by Bruce Nash
Legs go, White Sox! Manny Millan/Sports Illustrated/Getty Images
In the first game of a doubleheader against the visiting Kansas City Royals, the White Sox took the field in their Little Lord Fauntleroy shorts. Chicago won the game 5–2, some say because the Royals collapsed in hysterics at the sight. “You guys are the sweetest team we’ve seen yet,” cackled Royals first baseman John Mayberry. He shouted to White Sox speedster Ralph Garr (shown in the photo above with coach Minnie Minoso), “Hey, Ralph, if you get to first base I’m going to kiss you!” (Mayberry didn’t keep his word.) Another Royals player said White Sox pitcher Clay Carroll looked like “a pilgrim going out to shoot a wild turkey.”
Between games of the twin-bill, the players stripped off their Bermudas and put on grown-up pants. Manager Paul Richards said they changed because it was getting too chilly for shorts. More likely, it was the players’ low tolerance for humiliation. Besides, they didn’t like the wolf whistles.
The White Sox wore the Bermuda shorts two more times during the season before they were abandoned for good. Years later former Chicago hurler Goose Gossage told the Sacramento Bee: “They were ugly. And I’ll tell you, we played exactly like we looked. But what are you going to do? Go on strike? That was the circus atmosphere that Bill Veeck created there.”
JOHN FRANCIS “PHENOMENAL” SMITH
Pitcher · Brooklyn, AA · June 17, 1885
For sheer shame, nothing will ever match “Phenomenal” Smith’s pitching debut with Brooklyn. He was slaughtered 18–5 in a scandalous loss that was—yet wasn’t—his fault.
The utter disgrace of this game cannot be fully understood by reading the box score, which shows that of the 18 runs scored against him, only 11 were earned.
The seed of ignobility was planted by John Francis Smith himself. The 5-foot-6-inch, 20-year-old lefty possessed an enormous ego and gave himself the nickname Phenomenal. After playing in six games the previous year with two other teams, he joined Brooklyn (then known as the Trolley Dodgers of the American Association). The cocky pitcher told his new club that he was so good that he could win even if the players didn’t play well. Such brashness did not endear him to his teammates. In fact, they downright hated him. And they took him up on his boast that he could win without their support.
Making his debut for Brooklyn at home against St. Louis, Phenomenal quickly discovered that his fellow players made no effort to conceal their antipathy toward him. They were determined to see him lose—and lose big—which he did. He pitched the entire game, giving up 12 hits, issuing six walks and striking out two. Other than third baseman Bill McClellan, who played to win despite his dislike for Smith, the infielders intentionally dropped pop-ups, let grounders skip through their legs, and threw wildly as they racked up 14 errors. Their misplays were so blatant that the players were roundly booed by the 1,600 disgusted spectators at Washington Park.
The next day, the Brooklyn Eagle condemned “the disgusting rottenness which prevailed in the ranks of the team.” The paper blasted the conspirators for not having “brains enough to properly conceal their little game.” The Eagle declared, “They so plainly exposed their hands in their crooked work that the occupants of the grandstand saw it, and it aroused their just indignation to such an extent that they hissed the wretched muffing work of the [Brooklyn players].”
Shortstop Germany Smith was the most flagrant fumbler, committing seven errors, while catcher Jackie Hayes made two miscues and was charged with five passed balls. The official box score does not reflect the easy fly balls and grounders that the Brooklyn fielders let go untouched for base hits.
“It’s an outrage!” stormed Charlie Byrne, president of the Brooklyn club, after the debacle. “The way my men treat this new player is a disgrace, and I will take steps to punish them for it.” He did, too, by fining each of the guilty players. He made one other move to ensure team harmony—he reluctantly released Phenomenal Smith after his Brooklyn debut.
PAT TABLER
Second Baseman · Chicago, NL · August 21, 1981
The only thing Pat Tabler needed to make his Major League debut complete was a deep dark hole to crawl into and hide.
“They don’t have any holes in the middle of the infield at Wrigley Field, but I sure was looking for one,” recalled Tabler. “It was the most embarrassing predicament I’d ever been in. I just wanted to disappear. I even prayed for a tornado to come down and get me out of there.”
The Chicago Cubs front office had touted Tabler as “the second baseman of the future.” But in his first game, which was against the visiting San Francisco Giants, the rookie looked like just another member of the same old sorry Cubs.
“When I started the game, I was so excited I couldn’t concentrate,” Tabler recalled. “I had to keep pinching myself to realize I was really playing in Wrigley Field. I even got a hit [a single] my first time up in the big leagues, and I thought, ‘Oh, wow! This is awesome!’ I was just going through the motions because I was practically in shock. I didn’t know the number of outs, the inning, or even the score.”
And that was the problem.
In the top of the eighth inning with the score tied 3–3, the Giants loaded the bases with one out. Pinch hitter Jim Wohlford then tapped a made-to-order double-play ball to shortstop Ivan De Jesus. It should have been a textbook twin killing, but apparently Tabler hadn’t read the book.
De Jesus scooped up the ball and tossed it to Tabler, who stepped on the bag for the force-out at second. But he didn’t pivot and throw to first to record his first Major League double play. Instead, Tabler kept the ball and ran toward the Cubs third base dugout—while the lead runner scampered across the plate with what proved to be the winning run.
“I knew I had screwed up when [Cubs third baseman] Kenny Reitz came running at me, screaming, ‘No! No! No!’” said Tabler. “Then it hit me. There were only two outs! I started to throw to first, pretending that I really knew what I was doing, but it was much too late. I felt like I’d been caught naked out there in front of all those people. The only bright spot was that it wasn’t on national television.”
Because of that gift run, the Cubs lost 4–3. “When I came into the clubhouse, all the writers were there in front of my locker waiting for me,” said Tabler. “I knew then that I really was in the big leagues.”
Tabler went on to play 12 years in the bigs, mostly as an outfielder or first baseman. After his debut season, he played only seven games at second base for the rest of his career. Apparently, they’d seen enough of him at that position.
FRANK VERDI
Shortstop · New York, AL · May 10, 1953
JOHN LINDSEY
Pinch Hitter · Los Angeles, NL · September 8, 2010
Frank Verdi said his first at-bat in the Major Leagues was “like your first date—it’s something you can never forget.” Only in his case, and that of John Lindsey, it was like getting stood up.
After languishing in the New York Yankees’ farm system for seven years, Verdi finally made the big club. He sat on the bench until that memorable Sunday in 1953 at Boston’s Fenway Park when he filled in at shortstop for Phil Rizzuto, who had been taken out in the sixth inning for a pinch hitter.
In the top of the seventh, Verdi was all set to make his long-awaited debut at the plate. The Yankees had rallied to take a 5–3 lead and had the bases loaded with two out. What a great moment for Verdi. All the years of toiling in the minors—the sweaty bus rides, the two-bit towns, the fleabag hotels—were about to pay off. Here was his golden opportunity to knock in some important runs in his first big league at-bat.
Verdi stepped into the batter’s box, anxious to take his cuts. But then he heard Red Sox pitching coach Bill McKechnie shout, “Time!” McKechnie sent pitcher Ellis Kinder to the showers and brought in reliever Ken Holcombe. After the new pitcher completed his warm-up tosses, Verdi
stepped back into the batter’s box.
Once again, he heard, “Time!” It was Yankees manager Casey Stengel, who was sending Bill Renna to pinch-hit for Verdi, even though both were right-handed batters. Renna grounded out to third to end the inning.
As for Verdi, that was his debut in the bigs. It was also his finale. Verdi was sent back to the minors, never to return.
John Lindsey can certainly identify with Verdi. At least Verdi actually got to play an inning in the field in his first game. In Lindsey’s debut, he officially played in a game that he never played in.
After spending 16 grueling, drawn-out years in the minor leagues, Lindsey was rewarded for his persistence and determination when the Los Angeles Dodgers, at long last, called him up for the final month of the 2010 season.
On September 8, the Dodgers were trailing the home team San Diego Padres 4–0 in the top of the eighth, but had runners on first and second with one out. That’s when the rookie, who was now 33 and older than most of his fellow Dodgers, was told by manager Joe Torre to pinch-hit for left fielder Scott Podsednik. The years of waiting were over for Lindsey. The moment had arrived—the one he had dreamed of since he was drafted in the 13th round by the Colorado Rockies in 1995 after graduating from Hattiesburg (Mississippi) High.
What a thrill it was to hear his name announced as he stepped into the batter’s box to face southpaw reliever Joe Thatcher. What a disappointment it was when the Padres brought in right-handed reliever Luke Gregerson and Torre countered by sending up lefty Andre Ethier to pinch-hit for Lindsey.
Back in the dugout, Lindsey watched Ethier hit into an inning-ending double play. The Dodgers lost 4–0. After the game, Torre handed Lindsey the lineup card and said, “Now you’re in the record books.”
“What?” Lindsey replied. “For not playing in the game?”
His teammates put a good spin on his debut. Recalled Lindsey, “Somebody said, ‘You’re so good, you can get in a game without having to hit.’ Somebody else said, ‘You must be good. They’d rather face Ethier than face you.’”
Lindsey had to wait one more day before he had the chance to actually hit the ball. In the top of the seventh inning of a 3–2 loss to the Houston Astros, he pinch-hit for hurler Ted Lilly and flied out to deep center field. Three days later, he got his first big league hit—a pinch-hit line drive single in a 7–4 loss to the Astros.
When ESPN.com columnist Jayson Stark asked him which game he counts as his true debut, Lindsey replied, “I count the official one. To me, it was still a special moment. I can always say that I was so intimidating they brought a right-hander in because they didn’t want to face me.”
AL GRUNWALD
Pitcher · Pittsburgh, NL · April 18, 1955
It’s one thing to hit for the cycle. It’s quite another to be hit for the cycle, which is what happened to Pittsburgh Pirates southpaw Al Grunwald in his first Major League game.
He was summoned to the mound in the fourth inning against the home New York Giants at the Polo Grounds. The Giants had scored two runs in the frame and were leading 5–0 with runners on second and third and one out.
Willie Mays welcomed Grunwald to the show by whacking a 400-foot blast to right-center for a two-run triple. After Hank Thompson grounded out, Monte Irvin belted a 390-foot shot off the left field fence for a run-scoring double. Then Don Mueller drilled a single, driving in another run.
The rookie hurler was still reeling from those hits when Whitey Lockman stepped to the plate and clouted the ball 410 feet into the upper deck for a two-run homer.
As easy as one, two, three, four, the Giants had hit for the cycle in Grunwald’s first Major League inning. Pirates manager Fred Haney wielded his hook and rescued the young pitcher from further trouble as the Giants scored eight runs in the frame and coasted to an easy 12–3 victory.
Grunwald made pitching appearances in just eight games before hanging up his glove without ever recording a win. But he’ll always have the historic mark of being hit for the cycle in his debut inning.
BATTY BATTERS
For the Wackiest Plate Appearances of All Time,
The Baseball Hall of Shame™ Inducts:
TONY HORTON
First Baseman · Cleveland, AL · June 24, 1970
Cleveland Indians batter Tony Horton was so fooled on a pitch that he wound up literally crawling back to the dugout in shame.
In the top of the ninth inning of a 7–2 Cleveland victory over the Yankees in New York, Horton faced reliever Steve Hamilton. On occasion, Hamilton liked to toss a high-arching slow pitch that he fondly called his “folly floater.” Three weeks earlier, he had thrown one to Horton in Cleveland, and the first baseman singled. Afterward, Horton asked Hamilton if he would throw it again sometime because the slugger was sure he could clobber the peculiar pitch for a homer.
So when Horton stepped into the batter’s box against Hamilton, he asked for the floater. The hurler nodded. The tantalizingly slow ball crossed the plate, but Horton was too eager and fouled it off. He begged for a second chance and Hamilton, being an accommodating fellow, tossed another tempting slow pitch.
“I never thought he’d throw two in a row,” Horton recalled. The powerfully built home run hitter took a mighty cut . . . and fouled out to the catcher.
Horton’s crawl of shameErnie Sisto/The New York Times/Redux
Horton was so mortified that he threw his cap and bat into the air. Then, to the amusement of fans and players alike, he dropped to his knees and crawled back to the dugout. Everyone erupted in laughter, including Indians manager Alvin Dark.
The fans cheered with delight, causing Hamilton to remark after the game, “That’s the biggest ovation I ever got in fourteen years as a pro athlete.”
HAL CHASE
First Baseman · New York, Chicago, AL;
Cincinnati, New York, NL · 1905–1919
Hal Chase had one of baseball’s weirdest habits—he chewed on his bats.
And it led to one of baseball’s weirdest injuries.
Chase had an inexplicable craving for wood. He would simply pick up a bat—any bat—and chew on the handle. Teammates figured he bit bats because he wanted to test the quality of the wood. Others said he enjoyed the taste of the lumber. Chase himself never explained why he did it.
It looked like his days of bat-biting might end when, as a New York Yankee, he chewed on a handle and wound up with a painful sliver of wood in his tongue. The splinter was embedded so deeply that the chagrined player needed a doctor to extract it.
When New York sportswriters heard the story, they were skeptical at first, until one of them confronted the team bat boy. “Yes, sir, it’s true,” said the bat boy. “Almost every bat we have around our bench has got Mr. Chase’s teeth marks on it. He just sorta gnaws on them.”
“Can you tell anything about a bat by biting it?” the sportswriter asked.
“Mr. Chase never lets anybody know what he finds out by biting the bat,” said the bat boy.
Whatever it was that compelled Chase to bite bats was apparently pretty powerful. He continued chewing on bats long after he had the splinter removed from his tongue, even when he played for the Chicago White Sox, Cincinnati Reds, and New York Giants at the end of his career, which lasted until 1919. But gnawing on the lumber—despite the danger—seemed to work for him. Chase had a lifetime batting average of .291.
MINNIE MINOSO
Left Fielder · Cleveland, AL · July 17, 1959
The most pitiful thing that can happen to a batter is to be called out on strikes. Well, not quite. Minnie Minoso found an even more ignoble way to get rung up. He got called out on strikes without ever setting foot in the batter’s box.
Minoso’s moment of infamy came during a turbulent rhubarb in the top of the eighth inning of an 8–7 Cleveland Indians victory over
the host Boston Red Sox. Cleveland manager Joe Gordon vehemently protested after second base umpire Jim Honochick called Indians runner Vic Power out for interference. Failing to change the arbiter’s mind, Gordon took up his battle with plate umpire Frank Umont.
Gordon’s bellyaching got him nowhere—except booted out of the game. Furious over the ejection, Gordon ran over to his third base coach, Jo-Jo White, and told him to carry on the good fight with Umont. White tried, but the umpire declared the case closed and shooed the coach away. Then the ump ordered the next batter, who was Minoso, to step up to the plate.
But because the Indians were still in an uproar and continued to squawk over the interference call, Minoso refused to budge from his spot near the on-deck circle. Again, Umont motioned for Minoso to get into the batter’s box. Again, Minoso stayed put.
Umont wasn’t going to stand for any more grandstanding by Minoso, so the ump ordered Bosox hurler Leo Kiely to pitch to an empty batter’s box. Kiely delivered three straight strikes, and Umont declared Minoso out.
Only then did Minoso spring into action. First, he hurled his bat at the umpire’s feet. Then he charged after Umont as though he were going to tear him to pieces. It took a platoon of umpires and players to restrain the infuriated player. Teammate Rocky Colavito literally dragged him away.
Minoso was not only called out on strikes while away from the batter’s box, he was also thumbed out of the game.
RANDALL SIMON
First Baseman · Pittsburgh, NL · July 9, 2003
Randall Simon was known as a batter who would swing at most anything. But his reputation got roasted when he took a cut at a giant sausage.
The incident, dubbed throughout the baseball world as Sausagegate, happened at Miller Park during the famed Sausage Race held at the end of the sixth inning of every Milwaukee Brewers home game. Employees of the team don 7-foot-tall foam costumes representing various sausages of the local Klement’s Sausage Company. There’s Bratwurst, Polish Sausage, Italian Sausage, Hotdog, and Chorizo (which was added to the race three years after Sausagegate.) The giant sausages start the race between the dugout and the baseline near third base and sprint around home plate and continue toward the finish line beyond first base.
