There's No Place in America That's Not Part of a Major-League Ballfield

"There's no place in America that's not part of a major-league ballfield." I just read W.P. Kinsella's The Iowa Baseball Confederacy and I can't get the image out of my head. Gideon Clarke's father is explaining to him why baseball is the perfect game.

"There's no limit to how far a man might possibly hit a ball, and there's not limit to how far a fleet outfielder might run to receive it. The foul lines run on forever, forever diverging. There's no place in America that's not part of a major-league ballfield."

The realist in me wants to dissect the statement but I had to let go of the realist in order to enjoy the fantasy in the rest of the book, which I did. As I was making the twelve hour drive home from vacation I imagined a baseball soaring over the highway, hit by a slugger in a faraway ballpark. What a magical thought.

Watching a ball leave the park is magical in itself, even if it doesn't cross highways and state boarders after it crosses the wall. This was especially true in the early days of baseball when home runs were less common than they are today and outside the park home runs were almost unheard of. When Roger Connor of the New York Giants became the first batter to hit a ball over the fence of the Polo Grounds in 1886 his home run was just one of 21 for the entire team that season. It took seven years of batters trying to get one out of the park before Connor was successful against Boston Beaneater Old Hoss Radbourn. The New York Times reported that Radbourn threw Connor a solid ball and "he met it squarely and it soared upward with the speed of a carrier pigeon." The crowd cheered as they watched the ball fly over the fence, and Connor was "gazed upon in wonderment by Radbourn and the other members of the Boston team."

Connor is also credited with hitting the first grand slam home run, another feat which left the opposing team gazing in wonderment, no doubt. For 23 years after retiring Connor was the all-time home run leader. When Babe Ruth hit his 139th home run in 1921 he took over the career home run crown. At that time, however, no one was aware that the title had been passed from Connor to Ruth because statistics did not hold the allure that they do to baseball fans today.

In some respects the fans have changed. They are devouring statistics and anxiously following races. In some respects the game has changed. Outside the park home runs are more common than inside the park and no longer warrant a newspaper article. In many ways, however, we have remained the same. Baseball still captures our imagination and binds fans together, binds America together. "There's no place in America that's not part of a major-league ballfield." W.P. Kinsella wrote it in 1986, but William H. Rowe knew it in 1909 when he penned "With New York in 1884," a poem that appeared in Verse and Toast: Series 1. He writes of the 1884 Giants which included Roger Connor:

Buck took the bat and smashed it, The ball sailed like a bird;
It landed in a window At Third ave and Thirty-third.
Connor, Mighty Roger He knocked it to Central Park.
Van Haltren and Mike Tiernan Both hit a swimming shark
Away out near Coneys, That island dear and fair,
Coneys, sweet, sweet Coneys, Where your trouble sinks wid care;

There's no place in America that's not part of a major-league ballfield.

$11,000 Beauty or Lemon?

The rookie pitcher, called a "phenom" by the press, took the mound for the first time in a Major League uniform and hoped he could prove that he was worth the record-breaking price his team paid for him. No, this isn't another blog about Stephen Strasburg. This situation took place over 100 years ago when the New York Giants signed Minor League pitcher Rube Marquard of the Indianapolis Browns for $11,000. The previous contract record was $10,000 for Mike "King" Kelly who was a proven Major League ballplayer so the Giants manager John McGraw turned some heads by taking a chance on the young lefty. Marquard and McGraw attempted to leverage this hype and celebrity status throughout the pitcher's lifetime, at times without strict attention to truth. The results ranged from complete humiliation to enshrinement in the Hall of Fame.

Marquard came to the Giants during the heated pennant race with Chicago in 1908 and had only thrown a few pitches before the Cubs came to town, just 2 1/2 games back. McGraw tried to intimidate the opposition by having Marquard warm up and walk to the diamond as if he were going to pitch but at the last minute substituted another pitcher who secretly had been warming up. McGraw tried the trick for both games with Chicago and both times his strategy failed. The Cubs beat the Giants 4-3 and 2-1. Giants' fans were growing restless and the following day when Fred Merkle's mistake led to a tie game rather than a Giant win the fans were riotous.

McGraw needed to get the fans' minds off of the Merkle disaster as soon as possible. He turned to his star rookie, the "$11,000 Beauty" as the press called him, to start a game just two days later. The decision was made primarily for public relations and not strategy since the Cincinnati team hit well off of left-handed pitchers. Marquard shared his fear with teammate Christy Mathewson just before taking the mound. According to Mathewson, Marquard said the fans, "were all thinking that McGraw had paid $11,000 for me and now they were to find out whether he had gotten stuck, whether he had picked up a golden brick with the plating on it very thin. I was wondering, myself, whether I would make good." No one had to wonder for long. Mathewson reports "the official scorer got writer's cramp trying to keep track of the hits and runs" and Marquard was taken out in the fifth inning.

The "$11,000 Beauty" became the "$11,00 Lemon" overnight. For the next two years Marquard worked on his confidence and fundamentals. He won just nine games in two years. In 1911 Marquard won 24 games and, finally, the affection of the Giants' fans. Their love grew stronger the following year when he won 19 straight games (a single-season record that still stands today). Marquard used his baseball success to propel himself to celebrity status. He endorsed products, appeared on Broadway and made a silent movie. Long after his baseball career ended Rube still seemed to know the power of public relations and a good story. Marquard's selection for the Hall of Fame in 1971 is often debated. Many argue it had more to do with his captivating tales in the book The Glory of Their Times than statistics. Several of the details about his life in the book have been questioned and proven incorrect.

Sharing moving (and maybe untrue) stories about his life at a crucial time was not a new approach for Marquard. When John McGraw first signed the young pitcher and brought him to New York, the rookie thought he should write a note of introduction to the fans. Larry Mansch reprinted the letter in his book Rube Marquard. While the embellished tales in The Glory of Their Times ultimately paid off and possibly led to his election to the Hall of Fame, the initial hype of Marquard's arrival in New York and McGraw's intimidation tactics backfired.

I personally am not very good at creating the hype for myself like Marquard did. I'm not sure yet if that is good or bad. I know that I have missed out on opportunities that have gone to others who are better at selling themselves. Self-promotion is something I respect when done honestly. Marquard seemed to skirt the line on that. I actually find his own words insightful although I'm not sure he learned from them. In his 1908 letter, Marquard wrote,

"Only once did I try 'living high.' That was after I had begun pitching professional ball. I got the idea I ought to tog myself out in gay raiment, so I took the money I got for pitching and bought a gorgeous suit of clothes. It was a florid cast of countenance, and it made itself heard in the dark, it was so loud. To match it I had a pair of yellow shoes that sneezed like a man with hay fever when I walked. I thought I was the best dressed man in the country till my friends saw me, and then I heard so many things about my appearance that I shook the duds forever."

I have no idea if the story of the suit is true or if Marquard made it up in order to seem more down to earth and less like a high-paid ballplayer. Either way, he seems like a man who would often wear whatever "suit" he needed to wear in order to get ahead. I am more comfortable in my own clothes even if they don't get heard in the dark or sneeze like a man with hay fever. But, this way I'll probably never get in the hall of fame. I suppose there's a balance somewhere in the middle?

That's The Way It Goes

The man who sat at a telegraph machine fanning himself in a hot, stuffy room overlooking a baseball field in New York in 1887 illustrates how popular baseball was at the time and how far businesses were willing to go to capitalize on its popularity. Telegraph operators relayed scores by inning to newspapers and pool rooms across the country where fans would hungrily lap up the information about their home team (or the team on which they had placed a bet). The competition between telegraph companies, Baltimore and Ohio and Western Union, was fierce. Clubs signed a contract with one company, giving them the sole rights to wire the information about games from their field for the season. The demand for baseball was so high, however, that sometimes the company that lost the contract still found a creative way to follow the game and wire scores to paying customers.

A July 1887 New York Times article tells of a Baltimore and Ohio telegraph operator working outside a ballpark that was under contract with Western Union. The operator did not let that stop him from wiring scores. He had rented a room in the spring which overlooked the field for $5 a month and had telegraph wires run to the room. It must have seemed like the perfect plan, that is until the buds appeared on the giant willow tree that stood between the room and the field. The tree that, according to the operator, "has the heaviest foliage I ever saw on any tree" blocked home plate and the infield. Fortunately he could still "obtain a fair view of the outfield."

The operator did not let this obstacle keep from reporting the score, inning by inning. Instead of relying on sight, he used sound, just as one receives information on a telegraph. After each play he waited to hear the reaction of the crowd to determine what happened on the field. He learned to interpret the silence, cheers, groans and gasps nearly perfectly. He reported, "That's the way it goes and I haven't been deceived by these signs three times this season. When the game is concluded I telegraph the total runs, base hits and errors, and unscrewing my machine, make tracks for home and make my dinner."

I love the juxtaposition of intelligence and stupidity in this story because, well, I guess I can relate to it. I have my "blonde" moments. There's something very human about a guy who took a gutsy and creative action of renting the room, rigging the machine and was then fooled by his own short-sightedness of not thinking about the tree that would obviously get leaves in the summer. I love that he didn't let his error stop him, he still persisted. He used his other senses and knowledge of the game to get the information he needed. I often say I may not be (insert various adjectives), but I'm resourceful. That's this guy! Finally, I love that at the end of the day he didn't beat himself up about what may have gone wrong. Sometimes I take myself and my actions way too seriously and I just need to relax, say "that's the way it goes" make tracks for home and make my dinner. Can you relate to the operator too or am I the only one that sometimes overlooks simple things, like trees getting leaves?

The Red Dye Faded From The Stockings

"As integral to the game as are the red stitches that keep a baseball from unraveling" is how author Stephen D. Guschov describes the Cincinnati Red Stockings' legacy. In 1869 the Cincinnati Baseball Club employed Harry Wright, his brother George and eight other players to form the first official professional baseball team. Prior to this team, clubs often split the gate receipts with players or paid top performers a salary off the record. The Cincinnati Red Stockings were the first team to announce that all of its players were receiving a salary with the highest ($1,400) going to George Wright. The team of professionals completed 57 games during the 1869 season without a single loss. Despite their success on the field, the team was not financially successful and when the winning streak was broken in their second season fans and investors began to withdraw their support. After two seasons and less than ten losses (cumulative!) the Cincinnati ball club decided to abandon their decision and moved forward with a team consisting solely of amateur players.

The fall of the Red Stockings began in Brooklyn on June 14, 1870 when the Atlantics handed Cincinnati their first loss since becoming a professional team. The New York Times called the game "The Most Exciting Game on Record." By this point, Cincinnati had won approximately 92 games in a row. At the bottom of the 9th inning the Atlantics and the Red Stockings were tied at 5. The umpire declared the game a tie and the Atlantics began to exit the field to get changed. The Red Stockings were not, however, willing to settle with a tie. They petitioned the umpires to let the game continue into extra innings. The fans agreed, wanting a decision. They ran onto the field in an attempt to keep the Atlantics from leaving and "for a time confusion reigned supreme". Finally, the umpires declared that the game would continue. If the Atlantics didn't return to the field, the win would go to Cincinnati. Unfortunately for Harry Wright and his team, the Atlantics returned to play and went on to score three more runs to the Red Stockings' two. The final score was Brooklyn Atlantics 8, Cincinnati Red Stockings 7.

This loss shocked all of baseball. The unbeatable had been beaten. The team finished the season with no more than seven loses but this record was unacceptable to the Cincinnati fans (or cranks as they were called) and investors who expected perfection. Guschov writes, "Anything less was unacceptable. Defeat had meant dishonor to the Queen City cranks. The Red dye was fading from the stockings, and the Hose had begun to run."

The Cincinnati Base Ball Club, which barely broke even when the team was undefeated, suffered as attendance dropped. They reportedly sold pieces of lumber from the ballpark in order to stay afloat. When the Club decided it could no longer support the professional players of Harry Wright's team, its president A.P.C. Bonte released a notice stating this and added that the Club felt paying "large salaries" created jealousy and extravagance which led to problems in the team which worked against the team's success. Other teams were not convinced and were happy to bring the deserted Red Stockings players to their cities. Harry and George Wright packed up their signature red socks and moved to Boston to form the Boston Red Stockings.

Looking back it seems ridiculous that a club would abandon its team after two amazing winning seasons like those of the Red Stockings but I can't argue with Bonte's statement, "You can wave the Star Spangled Banner and talk about the glory of the Red Stockings, and the nine that meets with no defeat, but you must put your hands in your pockets and pay the bills. You can't run the club on glory." So where did the plan go wrong?

In my job I train nonprofits on how to create a solid plan before starting a project and we use Peter F. Drucker's The Drucker Foundation Self-Assessment Tool as a guide. I doubt that the members of the Cincinnati Baseball Club considered anything close to Drucker's five questions before deciding to hire an entire staff of professional players, or when they decided to abandon their entire team. Here are some thoughts I had when looking at the Red Stockings' situation through the lens of Drucker's questions.

Question 1 What Is Our Mission? - was the Club's mission to win games or earn money?, did they identify this from the beginning and plan accordingly?

Question 2 Who Is Our Customer? - did they know enough about the fans and investors?, did the fans and investors in Cincinnati know enough about baseball?

Question 3 What Does the Customer Value? - did they value the game, winning, or making a profit?

Question 4 What Are Our Results? - were they measuring their success simply in wins or in profit? if in profit why did they not make adjustments between 1869 and 1870 since they barely broke even in the first season?

Question 5 What Is Our Plan? - did they have a plan on how to make the team successful financially? were their expectations realistic both on the field and off?

The lesson learned from the Red Stockings is just what Bonte said, you can't run a club - or any business on glory. It takes more than a good idea, passion, fame and even talent to make something a successful venture. Careful planning and assessment is crucial.

The Rudder Which Guides is Judgment

John Montgomery Ward wrote that of batting, baserunning, fielding and battery work, baserunning "is the most skillful, it calls into play the keenest perception and the soundest judgment, it demands agility and speed, and it requires more daring, courage and enthusiasm than all the others combined." The Dead Ball Era was a time when games were low scoring and home runs were rare therefore skillful base running was crucial to winning games.

The 1910 book, Touching Second: The Science of Baseball co-written by reporter Hugh Fullerton and the Chicago Cub's Johnny Evers states base-running was "fast becoming one of the lost arts of baseball." The authors believed that since the 1890's players had "subordinated their intelligence to the brains of the manager, and allow one man, or rather, insist upon one man doing the thinking for the entire team, which is an impossibility." Ty Cobb was among a few players of the time that Evers and Fullerton admired for relying on his own judgment and instincts rather than that of managers or coaches.

They recall an example of Cobb using his judgment in a World Series game between the Detroit Tigers and Evers's Cubs. With Cobb on first the batter hit a single to short right center. Rather than stopping at second base, Cobb, in an instant, assessed the throwing ability and positions of his opponents and kept going to third base without pause. When Evers got the ball he turned to second base only to realize Cobb was approaching third. In his haste to make the play, Evers made a wild throw into the stands. Evers and Fullerton claim "no manager could have told Cobb to do that, and because 99 out of every 100 base-runners would have stopped at second to await orders, they would not have made the play." That is the keen judgment and sound perception of which Ward was speaking. Ward agreed with Evers and Fullerton, "the player must be able to see the play himself and act upon it instantly without waiting to be told."

I'm becoming increasingly convinced that Ward's Base-Ball: How to Be A Player could be retitled Life:How to Be a A Player and wonder if Ward realized that his baseball wisdom translated so well into advice on life in general. He states,

"A runner who is thoroughly alive to all the possibilities of the game will see a chance and gain a point where another of less ready perception would find no opening. The former has learned to marshal at a glance all the attendant probabilities and possibilities and to estimate, in the same instant, the chances of success or failure."

He goes on to caution,

"Therefore, the most important faculty of all, the pendulum which regulates, and the rudder which guides, is judgment."

Although I would say I have a keen sense of perception and I don't generally question my judgment I would have failed as a baserunner in the Dead Ball Era (and not just because of my tremendous lack of athletic ability). I am not a risk taker and so the probability of success has to be pretty high for me to act. Also, I've recently become frustrated with myself because I seem to be becoming less decisive. I have started wanting several other people's opinions before making a decision. Maybe all of Fullerton, Evers and Ward's advice isn't applicable to today's baserunning situations but I think I could benefit by playing a little more like Cobb, taking more risks and trusting my own perception and judgment. What about you? Do you have the makings of a good Dead Ball Era baserunner?

A Sign of Weakness or of Strength?

Opposing batters probably laughed when they saw twenty-year-old 120 pound Larry Corcoran for the first time. After they tried to hit the young player's pitches his opponents' laughter most likely turned to cursing. Cap Anson saw past the pitcher's small size and brought him to Chicago to join his Chicago White Stockings in 1880 which turned out to be one of many good decisions for Anson that year. The team, behind Anson's strategic leadership and Corcoran's powerful arm, dominated the next several years in the National League.

Anson and Corcoran have been credited with creating several key components of the modern game and while origins are difficult to verify, the White Stocking's success certainly added credibility to the new strategies they employed. One such strategy was a pitching rotation. Anson recognized that the practice of having the same pitcher start every game for a team was quickly wearing out his pitchers so he rotated starters Fred Goldsmith and Corcoran. Like many new ideas in baseball it wasn't originally accepted. Goldsmith and Corcoran were seen as weak because they needed rest. Anson didn't buckle to the criticism and the proof was in the numbers when Goldsmith had a winning percentage of .875 and Corcoran of .754 in 1880.

The rotation not only allowed the pitchers time to rest their arms but also kept opposing batters from getting too familiar with Goldsmith's curve or Corcoran's fastball. Goldsmith claimed ownership of the curveball and challenged Candy Cummings's story of its creation. Corcoran could also throw a curveball and worked it in with his fastball. He and catcher Silver Flint were credited with creating the first set of signs between a pitcher and catcher. Corcoran would shift the wad of chewing tobacco in his mouth to signal to Flint that a curve was on the way.

The White Stocking's teamwork and communication went well beyond this battery and included other strong teammates such as Mike "King" Kelly. Anson assured Corcoran and Goldsmith had the run supported needed to win games by focusing on developing the talent of his players beginning with Spring training and continuing throughout the season. The 1880 White Stockings finished the division with a .798 winning percentage, 15 games ahead of the second place team. In his autobiography, Anson states,

"The secret in the club's success in those days lay in its team work, and in the fact that a goodly portion of the time was spent in studying and developing the fine points of the game which long practice made them fairly perfect in."

Although these words describe a baseball team from 130 years ago I think they are still relevant today and apply to much more than baseball. Baseball, like many things in life, isn't about one or two superstars on a team who develop a new skill, it's about working together to put the strengths of all players on the team to the best use. Each player is dependent on his teammates to succeed.

In my job we often discuss the idea of moving people out of poverty to self-sufficiency. Are any of us really self-sufficient, or are we more like a member of a baseball team, relying on our friends, family, neighbors and government services such as roads and schools? Perhaps a better goal is a healthy interdependence. I know that at times I've been on a hitting streak and other times I've been in a slump and have relied on the help of others. I definitely need to rest my pitching arm every now and then. I'm glad to know that my team is strong enough to support me, much like Anson's White Stockings!

A Prolonged Heartbreaking Struggle

"A prolonged heartbreaking struggle" is how the New York Times described the twenty six inning battle between the Boston Braves and the Brooklyn Robins on May 1, 1920. This pitchers' duel ended with a 1-1 tie when the game was called due to darkness. The pitchers, Joe Oeschger for Boston and Leon Cadore for Brooklyn, each pitched the entire game and only gave up 24 hits between them. What does a team do for an encore after a twenty-six inning game? Well if you're the 1920 Brooklyn Robins you follow it up with two more extra-inning games for a total of 58 innings in three days. Unfortunately for the team, all 58 innings were a "prolonged heartbreaking struggle" but that didn't keep the Robins (who were also called the Dodgers at this point) from going to the World Series that year.

The twenty-six inning marathon still holds the record for the most innings in a Major League game and it would have gone longer had the umpires not decided it was too dark to continue playing, much to the dismay of the players and fans. The New York Times questioned one umpire's motives for ending his long work day:

"McCormick remembered he had an appointment pretty soon with a succulent beafsteak. He wondered if it wasn't getting dark. He held out one hand as a test and in the gleaming deciding it resembled a Virginia ham. He knew it wasn't a Virginia ham and became convinced it was too dark to play ball."

The following day the Braves had a day off to recover while the Robins piled into train cars and headed to Brooklyn to face the Philadelphia Phillies. They fell to Philly in what must have felt like a short 13 inning game with just 88 total at bats versus the 171 between the two teams the day before. Following the loss to Philly, the team piled back on a train and headed to Boston to face the Braves again. Despite their inevitable exhaustion, the New York Times reported "neither team showed the effects of overwork once they got into action." This time it took 19 innings for the Robins to fall. In three games Brooklyn had played 58 innings, come up to bat 193 times, scored 4 runs and won 0 games.

The New York Times quipped that the team was going to start demanding time and a half because they had played the equivalent to six full games with "four more innings thrown in for good measure" all in the span of three days. Of course the players did not demand overtime, they kept showing up and playing their best until the work was done. They persisted through the "prolonged heartbreaking struggle" and went on to win the National League pennant that year.

This team's persistence reminds me that although I've been working long hours lately and haven't felt like I've been having success every step of the way, I must continue on. I can't let the fact that I'm feeling tired, stressed out, overworked or frustrated affect the work that I'm doing. I must show up everyday to play and in the long run it will pay off.

Thanks Bryan Rutt for suggesting I write about this topic during the 20 inning Cardinals/Mets game in April, this turned out to be a lesson I need to learn right now!