by Bruce Nash
In the top of the ninth inning of the seventh and final game of the World Series, the St. Louis Cardinals were ahead 3–2. It is at historic moments like this that great heroes emerge. Or great goats are born. This happened to be the day of the goat. And his name was Ruth.
Cardinals relief pitcher Grover Cleveland “Old Pete” Alexander got the first two Yankees out. Then Ruth drew a walk, bringing up cleanup hitter Bob Meusel with Lou Gehrig on deck. Meusel was a .315 hitter that year and had batted in 81 runs in 108 regular season games. He also had doubled and tripled off Alexander in the Yankees’ 10–2 loss the day before.
At this crucial moment in the game, with strong hitters coming up, even a rookie would have known not to risk the third out by trying to steal. But Ruth was no rookie. For his size and weight, he was always a rather aggressive—but not necessarily successful—baserunner. For the season, he had stolen only 11 bases in 20 attempts.
What was Babe thinking?National Baseball Hall of Fame Library
Without receiving any signal to steal, Ruth, one of the slowest runners on the team, took off for second. Catcher Bob O’Farrell had plenty of time to make the throw to second baseman Rogers Hornsby, who easily tagged Ruth out by a good 5 feet for the third out. End of inning. End of game. End of Series.
“He didn’t say a word,” Hornsby recalled. “He didn’t even look at me. He just picked himself up off the ground and walked away.”
Ruth explained later that he attempted to steal second base because he thought no one would expect it, and he had hoped to catch the Cardinals by surprise. Through the 2011 season, no other World Series had ever ended on a player caught stealing.
Said Yankees executive Ed Barrow, “It was Ruth’s only dumb play of his life.”
ST. LOUIS, AA VS. CHICAGO, NL
1885 World Series
It was the fielding—or more aptly the lack of it—that vaulted this World Series into the annals of fall foolishness. Never in baseball history have two teams displayed such amazing incompetence as the St. Louis Browns and the Chicago Cubs (known back then as the White Stockings). Incredibly, the teams made more errors than hits.
The blundering players muffed easy grounders, dropped routine pop flies, and threw wildly in every single Series game to rack up an astonishing 102 errors—six more than the number of hits they collected. But who needed hits with such phenomenally inept fielding?
Both teams worked hard at beating themselves. Of the 74 runs scored, only 19 were earned. The relentless error production began right from the start. There were 15 errors in the first game, which ended in a 5–5 tie, called at the end of the eighth inning because of darkness. Total errors over the next five games: 9, 16, 10, 8, and 17.
But the Boys of Bummer saved the worst for last. Floundering on the field in Game 7, St. Louis booted the ball 10 times only to be topped by 17 Chicago miscues. The fourth inning was a classic for Chicago’s clod squad. With a flair for botchery seldom seen in baseball, Cap Anson let two feeble grounders trickle through his legs, left fielder Abner Dalrymple unleashed a wild throw two stories over the catcher’s head, shortstop Ned Williamson pegged the ball into the seats, and catcher Frank “Silver” Flint let two strikes slip through his hands for passed balls. As a testament to the caliber of fielding, the record book shows that 13 of the 17 total runs scored in the game (won by the Browns, 13–4) were unearned.
So where did all this on-the-field ineptitude lead? Nowhere. The Series ended in a tie. And in controversy.
In the top of the sixth inning of the second game, which was played in St. Louis, the score was tied at 4–4 when Williamson beat out a dribbler down the first base line that scored the go-ahead run. At first, umpire Dan Sullivan called the ball foul and then changed his mind and called it fair. St. Louis player-manager Charlie Comiskey was so enraged he yanked his team off the field in protest. Sullivan countered by declaring the game a 9–0 forfeit. But St. Louis won a moral victory when Sullivan was relieved of his umpiring duties for the rest of the Series due to his poor officiating.
Because each team had won three games and tied one, Cap Anson declared he and his players were co-champions with St. Louis. But the Browns claimed the championship for themselves, insisting that the forfeited second game shouldn’t count.
At least both teams could share one thing—their rightful place in The Baseball Hall of Shame™.
CINCINNATI, NL
1919 World Series
Everybody knows that the 1919 World Series was tainted by the infamous Black Sox Scandal when eight Chicago players were accused of taking payoffs to throw the Series.
But the Cincinnati Reds’ performance was shameful as well. They almost lost to a team that was doing everything in its power to hand them victory.
Even though the White Sox fix was on, it looked like the Reds were the ones taking the dive in the best of nine series. After all, they committed just as many errors as the White Sox, 12.
For instance, in the second inning of the third game, Cincinnati pitcher Ray Fisher fielded a sacrifice bunt and flung the ball over second base and into center field. That put runners at second and third. A single brought them home, and Chicago reluctantly won, 3–0.
With the Reds ahead four games to one, the White Sox tried to toss them the sixth game, which would have given them the world championship, but Cincy refused to take it. Doing everything but pick up the Reds and carry them around the bases, the White Sox committed three errors on the way to a 4–0 Cincinnati lead. But the Reds successfully fought off victory with an abominable display of baseball.
In the top of the sixth inning, Chicago batter Buck Weaver looped a pop fly to short left field that should have been an easy catch for either left fielder Pat Duncan or shortstop Larry Kopf. Instead, they stood around and watched to see how high the ball would bounce when it hit the ground. Weaver ran at less than full speed, but the Reds still couldn’t throw him out. The goof paved the way for a 5–4 Chicago victory.
The Reds’ bats went silent in Game 7 while their fielding racked up three errors, so the White Sox won again, 4–1.
With back-to-back victories that closed the Series’ gap to four games to three, there was real desperation in the Chicago clubhouse that they might actually win the crown after all. But Cincy finally came through in Game 8, winning 10–5 to capture the title after White Sox hurler Claude “Lefty” Williams (who lost all three games he started) grooved enough pitches to get bombed in the first inning.
The better team probably didn’t win the Series. The better loser lost it.
FRED SNODGRASS
Center Fielder
CHIEF MEYERS
Catcher
CHRISTY MATHEWSON
Pitcher
FRED MERKLE
First Baseman
New York, NL · October 16, 1912
No team ever handed a Series championship to its opponents the way the New York Giants did.
The Giants and Boston Red Sox had each won three games. Because Game 2 had ended in a 6–6 tie due to darkness, the teams played an unusual eighth and decisive game at Fenway Park.
After nine innings, they were deadlocked 1–1. In the top of the 10th, New York took a 2–1 lead after Red Murray doubled and was driven home on a single by Fred Merkle. The Giants could taste victory, only three outs away.
Leading off in the Boston half of the inning, pinch hitter Clyde Engle hit an ordinary fly ball to center, the territory of sure-handed Fred Snodgrass. But the unbelievable happened. The ball hit his glove and plopped to the ground. His teammates stood in disbelief as the tying run for Boston was now perched on second base. The visibly shaken Snodgrass tried to atone for his grave mistake on the next play by making a spectacular grab of a low liner hit by Harry Hooper. After the catch, Engle tagged up and advanced to third with one out.
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p; Still shaken by Snodgrass’s muff, the Giants began to fall apart at the seams. The famous control of pitcher Christy Mathewson unexpectedly vanished and he walked weak-hitting Steve Yerkes. That brought up the always dangerous Tris Speaker.
On the first pitch, Speaker hit a lazy foul pop-up between first and home. Any one of three players could have caught it with his eyes closed. Mathewson moved over from the mound, catcher Chief Meyers broke from the plate, and first baseman Fred Merkle trotted down the baseline. What followed was a scene straight out of a Marx Brothers flick. Mathewson called for Meyers to take it. But Meyers thought Merkle would take it. Merkle assumed Mathewson or Meyers would take it. The result: Nobody took it. All three stood there and watched the ball fall at their feet. And with that blunder, the outcome was inevitable—and everyone in Fenway Park knew it.
Given a new lease on life, Speaker singled to right to drive in Engle with the tying run. With Yerkes at third and Speaker on first, Duffy Lewis was walked intentionally. Larry Gardner then belted a fly ball to Josh Devore in right field that was deep enough for Yerkes to tag up and score the Series-winning run.
For the stunned Giants, it was an unbelievable finish to what had otherwise been a great season—and they had nobody to blame but themselves.
HACK WILSON
Center Fielder · Chicago, NL · October 12, 1929
When the 1929 World Series had faded into painful memory, Chicagoans were mournfully singing “The Wrigley Field Blues.” It was sung slowly and with great feeling to the tune of “My Old Kentucky Home.”
The first stanza went: “Oh! The sun shone bright in our great Hack Wilson’s eyes . . .” And it concluded: “Weep no more, dear Cub fan/Oh, weep no more today/For we’ll sing one song for the game and fighting Cubs/For the record-whiffing Cubs far away.”
The Chicago fans had a right to vent their bitterness not only over the Cubs’ loss to the Philadelphia Athletics in five games, but also over Hack Wilson’s absentmindedness. He had opened the way for an astonishing come-from-behind victory by the A’s in Game 4.
Going into the bottom of the seventh inning at Shibe Park, Cubs ace Charlie Root was throwing a three-hitter, smugly anticipating victory with what looked like an insurmountable 8–0 lead. A win by the Cubs would even the Series at two games apiece.
If only Hack had worn these shades . . .National Baseball
Hall of Fame Library
The A’s Al Simmons opened the inning with a home run and Jimmie Foxx singled, but there was little cause for alarm. Next, Bing Miller lofted a short fly to center. Wilson ran in and reached to flip down his sunglasses. Everybody wore sunglasses in the outfield at Shibe because of the glare. Everybody, that is, except Wilson. He had left his pair back in the dugout. Not that they would have done much good. Two innings earlier, in the fifth, Wilson, with his shades on, had lost Jimmy Dykes’s fly ball in the sun and muffed it for an error.
Now, in the seventh without the sunglasses, he was blinded even worse by the sun and let the ball drop for a single.
Incredibly, before the next batter stepped up, Wilson did not call time to fetch his sunglasses.
The A’s kept the rally going and quickly cut the lead to 8–4. With one out and runners on the corners, Cubs reliever Art Nehf came on to pitch. Mule Haas then smashed a long fly ball toward Wilson. The center fielder had room to make the catch. But for the third time in the game, he was blinded by the sun. With his bare hand, Wilson made a desperate but futile stab at the ball as it sailed over his head and rolled all the way to the wall for a three-run inside-the-park home run. The A’s went on to tally 10 runs in the inning to set a Series record. The stunned Cubs couldn’t recover and fell 10–8.
Devastated by the loss, Chicago blew a 2–0 ninth-inning lead in Game 5, losing 3–2 to close out the Series on the short end.
Although Wilson led all batters in hitting during the Series with a lofty .471 batting average, he took the blame for the balls he lost in the sun.
“Looks like I’m the big chump of the Series,” he told reporters. “I play good ball all season, and in the most important game I’ve ever been in, I blow up. They’ll be calling me a long lost brother of Snodgrass and Merkle. And to think the weatherman promised we’d have a cloudy day. If he’d only been right.”
JOHNNY BENCH
Catcher · Cincinnati, NL · October 18, 1972
Johnny Bench, who played in 23 World Series games, was often an October hero. But in the third game of the 1972 Fall Classic, he looked more like an April fool.
The Cincinnati Reds star was at bat with runners on second and third, one out, and his team ahead 1–0 in the top of the eighth inning. After Bench ran the count to 3-and-2, Oakland Athletics manager Dick Williams went out to the mound to talk to relief pitcher Rollie Fingers and catcher Gene Tenace.
It was a crucial moment in a tight game. Bench, who was batting cleanup, figured the A’s were discussing whether to pitch to him or walk him intentionally and face the next batter, Tony Perez. While on the mound, Williams pointed toward first and held up four fingers and then trotted back to the dugout. When play resumed, Bench figured that he was about to get an intentional walk.
Standing behind and to the right of the plate, Tenace extended his hand, the traditional gesture for an intentional base on balls. Bench relaxed and waited for the expected wide pitch.
As Fingers threw, Tenace suddenly crouched behind the plate. The ball caught the outside corner for strike three. To his utter distress, Johnny Bench, the thinking man’s ballplayer, realized he had been suckered into a called third strike. Casting his eyes to the ground, he shuffled back to the dugout, a victim of a baseball con job.
Fingers then gave Perez a free pass to load the bases and got Denis Menke to foul out to end the threat. The Reds won 1–0, but much of the talk after the game was over duping Bench.
Recalled Fingers, “Dick Williams came to the mound and told me, ‘We’re going to fake an intentional pass to Bench, but throw a strike. Don’t throw a fastball because he’s a fastball hitter.’ I said, ‘What are you talking about? Is this Little League or what?’ I threw probably the best slider I’d ever thrown in my life.
“When I see Johnny Bench, I never mention it. But he usually brings it up and says, ‘That was the most embarrassing moment of my life.’”
RED FABER
Pitcher · Chicago, AL · October 7, 1917
In the 1917 World Series, Hall of Fame pitcher Red Faber scored his biggest triumph—and committed one of the Fall Classic’s biggest baserunning blunders.
As a pitcher for the Chicago White Sox, Faber dominated the New York Giants, beating them three times as the Sox drubbed the Giants, four games to two.
However, as a baserunner, Faber would have been better off sitting on the bench. That, apparently, was where he left his brains during the fifth inning of Game 2.
With teammate Buck Weaver on second base, Faber drilled a base hit to right field, but a strong throw home from Dave Robertson kept Weaver at third. Meanwhile, Faber, running with his head down, took second on the throw. Faber, who collected only four hits during the entire season for an abysmal .058 batting average, was thrilled with his World Series single. Assuming that Weaver had scored, Faber was so pumped that he failed to realize that Weaver was standing on third.
As the next batter, Nemo Leibold, dug in at the plate, Giants pitcher Pol Perritt didn’t even bother glancing back to second base. There was little reason for him to do so. Faber was a slow runner, and besides, Weaver was already on third. With two out and two on and the White Sox ahead 7–2, Perritt went into his windup.
Faber figured that even though he was no speed merchant on the basepaths, he could surely steal third because Perritt wasn’t pitching from the stretch. Faber just couldn’t resist the temptation and blindly scampered to third base, arriving in a nifty slide—
and bewilderment.
Much to his astonishment, Faber looked up and saw Weaver peering down on him. After Faber was tagged out by third baseman Heinie Zimmerman on a peg from catcher Bill Rariden, Weaver asked his embarrassed teammate, “What the hell are you doing here?”
As Faber dusted himself off, he replied, “Why, I’m just going out to pitch, of course.”
ROGER PECKINPAUGH
Shortstop · Washington, AL · 1925 World Series
On the eve of the 1925 World Series, Washington Senators shortstop Roger Peckinpaugh was named the American League’s Most Valuable Player. Unfortunately, he was anything but that in the Fall Classic.
Peckinpaugh set a futility record that no one has come close to matching—he pecked and pawed his way to eight errors in one World Series.
Playing as if his glove was made of Portland cement, the fumbling shortstop contributed to three of his team’s losses. As a result, the Pittsburgh Pirates overcame a three-games-to-one deficit to win the world championship right out from under the shell-shocked Senators.
Peckinpaugh ranged to his right and to his left and deep in the hole to bungle balls throughout the Series.
He helped blow the second game in the eighth inning. With the score knotted at 1–1, Peckinpaugh bobbled Eddie Moore’s easy grounder. Moments later, Kiki Cuyler belted a homer, scoring Moore ahead of him, giving the Pirates a 3–2 victory.
After five games, Peckinpaugh had five errors, but the Senators were still ahead three games to two. In the sixth game, he made his sixth error, but fortunately for him it proved harmless. However, in the third inning, he failed to field a double-play ball cleanly, resulting in a fielder’s choice that left runners at first and second. A sacrifice, an infield out, and a single drove home two runs as Pittsburgh won 3–2 to even the Series.
It seemed impossible that Peckinpaugh could play any worse, but he did in the seventh and deciding game. Washington held a 6–4 lead in the seventh inning when the hapless Senator was afflicted with the dropsies. Moore hit a high pop-up to Peckinpaugh, but the snake-bit shortstop muffed it. His seventh error of the Series was followed by a double and a triple that tied the score at 6–6.
