The Original Curse (27 page)

The prevalence of gambling around baseball, though, was something for which Johnson could be criticized—he’d abandoned his brief antigambling crusade, and, as usual, betting odds were a much-discussed aspect of the 1918 World Series. In newspapers across the country, the gambling scene was a prominent, matter-of-fact feature of Series coverage. The Cubs were favorites, though by a slim margin. Reported odds were 10 to 8, 10 to 9, and 6 to 5. After the Game 1 postponement, some Cubs backers were a bit nervous to find that odds tightened and word spread that now the Red Sox were favored. “For my part,” the
Herald
’s Burt Whitman wrote, “I know the Series is inveigling the gambling element and, much money from the Hub having appeared, the odds just naturally shifted.”
¹¹
But Hub money was countered with more Chicago money, and the favorite’s mantle shifted back and forth, depending on which gambler a given reporter knew. As the
Herald Examiner
’s Matt Foley wrote, “The announcement that Pat Moran, the Philly manager, had wagered $500 on the [Cubs] helped bring about this reversal of opinion. Pat is one of those
fellows who would ask odds before betting a nickel that there is war and the alacrity with which he risked half a grand on Fred Mitchell’s candidates made a deep impression.”
¹²
(Evidently, there was no problem with a manager announcing a large wager on one of the teams.)

Moran’s bet must have opened some eyes, because the
Boston Post
reported this oddity: “The Cubs are favorites now and there is so much money in sight at odds of 10 to 8 that supporters of the Boston cause have become exceedingly wary. One story has it that of a pool of $43,000 raised by Chicago sports to bet on their club, less than $5,000 has been covered by those who like the Red Sox chances.”
¹³
According to the bookmaker from whom the
Post
was getting information, then, the odds were nearly even, but
eight
times as much money had been bet on the Cubs than on the Red Sox. That may have been an aberration, but the fact was this was an odd World Series, and odd betting patterns were a notable feature.

Still, the 1918 World Series was going forward, despite reduced fan interest, despite limited projected revenue, and despite the fact that, on the day of the postponement of the first game of the Series, a vicious bomb ripped a hole in Chicago’s Federal Building, killing four people (and a horse), putting all of the downtown Loop on alert, and setting off a manhunt for IWW members suspected of planting the bomb. The city was shocked and outraged. In this one moment, in this one explosion, Chicagoans saw the actualization of all those fears they had been carrying since the start of the war—fear of festering radicalism, fear of deteriorating morality, fear of violence, fear of terrorism, fear of death, fear of dissension, fear of disloyalty. Is it any wonder that, when umpire Hank O’Day called
“Play ball!”
on September 5, no one seemed to care?

The Red Sox may have been the underdog heading into the World Series, but they had some things going for them. They were mostly healthy. Harry Hooper was battling hay fever, and second baseman Dave Shean suffered a minor finger injury in practice, but both would play. The Red Sox were delighted when they arrived in Chicago to find Fred Thomas awaiting them at the Metropole, in full naval regalia. Thomas had gotten the OK to don his other uniform—that of the Red Sox—for the next two weeks, having been granted a furlough from the Great Lakes Naval Station. This was great news for Barrow. After the departure of Thomas, Barrow said, “By the time we had
trained Thomas so that he was an effective third baseman, the draft took him.… Third base has been the position where we have been hit harder than anywhere else.”
¹⁴
With the venue moved to the AL’s Comiskey Park, the Red Sox had an advantage in their familiarity with the grounds, which was important—baseball’s pitching mounds were not set as uniformly as they are now, giving Red Sox pitchers an advantage, and with games starting in late afternoon it helped to know how the sun would affect outfielders. The Red Sox also had far more experience, having won championships in 1912, ’15, and ’16, while Cubs players were thin on World Series appearances.

And Boston had Babe Ruth, who had just wrapped up one of the great offensive seasons in memory. He batted.300, led the league with 11 home runs, was third with 66 RBIs, and finished second in on-base percentage—despite playing just 95 games. Ruth had done pretty well as a pitcher too. He had some tough-luck losses but was 13–7, second in the AL in winning percentage, and posted an ERA of just 2.22. Ruth wasn’t necessarily Barrow’s best pitcher, but he was the most consistent and the only left-hander. Whether on the mound or at bat, it was certain that Ruth would have an impact on this World Series. Mitchell was blunt in assessing Ruth’s importance. “The Sox are a one-man team,” he said, “and his name is Ruth.”
¹⁵

Ruth, for his part, seemed more excited for baseball than at any other time in 1918. Long forgotten were the hand injuries he concocted to keep himself off the mound, as well as the early July mutiny and shipyard dickering. In part greased by Frazee’s checkbook, the Ruth-Barrow relationship had been going smoothly, and Ruth was ready to do whatever Barrow needed. “Why, I’d pitch the whole series, every game if they’d let me,” Ruth said. “I hope I don’t have to sit on the bench a single inning of the series.”
¹⁶

Of course, that did not stop Ruth from his usual slate of evening pursuits. Gene Fowler was a cub reporter for the
New York American
in 1918. In his book
Skyline
, Fowler recalled looking for his friend and fellow sports reporter Harry Hochstadter on the evening before Game 1. Fowler found Hochstadter, drunk, with wine agent “Doc” Krone, whose room was populated by “sports writers, gamblers and other students of human nature.” Ruth was there and lifted Hochstadter to a couch, telling him he should switch to beer. Fowler remarked that Ruth seemed “fresh as a cornflower, although he had taken aboard many helpings of the sauce.” Fowler asked Ruth if, given his condition, he would be ready to pitch the following afternoon: “The hale young man gave me a bone-rattling slap on the back. ‘I’ll pitch ’em all if they say the word!’ The Babe then announced that he was leaving us to keep a date with someone who wore skirts. On his way out he urged that Mr. Hochstadter be given a Christian burial.”
¹⁷

Most thought the Cubs had the Red Sox overmatched in the World Series, but one figure loomed large for Boston: Babe Ruth. (
S
PORTING
N
EWS
)

The morning of September 5 seemed to blow in from the north—cold wind and gray skies had some wondering whether Game 1 would be postponed again. This would not have been taken as bad news, because it would force the first three games to be played on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, and the weekend dates figured to fatten up the coffers. But though the weather threatened, it never broke. When the gates of Comiskey Park opened at 10:30
A.M
., hundreds of fans rushed into the bleachers and pavilion to claim the best seats, a World Series custom. But this was not a customary World Series. As the hours leading up to the 2:30 start time neared, with the sky darkening, thousands of seats remained vacant. There was one benefit to arriving early, though—batting practice. After limbering up some, Babe Ruth stepped to the plate, facing batting practice pitcher Walt Kinney, and smacked the first pitch he saw into the right-field bleachers, drawing a big ovation. As would be the case throughout Ruth’s career, neither sauce nor skirts affected him. Fowler wrote, “The all-night escapade at Doc Krone’s left me somewhat less effective than the Babe the next afternoon.”

Though those who mingled at Krone’s might have known that Ruth would be the starting pitcher, for most it was still a mystery. Barrow was devious. He announced his starting lineup—which was printed in several papers on the day of the game—with Ruth in left field, batting fourth, and either Joe Bush or Carl Mays as his Game 1 starter. Mitchell, too, was coy about his pitching selection, but the consensus was that the Cubs were going with Hippo Vaughn. Just before game time, Barrow had both Ruth and Bush warming up and pulled a surprise by tabbing Ruth for the start. And another surprise: he took pressure off Ruth as a hitter by batting him ninth against Vaughn. This freed Ruth to focus on pitching. Barrow gambled by inserting light-hitting 35-year-old George Whiteman in the cleanup spot.

Barrow, it turned out, played his hand perfectly. On the mound, Ruth was shaky in the first inning, getting two outs before allowing singles to Les Mann and Dode Paskert. He walked Fred Merkle to load the bases, but Charley Pick lifted a harmless fly ball to White
man in left field, and the Cubs were stifled. In the third inning, Ruth got some help from the Red Sox’s defense, which was the best in baseball with a .971 fielding mark. After Max Flack singled, Charley Hollocher poked a bunt toward third, and Thomas was late to react. He hurried his throw to Stuffy McInnis, who reached around Hollocher to grab the throw for the out. It was a great play, which was no surprise—McInnis was the best first baseman in the AL and was a pioneer of using the oversize “claw” glove that all first basemen now wear. “Two out of three first basemen would have let that ball go and chased it to the stands,” Hugh Fullerton wrote. “But McInnis made the play perfectly and upset the game.”
¹⁸

Fullerton noticed something else about Game 1: Chicago shortstop Hollocher “was in the wrong position for almost every batter; allowed three balls to skim past him, which a shortstop who knew the habits of the batters probably would have grabbed.”
¹⁹
That would prove costly in the fourth inning, with the game still scoreless. Dave Shean walked, and, with one out, Whiteman lined a single to left field. That put Shean on second, and to make matters worse, Hollocher and Charley Pick failed to keep Shean from taking a large lead at second base. McInnis hit a hard, one-hop single to Mann in left field, and Shean broke for home without stopping, sliding in just ahead of Mann’s throw. “Without his lead,” I. E. Sanborn reported in the
Tribune
, “Dave could not have counted.”
²⁰

Ruth tottered on occasion, but he was able to focus in key situations—no matter how the Cubs tried to rattle him. Every time the Cubs were at bat, first-base coach Otto Knabe bombarded Ruth with insults and epithets (Red Sox coach Heinie Wagner did the same to Vaughn). Ruth seemed impervious to Knabe’s verbal jousts, though not because he was mentally tough, but because his hearing was fuzzy. According to the
Boston Post
, “Knabe picked Babe Ruth as his mark. In Game 1, he ‘rode’ the Boston southpaw through the full nine innings. Babe could not hear him. Teammates told him after the game, so Babe got dressed and went looking for Knabe, who had left.”
²¹

The Red Sox led, 1–0, though Ruth was having an awful day at the plate, going 0-for-3 with two mighty strikeouts. Still, the Cubs were very cautious with Ruth’s power. In the outfield, “The first time Ruth came to bat Max Flack simply turned about and marched about forty paces toward the right wall.”
²²
(Note Flack’s willingness to move
far back with Ruth at the plate—that willingness would later change, with significant consequences.) On the mound, Ruth sailed through the rest of the game, allowing just six hits and holding on for the 1–0 win. Some reporters counted the tight pitching duel as the pinnacle of baseball excellence, but most noticed that the crowd seemed, overall, bored. Biplanes from the nearby war expo circled overhead, distracting attention from the game. The loudest cheer came during the traditional stretch in the seventh inning, when the band began to play “The Star-Spangled Banner.” “The yawn was checked and heads were bared as the ball players turned quickly about and faced the music,” the
New York Times
reported. “First the song was taken up by a few, then others joined, and when the final notes came, a great volume of melody rolled across the field. It was at the very end that the onlookers exploded into thunderous applause and rent the air with a cheer that marked the highest point of the day’s enthusiasm.”
²³

If the crowd was mostly quiet, it might have been because it was so sparse. Far from the hoped-for sellout crowd of 32,000 fans, the official attendance was just 19,274. Combined with the reduction in ticket prices, gate receipts were just $30,349, and the players’ share was $16,387.92—the gate had been $73,152 for the first game of the 1917 World Series, and the players’ share $39,502.08. There was no way this Series would reach Herrmann’s predicted $250,000 intake. No one quite noticed yet, but the checks for the players were shaping up to be much thinner than expected.

Just across Michigan Avenue from the Congress Hotel, headquarters for press covering the World Series, the expansive fields of Chicago’s Grant Park had been transformed into replicas of the battlefields in Flanders, Verdun, and Cambrai. The previous month, a crew of soldiers back from the war had helped re-create battle sites as they would actually look at the front—complete with no-man’s-land, barbed wire, war planes, and miles of trenches. There was a display of war relics brought back from the Americans’ big victory at Chateau Thierry. There were concerts, parades, and speakers—ex–secretary of state William Jennings Bryan was among those who dropped in to give a speech. The big attraction, put on daily, was a battle reenactment done in a large amphitheater, showing soldiers going “over the top,” behind heavy fire; showing an advancing tank wiping out Germans; showing hand-to-hand combat and bayoneting; and showing the Red Cross picking up the bodies afterward. Thousands gathered in the amphitheater grandstand two hours before the shows started to watch the horrors of war play out by the lakefront.
¹
On Friday, September 6, the show drew 96,000 visitors.