16

OLD MAN COBB

As the baseball community was busily preparing for the commencement of the World Series in late September 1926, Ty Cobb quietly escaped to the fresh air and mountains of the West. Having initially departed Chicago with several friends, Cobb set off for Omaha, where the group met Tris Speaker, now the manager of the Cleveland Indians, on September 28. They planned to continue their jaunt on the Chicago, Burlington, and Quincy Railroad for a big game hunt near Cody, Wyoming.1 During his brief stay in Omaha, Cobb was interviewed by a local reporter, Frederick Ware, and spoke favorably about Heinie Manush, the celebrated young outfielder for Detroit. Manush played for the Omaha Buffaloes of the Western League in 1922 just prior to jumping to the majors, and Cobb’s comments were of great interest. “I am pretty certain,” Cobb explained, “that a career of stardom is ahead of him.”2

Cobb added that he planned to play in 1927. “I’m going to get in the lineup off and on for next season, at least,” Cobb told the reporter. “The lure of the game is still strong, but fully as strong is the delight I get in helping a youngster to develop. You can see that I’ve frequently been delighted during the past seven months, for I’ve had a team of rookies—able rookies, too, lacking chiefly only experience. Bringing them along is greater compensation to me now than money. We didn’t finish any higher because we had a kid infield and our pitchers weren’t dependable enough. But next year …”3 Rumors were circulating that Cobb’s days at the helm of Detroit were numbered, but to Ware, and the newspaper readers in Omaha, there was no evidence in the interview that he was through in any form or fashion. It seemed pretty much guaranteed that he was returning to lead the Tigers in their next campaign.

But things weren’t so cut and dry. Cobb was well aware of the brewing firestorm festering behind closed doors that endangered his future in baseball. His difficulties with club owner Frank Navin were more complicated than ever, a segment of Detroit fans had lost confidence in his ability as a manager, and attendance was dropping. Truth be told, he was under the impression that he likely would’ve been fired at the end of the 1925 season, but was only saved by the fact that the City of Detroit honored him with a special banquet, celebrating his tremendous baseball achievements and contributions to the local community. Navin apparently realized that it would’ve been in incredibly bad taste to pay such tribute to Cobb one month, and then hand him his walking papers the next.4 The sorrowful recent pennant run added to Navin’s desire for change, and the budding storm on the horizon seemed to seal Cobb’s fate.

The controversy itself was initiated with malice in June 1926 by Dutch Leonard, a veteran of eleven years of big league ball, including five with Detroit from 1919 to ’21 and from 1924 to ’25. Leonard posted a career record of 139 wins and 114 losses and was Cobb’s most reliable pitcher in 1925, winning five-straight in June and July, before losing the strength in his arm. It wasn’t until after the ball was rolling on the scandal in 1926 that he divulged a highly venomous version of events from the year prior. He claimed that Cobb reneged on a promise to work him every fifth game, allowing him four days to rest, and that overwork was the central reason for his downfall. “I beat Cleveland,” Leonard said. “Two days later, [Cobb] made me pitch against St. Louis. I beat them. Then I beat Chicago. Still I knew I was killing myself in winning these games for him. I complained to him. I reminded him of his promises.”

According to Leonard’s charges, it was a game against Philadelphia on July 14, 1925, that really displayed the weakened condition of his arm. He never even expected to pitch that afternoon. He explained to Cobb how he physically couldn’t, and Ty responded by saying, “Yes, you are going to pitch, whom do you think you are, manager of this team? Get out there on the field. Don’t you dare turn Bolshevik on me, I am the boss here.” Leonard did what he was told and went out to the mound. “Philadelphia made 23 hits against me,” he said, offering his memory of the event. “Still Cobb kept me in the box. Connie Mack himself, I learned later, said during the game that it was not right to let me stay in the box. ‘You are killing that boy,’ Mack said. Cobb only laughed and made me stay in. Then the fans themselves took it up. They could see I was being punished. They booed Cobb. They could see he was trying to break me.”5

Against the Yankees on July 19, Leonard was called upon again, and he went five innings, giving up four runs on seven hits. A little over a week later, he joined the Tigers on a road trip to Philadelphia, and visited a local physician. He was informed of the seriousness of his injury and it was estimated that he’d need three weeks to recover. However, it soon became apparent that his arm wasn’t bouncing back despite the ample rest, and with the intention of beefing up the team’s infield, Detroit packaged Leonard into a deal with Vernon of the Pacific Coast League for Jack Warner, a promising third baseman.6 Leonard was “astounded” to learn of the transaction, and his devaluation from being one of the most talked about pitchers in the league in July to clearing waivers in September, was simply remarkable.

Closer scrutiny of exactly how Cobb utilized Leonard in June and July 1925 offers a starkly different impression than the one Leonard provided in 1926. Between June 14 and July 19, Leonard worked eight games, and Cobb provided him with at least four full days of rest in-between appearances in all but one. The latter was on three days’ rest on June 29, and never did Cobb ask him to pitch one day and then again two days later like he claimed. Leonard did throw six-straight complete games and went 65 innings over the course of his eight showings. During that run, he provided Cobb with the kind of dependability the Tigers longed for and was a great asset to the club before the demise of his potency. But at the time, notably, Leonard didn’t cite any so-called pressure by Cobb to work on little rest as the cause of his sudden ineffectiveness.

Instead, Leonard blamed the lively ball. “In the old days,” he explained, “I used to regularly pitch a high, fast one that the batter had to hit into the air. The result usually was a high fly and an easy out. I could go along inning after inning in this fashion and there was little strain on my arm. Only in a pinch did I have to curve the ball, and the old ball would curve much easier than the one they now have. The high flies that were easy outs then would be home runs now. The result is that a pitcher has to ‘bear down’ in every inning and on almost every pitch. He has to keep the ball low, so the batter will hit it on the ground and everybody knows that it is harder on the arm to pitch a low ball than a high one.” Additionally, it was mentioned that Leonard was using “six times” as many curve balls than he threw earlier in his career, and his arm suffered significant damage as a consequence.7

The grievances addressed by Leonard against Cobb weren’t made public until well after “Dutch” had been sent packing from the major leagues. He decided against reporting to Vernon, and did a lot of thinking about the injustices surrounding his demotion. Finally, he concluded that his ex-manager was at fault for his fall from grace, and dredged up a memory bank of purported ill-treatment, figuring he’d gotten a “bum deal” all around. “I could not figure how Cobb could turn on me as he did,” he declared, taking it extremely personally.8 Tris Speaker, his former friend, was also in the wrong for not grabbing him when offered on waivers. Leonard, burning with fury, wanted vengeance and knew the best way to go about it. He departed his ranch eight miles east of Fresno, California, and ventured to Chicago in June 1926, ready to shatter the purity of Cobb and Speaker as baseball players.

Leonard desired a meeting with American League President Ban Johnson first and foremost, but after being ignored, caught up with Washington manager Bucky Harris in Chicago for a series against the White Sox. He showed Harris copies of two letters he possessed, one from Cobb and the other written by Boston and Cleveland alumni “Smoky” Joe Wood, who retired from Organized Baseball in 1922, and was the current baseball coach at Yale University. The missives were sent to Leonard seven years before in 1919 and, based on a cursory examination, Harris quickly notified Senators business manager Ed Eynon. Eynon was so blown away by the contents of the letters that he went directly to Johnson’s Chicago home and shared the information. Johnson undoubtedly regretted his earlier disregard for Leonard and, infused with a maddening urgency, sought the ex-ballplayer for a meeting.9

Unsuccessful in his attempt to find him, Johnson raced to Cleveland for a one-on-one discussion with Tris Speaker. He proceeded next to Detroit, and discovered that Leonard had also been in town trying to sell the letters to the Detroit News. The newspaper apparently declined to purchase the correspondence for their $20,000 to $30,000 sales price.10 Leonard revealed the letters to Harry Heilmann during his brief stay in the “Motor City,” and Heilmann didn’t waste any time presenting the information to Cobb.11 Being the author of one of the documents in question, Cobb was aware of what it contained, and for that reason, he had cause to be concerned. With the right kind of negative spin, the contents of his letter could be misconstrued to show him as a willing participant in the fixing of a baseball game. Even a hazy notion of him being tied to crookedness was enough to tarnish his reputation.

That’s precisely what Leonard was striving for. When he ultimately met Johnson in Chicago, he was uncompromising in his language, charging Cobb, Wood, and Speaker with malfeasance, and used the 1919 letters as evidence. He asserted that the three men had joined him in a conspiracy on September 24, 1919, to give Detroit a victory over Cleveland the following day. The agreement was made with the idea that Cleveland had already captured second place in the league, thus garnering a share of World Series money and, with a Tigers win, would help them in their fight for third place. Meaning the game was inconsequential to Speaker and Wood, and thus, they were allegedly willing to throw it to help Cobb and Leonard. Additionally, since they already knew who was going to win on September 25, they decided to place a bet on Detroit to garner a little extra money from the deal.12

Putting up $1,500, Leonard was all for the idea. He, however, left Detroit before the September 25 game was played. As far as he knew, Cobb was placing $2,000 on the contest, while Speaker and Wood were both contributing $1,000 to the pot.13 As expected, Detroit was victorious, winning by a score of 9–5. Several weeks after the 1919 season closed, October 23, 1919, to be exact, Cobb sat down at his Augusta home and penned a letter to Leonard. It read, in part:

Wood and myself were considerably disappointed in our business proposition, as we had $2,000 to put into it and the other side quoted us $1,400, and when we finally secured that much money, it was about two o’clock and they refused to deal with us, as they had men in Chicago to take the matter up with and they had no time, so we completely fell down and of course we felt badly over it.

Everything was open to Wood and he can tell you about it when we get together. It was quite a responsibility and I don’t care for it again, I can assure you.14

Wood also mailed correspondence to Leonard, but his message contained more details of the transaction than Cobb had. He also included a certified check for $1,630, which was Leonard’s original $1,500, plus a third of the winnings ($130). The message read, in part:

The only bet [Fred] West could get up was $600 against $420 (10 to 7). Cobb did not get up a cent. He told us that and I believe him. Could have put some at 5 to 2 on Detroit, but did not, as that would make us put up $1,000 to win $400.

We won the $420. I gave West $30, leaving $390, or $130 for each of us.

If we ever have another chance like this we will know enough to try to get down early.15

In his letter, Wood affirmed that Cobb hadn’t put any money down on the game, a crucial fact. But taking into consideration what Cobb printed in his document, he still had a lot of explaining to do. One of the most interesting portions of the Wood letter stated, “I gave West $30, leaving $390, or $130 for each of us.” The $390 was apparently being split three ways, “$130 for each of us,” as he explained. But other than Wood and Leonard, who admittedly had been part of the deal, who was the third individual involved? There was sufficient reason to wonder about improprieties by both Cobb and Speaker, and they were possibly complicit at the very least.

Threatening to go public with the story and initiate a lawsuit for money he believed was owed to him by the Detroit Tigers, Leonard convinced Johnson in June 1926 to make financial reparations in the reported amount of $20,000.16 He agreed to throw in the original copies of the Cobb and Wood letters to complete the deal. Johnson, through American League attorney Henry Killilea, worked out the details and the agreement was finalized. Had Leonard taken the matter to the press, the league would have suffered greatly, Johnson felt, as would have Frank Navin, an important friend. To a lesser degree, he was concerned about protecting managers Cobb and Speaker. Altogether, obtaining the letters and sending Leonard back to California content was seen as the best way to keep the story suppressed until an internal league investigation could bear further results.

While Leonard was adamant about gaining revenge, his motivation might have been dual-faceted. For years, disseminated reports claimed he was a wealthy man, but what Ed R. Hughes of the San Francisco Chronicle uncovered in his research challenged that assumption. He found that Leonard was in debt because of the ranch he purchased in 1922 and had to borrow the money he used to travel to Chicago in June 1926. Things quickly changed, though, and after confirming with the Fresno County Courthouse, Hughes wrote, “Whatever happened in Detroit and Chicago last June when Leonard was there, he came back and paid off that mortgage on July 17, 1926.” The amount was $15,000.17

The American League Board of Directors held a secret meeting in Chicago on September 9, 1926, and the two letters were presented for review. Understanding the heavy implications of their move, the directors voted to issue unconditional releases to Speaker and Cobb, ousting them from the league. With regard to Cobb, Johnson later said that Ty “couldn’t explain the letter [he wrote] satisfactorily,” and “on that letter alone the American League was forced to let Cobb go.”

The directors spoke about protecting the two superstars, and Johnson added, “They had done a lot for baseball. We had to let them out, but we saw no reason for bringing embarrassment upon their families. We wanted to be decent about it.”18 A coordinated effort was made to give dignity to Cobb and Speaker, and allowing them to resign with the appearance of doing so on their own terms was concocted.19

Justifiably, Cobb was enraged by the maneuvering of Leonard. Johnson described him as “heartbroken,” and said he “maintained his innocence” when they met just prior to Cobb’s hunting trip in October. Johnson informed him that “whether guilty or not he was through in the American League.”20 Navin notified him of his release as well, according to The Sporting News, a few days before the season concluded, but the public wasn’t made aware of it until early November.21 That meant his public comments, including the interview he gave in Omaha en route to Wyoming, when he discussed his future in baseball, were specifically curtailed and not forthcoming. Cobb withheld the information about his dismissal from the Tigers, not only as a manager, but as a player. As stunning as it was, he was unemployed in Organized Baseball for the first time in over twenty years.

“I hate to leave baseball,” Cobb told the Associated Press. “You know I am going to be forty years old December 18. I am about as good as I ever was, but the time has come for me to quit taking chances, and that means that it is time for me to get out.”22 It clearly appeared that Cobb was stepping out on his own terms, and if things continued to proceed smoothly, there were hopes that the entire scandal would blow over without any public knowledge at all. He didn’t stray too far from baseball, attending the minor league annual meetings at Asheville, North Carolina on December 5. Fighting off a cold, he told inquisitive reporters, “I said when I left Detroit that I had swung my last bat in a competitive game, and I meant just that.”23 Journalists were sure he was taking charge of a minor league team, and the Atlanta Crackers of the Southern Association seemed to be his club of choice.

Another rumor tied both Cobb and Speaker to positions in the Boston Red Sox franchise. But on December 21, 1926, the Commissioner of Baseball, Judge Kenesaw M. Landis, released 100 pages of documentation from his investigation into the alleged fixed game involving the two men, effectively ruining any future for them in Organized Baseball.24 The revelation rocked baseball, tarnishing Cobb and Speaker before the public, and dropped them into the same heap as the crooked “Black Sox.” Once reporters had a chance to review the evidence, there were questions why Landis would destroy the reputations of two celebrated superstars on the word of just one man, Leonard, especially when acknowledging his dubious motives.

Cobb went into self-preservation mode, offering a lengthy explanation to Bert Walker of the Detroit Times. “Is there a God?” he asked. “I am beginning to doubt it. I know there is no gratitude. Here I am, after twenty-two years in hard, desperate, and honest work, dismissed from baseball in disgrace without ever having a chance to face my accuser. It is enough to try one’s faith. I am branded as a gambler on ball games in which my club took part. I have never in the twenty-two years I have been in baseball made a single bet on an American League game. These vague accusations that have driven me out of baseball come from a man who is nothing short of a blackmailer. I was not surprised at my dismissal [from the Tigers], but I do think that this manner in which I was dismissed was nothing short of a conspiracy to oust me.”25

At the center of the conspiracy, Cobb believed, was Frank J. Navin, his boss since 1905. He razed what was left of their relationship with his comments, claiming that he would’ve won a championship if he’d gotten any cooperation from the owner, and frankly announced, “I do not believe Mr. Navin wanted me to win a pennant for Detroit.” Cobb explained that the Tigers had opportunities to sign Paul Waner, Alphonse “Tommy” Thomas, and others, but that Navin blocked each and every acquisition. Major criticism was directed at Navin’s so-called “gift” of $10,000 presented during the August 1925 banquet for Cobb. Ty denied it was a gift at all, stating that the money was part of his salary, but that Navin pawned it off as a big bonus to honor him. “The ball club never gave me a red cent,” Cobb declared, “and when I left Detroit after the last game, the club owners did not even express the slightest word of appreciation.”26

In the fight of his life, Cobb’s strength and passion were visible to reporters, but his emotions got the best of him. A correspondent for the United Press couldn’t help but notice tears flowing from his eyes during one interview in Augusta.27 Responding to questions about the infamous letter he wrote to Leonard, Cobb did his best to clarify himself. He confessed that his use of the words “business proposition” was his way of shrouding his comments because he knew how they might be interpreted if in the wrong hands. He denied being part of any conspiracy with Leonard, but admitted that he knew “Dutch” was betting on the game in 1919. In fact, Cobb agreed to do him a favor, and that tied to the “responsibility” he mentioned in the missive.

Cobb explained that Leonard, because he was leaving Detroit early, had asked him to convey the amount wagered on the September 25 ballgame, and that was the overall purpose of his October 23 letter. Cobb insisted he never bet on the game, nor did he ever intend to. Speaker said likewise. The Sporting News indicated that “As far as the evidence shows, Cobb and Speaker did not put up any money,” seemingly absolving them.28 There was also significant backlash to the claim that the September 25, 1919, game was “thrown” to Detroit, with several of the game’s participants not remembering anything specifically amiss about the affair. Amongst those to comment were Pep Young, Jack Graney, Bill Wambsganss, and Bernie Boland.29

Proactive in their defense, Cobb and Speaker hired attorneys and were preparing a lengthy legal strategy to restore their reputations. They received a stunning amount of support throughout the sporting world, and on a personal level from friends, colleagues, and admirers. Late in December 1926, the ostracized duo went to Washington, D.C. to consult officials, and there was speculation that a few of their allies in the U.S. Senate were considering a public hearing to get to the bottom of the controversy.30 Cobb and Speaker welcomed such an event, and particularly wanted to face Leonard, who had yet to step before them at any point since the accusations were made.31 The scope of Judge Landis’s probe grew when further allegations of corruption were made separate from the Cobb-Speaker situation, and the political wrangling between the commissioner and Ban Johnson intensified going into 1927.

Opposite all the support bestowed upon Cobb by individuals maintaining his innocence, there was still much criticism. As a matter of fact, the harshest censure appeared in W. Rollo Wilson’s column in the Pittsburgh Courier. It read: “Somehow or other, I do not feel that Tris Speaker is guilty of the charges launched against him by Dutch Leonard. But when I remember about Ty Cobb beating and kicking that colored chambermaid in a Cleveland (sic) hotel, I would not put anything down as being too low for him to do. And do you recall that he tried to lick a colored employee at Shibe Park a couple years since because he would not discontinue a phone call so that he, the mighty Cobb, could use the instrument? That’s how I feel about Master Cobb.”32

Nevertheless, Landis, at the conclusion of his investigation, exonerated Cobb and Speaker of all charges on January 27, 1927, declaring in a statement: “These players have not been, nor are they now, found guilty of fixing a ball game.”33 With the announcement, they were restored to the reserve lists of their former teams, Detroit and Cleveland respectively, and then given their freedom by those clubs to shop their services around the American League as free agents. Cobb, hunting in South Carolina at the time, was relieved by the news, but had expected to be cleared of the damaging allegations. However, he felt the totality of the entire case besmirched his standing with the public and a lawsuit for defamation against the league was not off the table.34 He did welcome the chance to play again, saying that he was “honor bound” to make his return.

“Words fail to express my happiness over my vindication,” he explained. “I have suffered deeply, but never lost hope that eventually right and justice would prevail. I wish to thank from the bottom of my heart the baseball fans, the newspapers, sporting writers, and all my friends for their wonderful confidence in me. For twenty-two years, I have given my all to baseball. I am supremely happy to know that what I gave was not given in vain.”35 Several teams put out feelers for Cobb’s rights for the upcoming season, including St. Louis Browns, New York Yankees, and Brooklyn Dodgers, and Connie Mack was so enthusiastic about signing him that he went to Augusta to meet with him personally.36 Mack also wanted Speaker for Philadelphia, but Tris worked a deal with the Washington Senators instead. Cobb displayed restraint in his negotiations, but Mack was persistent, finally offering him a sum of money that just couldn’t be refused.

During a banquet of the Philadelphia Sportswriters Association at the Hotel Adelphia on February 8, Cobb publicized his decision to join the Athletics. The next day, he formally endorsed a contract in the office of Mack at Shibe Park, but the details of the agreement were withheld. Experts guessed it was as high as $75,000, while Cobb denoted a $70,000 figure, plus 10 percent of gate receipts for exhibition games, in his 1961 autobiography.37 According to records held by the National Baseball Hall of Fame at Cooperstown, New York, he made $50,000 for 1927, but the document didn’t specifically outline a bonus figure.38 Altogether, his total income from Philadelphia was believed to supersede that of Babe Ruth and once again make him the highest paid player in the game.

A certain amount of irony existed in Cobb’s signing with the Athletics. Billy Evans, the longtime umpire and writer, recalled that some of his greatest battles were against Philadelphia and, in a syndicated article, referenced his infamous spiking of Home Run Baker. Philadelphia was also the scene of immense fan demonstrations against Cobb and where death threats were levied, making it mandatory for special police units to guard the player from bodily harm. He had fond moments in the city as well. One of the most personal occurred on June 12, 1915, when he was warmly honored by Philadelphia fans during an on-field ceremony organized by the Masons and given an expensive double-barreled hammerless shotgun.39 Cobb knew the fans were a loyal bunch, and gaining their favor earlier in his career had been a chore, but now that he was in the fold, things were going to be much different.

Feeling physically good and motivated to “show the public that [he could] still reach dizzy heights in baseball,” he joined the Athletics at their Fort Myers, Florida, camp on March 7, 1927.40 Mack’s club featured a striking mixture of youthful talent and veterans, and Cobb, Eddie Collins, Zach Wheat, and Jack Quinn, each hovering around the forty-year-old mark, made-up the senior contingent. Adding the experience of Mack and the wisdom of coach Kid Gleason, Philadelphia was privy to an unparalleled baseball intellect. Cobb acquainted himself with the players he didn’t already know, worked with the rookies, and bonded with his new roommate, outfielder Al Simmons. In just three seasons, Simmons had displayed the makings of a superstar, and would glean much from Cobb’s teachings.41

The press jumped on the story of Cobb’s ejection at St. Petersburg on March 17 for aggravating umpire Frank Wilson in the fourth inning of an exhibition against the Boston Braves, and affirmed that he was up to his old, rebellious tricks.42 And Cobb certainly was. He was doing what he always had, shouting disparaging remarks at opposing players from the dugout and employing psychological warfare. Interestingly, even though he was in full rebel mode, he refrained from showing any sign of dissension toward Mack, and completely trusted the latter’s leadership. He was in his twenty-third year of major league ball and had been a manager himself, but still didn’t second-guess Mack for a second. His respect for him was too great. The 1927 season opened with Cobb in right field at New York on April 12 before a massive crowd of 60,000, but Philadelphia was turned back, 8–3.

Cobb got off to a flying start, doing everything imaginable to prove his critics wrong. He was batting at a terrific clip and amazingly stole home twice in April, both within a week’s time. Sportswriter James C. Isaminger wrote that Ty was playing “as if he shed ten years.”43 Despite the perception that he was quick to temper, Cobb displayed a mellower personality on the field. In a game against Washington at Shibe Park, an obnoxious fan got on his case, recklessly shouting from the crowd. Unhesitant, Cobb was ready to interact with the spectator, but rather than issuing a challenge to fight, he asked, “Do you think it is fair to yell at us in such a manner when we are trying our best to bring a pennant to Philadelphia? What have we done to deserve it? Give us encouragement and not abuse.” The man was humbled by Cobb’s mild-mannered and logical response. He walked down, apologized and shook the player’s hand.44

While Cobb was doing his best to keep his temper in check, journalists weren’t buying the composed Cobb in any shape or form. For them, he’d forever be the maniacal madman of the basepaths, and the spin surrounding an incident on May 5 at Philadelphia highlighted the kind of sensationalism that normally followed him. In that game, he drove a ball over the right-field fence in the eighth inning, seemingly tying the game at three apiece against Boston. Umpire Red Ormsby decided that the ball had veered foul and called Cobb back to the plate to continue his at bat. The audience reacted loudly and Simmons’ wordy protest earned him a first class ticket to the clubhouse. Cobb was surprisingly calm in the matter and returned to the box, where he “accidentally” brushed against Ormsby. The latter deemed the move hostile and ejected him.45 The national press painted the story as yet another of Cobb’s long line of rowdy shenanigans, claiming that Ty had incited thousands of Philadelphia fans to riot. Cobb denied all of it and felt the entire tale was “grossly over colored” for effect.46

Upon his return to Detroit on May 10, Cobb was roundly welcomed and honored with a special luncheon, an on-field ceremony, and dinner. Over 27,000 fans turned out for a weekday game at Navin Field to pay tribute, and Cobb was given several nice gifts, including an automobile. He told the audience at the luncheon that he was moved by their show of affection. “I am grateful to all of you,” he explained. “I am out today in another uniform, but I can’t work up that competitive spirit against Detroit. You can’t be sold on a town and its people for twenty-two years and then go against them in a competitive way all of a sudden. I have only friendship and gratitude in my heart for the Detroit players and the Detroit fans.”47

Cobb was enjoying a remarkable run, hitting safely in 21-straight games in May, and briefly pushed his batting average over .400. A Philadelphia writer noted that Detroit regretted his departure, stating, “The Michigan city never realized just how great he was until they let go of him. Now they know he can never be replaced.”48 It was appropriate, though, that Detroit fans were witnesses to the history he made on July 18, 1927, when he became the first major leaguer in history to achieve 4,000 career hits.49 A few days later in Cleveland, he flashed great agility in working the delayed steal in the sixth inning. After the catcher mistakenly threw the ball into centerfield, Cobb raced to third in a full stride with no intention of stopping. In a glimpse of the Cobb of old, he rounded the bag, and with the ball sailing in from the outfield, slid safely underneath the tag to score.50

The season wasn’t always picturesque, and Cobb sustained a handful of injuries. The worst was a severe charley horse, suffered during an exhibition at Buffalo in early May. He slumped at times and New York sportswriter Joe Vila offered an unsubstantiated report that he had been “playing for an individual record,” and not for the team. Vila was sure that he wouldn’t play for Mack in 1928.51 As a club, the Athletics were one of the hottest teams in baseball during the second half, and ordinarily, the kind of play Philadelphia demonstrated would have been enough to win a pennant. But the Yankees were even hotter. Led by Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, and Waite Hoyt, New York sauntered to a league title and then won the World Series over the Pittsburgh Pirates in four-straight games. The A’s finished with a 91–63 record, good for second place, and were 19 games behind the Yankees.

With permission from management, and since the pennant race was decided, Cobb broke from the team early on September 21 to attend his annual expedition to Wyoming. Before he left, he told reporters that Mack had invited him to return in 1928 at the same salary, but he declined to make any decisions.52 However, upon his homecoming to Philadelphia following his western hunting jaunt, Mack informed him of his release on November 2. Facing a downturn in attendance, the Athletics were economizing, and Cobb’s tremendous paycheck was too much of a burden. Mack was not happy about the decision, telling him, “Ty, you meant a whole lot of us, and I am sorry that you will not be with us again. Your aid to us cannot be exaggerated.”53 Cobb accepted the news with dignity, and embraced the thought of spending more time with family. “I am still a young man in everything except baseball,” the forty-year-old said. “What I will do in the future is something I cannot tell.”54

Charlie Cobb was “glad” about her husband’s imminent retirement, and the couple talked about a sightseeing trip to Europe. Over the subsequent weeks and months, Ty remained busy, and rumors sprouted up connecting him to the Atlanta minor league franchise, much like they had in late 1926. After the first of the year, Mack revealed his change of heart and wanted Cobb back. The two exchanged correspondence, and although Cobb told the newspapers he wanted to leave baseball behind, he was swayed by Mack’s “kind persistence.”55 On March 1, 1928, he announced that he signed a contract for the upcoming campaign in a deal valued at $35,000, and told a reporter that he planned to do his best “to help the team win.”56 The Athletics were significantly enhanced by the signing of Cobb’s recent partner-in-arms, Tris Speaker, and Mack was pretty well convinced the team was headed for a championship.

At Augusta, Cobb did a little training with the New York Giants and joined Philadelphia when his teammates arrived for an exhibition at Warren Park on March 16. In the camps of both teams, he proved an influential coach, working extensively with younger players. He ventured with the Athletics to Fort Myers—their spring headquarters—but was forced to return to Augusta after Charlie became sick. Her condition was such that she needed an operation, but mended quickly.57 Cobb dispelled the story that he’d cleaned up in the stock market and was retiring, and made the trek to Philadelphia. There, he aided the Athletics in their win over the Phillies for the local city title.58 The season opened on April 11, 1928, but Philadelphia wasn’t as strong as it appeared and lost its first four games. The absence of Al Simmons because of rheumatism in his legs was a crucial reason for the team’s slow start.59

Cobb’s batting eye was sharp in the early going, and his average was over .350 for the first month. His fielding and base-running were subpar on occasion, and it was obvious that his legs were tired. Columnist Westbrook Pegler remarked, “It was both inspiring and depressing to see Ty hobble around the baseball field.” Other journalists called him “grandpa” or “old man” in their reports, and crowds razzed him, but the criticism likely served to motivate him all the more. He ran into a cocky twenty-two-year-old in Leo Durocher, an infielder for the Yankees, who was verbally aggressive toward just about everyone, and showed no fear against Cobb. As legend has it, Durocher told him, “Don’t flash your spikes at me or I’ll show you how to really spike a guy.”60 That kind of repartee never impressed Cobb, and he was all too willing to exchange barbs or even punches if need be, but their bickering never developed that far.

On June 21, 1928, at Yankee Stadium, a game was contested in which thirteen future Hall of Famers took part. That included managers Connie Mack and Miller Huggins, plus Cobb, Speaker, Simmons, Eddie Collins, Lefty Grove, Jimmie Foxx, and Mickey Cochrane from the Athletics. For New York, there was Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, Earle Combs, and Tony Lazzeri.61 The Yankees won the game, 4–0, and were essentially steamrolling over the American League for the third year in a row. For Cobb, his play was somewhat erratic, and he slumped pretty badly in late May and into June. He managed to rebound, but his slowing agility left him susceptible to injury. In the outfield against Boston in early July, a ball glanced off the side of his head after a tricky hop. On July 18 against Detroit, he took a pitch on his right wrist and exactly a week later, he was struck by a ball again, suffering a bad bruise.

Cobb started his final game on July 26, 1928, at Comiskey Park in Chicago, and went 2-for-5 with a double in a 5–1 victory. While nursing his wounds, Cobb watched as Mack lined his outfield with Simmons, Bing Miller, and George “Mule” Haas, moved Ossie Orwoll from the mound to first base and placed Jimmie Foxx at third, initiating a brilliant period of winning for the A’s. In fact, the team won 10-straight from July 25 to August 2 and advanced from eleven games behind the Yankees to only 4.5. New York’s lead diminished more in the days that followed and, at one juncture, the Athletics briefly moved into first place. Notably, the turnaround for Philadelphia was done without Cobb or Speaker in the regular lineup. Their leadership and influence from the sidelines were valuable to the club, nonetheless.

Sportswriter Frank G. Menke wrote, “Cobb is something of a bench warmer now, but he never became such until he had established every existing durability record, and bench warmer that he is, he still possesses a walloping record of around .333 for this season.”62 On September 3, 1928, at Washington’s Griffith Stadium, he appeared as a pinch hitter in the first game of a doubleheader, and smashed a double off Washington’s Bump Hadley. This would mark Cobb’s final major league hit. Ironically, twenty-three years before, he doubled in his first major league hit, that one was off Hall of Famer Jack Chesbro. Cobb played his final game on September 11 at Yankee Stadium before 50,000 people, and was unsuccessful in a pinch hitting role for Jimmy Dykes in the ninth inning. The moment wasn’t acknowledged as historic at the time because nobody knew whether Cobb would perform again or not.

But days later, on September 17 in Cleveland, Cobb made a decision about his future. He issued a statement to reporters, announcing that“Never again, after the finish of the present pennant race will I be an active player in the organization to which I have devoted twenty-four seasons of what for me was hard labor.” Acknowledging that it had been a “privilege” to play for Mack, he was retiring for good, and explained his intention to be around his family. “I scarcely know my children,” he told a reporter, and he hoped to change that.63 The pennant race remained tight until the end, but the Athletics couldn’t upend New York, finishing in second place with a record of 98–55 and 2.5 games back. Cobb and his family, who maintained a residence in Bala Cynwyd, on the western border of Philadelphia, soon packed up their belongings and headed back to Augusta.

Entering a world post-baseball was both exciting and frightening for Cobb. He had expressed a desire to play twenty-five seasons during interviews, but the ninety records that he had established, the amazing .367 lifetime batting average he attained, and the 54 steals of home plate, spoke volumes about his commitment to the national pastime. He had nothing left to prove. Ed R. Hughes of the San Francisco Chronicle reflected on his accomplishments, and wrote that Cobb was “one of the truly greats and those who saw him at his best will never forget him.”64 An editorial in the Philadelphia Inquirer stated that his retirement would “be heard with regret by tens of thousands of fans who were always sure of good entertainment when Cobb was in the game.” Considering his great financial stability, the newspaper added that Cobb “deserves all he has because he has given all that he had to the patrons of the game.”65 It is true, and it is arguable that any man ever loved baseball more than Ty Cobb.