Fenway 1912

by Glenn Stout

Tris Speaker knew his role. He got a good pitch and hit it hard, a ground ball that under normal circumstances would have knocked in a run. But this one was hit directly to Larry Doyle.

  Yerkes, running on contact, lit out for home. "It was a tense moment," reported the Times later. "The crowd jumped to its feet as the hot bouncer steamed toward Doyle, who set himself to check its course.

  "Shame on Larry! Set as he was for the ball the sphere didn't even tarry to flirt with his hands as he dug them into the dirt. The place where he dug was not the place where the ball passed." In other words, Doyle missed it, the hard ground ball going right between his legs. Yerkes, who would have been out by a mile had Doyle fielded the ball cleanly, danced home. Even though Speaker killed the rally when he forgot about his sore ankle and tried to take second, only to be thrown out by right fielder Red Murray, Boston now led 2–0.

  That was it. Pitching with a lead, Bedient, who had seemed nervous early, was now the epitome of calm as one Giant after another came to the plate and lifted an easy fly to the Boston outfield. Mathewson, too, seemed changed by the outburst—not another Boston hitter reached base the remainder of the game as he slammed the door.

  New York's only real chance to do any damage against Bedient came when Merkle hit a ground-rule double into the Duffy's Cliff bleachers to lead off the seventh and later scored on Larry Gardner's error. Bedient just yawned and got back to work, however, retiring the next seven hitters without incident. The Red Sox won, 2–1.

  WITH BEDIENT PITCHING THE GAME OF HIS LIFE, RED SOX WIN, 2–1

  "Four hundred and ten years ago today," wrote Hugh Fullerton after the game, "Mr. Columbus discovered America and this afternoon Mr. McGraw and some other millions of more or less transient New Yorkers discovered to their astonishment that the Boston Americans possessed more than one pitcher." Hugh Bedient's performance left the Red Sox only one win away from a world championship, and the Giants were now in the precarious position of needing to defeat Boston in three straight games.

  The young pitcher was lauded after the game, a Giant killer suddenly equal in status to Wood. In the Globe Wallace Goldsmith drew the pitcher as an actual giant of lore and legend, equal in size, next to Fenway Park, as the Prudential Center tower is today and crushing the baseball Giants beneath his grandstand-sized feet. As far as the championship aspirations of the Giants were concerned, the cartoon was no exaggeration. If they were to come back and win the Series, the Giants would somehow have to play David to the Goliath the Red Sox had become.

  Now the Giants, who had been so confident only a few hours before, turned on each other. Larry Doyle, he of the critical eighth-inning error, berated Fred Snodgrass for misplaying Yerkes's triple, and some members of the New York press unloaded on McGraw for not managing aggressively early in the game, when the Giants had had a few opportunities to put pressure on Bedient.

  The Giants left immediately after the game for New York since the next day, Sunday, was an off day—the first of the Series, due to the Sunday baseball ban. Meanwhile the Red Sox, who did not intend to leave for New York until Sunday evening, stayed in Boston.

  It might have been better if the Red Sox had not had time to stop and think. Over the next twenty-four hours the Red Sox players, manager Jake Stahl, and owner James McAleer had a chance to ponder the variables, and that might have been the worst thing that could have happened.

  No matter where you went, from McGreevey's saloon in Roxbury to the Oak Room at the Copley Plaza Hotel or the lobby of the Hotel Bretton Hall in New York, and no matter who was talking, from bartenders and sportsmen to newsboys, ballplayers, and chambermaids, if you were a baseball fan in either Boston or New York on Sunday, October 13, 1912, there was only one question on everyone's lips: who would the Red Sox pitch against the Giants on Monday? Not until 1948, when Sox manager Joe McCarthy selected Denny Galehouse to pitch the playoff game against the Cleveland Indians in Fenway Park, would the choice of a starting pitcher by a Boston manager be more controversial.

  Nearly everyone, except Bedient, was ready—Wood, Collins, and O'Brien—and there were sound reasons to select any of them. By Monday Ray Collins would have four full days of rest and Buck O'Brien three, and both had pitched effectively against the Giants earlier. In the Herald, Ralph McMillen speculated that "it looks very much like Buck O'Brien" and pointed out that Collins had warmed up before game 5 and would probably do the same in game 6. In the Post, Paul Shannon also thought Stahl would pick O'Brien, writing that, "while with Wood in the box the Boston team would not have the slightest doubt of the issue, the players are anxious to see the Buck return to the rubber and redeem himself." But in the Globe, Tim Murnane reported that "Joe Wood is anxious to go again." Although he cautioned that "Wood with two days' rest will not be at his best," he admitted that one reason not to pitch Wood was that if Wood were to pitch the contest and then lose, "the Giants would be in the stronger position" for the rest of the Series. In addition, if Stahl held Wood back a day, then Bedient might also be available for game 7. The players, in their various ghostwritten columns, were blandly magnanimous, evincing confidence in victory no matter who pitched. The New York World reported that "opinion was about evenly divided" among the Red Sox players over who would pitch, and another report suggested that half "the boys" expected Wood to take the mound and half either Collins or O'Brien. Their preference probably split along ethnic and religious lines between the KCs and the Masons. Everything else did, and this situation was no different.

  There were many reasons for Stahl to pitch Wood. For one, Wood wanted the ball, and that was not insignificant. He had carried the Sox this far and felt he deserved to have the ball in his hand when they won. For another, many observers believed that whenever a team had a chance to win a championship, they should do so with all due haste. That meant using the best pitcher if at all possible. Although, after pitching on Friday, Wood would have to pitch on only two days' rest, that was not a major concern. In his last start he had handled the Giants after only two days' rest between games 1 and 4, and Wood had lost only five times all season, no matter how much or how little rest he had. Were he to lose on Monday, in theory he might still pitch the finale on Wednesday, and no one thought he could lose twice, not even when pitching on one day of rest. These were the days when pitchers were ironmen, and little thought was given to the future.

  But that argument also assumed that Wood's arm was healthy. No one, apart from Wood himself, knew if that was the case. While he had appeared stronger in his two World's Series appearances than he had late in the regular season, his change of speed and his dependence on "drop" balls during game 4, as noted in the press, were either red flags for a sore arm or a sign that he was becoming a pitcher, not just a thrower, one who had successfully changed his approach to keep the Giants off balance.

  Although the question of who Stahl would select to pitch made great conversation, the Red Sox, needing only one more win, had the Giants on the run, and most players were anxious for the Series to end regardless of who pitched. The season had been long, and the finish was in sight. Some players were already making plans to leave for their homes directly from New York after Monday's game—Charlie Wagner had a new son to spend time with, and Bedient, Hall, and Collins all had new brides waiting at home. The Giants were down on the ground; it was time to step on their neck and put them out of their misery. All Stahl had to do was make a decision.

  If in fact the decision was Stahl's to make. When Stahl and the Red Sox boarded their train for New York at five-thirty Sunday evening, the manager may well have learned that the choice was not his alone.

  Barely a hundred fans saw the club off, for most of the Rooters had already left for New York. "The boys feel pretty sure of the result," quipped Stahl as he boarded the train. The question of who would pitch was still up in the air, but as he climbed aboard Joe Wood told a New York reporter, "I am ready to pitch tomorrow if wanted, but I have not heard yet whether I am to be called on."

  James McAle
er had stayed in the background for much of the Series, allowing his manager and his players to do most of the talking for the team, saying little more than that he had faith in his club and expected to win. But McAleer was under some financial pressure—he had gone into debt to buy into the team, and the other investors in the club were at least as concerned with dollars and cents as with hits and runs. Although the World's Series had been lucrative so far, everybody could do the math: every additional game the Red Sox played meant money in the bank because, from game 5 forward, the players didn't get another dime. Ten percent of the gate went to the National Commission, and the Sox and Giants split the rest, giving the Sox around an extra $30,000 for each game played—nearly half their operating expenses for the year.

  That was something to consider. If the Series ended with game 6, the two teams were leaving as much as $60,000 on the table. Not that anyone was suggesting that the Red Sox should throw the game ... but if you owned a piece of the Red Sox there were worse things than losing game 6 and making an extra $30,000.

  There is a baseball axiom that if a team is concerned about anything other than winning, it is destined to lose. On the train ride to New York the evidence suggests that the Red Sox—both players and management—thought the Series was in the bag and may well have started to be more concerned about money than they were about winning.

  Although they would not receive any more of the proceeds from any of the games, the players still had ways to pick up some extra cash on the Series. Few were shy at all about gambling. It was an open secret that players often bet on baseball, a practice no one was much concerned about as long as it stayed quiet and as long as the players did not bet against themselves or their own teams and did not try to fix games. Joe Wood, for example, loved to gamble and liked few things more than wagering on his skills with a cue stick in a billiard hall. Almost a decade later both he and Tris Speaker would admit to betting on baseball. In the wake of the Black Sox scandal, the incident may have played a role in Wood's premature retirement after the 1922 season, a year in which he hit almost .300 for the Cleveland Indians as an outfield regular after injuries forced him to give up his pitching career.

  The disagreement with the National Commission over the tie game left most players thinking they were due a little more, and making a smart bet or two was one way to recoup what they felt had been unfairly taken from them. Although the odds had tilted in Boston's favor—the Sox were now overwhelming favorites to win the Series—there was still money to be made on game 6, particularly if Wood, who they felt could not lose, was on the mound and Marquard, who had renewed Giants backers' confidence in him, was pitching for New York. As the train chugged to New York making money—not necessarily winning the game—became more and more important.

  McAleer, only one year removed from the manager's chair, was not shy about making "suggestions" to Stahl, but he was careful to do so privately. He did not second-guess his manager in public or offer ideas through the press. In turn, neither was catcher Bill Carrigan shy about expressing his opinion to either man. The owner himself wasn't altogether certain who deserved the most credit for Boston's big season—Stahl or the "Board of Strategy," Wagner and Carrigan. Both Hugh Fullerton and Fred Lieb reported, as Fullerton put it the day before the game, that "Stahl is being advised in this Series by Jimmy McAleer and they will have to see how the pitchers look tomorrow."

  Somewhere between Boston and New York, McAleer and Stahl sat and discussed who to pitch in game 6. In all likelihood their discussion fell along the lines outlined above, taking everything into consideration and hashing through every argument. Stahl, despite being a part owner himself, argued for Wood. McAleer, with Carrigan whispering in his ear, knew that, while winning game 6 and the Series in New York would be great fun, if the Sox were to lose, then pitching Joe Wood in game 7, winning in Boston, and putting another $30,000 in the owners' pockets would be even better. Damon Runyon, for one, judged that to be the probable case, writing later that the chance for an extra gate was part of "the baseball calculations of the local directors of the game."

  By the end of those calculations, and reportedly over the objections of Stahl, one name emerged: Buck O'Brien was chosen to start the game, a selection that may not have been entirely about winning.

  When the players reached New York they checked in together at the Hotel Bretton Hall. Tim Murnane, who rode on the train with the team, as did most other Boston writers on the off-day journey, later noted that, "after a time he [O'Brien] retired to his bed, anxious to be in shape for what he considered to be the chance of a life—to win the fourth game and the championship." This account is an indication, if Murnane is to be believed, that by that time Buck O'Brien knew he would get the ball the next day.

  It remained to be seen, however, whether O'Brien, like Wood and Bedient before him, could stake his claim as a Giant killer in his own right. Or whether the Giants, flat on their back under Boston's boot and barely breathing, might make a last stand and extend the Series. Over the next three days the baseball world would find out—and all hell would break loose in Fenway Park.

  14. Last Stand at Fenway Park

  No individual, whether player, manager, owner, critic or spectator who ever went through the World's Series of 1912 will ever forget it. Years may elapse before there is a similar series ... From the lofty perch of the "bleacherites" it was a series crammed with thrills and gulps, cheers and gasps, pity and hysteria, dejection and wild exultation, recrimination and adoration, excuse and condemnation...

  —John B. Foster, Spalding's Official Base Ball Guide

  BY BREAKFAST Joe Wood was ready to spit blood. He had learned that O'Brien was pitching that afternoon when everyone knew that it was he who deserved the honor. Wood was not happy, and not shy about letting everyone know. It was an affront not only to his competitive heart but to his wallet as well. Wood's brother Howard, whom everyone knew by his nickname Pete, had reportedly put $100 down on the game, betting on his brother and perhaps even using his brother's money. Another friend of Wood's supposedly bet another $500 on his behalf. And now Wood wouldn't even get a chance to take the ball and make back his money.

  He was not the only player who was upset. The Masons were together on this one in support of Wood, just as the KCs were behind O'Brien. By the time the Red Sox made it to the Polo Grounds the team that had played well together, even if they had not particularly liked one another, was starting to come apart.

  There was no question who the Giants would pitch. Rube Marquard was the logical solution, and even though McGraw floated a rumor that he had a sore arm, trying to throw Boston off, no one fell for it.

  As the Red Sox loosened up for the contest on another gray day at the Polo Grounds the division between the two factions on the club deepened. When Stahl posted his lineup not only was Buck O'Brien pitching, but Hick Cady would serve as his catcher. For the fourth game in a row Bill Carrigan would man the first-base coaching box.

  Now Carrigan was mad as well, and his anger probably incited some of the other KCs. It had been bad enough that Cady had usurped his role and become Joe Wood's personal catcher, and Carrigan had kept his mouth shut—publicly anyway—when Stahl chose Cady to catch Bedient, but this was too much. He considered himself Buck O'Brien's personal catcher. The two men were close friends and had even gone to Mass together on Sunday before leaving for New York. Carrigan confronted Stahl, but the manager wouldn't hear it.

  Stahl's confidence in Cady, both behind the plate and in the batter's box, had only grown over the course of the Series, and in September, while Carrigan had been briefly sidelined with the split nail and had joined Charlie Wagner in scouting the Giants, Cady had caught O'Brien and the duo had been fine together. O'Brien had won, and Cady had no trouble with his spitball, but now the KCs were as steamed as the Masons. Suddenly every man on the team had a gripe about one thing or another.

  When Marquard took the mound just after 2:00 p.m. the Red Sox were a divided team. The Rooters were
out in force, as more than six hundred had ponied up $15 apiece to cover the expense of taking the train to New York together—a price that included everything but their hotel rooms—and several hundred more Boston backers had traveled independently to New York. The New York crowd was a bit subdued before the game as the Boston fans went through the usual histrionics, and there was still a smattering of empty seats in the nether reaches of the ballpark. The Polo Grounds was some six thousand spectators shy of capacity, as many New Yorkers expected the Giants, whose cause was next to hopeless, to fold.

  But this was a different ball club than the one the Red Sox had played thus far in the Series. After the loss to Bedient, McGraw concluded that his team had been too passive, playing it safe and waiting for something to happen. Hell, the Red Sox were using a rookie catcher and two rookie pitchers, and his club had stolen only five bases the entire Series. It was time to fight, and before the game McGraw addressed his team like a union organizer on a soapbox, exhorting them to play aggressive baseball—swinging at the first pitch, stealing every base possible, and taking the fight to Boston. In short, it was time to play old-style Baltimore Orioles in-your-face baseball. McGraw believed that "if you catch a man from behind you take the heart out of him," and now that was exactly what the Giants had to do to the Red Sox.

  Everything started out fine for Boston. Harry Hooper, leading off, worked the count full before knocking a ground ball past Marquard. Larry Doyle got to the ball, but Hooper had an infield hit.

  As Yerkes stood in the batter's box, Hooper feinted off first, trying to distract Marquard, but the left-handed hurler caught Hooper leaning and fired to first. Hooper broke for second, then saw what was happening and managed to get caught in a rundown for a moment, but suddenly there was no place left to run and first baseman Fred Merkle slapped the ball on Hooper's thigh and he was out. Yerkes then lifted a routine fly ball out to center, but Speaker worked a walk from Marquard. The pitcher was having a hard time finding the plate.