It is astounding to consider that, for all the inherent danger involved in trying to hit or catch a well-hit or -pitched baseball, no one in the history of modern baseball has ever died on the field directly from such misfortune. There have been casualties, in the aftermath, though. And the most infamous occurrence took place just over a hundred years ago, during a heated pennant race between two teams who desperately wanted a shot at the World Series. With the course of one pitch, two lives were ruined.
"The Pitch That Killed," by Mike Sowell, really surprised me. I love books about baseball and its history, but I didn't expect this one to bowl me over as much as it did. I had heard the anecdote of how Carl Mays, pitching for the New York Yankees just prior to their ascension to greatness, threw a pitch that hit Ray Chapman and ultimately caused his death hours later, but I had no idea how dramatic the story of the 1920 baseball season was. This all took place against the backdrop of Cleveland's baseball team (formerly the Indians, in our day the Guardians) going for its first pennant, while the Yankees, having just acquired Babe Ruth as well as Mays in a trade with the Red Sox, were starting to become "The Yankees," the most winning franchise in baseball history (and yes, as someone who despises them, it gives me no pleasure to highlight how preeminent they are).
The story of the two men whose fates were joined on that hot August day in 1920 couldn't be more different. Mays, a son of the West, was a great pitcher but a prickly personality, always rubbing teammates and managers the wrong way with his brisk treatment of others. Chapman, a prodigy from the Midwest, made a home in Cleveland and was beloved by the Indians, with whom he hoped to secure a title and then retire. Both men had memorable seasons in 1920, and the contest between the Yankees and the Indians would be decided deep into the season. There was also the unfolding drama that surrounded questions about the legitimacy of the previous year's "best of nine" contest (the 1919 "Black Sox" scandal, which would redefine baseball's relationship with gambling), and the fervor of the race that unfolded.
There is no question that Carl Mays hit Ray Chapman in the head with a baseball, and that this injury ultimately caused Chapman's death hours later. To what extent Mays should be blamed is a matter of conjecture. It's something that many of the players whose voices crop up in this book, via archival testimonies in the form of newspaper interviews from the time, struggle to come to terms with. There was an enormous sense of loss on the Cleveland side, but Mays didn't get off scot-free even if he never faced any charges in a court of law. The unfolding tragedy of both men's lives is presented well, with the remnants of Chapman's once-happy marriage turning to ashes in the wake of his death and questions about Mays' possible collusion with gamblers to affect the outcome of the 1921 World Series keeping him out of the Hall of Fame during his lifetime. Sowell highlights the beaning but doesn't limit himself to that; the story of the 1920 season is about so much more than the incident, without being able to be divorced from it. Truly, the Mays/Chapman incident is an outlier but also a cautionary tale, and one that we would do well to heed a hundred years after the fact, when injuries on the field are so much more prevalent but we know more about the body's threshold for pain.
"The Pitch That Killed" was a thrift-store find either late last year or earlier this year (I can't remember which), and it's one of the most enjoyable books that I've read so far this year. With baseball just around the corner, it seems like a perfect time to read about my once-and-future favorite sport. And this book does not disappoint. Documenting the most tragic occasion on a baseball diamond thus far, it also reminds us of how sports can take our mind away from the pain of everyday life even when that pain comes from an errant fastball.