47	ONE HAND, NO HITS—HOW CAN THAT HAPPEN?

Pitching in the Major Leagues is tough. Pitching a no-hitter is even tougher. Pitching a no-hitter, having only one hand—–now that is undoubtedly the toughest task.

Left-hander Jim Abbott was born without a right hand: only a stump above the wrist at the end of his right arm. Abbott embraced the card he was dealt, though. While he could’ve given into his limitations, he refused to bask in self-pity and instead chose to take a different route.

“I didn’t want to be defined by a disability,” Abbott once said.

His drive to compete and his love for sports made up for the physical parts he lacked. At a young age, one of the sports that attracted him the most was baseball. The only question became: how could he pitch, let alone play, with only one hand?

Abbott found the answer.

“I learned to play baseball like most kids, playing catch with my dad in the front yard. The only difference was that we had to come up with a method to throw and catch with the same hand. What we came up with is basically what I continued to do my whole life.”

Abbott practiced by throwing a ball against a brick wall, switching his glove off and on. When the ball bounced back to him, he flipped the glove to his left hand, ready to field.

He introduced that method in Little League, when at eleven years old, he pitched a no-hitter in his first game. He stuck with it through high school, finding further success as both a pitcher and hitter. As the University of Michigan, Abbott became one of the most talked-about baseball players in the country, winning the Sullivan Award one year, honoring the country’s most outstanding amateur athlete. His nearly flawless winning percentage during college (he won twenty-six of thirty-four games he pitched for Michigan) earned him a spot on Team USA in the 1987 Pan American Games and in the 1988 Olympics.

The best, of course, was yet to come.

Abbott made it to the Major Leagues in 1989, remarkably enough, without pitching a single game in the minors. He had defied all odds and broke into the highest professional level, despite what he lacked. In his rookie season with the California Angels, he finished fifth in the American League Rookie of the Year voting. In 1991, he won eighteen games for the Angels and finished third in voting for the Cy Young Award.

To make his storybook journal even more miraculous, Abbott achieved the highlight of his career in Yankee pinstripes at perhaps baseball’s most holy of grounds, Yankee Stadium.

Abbott’s first season with the New York Yankees came in 1993. By September 4, 1993, he boasted only a less-than-stellar record of nine wins and eleven losses. He took the mound that day against the Cleveland Indians. Even when the game entered the eighth inning and Abbott had yet to allow a hit, the prospects of a no-hitter may have been doubtful to some. Besides, Abbott flirted with a no-hitter into the eighth that same year back in May, before losing it.

But, the eighth came and went. Eight innings passed without an Indians hit.

The Yankees held a comfortable 4–0 lead into the ninth inning, so the win was the furthest thing from fans’ minds. They were anxiously hoping for the first Yankee Stadium no-hitter in ten years, and they got their wish. Abbott retired the Indians in the ninth, completing a no-hitter and adding to his laundry list of accomplishments.

Jim Abbott did not have an exceptional Major League career, but he did have his share of exceptional moments. From practicing his unorthodox pitching method against a brick wall to his no-hitter, Abbott found success at each level along the way. His perseverance, combined with his dedication and willpower, has made Abbott one of the most inspirational figures in sports.

48	SOMEBODY ACTUALLY OUT-BABED THE GREAT RUTH [ROGER MARIS, 1961]

In 1961, Roger Maris assaulted the record books and took on two legends: one living, one dead; one his teammate, the other the greatest player ever to take the field for the greatest franchise in the history sports. The two men I am of course referring to are Babe Ruth and Mickey Mantle.

Maris’ sixty-one homers in 1961 set the single-season record, breaking Ruth’s old mark of sixty, and in doing so, he outpaced Mantle—a legend in his own right—in the great home run chase of 1961, and overcame a deck that was very much stacked against him.

Maris was no Mantle or Ruth—neither in stature in the game of baseball, nor personality. He was the crew cut from Fargo, ND—a man often described as surly, quiet, or aloof—the anti-Ruth, and the opposite of the charming Mantle. Hall of Famer Rogers Hornsby summed up the general sentiment in baseball toward Maris best when he said, “Maris has no right to break Ruth’s record.”

Adding to storm surrounding Maris was that 1961 was no normal season for Major League Baseball to begin with. The league expanded from eight teams to ten and lengthened the season from 154 games to the familiar 162, raising questions as to what would happen if any records were broken—would it count? Should there be separate records?

As the M&M boys neared Ruth and the affront to his record became serious, Commissioner Ford Frick spoke out on the matter and declared that any record set in more than 154 games would be a separate record—not the official mark. In other words, for Maris to be the “real” home run king, he would need to hit the record-breaking dinger by game 154.

Frick, who perhaps would best be described by replacing the first consonant in his name with the letter P, was a friend of Ruth’s and would’ve likely agreed with the aforementioned Hornsby’s remark.

Hitting sixty-one home runs is no small feat, even under normal circumstances—only eight times has that magical mark been met or equaled. The point is that hitting sixty home runs is phenomenally difficult, but to do it with the literal weight of the world on your shoulders and most of baseball rooting for you to fail? Seemingly impossible—and it’s this fact that makes Maris’ 1961 so remarkable.

Maris dealt with booing (even in his own ballpark), viscous hate mail, and sports writers who were intent on tearing him down. In fact, the pressure got to be so much, that Maris’ hair began to fall out from stress. Perhaps no fact describes just how lowly regarded he was, even by his own fans, than this sad but true anecdote:

When Maris finally did hit the record breaker in the final game of the season, he did so in a half-empty Yankee Stadium. The plaque in Yankee Stadium’s monument park saluting Roger Maris’ 1961 season reads “against all odds,” and it’s difficult to describe it any better than that—because in 1961, for all that Maris wasn’t (wasn’t good enough, wasn’t worthy, wasn’t a true Yankee), he was the man who broke the unbreakable record.

49	THE FORGOTTEN PITCHER WHO BEFUDDLED THE BABE

While it’s generally acknowledged that Babe Ruth was the most intimidating batter for any pitcher to confront, there was one hurler who turned the intimidation factor on the Babe.

His name was Hubert Shelby “Hub” Pruett. He pitched for the St. Louis Browns and drove the Yankees slugger nuts with his assortment of pitches.

Judging by Ruth’s impotence at bat against Pruett, the Babe could have been mistaken for a fourth-string pinch hitter instead of “the Sultan of Swat.” By contrast, Pruett was more like Grover Cleveland Alexander. The first time “Hub,” as a Browns rookie, pitched against the Babe, he struck him out. Any suggestions that the feat was a fluke were soon dispelled. Ruth struck out nineteen out of the next twenty-three times he batted against Pruett.

50	THE MOST INCREDIBLE HITTER OF FOUL BALLS

There are many ways to antagonize a pitcher both verbally and with a bat. Many hurlers will confess that a foul ball belter can drive them loony while wearing a pitcher down at the same time.

Such a master at fouling off pitches was Luke Appling, a Hall of Famer who starred for the Chicago White Sox. Appling enjoyed a lifetime .310 batting average with Chicago in the 1940s, but the record books fail to indicate Appling’s unerring proclivity for whacking foul balls, deliberately as well as accidentally.

Once, Appling unleashed a rash of fouls in protest against the New York Yankees’ management, which had failed to provide a few passes for Luke’s friends when the White Sox visited the Bronx. During batting practice that day, witnesses reported that Appling hit a gross of foul balls into the stands. Since the Yankees paid for the balls, the bill was infinitely higher than it would have been for the free tickets.

Appling occasionally used the foul ball for strategic purposes. Once, when he was facing Yankees pitcher Red Ruffing, Appling took two quick strikes and appeared headed for a quick exit from home plate. Luke was disturbed since the White Sox had two men on base and there were two out.

It was time to slow down Ruffing, so Appling fouled off the next four pitches until Ruffing threw one so wide that Luke didn’t bother reaching for it. He then fouled six consecutive pitches until Ruffing hurled two more egregiously bad pitches, which Luke ignored. The count now was three and two, as Ruffing bore down once more; but so did the king of the fouls. For his chef d’oeuvre, Appling fouled the next fourteen pitches in a row before Ruffing, frazzled and furious, finally walked Appling to fill the bases.

Impatient, Ruffing grooved a magnificent strike down the middle, which the next batter, Mike Kreevich, lined for a double. That catapulted Yankee Joe McCarthy out of the dugout to remove his ace. On his way to the showers, Ruffing paused for a few words with Appling at third base: “You did it! You did it with those bleepin’ foul balls!”

51	A ONE-ARMED OUTFIELDER IN THE MAJORS? INCREDIBLE, BUT TRUE

This could only happen during the World War II years, when many former Major Leaguers were serving in the armed forces.

Short on talent, the St. Louis Browns searched for a center fielder, and they found one in Pete Gray, whose real name was Peter Wishner. Previously, he had been a star with semipro teams in the New York area.

As a batter, Gray would take a normal swing; except that out of necessity, he held the bat in one hand. In the outfield, Gray handled fly balls by catching them in his long, thin, unpadded glove. Then, in an intricate maneuver, he would slip the glove under his armpit, roll the ball across his chest to his throwing arm, and peg the ball to the infield. On grounders to the outfield, Gray would trap the ball with his glove, then push the ball in front of him, slip off the mitt, and toss the ball back to the infield.

Despite the novelty of a one-armed player, Gray’s appearance in the Browns’ lineup was no gimmick. He hit .218 and was an adequate fielder. After the 1945 season, Gray returned to the minors.

There are those who argue that the Browns never should have replaced the 1944 pennant-winning center fielder, Mike Kreevich, with Gray. Kreevich was a better fielder and hitter. Gray was more of a curiosity.

The Browns also were responsible for another unusual player, Eddie Gaedel, a little person with dwarfism, who was hired by club president, Bill Veeck. Gaedel had one at-bat, on August 19, 1951, in the second game of a doubleheader, was walked, and never played again.

52	IT TOOK A PAIR OF PITCHERS TO STOP JOE DIMAGGIO’S CONSECUTIVE GAME STREAK AT FIFTY-SIX

For a time, it appeared that DiMaggio would never stop getting at least one hit for the New York Yankees during the 1941 baseball season.

The same feeling was shared after he had stretched the streak to fifty-six games.

But that’s where Al Smith and Jim Bagby came in for the Cleveland Indians.

The Tribe faced the Yankees in a night game on July 17, 1941, before 67,468 fans at Cleveland. A day earlier, DiMaggio, alias “the Yankee Clipper,” had produced three hits to extend his streak to fifty-six games. To thwart Joe the next day, the Indians came up with left-handed Smith, one of the better pitchers in the American League.

It looked like DiMaggio would come through on his first at bat; he whacked a hot ground ball along the third base line, but the Indians’ Ken Keltner stabbed the ball and pegged out DiMaggio. The second time up, Joe D. was walked. For his third trip, DiMaggio duplicated his first blow and, again, Keltner was the culprit, nabbing the ball and tossing Joe out at first.

But DiMaggio would get one more opportunity, in the eighth inning with a runner on first. Cleveland’s player-manager Lou Boudreau, who played shortstop, had brought in Jim Bigby, a right-handed knuckleballer, as a relief pitcher, and DiMaggio responded with an erratically bouncing grounder to deep short. Boudreau got to the ball and converted it into a double play, and the Clipper’s streak had ended. DiMaggio had managed a hit in every game for more than two months, breaking the old record by fifteen.

53	IN 1959, WHY DID LOS ANGELES BASEBALL FANS HONOR A MAN THEY HAD NEVER SEEN PLAY FOR OR AGAINST THEIR CALIFORNIA TEAM?

Roy Campanella, a Hall of Famer and one of the greatest catchers of all-time, played for the Brooklyn Dodgers from 1948 to 1957. Prior to playing in Brooklyn, he played in the Negro Leagues and was one of the pioneers in breaking the color barrier.

In January 1958, while still a member of the Dodgers, Campy was tragically paralyzed from the shoulders down in an automobile accident. Throughout 1958, the Dodger’s first year in Los Angeles, Campanella was secluded in his hospital room, visible only to his wife and doctors.

In 1959, following extensive rehabilitation, he was released from the hospital, although permanently confined to a wheelchair.

On May 7, 1959, the New York Yankees and the Los Angeles Dodgers played an exhibition game in his honor. Before the game started, friend and shortstop, Pee Wee Reese, wheeled him in to the Los Angeles Coliseum.

He then made a speech from second base to the 93,103 fans in attendance, at the time a record for the largest crowd to attend a Major League game. The proceeds from the game went to defray Campanella’s medical bills.

Between the fifth and sixth innings, the coliseum lights were cut, and announcer John Ramsey asked fans to rise, holding a lighted match or cigarette lighter in tribute to Roy.

Vince Scully, the Dodgers’ announcer, called the demonstration “Ninety-three thousand prayers for a great man.”

54	THE OTHER OLE RELIABLE

Thanks to his clutch hitting, New York Yankees slugger Tommy Henrich earned the nickname “Ole Reliable.”

But when it came to the Bombers’ pitching staff, the same moniker would fit Allie Reynolds.

Through the history of Yankees championship seasons, there was no Bronx hurler who could top Reynolds when it came to winning the big game.

When it comes to identifying a particular season for Reynolds—alias “the Chief”—evidence of his timely excellence in the 1951 campaign stands above all.

Had it not been for the Chief’s huge wins, the Yankees never would have won the American League pennant en route to the World Series.

A double-dip of no-hitters were Allie’s headline grabbers. The first no-hitter took place in midsummer while, the second—an even more important one, which had happened in early fall—came during a tirade homestretch drive.

By July 12, 1951, the Yankees were in desperate need of a victory. They had lost three in a row in Boston, and two of three in Washington; they had dropped to third place.

The sizzling Cleveland Indians were coming to town with Bob Feller on the mound. Casey Stengel chose Reynolds to start for the Yankees. Gene Woodling blasted a home run over the right field fence for the first and only run of the game.

The Yankees got the win they needed, and Reynolds pitched the first of his two no-hitters.

As for the Fabulous Finale, it came on September 28, 1951. The Red Sox were the opponent at Yankee Stadium. Allie was killing them all game long. Nobody reached second base; nobody would have reached any base at all if it weren’t for a few walks.

The Yankees gave Reynolds all the support he needed. They scored two runs in the first and added two more in the third. Gene Woodling hit a home run, which eventually made it 8–0.

Reynolds took his position on the mound to start the ninth inning, and the 39,038 spectators were waiting in anticipation for the Chief to finish off his second no-hitter.

Charley Maxwell fouled out to lead off the inning. Next up, Dom DiMaggio battled Reynolds, earning himself a walk. Reynolds made quick work of Johnny Pesky by striking him out.

After the strikeout, the great Ted Williams made his way to the plate. Recognizing that he was one of the best hitters, catcher Yogi Berra trotted out to the mound to calm down Reynolds.

After a quick chat, Reynolds started Williams off with a blazing fastball for the first strike. The second pitch was fouled high in the air behind home plate. Yogi could not make the catch on the high pop-up, forcing Reynolds to throw another pitch to one of the greatest hitters of the generation.

Reynolds was filled with confidence and decided to throw Williams another fastball. Williams popped it up again between home plate and the dugout.

Yogi was able to track down this fly ball and end the game. Not only was this Reynolds’ second no-hitter of the season, but the Yankees clinched a share of the pennant that day.

After another clutch performance by Reynolds, Casey Stengel walked up to the Chief in the clubhouse, shook his hand, and said, “You can have the rest of the season off.”

55	WHEN NINETEEN YEARS OF GREATNESS MAY NOT QUALIFY FOR THE HALL OF FAME

Although the New York Yankees failed to gain a playoff berth during the 2013 season, the sting was considerably softened by one of their oldest players.

From the start of training camp through the final game of the season, the then-forty-three-year-old Mariano Rivera attracted so much attention in his farewell season that it often distracted fans and critics from the Bombers’ shortcomings.

The Yankees’ glorious closer did a farewell tour to end all farewell tours, and when it concluded at Yankee Stadium near the campaign’s end, virtually everyone agreed that the classy hurler had done right by the game.

However the question remains, “Will the game do right by Mariano?”

Specifically, a continent-wide debate began as to whether he belongs in the Baseball Hall of Fame.

Many officials at Cooperstown would welcome someone who has accomplished so many remarkable feats. Yet, there’s a significant block of dissent, and those critics became very vocal.

Their argument was that a pitcher who essentially pitched one inning out of nine hardly merits entrance into the diamond Pantheon. And the debate will continue until the voting takes place.

The pro-Rivera bloc has marshaled many an argument in favor, particularly given the odds he overcame between 2012 and 2013.

Rivera’s career appeared to be over in May 2012.

While retreating for a fly ball in the outfield during batting practice in Kansas City, Rivera fell awkwardly on his side. The scene was hard to watch. Mariano Rivera, reaching for his right knee, grimaced in pain.

The New York Yankees’ players, coaches, management, and fans hoped for the best, but Rivera’s initial reaction said it all. He had torn his ACL in his right knee—a possible career-ender for any athlete. But Rivera is not just any athlete.

He proved that to be true when he returned for the start of the 2013 season—his final season. He defied the odds. At the ripe age of forty-three, Rivera came back from a horrific injury, only to show that he could still be as effective as ever. Even in his final years, Rivera was just as reliable as he was when he was saving games for the Yankees’ championship teams in the late 1990s.

Playing in New York can be tough for many players, but Mariano Rivera made it look easy. For nineteen years, the man known as “Mo” thrived in an environment every Little Leaguer dreams about playing in. He dressed in those revered pinstripes and pitched in pressure situations in front of sold-out crowds, in one of the most historic ballparks to date. For nineteen years, he put on a show. His resume speaks for itself.

- Thirteen-time All-Star

- Five-time World Series Champion

- Five-time American League Rolaids Relief Man Award

- Three-time Delivery Man of the Year Award

- 1999 World Series Most Valuable Player Award

To top it off, Rivera holds the Major League Baseball record for career saves. All of these accolades can be attributed to his ability to master one pitch: the cut fastball, better known as “the cutter.” Throughout his career, Rivera threw the cutter almost exclusively. Opposing teams might as well have just thrown away the scouting reports on Rivera. He was an open book. Hitters knew what was coming, yet Rivera still came out on top.

Rivera didn’t just win battles against hitters; he dominated them. He could make anyone look silly at the plate, baffling both left- and right-handed batters. With lefties, Rivera attacked the inside part of the plate. With righties, he kept the ball away.

In a June New York Times article profiling Rivera, longtime Yankees’ teammate Andy Pettite said that Rivera’s dominance was due in part to his ability “to command the zone.” In short, Rivera could always throw a pitch where and how he wanted. Even scarier for hitters was the fact that the cutter had late movement. Now that’s pretty good.

Mo built a Hall of Fame-worthy career around throwing one pitch, in one inning at a time, with one team. The stamina and loyalty that Rivera possessed through his career is rarely found in baseball, and those traits, along with his consistency, have made him one of the game’s most special treasures.

56	THE MOST CURIOUS HOME RUN EVER BELTED

Round-trippers are usually easy to discern with the naked eye.

And if that doesn’t work, video replay usually can track the home run wherever it happens to sail.

But over the years, there have been some strange four-baggers. To isolate the craziest of all, we have to zero in on the Federal League.

This outlaw circuit functioned during the early days of World War I (1914–1915). It competed with the American and National Leagues, but is carefully noted by sports historians.

As for the zany home run, it originated because of an umpire.

Barry McCormick failed to show up for the opening game of a series in Chicago between the Brooklyn Feds and Chicago Whales. McCormick’s partner, Bill Brennan, worked the game alone from behind the pitcher’s mound. Brennan survived without incident until the fifth inning.

At that point, a Brooklyn batter fouled off pitch after pitch, totaling twenty. Brennan trotted back and forth for more balls, and stuffed them in his shirt. It was a warm afternoon, and soon Brennan had worked up a good sweat. In disgust, he dumped a pile of balls on the ground in back of the pitcher’s mound, stacked them into a neat pyramid, and mopped his brow in relief as the batter was finally retired.

Up came Grover Land, the Brooklyn catcher who had jumped to the Feds from Cleveland, where he had been a battery mate of the celebrated Addie Joss. On the first pitch, Land rifled a line drive straight into the pyramid of balls, touching off a volcanic eruption of horsehides. In the resulting scramble, each Chicago infielder came up with a ball and was waiting for the hitter as he tore around the bases.

“I was tagged five times,” recalled Land, “but Brennan ruled there was no put out since it was impossible to figure out which was the fairly batted ball." Brennan decided to award Land a home run.

The Northside ballpark—now the site of Wrigley Field—resounded with anguished screams as Joe Tinker, player-manager of the Chicagos, protested the decision to James A. Gilmore, the league president. After suitable deliberation, Gilmore ruled that he would not throw out the game unless subsequent result had a deciding effect on the pennant race. It didn’t, so Grover Land could always claim the world’s record for freak home runs—with an assist, of course, from umpire Brennan.

57	BILL VEECK’S STUNT TO END ALL STUNTS—SIGNING AND THEN PLAYING A MIDGET

One of the keenest promoters ever to sit behind a baseball owner’s desk, Bill Veeck was notorious for his off-the-wall stunts, many of which worked to his advantage.

Never one to avoid a good punch line, Veeck once picked up the phone when a fan called to learn what time the game started, to which Veeck shot back, “What time can you get here?”

While running the Cleveland Indians in the years following World War II, Veeck—as in wreck—signed aging pitcher Satchel Paige when most baseball men figured that the legendary hurler was too old to help any team, let alone Cleveland. But Veeck—with a lot of help from Ole Satch—showed them.

Pitching splendidly, Paige helped the Indians win the American League pennant.

Life with the Indians was a bowl of cherries for Bill, but if there was one thing he liked almost as much as winning, it was a challenge. That helps explain why baseball author Bert Randolph Sugar once described Veeck as “baseball’s premier promoter and professional gadfly.”

Much to the dismay of many other Major League Baseball owners, the gadfly aspect appeared too often to suit them, especially on the morning of July 5, 1951, when Veeck bought the beleaguered St. Louis Browns.

To say that the Brownies had become baseball’s laughingstock would be to underplay the derision vented toward the American League’s perennial—except for 1944—losers. Just hours after newswires proclaimed that the Browns were, in fact, purchased by Veeck, critic John Lardner responded by writing, “Many were surprised to know that the Browns could be bought; because they didn’t know that the Browns were owned!”

Nor did Veeck disagree. One of his first observations after taking over the seventh-place team was simply this: “My Browns are unable to beat their way out of a paper bag with a crowbar.”

With that in mind, Veeck realized that it would take time to rebuild the team and, in the interim, he had to devise schemes to regain St. Louis fans’ interest. He began by signing Paige once more, only this time as a relief pitcher. To capitalize on Satchel’s age, Veeck insisted that he occupy the bullpen in a rocking chair, until called upon to pitch.

Among other moves, Veeck hired ex-Cardinal stars Marty Marion and Harry (The Cat) Brecheen as coaches while Hall of Fame pitcher Dizzy Dean was signed as a radio announcer.

But Veeck knew that he needed a genuine blockbuster move and, being the genius that he was, found one in a short story by author James Thurber. The humorist-writer told about a little person with dwarfism (Veeck referred to as a “midget”) named Duke du Monville, who came to the plate. Veeck also recalled that New York Giants manager John McGraw once had a hunchback mascot named Eddie Bennett. Quickly, the brainstorm jelled in Veeck’s head.

Boisterous Bill decided that he, too, would utilize a bat-toting midget to score a promotion to end all Brownie promotions. And to ensure that a big crowd—unusual for the Browns—showed up, Veeck contacted the beer company that sponsored his broadcasts and, sure enough, the Falstaff suits agreed to Veeck’s promise of “something terrific” at an upcoming doubleheader. Of course none of the Falstaff executives had a clue that the Brownies’ boss had a very small man in mind.

Finding the right midget was not all that difficult. Veeck contacted a Chicago actors agency, which responded by offering the club one Eddie Gaedel, elfin-sized (three feet, seven inches) compared to the average baseball player. To pull off this astonishing surprise, Bill maintained the secret of Gaedel’s future appearance by not informing anyone in the media that the midget was arriving in St. Louis. Pursuing the caper to the limit, Veeck obtained a Little League-type uniform from the son of a Browns’ executive with the number 1/8 on the back.

After a high-level conference, it was decided that the extravaganza would unfold in the second game of a Sunday doubleheader with the Detroit Tigers on August 19, 1951. Embellishing the event even more, Bill ordered a large birthday cake, a pair of elf’s shoes, and a new set of game programs with the number 1/8 imprinted in the Brownies roster. Meanwhile, more than eighteen thousand fans awaited the big moment. It was the largest crowd to attend a Browns game at Sportsman’s Park in many seasons.

Building up to the climactic event, St. Louis lost the opening game to Detroit, and then the surprising production was set in motion. Vintage automobiles and some couples in Gay Nineties costumes opened the festivities. Then, Satchel Paige and some wandering troubadours serenaded the audience. Meanwhile, the Falstaff executives remained puzzled by the “something special” that Veeck had promised, but they didn’t have to wait very long.

At last, a seven-foot cake was wheeled on to the field, leaving just about everyone wondering what that was all about. Veeck answered that by cutting the cake open, whereupon Gaedel emerged. To say the least, the Falstaff officials were militantly underwhelmed. One of them beefed out loud: “A goddamn midget,” one snapped, “what’s so goddamn ‘special’ about that?”

It required one inning for the answer. After the Tigers were retired in the top of the first, it was the Brownies’ turn at bat. Before anyone from the home team walked into the batter’s box, the public address announcer took hold of the microphone and intoned to the crowd: Attention, please. Now batting for St. Louis, Number One-Eighth, Gaedel–batting for Saucier.

While many St. Louisans got a case of lockjaw, Little Eddie strutted to the batter’s box holding a five-year-old’s bat. Furious, Saucier looked up at Veeck in his owner’s box and shook an angry fist at him: “Veeck waved back,” commented Sugar, “and so did all the Falstaff executives, now sure of what Veeck meant when he promised ‘something special.’”

No less furious was home plate Umpire Ed Hurley, who immediately called time, insisting that the burlesque be ended here and now, and without further ado. Hurley summoned Browns manager Zack Taylor to the plate, pointed at Gaedel, and demanded, “Get him out of here!”

Well prepared for the umpire, Taylor pulled an official American League player’s contract out of his pocket and waved it in front of Hurley’s face. Faced with the legal document, the umpire concluded that the show must go on, and then he ordered Tigers pitcher Bob Cain to start hurling.

Never confronted by a midget batter before, Tigers catcher Bob Swift figured that the only way to handle this unique situation was to get on his knees and hope for the best. Meanwhile, Cain desperately tried to discern just where the strike zone might be. He concluded that it was about one-third the size of a normal one and pitched to that spot.

Ball One.

Cain tried again.

Ball Two.

Hmmmm. “The strike zone seemed to be getting even smaller,” noted Sugar.

Ball Three.

Meanwhile, exulting in the moment, Gaedel was enjoying rare feelings of superiority; as if he might line a single to center. But before he decided to become a hitter, Eddie remembered Veeck’s words of warning: “Swing at a ball and you’ll be shot!”

Ball Four.

Like any Brownie, Eddie tossed away his miniature bat and trotted to first base. Once he stepped on the bag, Taylor sent one of his regulars, Jim Delsing, in to run for him. Gaedel patted him on the toosh, but instead of returning to the dugout, he addressed the crowd of 18,369 by waving his cap to them like a pre-rock ‘n‘ roll rock star.

The majority of fans saluted Gaedel, and even such hard-boiled journalists such as Bob Broeg of the St. Louis Post-Dispatch allowed that the episode touched his heart. In fact, Broeg pulled Gaedel aside and whispered, “You’re always what I wanted to be—an ex-big leaguer.” While headlines about Gaedel made front-page news across North America, American League owners swung into action and wrote a new rule into the books; the use of midgets was verboten.

As Sugar explained, “The owners sought to expunge from the record books the one at-bat of the smallest man ever to play in the Majors, without even an asterisk. But it was a moment that will live in baseball forever, a giant achievement in the cloak of a promotion.”

Meanwhile, while enjoying one of his singular moments of egomania, Veeck put it his way: “I want to be remembered as ‘The Man Who Helped the Little Man!’”

58	THE JEWISH SLUGGER WHO GOT A NICKNAME LIKE BABE RUTH

They called him “The Rabbi of Swat.”

That was after Babe Ruth had earned the handle “the Sultan of Swat.”

One problem: Moses Solomon was not quite as good as the Babe.

Back in 1923, Giants’ scout Dick Kinsella brought up a boy named Moses Solomon to manager John McGraw. McGraw worried about the fame that Babe Ruth was bringing to the rival Yanks. He was afraid that one day the Giants would play second fiddle to the Yanks. Someone had to be found to attract fans to the Giants as well. McGraw knew it would be impossible to find another Ruth. The only thing he could hope for was to keep bringing in new and impressive names to the Giants. McGraw knew that Bill Terry, Frankie Frisch, Dave Bancroft, and Lindy Lindstrom would certainly draw a crowd, but enough to counteract the Babe?

Then McGraw came up with a new idea. Observing how many Jewish people in Upper Manhattan and the Bronx were loyal baseball fans, he reasoned that bringing a good Jewish player to the team might attract attention and woo the Jewish fans from the Babe and the Yanks. That’s when Kinsella found Moses Solomon.

Proclaiming that “Solomon is as big as a house, can play first base like Sisler, hit like Ruth, and fight like Dempsey,” Kinsella told reporters that his new friend was “the million-dollar player McGraw has been seeking.” All these extravagant claims left the other Giants a little skeptical about Solomon. Nonetheless, they quickly found him a suitable nickname, "the Rabbi of Swat.”

Solomon’s career was, unfortunately, short-lived. He appeared in only two games. Making three hits in those two trials, it looked as though he would live up to his new nickname. McGraw realized, however, that Solomon was just too crude for Major League competition. By the end of the year, Solomon had played for Toledo, Pittsfield, Waterbury, and Bridgeport. He then disappeared from the game.

The Dodgers had the identical problem; they had to find players to compete with Ruth’s fame as well. Dodger owner Charles Ebbets came up with what he thought was the answer. Wally Simpson, who “hit almost as many home runs as Solomon,” was Ebbets’ answer to the problem. “He’s a Yonkers boy with a big local following, and you’re going to be hearing plenty about him,” declared the Dodgers’ chieftain.

But Brooklyn heard less about Simpson than they did about Solomon. Simpson suffered an injury on ice that winter, reporting to the Dodgers with a sprained ankle. In one game against the Phillies, he stepped in as a pinch hitter, chalked up a double, and then retired from the game after his sister’s funeral.

Neither Simpson nor Solomon, both seemingly promising players, were the answers to Ruth’s fame.