In the Days When Honus Wagner was a Teuton

Sportswriters don’t appear to have changed much since the turn of the century. We are still putting our feet in our mouths, often two at a time, and letting our biases slither into our scribblings.

Society as a whole appears to have done a bit better, though. At least umpires no longer court death when they make a tough call.

What brings these things home is “The Unforgettable Season,” a new Simon & Schuster book by G.H. Fleming that details the 1908 National League race among Chicago, New York and Pittsburgh--the closest, and arguably most dramatic, in baseball history.

It was the year Fred Merkle earned the nickname of “Bonehead,” costing New York a game late in September--and, as it turned out, the pennant. The winning run was on third and Merkle on first in the last of the ninth of a 1-1 duel with Chicago. A mate lined the ball up the middle, apparently winning the game. But Merkle ran straight for the clubhouse without touching second, as was the custom in those days.

No slave of custom, Joe Tinker, the Cubs’ second baseman, screamed for the ball. But center fielder Artie Hofman threw wildly, the Giants’ Joe McGinnity grabbed it ... and, alert to the force play Chicago was claiming, flung it into the crowd. The umpire ruled Merkle out, a riot ensued, and he ran for his life. After days of debate, the league upheld his ruling, and the game went into the books as a tie.

When both clubs finished 98-55 (Pittsburgh was 98-56), the game had to be replayed. And before 35,000, baseball’s biggest crowd ever, the Cubs beat 37-game winner Christy Mathewson for the pennant 4-2.

Fleming has gone back through the papers from each of those towns, and others, and recreated the race day by day through the eyes of the many knights of the keyboard who covered the teams.

The editing must have taken forever. The result is enthralling.

What most have forgotten, and which Fleming documents, is that the same thing had happened Sept. 4 when the Cubs lost to Pittsburgh. Chicago protested but lost because Hank O’Day, the game’s only umpire, had run straight for the clubhouse, too, and hadn’t seen whether the runner had touched second.

The Cubs were alert to the possibility, then. And so, the next time, was the umpire. By coincidence, Hank O’Day worked the game.

Unfortunately for the Giants, this was a time when papers covered their own teams prolifically and largely ignored all the rest. Only one of New York’s many dailies, Fleming discovered, had carried any mention of that Cubs-Pirates contest.

Too bad Merkle didn’t subscribe to the Chicago Tribune.

But what sets this book apart are the glimpses into a long-ago time when papers were florid, and homerish, and good taste never got in the way of a sportswriter’s joke.

Mathewson “ ... sent 12 Brooklyn lads back to the bench in disgrace after they had swung their floating ribs out of shape trying to hit his benders on the snoot,” wrote Hype Igoe in the New York American.

“Two other sluggish athletes from the banks of the Schuylkill were also massacred at the fourth bag and died in an erect attitude,” reported the New York Press ... meaning two Pittsburgh runners were thrown out at home trying to score standing up.

Of bowlegged Honus Wagner, a Pittsburgh paper wrote: “The big Teuton

I still think the writing is better now, but I’m not as sure as I was.

Obviously, it was a naive time in many ways.

“Wagner’s unnoticed single,” said New York’s Evening Journal, “established a record thatwill probably live after yesterday’s game, the 1908 pennant race and even the National League are forgotten. . . . Two thousand hits!”

Addictions were just shrugged away. The New York World carried a piece written by the Giants’ second baseman, Larry Doyle, that said in part: “Nearly all ballplayers smoke, and I’m no exception.” And the New York Globe reported offhandedly, “It was just one year ago yesterday since (Giants slugger Mike Donlin) boarded the water wagon. ...”

Most of all, labor stood in awe of the management. The weekly Sporting Life reported that Cubs manager Frank Chance “forbade the marriage of Artie Hofman and beautiful Rae Looker until after the baseball season is over. ... ‘I guess Miss Looker and I can wait,’ said Mr. Hofman.”

Imagine what Jose Canseco would say, told to give up his sports cars.

Even more striking is the insensitivity in 1908 to a man’s nationality, physiognomy, bad habits and even his handicaps.

The Giants had a deaf mute named Taylor. His nickname was “Dummy.” Manager John McGraw made his players learn sign language, which he used in the coaching box. “Maybe,” observed the New York American, “that’s why the Dummy is kept on the salary roll.”

The New York World observed of a dramatic Giants rally, “The Polo Grounds were now in bedlam. Dummy Taylor sprained three fingers trying to say something. ... “

The Sporting News, “baseball’s Bible,” said this (incredibly): “The long-nosed rooters are crazy whenever young Herzog does anything noteworthy. There would be no let-up even if a million ham sandwiches suddenly fell among these believers in percentages and bargains.”

Fortunately, we have come a long way in most ways.

But when it comes to excitement, Fleming suggests, we haven’t seen a season like that one in all the years since.