griffith, whose nickname "the Old Fox" spoke to his acumen, would not be dissuaded. Although he was a supporter of Ban Johnson's league, he had had his own share of run-ins with the league president. In fact, when Griffith had first bought into the Washington club the previous fall, Johnson had reneged on a promise to loan him some money. And while the $50,000 offer was tempting—no player had ever commanded such a sale price—Walter Johnson was one of a kind, absolutely irreplaceable. Without Johnson, Griffith's stake in the team was worth considerably less than he had paid for it. Besides, Griffith knew that Washington fans would never forgive him if he sold the greatest player the city had ever seen. Washington was on pace to draw more than one hundred thousand more fans than in 1911, and Walter Johnson was the reason.
McAleer kept finding new ways to ask, but Griffith kept saying no as Johnson looked on and saw his great idea evaporate. McAleer finally stuffed the money back into his pocket and the conversation, now forced, turned to other matters.
Johnson did not forget. The league president was accustomed to getting his own way, and Griffith's refusal to sell his star may well have influenced Johnson's scoring decision a few days later. Now that the pennant race was over, Washington fans had little incentive apart from Johnson's streak to go to the ballpark for the remainder of the season. And now that Ban Johnson had put an end to it, they had even less of a reason to attend. Take that.