Fantasy Baseball Advice

The date:  October 14, 1908.  The place:  Bennet Field, Detroit.  The event:  Game 5 of the World Series.  On that day, Orval Overall of the Chicago Cubs outpitched the Tigers’ ace Billy Donovan, winning the clinching game of the World Series 2-0.  Overall allowed the Tigers just three hits and had a formidable ten Ks.  Outstanding ballplayers in that series included the incomparable Georgia Peach, Ty Cobb; the immortal infield combination of Joe Tinker, Johnny Evers, and Frank Chance; and ace Mordecai “Three-Fingered” Brown, who would have likely been MVP of the Series if that award had been offered at the time.  There were only 6,210 fans in attendance that day; little did they know that they were witnessing the last Cubs World Series triumph in a century, and still counting.  In 1908, the Cubs had built not only the first baseball, but also the first all-sports, dynasty in the Modern Era.  The Cubs had appeared in three consecutive World Series and had won two back-to-back titles over the Tigers; the only blemish was an inexplicable loss to the Chicago White Sox in 1906 when the “Hitless Wonders” won the title despite batting under .200 as a team.  It should be noted that in 1906 the Cubs had 116 wins, a record that was tied by the Mariners 116 wins in 2001.  Since the Cubs played 12 fewer games that season than the Mariners, their winning percentage (.763) remains the highest in baseball history.

The Cubs won the National League pennant again in 1910, losing to the Philadelphia Athletics 4 games to 1.  Nothing remarkable about that; Connie Mack had painstakingly assembled his own dynasty in Philadelphia, featuring Hall of Fame pitchers Chief Bender and Eddie Plank, second baseman Eddie Collins (the smoothest fielder of his era), and the premier slugger of the Dead Ball Era, Frank “Home Run” Baker.  The Cubs lost again in 1918 to the Boston Red Sox 4-2.  Red Sox ace Babe Ruth set a record for consecutive World Series scoreless innings (29), not to be broken until 43 years later in 1961 by Whitey Ford (33).  They next appeared in the Fall Classic in 1929, losing to the Athletics once again, this time 4 games to 2.  Mack had re-established his Athletics, after selling off his stars, and the team was led by Al Simmons and catcher Mickey Cochrane.  The Cubs again won the pennant in 1932 and were swept by the Yankees; that was the series that Babe “called his shot.”  In 1935, the Tigers beat the Cubs 4-2 for their first World Championship, achieving a belated revenge for their two defeats by the Cubs three decades prior.  The Yankees swept the Cubs in 1938; again, they were a superior team, featuring Gehrig, DiMaggio and Bill Dickey, among others.

The Cubs didn’t appear in another World Series until 1945, playing the Tigers for the fourth time. Up to this point, the Cubs were 2-7 in World Series appearances, losing the last six in a row.  However, most of the losses could be explained as the result of facing clearly dominant teams, especially the two losses to Murderer’s Row and the pummeling by Connie Mack’s Athletics.  In this respect, they were much like the Brooklyn Dodgers of the 40’s and 50’s, a great team facing an even greater one in the Yankees.  Before 1955, no one had ever thought that the Bums were hexed, even though some of their losses were, perhaps, bizarre enough to get you to think twice.  The passed ball by Mickey Owens in the fourth game of the ’41 Series, allowing Heinrich to sprint to first base on what would have been the final out of the game opened the floodgates to a bitterly demoralizing 7-4 loss.

The 1945 World Series had started out auspiciously enough for Chicago; the Cubbies shellacked Tiger ace Hal Newhouser, who had won 25 games that year. (Newhouser remains the only pitcher to win both the Cy Young and MVP in back-to-back years.)  Although slugger Hank Greenberg led the Tigers to victory with a three-run homer in game 2, Claude Passeau pitched a one hitter in game 3, leading Chicago to a 3-0 triumph.

Here’s where things get interesting.  On October 6th, the Cubs were ahead of the Tigers, two games to one.  They needed to win but two of the next four games, all of which would be played at Wrigley Field.  On that date, William “Billy Goat” Sianis, who was a lifetime Cubs fan, as well as the owner of the Billy Goat Tavern, purchased two tickets to the game, one for himself, and one for Murphy, his pet goat, in an attempt to bring good luck to his favorite team.  Ballpark ushers tried to stop him from entering the park, but were unsuccessful.  Once inside the park, Sianis paraded Murphy around Wrigley Field, causing quite an uproar by the crowd.  Again, the ushers intervened, but Billy Goat and Murphy, after a heated argument, were allowed to go to their box seats.  Before the end of the game, Phil Wrigley, the owner of the Cubs, had both Sianis and Murphy ejected.  When questioned as to the reason for this action, Wrigley stated that fans were complaining concerning the goat’s objectionable odor.  (It should be noted that other accounts of the story reported that Sianis and Murphy had never been allowed into the park.)  According to Cubs lore, both Billy and his goat were outraged and Billy was quoted as exclaiming, “The Cubs ain’t gonna win no more.  The Cubs will never win a World Series so long as the goat is not allowed in Wrigley Field.”  Thus, the curse of the Cubs became official.  Subsequently, the Cubs lost game 4 and three of the four games at Wrigley field, losing to Detroit 4-3.  On October 10th, Newhouser won game 7 by a score of 9-3, clinching the Series.  Little did Cub fans realize that this was to be their last World Series appearance, 74 years and still counting.  Later that day, Billy Goat sent a telegram to Wrigley stating, “Who stinks now?”

Following that Series, for the next twenty years encompassing the remainder of Sianis’ life, the Cubs never reached the first division; fifth place was their best season for two entire decades of what was to emerge as the futility of “The Lovable Losers”.  The Cubs motto became “Wait ’til next year.”  From 1946 to 2008, the Cubs would post a 4250-4874 (.470) record, have only 18 winning seasons (46 losing seasons), finish in first place a mere three times, have no pennants, no World Series appearances, with six post-season experiences (1984, 1989, 1998, 2003, 2007, 2008). Their post-season record since 1945 is 6-20.  Is the curse real?  You decide.

Pre-Curse 1876-1945 — Record: 5475-4324 (.559)
Pennants:  1876, 1880-82, 1885-86, 1906, 1907, 1908, 1910, 1918, 1929, 1932, 1935, 1938, 1945
World Series Appearances:  1906, 1907, 1908, 1910, 1918, 1929, 1932, 1935, 1938, 1945
World Series Victories:  1907, 1908
***The Cubs posted 51 winning seasons and finished in first place 16 times.

Post-Curse 1946-2008 — Record:  4666 – 5270 (.470)
Post Season Experience:  1984, 1989, 2003, 2007, 2008
Wild Card:  1998
Pennants: none
World Series Appearances: none
***The Cubs posted only 18 winning seasons and finished in first place only five times.

Until the late 60’s, the manifestation of the curse was the production of consistently terrible teams, the duration of which was almost unparalleled in Major League history.  The nature of the curse changed in the late 60’s when Leo “the Lip” Durocher was hired as manager.  In 1966, the Cubbies were so bad that they allowed the Mets to escape the cellar for the first time in their short history.  But, Leo instilled his own particular brand of magic, and, for the first time in memory, the Cubs achieved respectability, finishing third in ’67 and ’68.  1969 was, by all appearances, the year that the Cubs would achieve glory for the first time since Teddy Roosevelt resided in the White House.  They had a solid team, led by the iconic Cub, Ernie Banks (“Let’s play two!”), as well as perennial All-Stars Billy Williams and Ron Santo.  Fergie Jenkins led a solid pitching staff.  The Cubs seemed to be an unbeatable squad.  At one point, they had an 8 ½ game lead in the pennant race.  However, the NY Mets, who, according to Baltimore Manager Earl Weaver, consisted of “2 pitchers, a good hitting outfielder, and a bunch of slap-hitters” managed to close the gap to 1 ½ games when the two teams met for a critical series in early September.  In the midst of a particularly critical game, an unknown fan released a black cat onto the field.  Perhaps led by the spirit of Billy Goat, the cat ran directly towards All Star Third Baseman Ron Santo as he stood in the on-deck circle.  Casting a disturbing glare directly at Santo, it then proceeded toward the Cub dugout, riveting its intense glare onto the Chicago players as it lurked back and forth.  The entire stadium watched in amazement.  (It is interesting to note that for many years as an announcer, Santo continued to abhor road trips to Shea.)  Needless to say, the Cubs lost that game, which initiated a complete September collapse; they posted an 8-17 record for that month, losing the NL East by 8 ½ games to the Mets.

Post-Curse baseball for the Cubs has been fraught with frustration.  Three of their series resulted in their getting swept, 3-0.  But, their initial post-season appearance in 1984, almost 40 years after the ’45 Series loss, was a prime example to all believers that the curse is real and ever-present.  The Cubs took the first two games of the NLCS.  They needed only one win to reach the promised land.  After getting trounced in game three, Cub fans saw their lights-out closer Lee Smith allow a walk off homer in Game 4 to Steve Garvey.  (Many of these same fans have recurring nightmares of watching Steve Garvey pumping his fists as he rounded the bases.)  In the deciding game 5, the Cubs carried a 3-0 lead into the sixth inning, with Cy Young winner Sutcliffe on the mound.  A critical error by first baseman Leon Durham led to a ghastly ending of the season.

As bad as this loss was to the psyche of Cubs fans, it was perhaps surpassed in excruciating, unbearable futility in the 2003 postseason.  The Cubs were heavy favorites to beat the upstart Florida Marlins, and won three of the first five games of the series.  In game 6, the Cubs had a 3-0 lead with one out in the 8th inning, as Mark Prior was in the midst of pitching a sure-fire masterpiece.  Champagne was ready to be uncorked in the Cubs clubhouse in celebration of a long-awaited pennant.  But, no win is ever really secure in baseball, especially if a seemingly eternal malediction comes into play.  With Juan Pierre on second base, Juan Castillo hit a deep fly ball down the left field line.  Cub’s left fielder Moises Alou raced to the wall, extended his glove as far as possible, and appeared about to make a tremendous catch.  However, a lifelong Cubs fan named Steve Bartman, reached out his hands and caught the ball right above Alou’s out-stretched glove.  Over 40,000 Cubs fans moaned in frustration and outrage, some of them perhaps sensing impending doom.  Alou’s claims of interference were denied.  What then occurred was perhaps inevitable:  the Cubs completely collapsed in front of a national audience, most of who were rooting for the Cubs to break the schneid.  After the smoke had cleared, the Cubs had allowed eight runs to cross the plate in that inning.  Completely deflated, the Cubs lost the deciding game the next day 9-6, and the legend of the curse continued to grow.

There have been a number of efforts to undue the curse.  Phil Wrigley hired a strange-looking master of the occult for $5,000, plus a bonus of $25,000, if they were to win the World Series, to dance around the stadium and give opposing players the malocchio.  He would sit behind home plate, making wild gestures at the opposing pitchers.  None of this had any noticeable impact on the Cubs prospects.  After Wrigley sold the team to the Tribune Company, ownership invited Sam Sianis to parade a goat around the field when the Cubs were in the midst of an all-to-frequent losing streak.  The streak was snapped, but the curse apparently remained. Twice the Cubs had Sianis’ nephew Sam attempt to remove the hex, without any apparent success.  The Cubs also had a Greek Orthodox priest perform a type of exorcism by spreading holy water in the dugout before a playoff game.  Again, no success.  The fact remains that no other team, not only in baseball history, but in the history of all sports, has gone longer without winning a championship.

According to baseball mythos, on a spring day in the year 1839, in the bucolic town of Cooperstown, New York, Abner Doubleday, who would later be a hero at the Battle of Gettysburg, sat down and composed the Rules of Baseball. He was said to have designed the diamond, indicated fielder positions, and wrote down the rules and the field regulations. The cynical truth is that Doubleday’s invention of baseball was an invention by baseball – the tale fit the public’s desire for a pastoral setting of the game which soon became known as our “National Pastime,” by a hero of the Civil War. Actually, Doubleday was nowhere near Cooperstown at that time, likely never visited the town, never mentioned baseball in his memoirs, and likely never held a baseball nor picked up a bat during his lifetime. The source of the Doubleday tale was a letter sent to the panel from elderly Abner Graves, who was five years old in 1839 when Doubleday was supposedly writing down his notes. Soon afterwards, Graves was convicted of murdering his wife and spent his final days in an asylum for the criminally insane. The dubious nature of the witnesses’ mental state did not deter the Lords of Baseball from stamping their seal of approval on the story.

If you have had a chance to visit Hoboken, New Jersey, you will have undoubtedly spotted the old Maxwell House Coffee Plant. Maxwell House closed down in the early 1990’s; if you visited the city before that time, you would have noticed the ubiquitous redolent smell of coffee throughout the city. Deep within the bowels of the plant lies what was once a ball field in a park called Elysian Fields. It was at that field that the first recorded baseball game took place. Alexander Joy Cartwright wrote down the rules and regulations of baseball, and assembled a squad called the New York Knickerbocker Base Ball Club. The first “official” game of baseball was played on June 19, 1846, under the New York Rules, between the Knickerbocker Base Ball Club of New York City and the “New York Nine” at Elysian Fields in Hoboken New Jersey. For the record, the Knickerbockers were annihilated by the New York Nine, 23-1.

During approximately the next 60 years, there were frequent rules changes, as well as evolution of equipment. Initially, the ballplayers did not use gloves. The catchers, who played far in back of home plate, had a thin piece of leather for a glove. Pitchers had to throw underhand, from a distance of 50’. Batters could request whether they wanted the pitch low or high. At first you needed to get 9 balls to get a walk, with this number changing every several years. It took quite a few years for batters to be awarded first base when hit by a pitch. Prior to this, a pitcher could plunk a batter continuously until he had enough balls to achieve a walk. There are recorded instances of pitchers doing just that to legendary manager John McGraw, who was universally hated by all those who weren’t teammates. On one occasion, McGraw attacked the umpire, who was gleefully watching the action. Most baseball historians state that 1893 was the beginning of the modern era, as this was the year that the pitching mound was moved to its present location, 60’ 6” from home plate. The last major change in the rules came in 1903, when the American League adopted the Foul Strike Rule, against much opposition. Since that time, the only rule change that radically changed the nature of the game was the Designated Hitter Rule, which was adopted in 1973, exclusively in the American League.

The question remains – how and why did these changes in rules come about? Although the majority of the adjustments occurred as a result of experience over time, many of these changes were actually the result of the ingenuity, and at times, eccentricity, of ballplayers of the 19^th century.

Perhaps the greatest showman and slugger of the 19^th century was Michael “King” Kelly. Kelly could be said to be the Babe Ruth of his time. Some say that he was the prototype of the baseball standard hitter’s lament, Earnest Lawrence Thayer’s 1888 poem “Casey at the Bat”. Kelly was both known and loved for his antics on and off the field. He traveled with a Japanese manservant, as well as a pet monkey. A famous song of the period, “Slide Kelly, Slide” was a nationwide hit. Kelly is the first player who is credited with giving autographs. One day, while he was managing the Boston Beaneaters, Kelly observed a foul ball heading towards the bench. He realized that none of his players had a chance to make the catch. The rules at the time allowed for player substitutions at any time during the game; taking advantage of the situation, Kelly leapt off the bench, shouted out “Kelly now catching for Boston”, and caught the ball for an out. Shortly following this episode, a rule was adopted that allowed substitutions only during time outs.

Wee Willie Keeler, the ballplayer who “hit it where they ain’t”, had an uncanny ability to bunt almost any ball pitched to him. Keeler would bunt foul balls until he worked the pitcher for a walk. His unique abilities were the impetus for the rule change that made the third-strike foul bunt a strike out.  Keeler also perfected the Baltimore Chop, in which he would chop the ball into the ground hard enough for it to bounce so high that he could reach first base before the throw to the bag. Keeler was also one of the first players who used the strategy of “hit and run”, although manager Tommy McCarthy was the first manager to make use of this strategy. McCarthy also popularized letting short fly balls drop in front of him, hoping to start a double play. Shortly after this became a common strategy, baseball implemented the infield fly rule.

Luther Taylor was a pitcher with the New York Giants for eight years in the 1890’s. Taylor was a deaf mute, and like all deaf ball players of that period, his moniker was “Dummy”. Taylor once convinced the umpire to stop a baseball game on a rainy day by wearing rain boots and carrying an umbrella onto the pitcher’s mound. Taylor is credited with helping to expand and make universal the use of sign language throughout the modern baseball infield, including the use of pitching signs.

Taylor’s manager, John McGraw, learned sign language in order to communicate with Taylor. On one occasion, Taylor and McGraw were laughing at and denigrating the umpire in sign language.  The umpire suspected what was occurring, and threw them both out of the game.

There was another deaf mute of that period, whose name was William “Dummy” Hoy. Hoy was a superb outfielder. There are numerous accounts from the contemporary newspapers of that time listing his fielding exploits. On one occasion Hoy caught a ball after leaping astride a horse hitched to a buggy parked inside the stadium. The crowd responded by giving Hoy a standing ovation, wildly waving their hats and arms, which was the only way the outfielder could recognize their appreciation of his performance. Hoy was also a superb base stealer, swiping over 600 bases in his career. SAGNOF!

Most importantly, Hoy played a pioneering role in developing the intricate system of hand signals, used today throughout the entire world of baseball. Prior to Hoy, all umpires’ calls were shouted. While at bat, Hoy would ask his coach whether the call was a ball or strike. Oftentimes, the opposing pitcher would attempt to take advantage of Hoy’s confusion, by quick-pitching him. Around 1887, Hoy wrote out a request to his third base coach, asking him to raise his left arm to indicate a ball, and right arm a strike. Umpires found these signals to be so useful that they soon became S.O.P. Hoy was also responsible for introducing the “out” and “safe” signs, both of which are adapted from ASL.

Arlie Lathan was one of the most colorful ballplayers in the history of the game. He starred on Charley Comiskey’s St. Louis Browns squads of the 1880’s, known for their feisty and rowdy behavior. Arlie was the mischievous imp of baseball, and was nicknamed “The Freshest Man on Earth”, a popular song during that period,. (I guess you had to be there) due to his hilarious pranks and buffoonery. On one occasion, Arlie went into an apoplectic rage following a call by umpire Tim Hurst. Lathan slammed his glove to the ground, and kicked it towards Hurst. Hurst proceeded to kick it back to Arlie. Arlie again kicked it back to Hurst; Hurst kicked it back to Arlie. The two proceeded to kick the glove back and forth until the glove finally came to rest in the depths of center field.

During baseball’s infancy, each player used to take turns coaching 1^st and 3^rd base. Arlie had a knack for the job; he incorporated his own unique style by running up and down the third base line screaming like a banshee, and ululating like a lunatic in the middle of the pitcher’s wind-up. There was no rule at the time that disallowed such behavior. Because of his antics, the league established the coaching box in order to prevent Arlie and his imitators from this farcical yet quite effective conduct. Because of his obvious proficiency at the job, after his career was finished, Lathan would become baseball’s first full time third base coach. The characteristic chatter that goes on in the field, with constant encouragement to the pitcher and derogatory remarks to the batter that is part of the fabric of the game is also attributed to Latham.

Besides being a cut-up, Arlie was a heck of a ballplayer. His play in the 1887 season rates as one of the greatest offensive years in all of baseball’s history. That year Latham batted .316, with 198 hits, 45 walks, 129 stolen bases, scoring an unbelievable 163 runs. If you add up his hits and walks, he was on base 243 times, and scored 163 times, an incredible percentage. But Arlie was best known for his speed. The famous evangelist, Billy Sunday, was once a baseball player; in fact, in terms of base running ability, he was described by some pundits to be the equal of the immortal Ty Cobb. In 1885, a famous footrace took place between Lathan and Sunday – the preacher won by quite a few strides. Sunday later incorporated his baseball skills into his preaching, sliding onto the stage of the Sawdust Trail as if he were stealing a base.

Here at Razzball we don’t believe in vetoing a fantasy baseball trade, but we do fully support passive-aggressive, sarcastic belittling.  If someone in your league completed a trade that makes you wish they’d walk into oncoming traffic, you’re in luck!   Here’s a Mad Libs-type tirade to post in your league’s messageboard because when met with pettiness, you should retaliate with more pettiness.   Simply copy the below and fill in the appropriate words.  You may use this post to antagonize your closest friends, enemies or frenemies with the express written consent of Razzball.com.  Also, feel free to post your version in the comments.

To Those That Passed That (adjective) Trade,

When I saw the trade of (Player(s) Traded Away) for (Player(s) Received), I contemplated vetoing the trade, but even one trade veto can have a domino effect and before you know it every trade is being vetoed.  Instead, I decided to take the high road and just voice my disagreement on this message board.  Though I do sometimes question my leaguemates’ ability to read something that isn’t scribbled in crayons. On the bright side, you two (plural derogatory name) who were involved in the trade can use this post to practice your reading comprehension.   It’s not too late for that GED!

Since no one has the courtesy to respond to my trade offers, I figured you two were busy hanging out with your significant others. You know, your mothers. “No, Mom, I have friends.  The phone just rang the other day.  Now please pass the Miracle Whip.  Your chicken salad is dry.”  Or maybe you were busy making up excuses for walking in on your sister while she’s showering. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t hear the water running.”  Or maybe you two were busy (verb) each other in your (adjective) (body part).

It’s obviously your strategic prerogative to make any trades you want, as it’s my prerogative to wish you both harm. So, douchetards, I have an idea. Rather than digging through dumpsters for discarded porno mags, how about you two (plural derogatory name) get together and punch each other in the face?

The Guy Who Is Still Going To Beat Both Of You,

(Name)

P.S. Anyone need a closer?

Going back to the long-lost days of my youth, I have always been captivated by baseball lore and anecdotes. In one of the first books I devoured on the subject listed the players that were found worthy of enshrinement in the Hall of Fame. I was fascinated by this list, reading over and over again the names of baseball’s immortals, as well as their statistical exploits. At the bottom of the list was a ballplayer named Robert (Rabbit) Maranville. I couldn’t quite understand how a player with a .258 lifetime batting average and no appreciable power, could have been voted into this elite group. After doing considerable research, I continue to have some issues with his worthiness. However, I also discovered Rabbit to be one of the most engaging eccentrics in the history of our National Pastime.

Maranville was the Harpo Marx of the infield. He would mock slow pitchers, yawning, and stretching on the mound. He checked an illusory stopwatch. He stretched out against an imaginary wall when on first base, and would slowly topple on the bag, pretending to fall asleep. He also would make fun of large, ponderous sluggers at the plate, mimicking their motions. Of course, he didn’t neglect the umpires: he would mimic every move the umpire made; from shifting his mask, going down in a crouch, sweeping the plate. The crowd would laugh with glee. He once pulled out a pair of eye glasses when up at bat, to assist the ump in calling balls and strikes. Once, when legendary umpire Bill Klem was calling the game, Rabbit stepped out of the batter’s box, lining himself in back of the catcher. “I just wanted to see where you stood, Bill, to call that last one a strike.” (Let it be noted that Klem once stated that eyesight was overrated in evaluating an umpire’s expertise.) Even the umpires at times had to call time out, as they couldn’t control their laughter. Once he was thrown out of the game for throwing a roundhouse punch at an ump – a not uncommon occurrence in those days. He later returned to the field, apologized profusely, offered to treat the bruises with iodine, and smeared streaks of iodine all over the ump’s face. But his most outrageous antic on the ball field was when he staged a murder, complete with gunshot, in Ebbets Field during a game. Even the Brooklyn crowd, who were used to daffy incidents such as three men on a base at the same time, was in a state of shock.

Rabbit also performed more dangerous acts under the influence, like walking hotel ledges. On one occasion, teammate and drinking buddy Jim Thorpe allegedly held him by one arm as Rabbit dangled 15 stories from a hotel room. On one occasion, the diminutive 5’3″ Rabbit needled the powerful Olympian to such a rage that he chased him throughout Boston; Rabbit escaped by climbing up a tree.  Thorpe waited at the bottom of the tree. However, the alcohol had its effect, and Thorpe fell asleep. The agile Rabbit climbed into an upper story window, and started bombarding apples off of Thorpe’s noggin. An enraged Thorpe tried to uproot the tree while Rabbit quietly escaped out the back door. Of course, the most famous escapade was the night that Thorpe and Rabbit were observed swinging from the branches of trees, yowling like banshees, with Jim shouting “I’m Tarzan” and the Rabbit “I’m little Tarzan.” They apparently kept this up all night.

Rabbit had his own version of Willie Mays’ “bread-basket catch” or ”vest-pocket” catch of infield pop-ups. He would cup his hands, resting on his belt buckle as the ball skimmed by his peaked cap, strike him in his chest, and roll down his shirt into his glove.  One may call this the ultimate in showboating, which of course it was, but old-timers of that period could not report a single instance where Maranville botched the play. He was that good.

Pete Browning is considered one of the outstanding sluggers of the 19^th century. Browning is best known for ordering the first custom made bat from the Hillerich & Bradsby Company in 1884, known then and now as the famous Louisville Slugger. He apparently single-handedly kept the company in business throughout his career. His collection included something like 700 bats; each one he cherished, spoke words of encouragement to, and was otherwise lovingly attentive to, and christened each with a Biblical name. Pete later retired them in his home; he believed that each bat contained a certain amount of hits - these were what he deemed his “active” bats – and he examined each Louisville slugger in order to see whether it was a “magical” stick with hits in it. The bats themselves were enormous: 37″ long, and 48 ounces in weight.

Browning displayed behaviors which could best be described as outlandish. He was known to stare at the sun for long periods of time, believing that by doing so, he would strengthen his “lamps” (eyes). He also believed that his eyes periodically needed to be “cleansed,” which could best be accomplished by sticking his head out the window when traveling on a train, in an effort to catch cinders in them. His eccentric behavior later devolved into psychosis, and he unfortunately spent his last years committed to an asylum.

Insanity is a frequent theme in baseball lore. More than fifty years after Browning was wasting away in a psychiatric institution, a colorful outfielder named Jimmy Piersall roamed centerfield with grace and skill. Piersall was always a popular flake, but at some point his eccentric behavior became bizarre and frightening. On one occasion, Piersall was ejected by the umpire for arguing after striking out. Prior to his at-bat, he had acknowledged teammate Milt Bolling’s home run by spraying a water pistol on home plate. Piersall then moved to the grandstand roof to heckle home plate umpire Neil Strocchia. Soon afterwards, he was committed to a psychiatric institution. After discharge, he continued his delightfully eccentric behavior:  he once stepped up to bat wearing a Beatles wig and playing “air guitar” on his bat, led cheers for himself in the outfield during breaks in play, and “talked” to Babe Ruth behind the center field monuments at Yankee Stadium. On one occasion, when playing against the Yankees, the preceding two batters were hit by the Yankee hurler. When Piersall came up to bat, he turned around to catcher Yogi Berra, and stated: “Yogi, if your pitcher hits me, I am going to charge the mound and brain him with my bat. Everyone knows that I am crazy, and I will be let off the hook.” Yogi calmly replied: “I wouldn’t worry about it. We never try to bean .250 hitters.” In his autobiography, Piersall commented, “Probably the best thing that ever happened to me was going nuts. Who ever heard of Jimmy Piersall, until that happened?”

During the time of the Great Dust Bowl, Sportsman Park in St. Louis was often covered with a fine layer of dust. The heat during this period was brutal and constant.  At one point, for 30 straight days, temperatures were 100 degrees or more. One day during this intolerable spell, St. Louis Cardinal pitcher Dizzy Dean built a fire in front of the Cards dugout. He procured two blankets, stomped the earth, and let out blood-curdling war cries in between yips. Dean then pantomimed rain coming down from the skies, took out an imaginary umbrella, and received applause going back to the dugout. During the World Series of 1934, Dean was sent into the game as a substitute base runner. On a ball to the shortstop Billy Rogell, Dizzy roared into second base but did not slide. Rogell’s throw hit him squarely on the head and Dizzy fell “like a marionette whose string had snapped” and lay motionless on the infield dirt. The ball was thrown so hard it bounced 50 ft. into the air. But Diz revived and left the field, and was taken to the hospital. The headlines next day read:

“X-Rays taken of Dean’s head – nothing found.”

Several days removed from the hospital, Dean came back to pitch game five. When he reached the mound, a fan raced onto the field to present him with a mediaeval armor helmet.

One can’t write an article on baseball flakes without including Rube Waddell, described by John Thorn as “The Peter Pan of Baseball.” There are literally scores of tales concerning Waddell’s exploits, on and off the field, and most of them are true.

“(Waddell) began that year (1903) sleeping in a firehouse in Camden New Jersey, and ended it tending bar in a saloon in Wheeling West Virginia. In between those events he won 22 games for the Philadelphia Athletics, played left end for the Business Men’s Rugby Football Club of Grand Rapids, toured the nation in a melodrama called The Stain of Guilt, courted, married and became separated from May Wynne Skinner of Lynn, Massachusetts, saved a woman from drowning, accidentally shot a friend through the hand, and was bitten by a lion.”

Lee Allen – Cooperstown historian, describing a year in the life of Rube Waddell.

Rube Waddell often showed his delight in striking out the side by doing cartwheels on the field. He would  be distracted by the opposition, who would wave shiny objects in his face. He would change his uniform as he ran across the diamond into the clubhouse after games, which usually drew roars from the crowd, as the Rube never wore underwear. He sometimes disappeared when he was scheduled to pitch; he could be found playing marbles with the kids outside the park, or at times in the village saloon; or sometimes at his favorite fishing hole. One time, he disappeared for several days in the midst of a tight pennant race, and returned to the team as if nothing had occurred, offering manager Connie Mack several catfish he had caught.  When a fire truck passed by mid-game, he was said to drop everything and run after it; his favorite hobby was putting out fires. (Rube allegedly saved the lives of 13 people, assisting in various disasters.) He would pour ice over his arm before the game, stating that if he didn’t do so his speed would burn a hole in the mitt of his equally flaky catcher, Ossee Schreckengost.  When he felt especially frisky, he would call the outfield in, and proclaim that he was going to strike out the side. And most of the times he would. Often Ossie would catch Rube’s heater, rated to be the equal of any in the game, bare-handed.

Rube also loved to wrestle. In 1904, the Boston Red Sox and Waddell’s Philadelphia A’s were in the midst of a tough pennant race. The Red Sox conspired to have their biggest player, Candy LaChance, challenge Rube to a wrestling match before the game. LaChance slapped Rube first in the belly, then the shoulders, and the match began. They wrestled for quite awhile, until Rube picked up LaChance, hoisted him over his head, and slammed him to the ground. Candy begged off playing the game; Rube went out and pitched a two-hitter. In 1905, Waddell engaged the great Cy Young in one of the greatest pitching duels of all time: Rube gave up two runs in the first inning, Cy returned the two in the 6th, and then both threw blanks, until an Athletic crossed the plate in the 20th inning. Rube won the game 3-2, pitching 20 consecutive scoreless innings. Waddell later parlayed the ball for free booze at the local tavern. It was said that more than 50 bars across the country claimed to have the ball that beat the Cyclone.

Connie Mack, Waddell’s manager and caretaker, called Rube the greatest pitcher, in terms of pure talent, he had ever seen—and Connie had seen them all, from Hoss Radbourne and Amos Rusie through Cy Young and Walter Johnson, on up to Lefty Grove and Bob Feller. Mack once said, “The Rube has a two million dollar body and a two cent head.”

Waddell died in 1914 at age 37 after contracting a viral infection while stacking sandbags at a flood site. His battery-mate Ossee Schreckengost, who once had a stipulation put in Waddell’s contract that forbade him from eating crackers in bed, and also once nailed a steak to the wall of a tavern when it was not to his liking, was the only player at his funeral. He provided the insightful epitaph for the headstone, “Rube Waddell had only one priority, to have a good time.”

There’s no Sonavabench! shirt.  There’s no Latin 32 shirt with a silhouette of Pujols.  There’s not even a Cust Kayin’ shirt.  I know, bummer.  But let’s focus on the shirts we convinced our partners to produce for this first go-around.  (Yes, us supervising shirt design took us to Malaysia, burning embers onto the end of a long stick.  “Give me a different font!”  *poke, poke*)  The first shirt is a lovely charcoal… Okay, I’m not a catalog writer.  We got a Sparky Anklebiter shirt and a “It’s Tough Being In A Platoon” shirt.

Rudy and I thought it would be fun to expand the Razzball universe into shirts.  If you want to get one, go to those links above.  If you don’t, no sweat (because of the 100% cotton-blend!).  If you do want to buy a Razzball shirt but don’t like what we currently offer, leave a comment about what shirt you’d like to see.  BTW, for our three girl readers, if you take a picture of yourself in a Sparky Anklebiter shirt, I’ll make a gallery (in my bedroom) for them.  Thank you!

** Note:  We’re going to give away a free t-shirt to whomever is leading the Razzball Commenter League and Fantasy Razzball master standings at the end of April! **