Really loved learning about this new hero. Great man who was very humble and an excellent baseball player. Would be cool to learn more about baseball history in Weiser, ID...where he played before joining the Senators. 1924 World Series was highlight and if there were any footage of the 1925 World Series final game...would be cool to see. Absolute weather abomination that killed it for Washington.
A few highlights:
1. p. 99: [Nick] Altrock's deadly pickoff move brought him one of the oddest records when he won a game in 1906 without throwing a pitch. Coming in with two out in the top of the ninth inning, his first throw was a successful pickoff for the third out. The White Sox then scored two runs in the bottom half for the victory.
2. p. 145: Johnson, 1924: We were playing a series in Detroit some years ago and Ty asked me to take a spin in his new automobile. Driving out over the Grand Boulevard, the temptation to speed was strong and Cobb stepped on the gas. A motor copy soon flagged us and filled out one of those unwelcome invitations to meet the traffic judge. Cobb took it like a good sport and just as we were starting up, yelled at the officer "Here, you were pretty decent about it, even if you did give us a ticket. Take these," and he handed the officer two tickets for that day's game. Thus surprised and embarrassed, the policeman said that on second thought, he would tear up the court summons. "You go out there and knock two home runs this afternoon and we'll call it square," was his final warning.
When the game started, I saw the motor copy sitting in a grandstand box, apparently with his best girl. Along about the sixth inning, Washington was ahead and I hollered to Cobb: "That cop's up there waiting for those home runs. Better hurry or he'll pinch you again." Cobb came through all right and drove the ball out of the park in the seventh inning. When he came up again in the ninth he looked over toward me and pointed toward the traffic officer. Then he shouted, so everybody in the grandstand heard: "If I don't get another one, you can phone for the wagon." No one but the cop and myself appreciated Ty's remark, but just the same, he caught hold of the first ball pitched and planted it up in the right field bleachers for his second home run of the day.
...
"He was always willing to fight to win," Johnson said, "but I don't believe Cobb ever picked a fight just for the sake of a row. Leave him alone and treat him right and he : is all you expect to find in a well-mannered Southern gentleman. But start something unfair and you'll get a fight-whether you're a ballplayer or a taxicab driver! It didn't take me long to size him up as a hot-headed young fellow who didn't mean half the things he said."
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Nor did Cobb ever go into a base with the intention to do harm, according to Johnson. "The rules of baseball say that the runner has the right-of-way going to a base and Cobb demanded that right in its fullest sense," he said.
3. p. 147: pitching stories about Johnson. Casey Stengel tells a story about his first and only appearance at bat against the "fireball king" in an exhibition game one Fall. "I walked up to the plate," said Casey, "and stood ready with my trusty bludgeon. Johnson made a pitching motion, the ump called a strike and I stood there. The same thing happened on strike two. When Walter cocked his arm again, I threw my bat down and went back to the bench."
"Come back here, you blind fathead," the ump yelled. "He threw that last ball to first base."
"That's all right" I yelled from the bench. "I didn't see the other two either."
...
Ray Chapman was the hitter for the Cleveland Indians on a day in 1915. First one, then another blurred streak of white hissed past Chapman's cocked but motionless bat and pounded into the mitt of catcher Eddie Ainsmith.
"Strike two," intoned umpire Billy Evans. Suddenly, Chapman tossed the bat away and started toward the Cleveland bench.
"That's only strike two," yelled Evans. Chapman didn't even break stride as he said to Evans over his shoulder,
"I know it. You can have the next one. It won't do me any good."
4. p. 165: I still remember the first time I faced Walter Johnson. He rears back and whizzes two strikes past me so fast I didn't have time to figure out what to do. They talk about a batter being slow to get his bat off his shoulder. I didn't have time to even think about swinging. Johnson winds up again and wham, another one zips past me. I didn't know what it was or where it was, high or low, inside or outside. I look back at the umpire to see if I'm out on strikes.
"Take your base," he says. I don't know what he's talking about.
"What for?," I ask.
"He hit you with that last pitch," says the umpire. I look so puzzled he takes pity on me.
"So you don't think he hit you," he says. "Well, tell me this: do you always wear your cap the way you're wearing it now?" I reach up and fell for my cap. The bill is turned clear around on the side where Johnson's last pitch had clipped it.
5. p. 250: I was never swept by the Easter story until I saw the seventh game of the World's Series. I have seen Osiris die in the darkness and come back from his cavern into the sunlight to conquer. Mithra, Adonis, Krishna, Atlas, Hercules-all these I take to be symbols of the human spirit, and so without incongruity I may add Walter Johnson to the list. To see him throw the ball past the clubs of Giants was to be consoled with the thought of the might of man and the manner in which he may overcome all the forces of frailty if only he can get his soul and shoulders into living. And the legend was the more glamorous because of the fact that Johnson is primarily a fastball pitcher. In Olympus there is no change of pace. Johnson earned his place among the mighty myths because his weapon was not guile but power.
Accordingly it was tragic to see Johnson falter and fail. The reasons for that failure were familiar to us all. The grasp of man is never quite up to shi reach. The body lags behind the will. There is no tick of time in the inner places where our wishes dwell. Then he took a rest of one day and returned with all his prowess. He returned for a little while as the Walter Johnson of ten years ago. The stone had been rolled away. I do not know a rational explanation, and so I think it is fair for me to call this happening, which I saw, a miracle. But though it was a miracle, it is also a universal principle in the emotional life of mankind. The road from the top down to despair is long, but the return may be no more than a night's journey. Every one of us is born again. We die in failure, and out of nothing, out of this very bleakness, we make for ourselves a new morning, a new hope, and a new strength.
Billy Sunday is welcome to whatever consolation of immortality he can find ina hymn tunes and sermons, but when I want to reassure myself that the soul of man is too staunch to die, I will remember that Walter Johnson struck out George Kelly with one out and a runner on third base. (Heywood Broun, New York World, October 11, 1924).