leaned against the wall.
“We can wait here until the game starts at three fifteen,” Reverend Casey said. “Then we can go watch the game from the tunnel that the players use to get on and off the field.”
Standing against the wall, I could hear the noise of the crowd starting to fill the stands. I heard the crowd roar at times and could only wonder what was going on and what I was missing. There was a clock above the doorway to the room and it was hard not to stare at it. Time moved slowly, but finally 3:15 came.
Reverend Casey took his hat from the table and led us out of the room and into the tunnel. It got dark as we moved halfway through the tunnel, but you could see the daylight bleeding in from the other side. Maybe this is what it was like being born, moving through a tunnel of darkness into the wonderful light of being. What lie at the end of the tunnel was something that I had dreamt about my entire life. My heart raced as we got closer to the light, I could feel every single heart beat. A moment later, there it was, we had finally cut our way through the darkness and began to bathe in the light.
26
At the end of the tunnel, brilliant daylight streamed. There was also a beautiful sight; the likes of which I had only dreamed. The first thing that struck me was the greenness of the grass, and how well kept it was. The infield and outfield grass was as nice as any lawn I had ever seen. From where we were, I could see the player’s faces and hear their voices as they spoke to each other. We were at the far end of the Athletics bench behind first base, able to see right into the Yankee dugout on the third base side.
I gazed into the Yankee dugout trying to catch a glimpse of the Babe. At first, I did not see him and wondered why he was not with the players, only to realize he had his back to us, surrounded by his teammates in the middle of the dugout.
The announcer voice crackled over the loudspeakers as he read the starting lineups for both teams. For the Yankees it was; Witt, Dugan, Ruth, Pipp, Meusel, Ward, Hoffman, Scott, and Sam Jones as their starting pitcher. Sam Jones was nicknamed Sad Sam or the Sorrowful Hoosier; and seeing his face up close I could see why. He seemed to have a scowl permanently etched onto his mug.
For the Athletics, the lineup read; Mathews, Galloway, Hale, Hauser, Miller, Welch, Dykes, Perkins, and Long Bob Hasty as their pitcher. Looking at the lineups of the two teams it was clear to see why the Yankees were in first place and the Athletics were languishing in seventh.
“Who you rootin’ for?” Mr. Mulligan asked Father Casey as the Yankees came to bat in the top of the first inning.
Reverend Casey looked at him with a stern expression and said,
“I don’t care who wins I just want them to get this game over with as fast as possible.”
“In fact I am praying right now for the game to end in record time, and I hope that the Lord is listening,” Reverend Casey said.
The Yankees went scoreless in the top of the first inning. As the Athletics returned to their dugout at the end of the inning, I could not believe how close we were to them.
Jimmy Dykes passed within five feet of the tunnel entrance where we stood. I could hear every word the players said to each other as they ran off the field.
In the bottom of the first inning, Sad Sam Jones walked Galloway, but nothing came of it. It remained scoreless until the top of the third inning when the Yankees scored two runs. The game went through the fifth inning with neither team adding any score. Even though there was not much hitting going on, I marveled at each out and every swing of the bat. It was all so wonderful, like a dream, if only Johnny could be here to share this moment. I was part of the crowd of five thousand people, but I really felt like I was all alone.
The game seemed to be moving along at a very brisk pace. There were hardly any hits and not many base runners. The innings were rolling by. In fact, it seemed like the Athletics had not gotten any hits at all. I looked out at the scoreboard and through five innings, and noticed that they did not have even a single hit. The walk to Galloway had accounted for their only base runner.
The people in the crowd also seemed to take note of the fact that Sad Sam was pitching a no hitter. The sixth and seventh innings came and went, and without a hit for the Athletics. Standing on the pitchers hill Jones looked gaunt and pale. The sweat was pouring down his face and he was wiping his brow with almost every pitch. The sweat was getting in his eyes and he used the sleeve of his uniform to try to wipe them between pitches.
As Jones went out to start the eight inning he looked as though he was going to become sick right on the field. His face had a strange combination of a pale sickly look, with patches of red sunburn from the sun beating down on him. The home crowd was pulling for him, realizing that there was nothing to be gained by the Athletics getting a hit.
Bing Miller led off the eighth inning. He hit a ground ball to Dugan at third base who threw him out to Pipp at first. The next batter Welch for the Athletics drove the ball hard to Everett Scott the sure handed Yankee shortstop. The ball hit Scott’s glove and then caromed up off his chest.
Welch running as hard as he could was safe at first base. Scott stood with the ball in his glove, shaking his head, not believing what he had just done. Sad Sam Jones stood on the pitcher’s mound looking as though his pet dog had just died. Everett Scott tossed the ball back to Jones and everyone in the stadium turned towards the scoreboard.
Would the official score count that as a hit, or would it be an error on Scott. If it were ruled an error, then the no hitter would still be intact. Jones held the ball and waited for the ruling. Minutes went by before they finally put an “E” for error up on the scoreboard. Scott was charged with the error and the no hitter continued. Jimmy Dykes then came up and hit a feeble roller back to Jones who wheeled and fired to second base getting Welch out and allowing Dykes to reach first base. He had gotten the lead runner out so it counted as a fielder’s choice, still no hits.
Cy Perkins was next. He took a mighty swing and hit the ball deep to centerfield, but Whitey Witt got under it and made the catch. The no hitter was still alive.
The Yankees again went scoreless in the top of the ninth inning, and had to hope their two-run lead would hold up. As Sad Sam took the mound for the bottom of the ninth inning, everyone in the crowd was on their feet. There was hooting and hollering on every pitch.
Connie Mack, the Athletics manager, sent Frank McGowan to hit for the pitcher Bob Hasty. He hit an easy roller to Ward at second base who flipped the ball to Pipp at first base getting him out easily. Wid Mathews was next up. He smashed one like a rocket, but right at the shortstop Scott, who scooped the ball up and fired to first to get the fleet footed Mathews. Now Galloway was now the only thing standing between Sad Sam Jones and immortality.
There had not been a no-hitter during the entire 1923 baseball season. I followed baseball statistics very closely and I could not remember the last time a pitcher pitched a no hit game. I could not believe that my first baseball game ever would be such an historic event.
Galloway stood at home plate looking determined to get a hit. He seemed to swing harder with each one of his practice swings. He stared straight ahead into Jones eyes trying to break his concentration. The crowd was at a fever pitch, screaming at every movement on the field. Jones took a deep breath and used his glove to wipe the sweat from his forehead.
Jones reached back and threw the pitch with every ounce of strength he had left in his body. Galloway swung hard and the ball left his bat in the direction of third base. Dugan grabbed the ball and fired the ball over to Pipp who caught it standing on first base for the final out. The Yankees exploded and mobbed Jones in front of the pitcher’s mound. The crowd stood on their seats and cheered for the Yankee hurler. Even some of the Athletics stood and clapped for Jones as he walked off the field.
As the last out was recorded, a big smile appeared on the face of Reverend Casey. For the first time all day he seemed to able to breathe.
“That worked out very well,” Reverend Casey said. “I guess someb
ody upstairs was listening to my prayers and we get to play our game today.”
In all the excitement, I had almost forgotten about the charity baseball game. Amazingly, it was only 4:40 PM; the game had been played in one hour and twenty-three minutes. If it was not the fastest games in baseball history, but it had to be close. It made me wonder about Reverend Casey and the power of prayer. It gave me an eerie feeling, Reverend Casey prayed and Sad Sam Jones pitches a no-hitter, it had to make you a believer.
27
A minute or two after the game ended the dejected Athletics players filed by us as they walked through the player’s tunnel into their locker room. They walked slowly and quietly, grim faced, as though embarrassed by their performance on the field. As the last player passed, Reverend Casey followed their line and left the tunnel. He began walking towards the Yankee locker room. Our group followed him and waited outside the entrance door. Reverend Casey said a few words to the guard posted outside and they opened the door and walked him inside.
We waited outside for about ten minutes and watched the door open and close with people running in and out. Reverend Casey finally appeared at the door; behind him were four Philadelphia police officers. As the police officers exited, I saw them look up and down the hallway where we
Me, Johnny, and The Babe Page 22
