Status Updates From Eight Men Out

There were essentially two kinds of people: those who worked for money, and those who simply took it.

As Jackson departed from the Grand Jury room, a small boy clutched at his sleeve and tagged along after him.
“Say it ain’t so, Joe,” he pleaded. “Say it ain’t so.”
“Yes, kid, I’m afraid it is,” Jackson replied.
“Well, I never would’ve thought it,” the boy said.

Chicago Herald and Examiner September 30, 1920

Gandil scored the fourth run of the inning. The crowd roared at Schalk to keep it going. But Schalk grounded to Rath, ending the inning.
It was over. All over. They were beaten. Twenty four White Sox players and 33,000 White Sox fans.

To a gambler, money in the pocket has only one real function—to be wagered—and, in this case, time was of the essence.

Chicago was ready for the World Series.
Only the ballplayers were not. At least, not those eight members of the White Sox who had met in New York’s Ansonia Hotel ten days earlier.

On September 21, the eight ballplayers assembled after dinner in Chick Gandil’s room at the Ansonia. In the history of American sport, it would be difficult to find another meeting that led to events so shattering.

If a man can sin with impunity, he will continue to sin—especially if he gets paid for it.