Thursday, April 14, 1927: New York City
Babe Ruth’s Biggest Blunder: Memories of 1926
Our pitcher, Dutch Ruether, gave up four runs today, but Murderers’ Row sent him bail money in the form of 10 runs, on 16 hits, including a double and a triple by Gehrig, and a double by Ruether, himself. The bench went crazy when Ruether popped up at second.
The dugout was full of pep all game today. It’s not just me, all of us can’t stand the Athletics.
When I’m not starting a game, I’ll usually sit in the dugout as long as I can before going out to the bullpen, both to be with the rest of the team and to better see the opposing batters. It’s almost impossible to follow the game from the bullpen at Yankee Stadium — the architect of the joint definitely wasn’t a pitcher — because the bullpens are way down the sidelines, near the foul poles, and down a slope of grass, so not only are they far away from the game but in some parts of the pens you can’t even see the infield.
Here’s how bad it is:
Last year in Game 7 of the World Series, Grover Cleveland Alexander of the Cardinals came out of the bullpen in the seventh inning with St. Louis leading 3–2 with two outs, and it was only after he got to the mound that Alexander fully saw the gravity of his situation: The bases were loaded — with Combs on third, Meusel on second, and Gehrig on first — and Tony Lazzeri was coming up to the plate.
Alexander had no clear idea of what was happening before he got to the mound because he couldn’t see the infield from where he’d been sitting in the Cardinals’ pen. Of course, even if he had been sitting all day in a chair on second base, he still might not have known what was going on, and here’s why:
Just the day before, at age 39, Old Pete Alexander had beaten us for the second time in the World Series, to tie it up at three games apiece. It wasn’t even close — they whipped us 10–2 in front of our home crowd, which was expecting us to clinch the series that day — and Alexander pitched all nine innings. That evening, knowing he was done for the series, Old Pete went out and had himself a one-man parade, getting a spectacular drunk on. Anyone who knows him wouldn’t have expected anything less.
Hell, the Cubs traded Old Pete to St. Louis in the middle of last season in no small part because of his love of the bottle and his inability, even when he was sober, to get along with the Cubs’ new manager, Joe McCarthy. Alexander’s drinking got so bad that McCarthy let Old Pete — who’s practically a legend with over 300 wins in his career — go to St. Louis for the waiver price. Just dropped him to the curb. And then McCarthy kissed him goodbye by telling the press, “The Cubs finished last last year. And if we finish last this year, I’d rather it be without him.” That’s the door kicking you in the ass on the way out.
Well, the Cubs didn’t finish last, they finished fourth. The Cardinals finished first with Alexander in their rotation, and now after pitching nine full innings in Game 6 of the World Series, and knowing there’s no way he’s playing the next day, Old Pete has a personal gin and whiskey party that extends deep into the morning hours, to the point where he doesn’t remember anything that happened until he found himself showering around 11 o’clock, in the visitors’ locker room in Yankee Stadium before getting dressed for Game 7.
In uniform, just before he heads out of the locker room, Old Pete downs one more hair of the dog from a flask he always keeps in his team jacket on his non-pitching days, and then he goes out to the bullpen to sleep off the damage.
Next thing he knows, one of his bullpen mates, Flint Rhem, is shaking him awake, to a nightmare:
St. Louis is clinging to a 3–2 lead in the bottom of the seventh, and Lou Gehrig’s at the plate with two men on. Making things worse, on deck is Tony Lazzeri—only 22, “Push ’em up!” Tony is the league’s best rookie, and as dangerous a hitter as Gehrig, Meusel and Combs.
Back in the bullpen, Old Pete slowly sits up in his chair and tilts his hat back, which has been way down over his eyes for six and a half innings, and he looks out onto the field — but from where he’s sitting, like I said before, he can’t really see what’s going on. Trying to clear his head, he gets up and throws a couple of pitches to his bullpen catcher.
In the meantime, on the field the Cardinals manager, Rogers Hornsby, who’s also playing second base, tells his starter, Jesse Haines, to pitch to Gehrig but not give him anything to hit. Of course, Lou’s too disciplined to chase after any of Haines’s crap, so he ends up walking to first.
Now the bases are loaded, and Hornsby calls in Alexander—who’s loaded, too—in fact, Old Pete’s walks to the mound from the bullpen with his flask still tucked deep in his jacket pocket.
Hornsby meets him on the mound, where they agree how they’re going to pitch Lazzeri, everything low and away. Old Pete nods his head, and then he throws a first pitch that is neither low nor away, and which Tony might have put in the stands if Miller Huggins hadn’t given him the take sign. Now it’s ball one. And Alexander’s becoming acutely aware of his surroundings.
Old Pete’s next pitch is a fastball inside for a strike. One and one.
All hell almost breaks loose on his third pitch — which again is neither low nor away — when Tony swings and hits the ball halfway back to Manhattan from the Bronx. But it’s just foul, depending on where you’re sitting and whom you’re rooting for.
The fourth pitch, though, is right where Hornsby and Old Pete want it, a low and away curveball. Tony goes fishing for it — and it looks like a giant tuna has caught his line and is running away with his rod. Tony’s done. Overboard. And our rally drowns with him.
Old Pete then sails through the final two innings until, in the bottom of the ninth when, with two out — and still up one run — he walks Babe Ruth.
Now everyone in Yankee Stadium is on their feet, we’ve got the tying run, Ruth, on first, and Old Pete is staring at the next batter, Bob Meusel, one of the best clutch hitters in baseball. As much as he’d like to, Old Pete can’t just walk Meusel, he’s got to pitch to him, because on deck is Lou Gehrig. And Lazzeri’s up after him.
Alexander contemplates his predicament for about a minute, then he finally winds up to pitch. Suddenly, out of the blue and completely on his own, the Babe — in a moment of what can only be described as true and utter insanity — attempts to steal second, and is thrown out by a good 10 feet.
Game over.
World Series over.
Everybody loves the Babe, but as one of our most astute pitchers, Sailor Bob Shawkey said to me at about 3:00 a.m. the next morning, “I’ve played baseball all over the world son, and giving due consideration to the moment at hand, I’m fairly sure that’s the dumbest fucking play I’ve ever seen.”
And just like that, Grover Cleveland Alexander, who knew less about what was going on in that goddamn ballpark than any of the other 63,000 people who were there — or millions of people who own a radio, for god’s sake — suddenly Old Pete’s the winning pitcher of the World Series, and we’re just the team that lost to the champs.
And that is baseball.
- BASEBALL HALL OF FAME: 1926 Yankees signed baseball
- 1926 World Series Game 7: Cardinals 3 vs. Yankees 2, Box Score
