© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

NINE 9A Journal of Baseball History and CultureVolume 21

Spring 2013

Number 2

Editor: Trey StreckerBall State University

Published by the University of Nebraska Press

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Subscriptions

NINE: A Journal of Baseball History and Cul-ture (ISSN 1188- 9330) is published semian-nually by the University of Nebraska Press. For current subscription rates please see our website: www.nebraskapress.unl.edu.

If ordering by mail, please make checks payable to the University of Nebraska Press and send to

Th e University of Nebraska Press1111 Lincoln MallLincoln, NE 68588- 0630Telephone: 402- 472- 8536

All inquiries on subscription, change of ad-dress, advertising, and other business com-munications should be sent to the Univer-sity of Nebraska Press.

Submissions

NINE seeks to promote the study of all his-torical aspects of baseball and centers on the cultural implications of the game wherever in the world baseball is played. Th e journal refl ects an eclectic approach and does not foster a particular ideological bias.

Manuscripts must be prepared accord-ing to the Chicago Manual of Style, 16th edi-tion, and should contain endnotes rather than footnotes. If an article prepared in another style is accepted, the author is fully responsible for changing the style to CMS. Manuscripts prepared in American Psycho-logical Association (APA) style are not ac-ceptable. Submissions can be e- mailed to tstrecker@bsu.edu.

Simultaneous submissions are not ac-cepted. Authors will be asked to sign a declaration that the submitted work is not being considered for publication elsewhere. No major revisions will be allowed aft er ac-

ceptance. Th e editor will attempt to have all manuscripts reviewed by two umpires and will respond to the authors within three months of receiving the manuscript.

Individuals whose works are accepted for publication must supply them in elec-tronic form (Microsoft Word or RTF). Ar-ticles should be between 2,000 and 8,000 words in length.

All fi gures and tables must be submitted in camera- ready format and will be printed as is. Please include a short (no more than three sentences) personal bio.

Address submissions to:Trey StreckerBall State UniversityDepartment of EnglishMuncie, IN 47306- 0460

Book reviews are by invitation only.Th e views expressed in NINE are those

of the contributors and not necessarily those of the editor and publishers.

© 2013 by the University of Nebraska PressAll rights reservedManufactured in the United States of America

If you would like to reprint material from NINE, please query for permission using our online form that is located under the Jour-nals menu heading on our Web site: www

.nebraskapress.unl.edu.

Articles appearing in this journal are ab-stracted and indexed in Academic Search Premier, America: History & Life, Current Abstracts, SocINDEX, SPORTDiscus, and TOC Premier.

NINE is available online through Project MUSE at http://muse.jhu.edu.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Founding Editor

Bill Kirwin,Th e University of Calgary in Edmonton

Editor

Trey Strecker,Department of EnglishBall State UniversityMuncie, IN 47306- 0460

Editorial Board

Jean Hastings Ardell, Corona Del Mar, CaliforniaRobert K. Barney, University of Western Ontario, London, OntarioRobert Bellamy, Duquesne University, Pittsburgh, PennsylvaniaJames E. Brunson III, Northern Illinois University, DeKalb, IllinoisAdrian Burgos Jr., University of Illinois, Urbana, IllinoisPeter Carino, Indiana State University, Terre Haute, IndianaRichard C. Crepeau, University of Central Florida, Orlando, FloridaGerald Early, Washington University, St. Louis, MissouriLarry Gerlach, University of Utah, Salt Lake City, UtahSteven P. Gietschier, Lindenwood University, St. Charles, MissouriGeorge Gmelch, University of San Francisco, San Francisco, California; Union College, Schenectady, New YorkChris Lamb, Indiana University– Purdue University Indianapolis, Indianapolis, IndianaDavid Mills, University of Alberta, Edmonton, AlbertaRoberta Newman, New York University, New York City, New YorkJames Odenkirk, Arizona State University, Tempe, ArizonaRichard J. Puerzer, Hofstra University, Hempstead, New YorkJoel Nathan Rosen, Moravian College, Bethlehem, Pennsylvania

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Contents

NINE Spring 2013, Vol. 21, No. 2

ix Diamond Quotes

Articles 1 Earl Mann Beats the Klan: Jackie Robinson and the First Integrated Games in Atlanta

Kenneth R. Fenster

32 Rooting for the Clothes: Th e Materialization of Memory in Baseball’s Th rowback Uniforms

Stephen Andon

56 Rhetorical Constructions of Anger Management, Emotions, and Public Argument in Baseball Culture: Th e Case of Carlos Zambrano

Kevin A. Johnson and Joseph W. Anderson

77 Baseball Players, Organizational Communication, and Cultural Diversity: Organizational Citizenship Behavior in Minor- League Clubhouses

William Harris Ressler

98 “Patriotic Industry”: Baseball’s Reluctant Sacrifi ce in World War IPaul Hensler

Triple PlayPersonal Reviews, Op- ed Pieces, and Polemics from Outside the Purview of the Umpires

107 Leagues of Th eir Own DesignDavid Nemec

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

125 Th e FiremanRobert A. Moss

135 Bill Kulik: Th e Gringo Malo Speaks the Language of the GameFranklin Otto

140 Baseball’s Other Expansion Team of 1962: Fift y Years of Frustration in the National League Ends for Houston

Ron Briley

Book Reviews 144 A People’s History of Baseball

Daniel A. Nathan

147 Legal Decisions Th at Shaped Modern BaseballRichard C. Crepeau

149 Packaging Baseball: How Marketing Embellishes the Cultural ExperienceRoberta Newman

152 Damn Yankees: Twenty- Four Major League Writers on the World’s Most Loved (and Hated) Team

Adi Angel

154 Jimmy Collins: A Baseball BiographyRon Kates

156 Arlie Latham: A Baseball Biography of the Freshest Man on EarthCharlie Bevis

159 Th e Battle that Forged Modern Baseball: Th e Federal League Challenge and Its Legacy

Steve Treder

161 Deacon Bill McKechnie: A Baseball BiographyCliff Hight

164 Hank Greenberg: Th e Hero of HeroesDavid Surdam

166 Two Pioneers: How Hank Greenberg and Jackie Robinson Transformed Baseball— and America

Rob Edelman

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

168 Th e Team Th at Forever Changed Baseball and America: Th e 1947 Brooklyn Dodgers

Robert A. Moss

170 Ebbets Field: Essays and Memories of Brooklyn’s Historic Ballpark, 1913– 1960

Steven P. Gietschier

172 “If You Were Only White”: Th e Life of Leroy “Satchel” PaigeJim Overmyer

175 Th e Might Have Been: A NovelAdi Angel

176 Drawing Card: A Baseball NovelTim Morris

177 Th e Barnstorming Hawaiian Travelers: A Multiethnic Baseball Team Tours the Mainland, 1912– 1916

John Harney

180 Bluegrass Baseball: A Year in the Minor League LifeWilliam Harris Ressler

Film Review 182 Moneyball and Trouble with the Curve

Ron Briley

189 Contributors

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

JSM is a response to the undeniable in uence

of sports media on contemporary culture and the growing interest in the

eld as an area of study and research. It provides a broad-based exploration of the eld and promotes

a greater understanding of sports media in terms of their practices, value, and effect on the culture as a whole.

To order subscriptions or back issues:www.nebraskapress.unl.edu

or 402-472-8536

JSM is available online at bit.ly/JSM_MUSE

JSM features scholarly articles, essays, book reviews, and reports on major conferences and seminars. While the majority of the articles are academic in nature, it also includes articles from industry leaders and sports media gures on topics appealing to a non-academic audience.

Individual subscriptions to the electronic version of this journal are now available and offer a cost-saving alternative to print. Visit the UNP web site to subscribe.

Journal of Sports MediaEdited by Mary Lou Sheffer

Follow us on Twitter@JrnlSportsMedia

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Diamond Quotes

“Our pitching staff is a conspiracy of ifs.”Branch Rickey

“Th e only thing dumber than a pitcher is two pitchers.”Ted Williams

“If a man can beat you, walk him.”Satchel Paige

“Nearly everyone’s son wants to be a baseball player. Why not? What other profession could he choose where he can slide around in the dirt, never work when it rains, and spit whenever he wants to?”Erma Bombeck

“When a man proves himself, has shown that he’s a Big Leaguer, why I think those are the fellows should get the dough. Not some youngster who doesn’t know his way into the ballpark yet.”Lefty O’Doul

“You go through the Sporting News for the last one hundred years, and you will fi nd two things are always true. You never have enough pitching, and nobody ever made money.”Donald Fehr

“If we’re gonna win, the players gotta play better, the coaches gotta coach better, the manager gotta manage better, and the owners gotta own better.”George Scott

“Baseball is not the sport of the one percent.”Peter Gammons

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

A R T I C L E S

Earl Mann Beats the KlanJackie Robinson and the First Integrated Games in Atlanta

Kenneth R. Fenster

At 1:30 p.m. on April 8, 1949, Earl Mann, the president of the Atlanta Crackers of the Class AA Southern Association, had his regular monthly meeting with Hughes Spalding, the chairman of the Crackers’ board of directors. Spalding did not record in his desk diary what he and Mann discussed, but surely a major topic of their conversation was the game scheduled for that evening at venerable Ponce de Leon Park.1 The game pitted the all- white Crackers against the integrated Brooklyn Dodgers, with their two black players, Jackie Robinson and Roy Campanella. The Dodgers- Crackers contest would be the first mixed- race baseball game in Atlanta and the first in a major city of the Deep South.

The Setting: Atlanta in 1949

In 1941 Atlanta was known for a soft drink, Coca- Cola, and a novel about the Lost Cause made into a movie, Gone With the Wind. World War II changed that image and transformed Atlanta from an overgrown village into a bustling major city. The war stimulated explosive economic and population growth that continued throughout the decade. The federal government made Atlanta the military supply center for the Southeast and the area headquarters for all military personnel stationed in the region. The war effort pumped millions of dollars into the local economy, and thousands of servicemen passed through the city. Atlanta also became the regional seat for more than fifty government agencies, so many that the city became known as the “Little Washington of the South.” In September 1943 the huge Bell Bomber plant began operations in nearby Marietta, Georgia. It employed between thirty thousand and forty thousand workers and had a weekly payroll of $1.5 million. Shortly after the war, the Ford Motor Company and the General Motors Corporation built large plants on the outskirts of the city. These manufacturers employed tens

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.22

of thousands of workers and had an economic impact in the tens of millions of dollars. Between 1945 and 1950 the number of factories in Atlanta increased by 75 percent, and many national corporations established branch offices in the city. Retail business thrived with net sales exceeding $500 million in 1947. Atlanta was the banking, communications, and transportation center of the region. The city was home to the Federal Reserve Bank for the region. Its tele-phone exchange was the largest in the South and the third largest in the world. Delta Air Lines, which moved to Atlanta in 1941 and began operating com-mercial flights connecting the cities of the South, built a $1 million hub in the city in 1947. In 1948 the Atlanta airport serviced more than five hundred thousand passengers, and during certain months of the year it was the busiest in the country. In the fall of 1948 construction began on a $40 million express-way system. At the same time, Atlanta became the site of the first southern television station, Welcome South Brother (WSB). The population of Atlanta rose from 302,288 in 1940 to 331,314 in 1950, while the population of the metro area increased from 518,100 to 664,033. Many soldiers who had trained in or visited Atlanta during the war settled there after their discharge from the mili-tary. By 1949 Atlanta had emerged as the undisputed capital of the South.2

The war also had a tremendous impact on race relations in the city, and in the years immediately afterward, Atlanta experienced tumultuous racial upheaval. African American servicemen returning from the fight against fascism overseas demanded greater equality and democracy at home. They would not obsequiously return to the inferior status that society had previ-ously assigned to them. Some whites resisted, resorting to violence to main-tain the racial status quo of strict segregation and white supremacy. African Americans constituted slightly more than one- third of Atlanta’s population.3 They exerted their political power for the first time in decades in a special election in February 1946 when they provided the margin of victory to Helen Douglas Mankin, a liberal white woman, in her race for the US Congress.4 The role of the African American electorate in her triumph over the estab-lishment candidate, who had the support of three- term governor Eugene Tal-madge’s powerful political machine and fifteen other influential white men, received national press attention.5 Contemporary African American leaders viewed her win as “a landmark in the history of Negroes in Atlanta politics.”6 It marked the birth of African American political participation. Henceforth, the African American voter would be a force to reckon with in the city.

Whites keenly felt this change in the city’s political dynamics. Many of them reacted to Mankin’s victory with disbelief and fear. Talmadge, Georgia’s most infamous racist demagogue and the gubernatorial candidate for a fourth term, spewed forth vitriolic diatribes against her. In his newspaper, the States-

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Fenster: Earl Mann Beats the Klan 3

man, and in campaign speeches, Talmadge generally made Mankin the issue, ignoring his opponent, James Carmichael, the highly successful manager of the Bell Bomber plant. Talmadge ranted and railed against her in vulgar, vitu-perative, and racist descriptions and innuendos. He made ugly references to the role of African Americans in her election, excoriating Mankin as “that woman from the wicked city of Atlanta,” as “Ashby Street’s contribution to the Georgia delegation to Congress,” and most commonly as “the Belle of Ashby Street.” He condemned her win as “the Ashby Street incident.” Talmadge mocked Mankin as “the lady politician of recent but none too fragrant mem-ory [who] campaigned with colored folks under the cognomen of ‘Madame Queen’ and won the Darktown votes in a canter.” Talmadge accused her of being a “nigger lover” and a lackey of Jews, Communists, and organized labor. He decried the “spectacle of Atlanta negroes sending a Congresswoman to Washington.” In his unabashedly white supremacist platform and campaign, Talmadge stirred up racial tensions to such hysteria that people throughout the state feared an outbreak of race riots.7

Mankin’s victory motivated the city’s African American leaders to launch a voter registration drive. Along with the US Supreme Court’s ruling outlawing the white- only Georgia Democratic primary in April 1946 and the backlash from Talmadge’s racist gubernatorial campaign, the voter registration drive spurred more than 14,000 African Americans to register to vote, tripling the size of their electorate. As of February 1946, 6,876 African Americans were eligible to cast ballots; by May that number had swelled to 21,244. African Americans now constituted more than 25 percent of Atlanta’s voters.8

Hate Groups

While African Americans used the ballot to exercise their political influence, some whites resorted to violence. In the immediate postwar years, Atlanta had more racially- charged hate groups than perhaps any other city in the nation.9 Moribund since its heyday in the 1920s, the Ku Klux Klan revived under the leadership of an Atlanta obstetrician named Dr. Samuel Green, a frail, slightly built, bespectacled middle- aged man with a Hitler- like moustache. Green had been active in the Klan since the 1920s and became the Grand Dragon of Georgia in the 1930s. He was a powerful, persuasive speaker and an excellent organizer; by 1949 Green had established Klan chapters in every county of Georgia. On October 10, 1945, just two months after the Japanese surrender, Green presided over a spectacular cross burning atop nearby Stone Mountain, the first in the country since the attack on Pearl Harbor. Green and his fellow Klansmen stretched out hundreds of barrels of fuel oil mixed with sand to

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.24

create a three- hundred- foot cross across the mountain. When lit, the flames could be seen sixty miles away. Approximately seven months later, on May 9, 1946, Green led the Klan in another cross burning at Stone Mountain. This event was a direct response to Helen Douglas Mankin’s victory, the end of the white- only primary, and Eugene Talmadge’s white supremacist campaign for governor. It was also a mass initiation, as three hundred people, including many Atlanta police officers, joined the hooded order; and another one thou-sand showed up to watch the spectacle. At the end of the ceremony, Green formally announced the Klan’s revival. The flames could be seen for miles and ominously signaled the rebirth of this notorious hate group. The war was over; the Klan was back.10

Once active, the Klan unleashed a brutal campaign of intimidation against Atlanta’s African American population. The Klan terrorized, beat, and mur-dered an African American cab driver because he accepted white women as fares, attacked an African American World War II veteran at the airport, and assaulted an African American bellboy as he returned home from work. The Klan’s special whipping squad flogged numerous African Americans for reg-istering to vote, for voting, and for encouraging other African Americans to vote. An eyewitness to these events describes them as “one of the worst reigns of terror ever to be inflicted upon any land at any time.” Klan violence and intimidation remained rampant for the rest of the decade. Every time the group reared its ugly head, the nation’s press pummeled Georgia for its big-otry and intolerance.11

Another band of hatemongers took form in the spring of 1946. Calling themselves the Columbians, the group attracted between two hundred and five hundred members, most of whom were young, poorly educated, impov-erished, working- class men. To join, a prospective member had to answer three questions affirmatively: “Do you hate Niggers? Do you hate Jews? Have you got three dollars?” The first neo- Nazi group in the country, the Colum-bians wore Nazi- style uniforms and insignia, organized themselves into para-military units, practiced paramilitary drills in public, greeted each other with the fascist salute, held regular party rallies, and goose- stepped through the streets of Atlanta. They believed that a violent messianic struggle would cul-minate in the expulsion or extermination of African Americans and Jews. The organization decorated its shabby downtown headquarters with a por-trait of Robert E. Lee and a copy of Adolf Hitler’s Mein Kampf. The Columbi-ans, who claimed they were “forty times worse than the Klan,” had an ambi-tious plan and an equally ambitious schedule for fulfilling it: they wanted to take control of the city in six months, the state in two years, the South in four years, and the nation in ten. The group obtained dynamite, intending to tar-

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Fenster: Earl Mann Beats the Klan 5

get police headquarters, the offices of the newspapers, and city hall with the goal of assassinating the chief of police, the liberal editor of the Atlanta Con-stitution, and the mayor. The Columbians also planned to bomb a conference of several hundred African American ministers. The Columbians patrolled neighborhoods with increasing African American populations. They terror-ized African Americans with racist signs, demonstrations, and verbal threats. Usurping police power, the Columbians interrogated and assaulted African Americans on the streets. The Columbians also threw stones, fired guns, and detonated bombs into African Americans’ residences.12

The immediate political goals of the Klan and the Columbians were the defeat of Mankin and the election of Green’s close friend Talmadge. In July 1946 Mankin had to defend her congressional seat against Judge James Davis, a Talmadge appointee to the bench and an avowed white supremacist who admired Hitler, had belonged to the Klan, and had links to the Colum-bians. Because this election was the Democratic primary and not a special election, the Democratic Party restored the county unit system of voting, a device designed to marginalize the urban and African American electorate. Although Mankin won the popular vote decisively, she carried only Atlanta- based Fulton County, receiving six unit votes. Davis won rural DeKalb and Rockdale counties, giving him eight unit votes and the election. In the gov-ernor’s race, the Klan used intimidation and violence to prevent blacks from visiting the polls. Carmichael received sixteen thousand more popular votes than Talmadge, but Talmadge won the county unit vote in a landslide, 242 to 146. He captured the governorship because of his staunch support for white supremacy. The national press simultaneously censured and offered condo-lences to the people of Georgia for electing Talmadge.13

In the days immediately following Talmadge’s victory, racial violence reached its peak. In rural Taylor County four whites murdered an African American World War II veteran because he had had the audacity to vote.14 In Walton County, about fifty miles east of Atlanta, white outrage and fear converged to cause the Moore’s Ford Bridge Massacre, the last mass lynch-ing in the country. The lynchers acted in response to the near- fatal stabbing of a popular white farmer by an African American tenant; the registration of eight hundred African American voters in Walton County; the inflammatory, racist rhetoric of the Talmadge campaign; and reports that African Ameri-can men had been flirting with white women in Monroe, the county seat of Walton. The mob of approximately twenty unmasked white men terrorized and murdered two African American men and their African American wives. According to the county coroner, the mob shot the four victims at least sixty times at close range with rifles and shotguns, mutilating their faces and bod-

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.26

ies nearly beyond recognition. The crime horrified the nation, and once again the national press expressed indignation over events in Georgia. For three days, the nation’s newspapers made the massacre their headline story. The day after the murders, NBC’s nightly radio news program reported, “One hundred forty million Americans were disgraced late yesterday, humiliated in their own eyes and in the eyes of the world by one of the most vicious lynchings to stain our national record in a long time.” The outgoing governor, Ellis Arnall, commented at a press conference, “This mass murder is one of the worst inci-dents ever to take place in our state. Civilization is incensed over this atrocity.” Governor- elect Talmadge simply dismissed the murders as “regrettable.” Tens of thousands of people in New York City, San Francisco, Boston, and Wash-ington DC protested the lynching. The Kansas City Monarchs interrupted one of their games with a moment of silence to honor the victims. President Harry Truman ordered the Justice Department to investigate the crime. The Federal Bureau of Investigation and the Georgia Bureau of Investigation swarmed the county, gathering evidence and conducting interrogations, but failed to iden-tify the guilty individuals. These murders remained fresh in the national con-sciousness for years.15

Another Talmadge

Although he won the election, Eugene Talmadge did not become Georgia’s next governor. He died in late December 1946 before taking the oath of office. His passing set off a bizarre series of political events that for the third time in recent months brought Georgia infamy from the national media. For the next two months, confusion, commotion, and chaos reigned at the state capi-tol as three men claimed the governorship. These contenders were the newly elected lieutenant governor, racial moderate Melvin Thompson; Eugene Tal-madge’s white supremacist son, Herman Talmadge; and the anti- Talmadge outgoing governor, Ellis Arnall. The national press expected a bloodbath among the rival factions. The three antagonists engaged in verbal confron-tations with one another, and fistfights erupted between supporters of the younger Talmadge and those of Arnall in the rotunda of the state capitol. One Arnall loyalist suffered a broken jaw in the fracas. Meanwhile, two of Tal-madge’s men battered down the exterior doors to the executive offices. Armed with a .38- caliber Smith & Wesson, Talmadge barricaded himself in the gov-ernor’s office and changed the locks on the doors to prevent his opponents from entering. He and his family also occupied the governor’s mansion for more than two months. The national press accused him of staging a palace coup. This deplorable fiasco ended in March 1947 when the Supreme Court

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Fenster: Earl Mann Beats the Klan 7

of Georgia made Thompson acting governor until a special election could be held in September 1948. The court’s ruling restored order at the state capitol but not before Georgia’s already tarnished image had been sullied further in the eyes of the nation.16

Talmadge accepted the court’s decision and immediately began campaign-ing for the September 1948 gubernatorial election. With the ardent support of his close friend Samuel Green, he easily defeated Thompson. Under Green’s leadership, the Klan intimidated African Americans throughout Georgia to prevent them from voting. The Klan held motorcades, cross burnings, and parades. Green’s men dropped leaflets from an airplane and placed miniature coffins on the porches of African American citizens. Talmadge acknowledged Green’s contribution to his victory by making the Grand Dragon a lieutenant colonel and an aide- de- camp on his staff. In rural Tooms County the Klan celebrated Talmadge’s triumph by lynching an African American man in front of his wife and cousins. Once again, the nation’s media expressed its outrage.17

Green, his fellow Klansmen, the vast majority of Atlanta’s police officers, and many of the city’s white residents vehemently opposed the hiring of Afri-can American policemen, something the African American community had wanted since the 1930s. African American police officers constituted a direct assault on white supremacy; the idea of African Americans licensed to carry guns and invested with the authority to arrest people of all races was truly ter-rifying to many whites. But after two hundred African Americans, many of them World War II veterans, marched on city hall demanding African Ameri-can police, and as the strength of the African American electorate increased, Atlanta officials could no longer ignore the issue. With the support of the city council, Mayor William Hartsfield, Police Chief Herbert Jenkins, the Atlanta Constitution (but not the Atlanta Journal), the Atlanta Bar Association, and various other civic groups, the city hired eight African American police offi-cers in April 1948. For the sake of propriety, the African American policemen changed into their uniforms in the basement of the Butler Street YMCA, not at police headquarters, and they were not allowed to arrest whites. But Chief Jenkins gave them confidential authority to prevent any crime in progress regardless of the race of the perpetrators. Moreover, the African American police officers wore the same uniform, swore the same oath, underwent the same training, carried the same equipment, including guns, and most impor-tantly, received the same salary as their white counterparts.18 On their first day on the job, Mayor Hartsfield exhorted them, “Do the kind of job that Jackie Robinson did in Brooklyn.”19 African Americans in Atlanta responded to the instatement of the new police with exuberance and pride. Hundreds of Afri-can Americans lined the streets to greet the new officers, cheering and follow-

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.28

ing behind them as they began their patrols. The hiring of African American policemen accomplished a long- sought goal of the African American com-munity and was the first real breach in the wall of segregation in Atlanta.20 Earl Mann’s hosting integrated baseball games at Ponce de Leon Park was the second.

Integrated Games in Atlanta

In the midst of this racially volatile environment, Earl Mann boldly initiated negotiations with Branch Rickey, the president of the Brooklyn Dodgers, to bring his integrated team to Atlanta for a series of exhibition games against Mann’s Crackers. The two baseball executives discussed this idea for about a year. Before agreeing to the Dodgers’ visit, Mann consulted with local lead-ers about African Americans playing alongside whites at Ponce de Leon Park. Mayor William Hartsfield, who disliked baseball and never attended a game, advised against it, fearing a race riot. Fulton County Commissioner Charlie Brown, who was an avid, lifelong baseball fan, encouraged Mann. Brown pre-dicted that a Dodgers- Crackers exhibition featuring Brooklyn’s African Amer-ican star, Jackie Robinson, would set an all- time attendance record in Atlanta. On January 14, 1949, in his first press conference of the year, Rickey officially announced that the Dodgers had scheduled three games against the Crackers for April 8, 9, and 10. Rickey added that Mann had specifically insisted on the appearance of Robinson and the Dodgers’ other African American star, Roy Campanella, in the Brooklyn lineup. The story broke in Atlanta on the same day that Mann confirmed that the Dodgers, with Robinson and Campanella, were expected to perform at Ponce de Leon Park. These games would be the first interracial sporting event in Atlanta.21

Mann’s announcement of the games received no opposition from local or state officials, not even Governor Herman Talmadge, but it provoked imme-diate outrage from Samuel Green, who vehemently challenged the legality of mixed- race athletic competition. The Grand Dragon snorted, “You can bet your life I’ll look up the segregation law and investigate thoroughly. In my opinion it is illegal.” Green added in a telephone interview with Jimmy Can-non of the New York Post, “Colored players will bring ill will or ill good in the South.” African Americans and whites playing baseball together, he told Cannon, was “breaking down the traditions of Georgia.” Paul Webb, the Ful-ton County solicitor, quickly thwarted Green’s hopes of preventing the games on legal grounds when he declared, “I don’t know of any law covering such a situation.” Three days later, Jack Savage, the city attorney of Atlanta, emphati-cally asserted that no city statute prohibited integrated sports. Georgia Attor-

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Fenster: Earl Mann Beats the Klan 9

ney General Eugene Cook acknowledged that the state had laws mandating segregation in the school system, public transportation, and marriage, but no laws forbidding African Americans from playing baseball against whites.22 To maintain the racial purity of Ponce de Leon Park, Green needed to unearth some obscure statute that had fallen into disuse or have the state legislature pass a new one banning the games.

Defiance and Ridicule

The Klansman’s outburst brought forthright defiance from Branch Rickey, Jackie Robinson, and Earl Mann. Rickey did not intend to break any laws, but he threatened to cancel the exhibitions in Atlanta if any circumstance, legal or otherwise, barred Robinson and Roy Campanella from playing in them. In response to Samuel Green’s claim that integrated sports violated the law in Atlanta, the Dodgers’ president imperiously fulminated, “Nobody can tell me anywhere what players I can or cannot play. If we are not allowed to use the players we want to play or are informed that by using certain players we are violating a law, why, the Dodgers simply won’t play there, and that is all there is to that.” Speaking on his nightly radio program in New York, Robinson was equally resolute: “I will play baseball where my employer, the Brooklyn Dodg-ers, wants me to play.” He expressed the hope that fans in Atlanta would not allow Green’s objections to cancel the games. Campanella expressed a simi-lar sentiment. Mann brushed off the Grand Dragon’s howling: “We will play whatever team the Dodgers put on the field. Since Robinson and Campan-ella are rated as Brooklyn regulars we expect they will be in the Dodger line- up.” The following day he reiterated his unwavering resolve to host integrated games at Ponce de Leon Park: “We scheduled the first string teams in order to give the Cracker fans the tops in entertainment. We knew this meant Robin-son and Campanella would be in the Dodger line- up as they are regulars.”23

Newspapers throughout the South endorsed and supported the integrated exhibition games between the Brooklyn Dodgers and local teams.24 Sports-writers and editorialists in Atlanta and elsewhere scorned and ridiculed Green. They represented Green as hopelessly obsolete, with no place in post– World War II America, and suggested that his venomous objections to inte-grated sporting events were hateful, malicious, and the height of absurdity. The editors of the Sporting News contemptuously described Green as the “Supreme Megoozelum” and the “Grand Goofus.” Integrated games were so commonplace that the Sporting News averred, “Nobody gives a hoot what color a ball player may be. Only his skills and abilities measure his degree of desirability.” Arthur Daley, sports editor of the New York Times, denounced

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.210

Green and his fellow Klansmen as “small- minded ignorant men.” According to Daley, Jackie Robinson was just another ballplayer, and southerners would get beyond his race and accept him. “This,” Daley concluded, “is as inevitable as death and taxes.” Jack Tarver, associate editor of the Atlanta Constitution, viciously caricatured the Grand Dragon as a jackass in a column acerbically titled, “Green the New White Hope?” A lifelong Georgian who was known as a social critic with a caustic sense of humor, Tarver sarcastically admitted to the reader,

Well, sir, I am certainly glad to see that old Doc Green has come charging to my res-cue and is going to protect me from having to watch Jackie Robinson perform with the Brooklyn Dodgers when they play three exhibition games here this spring. It sure would be a terrible thing for me, sitting in the bleachers, to be contaminated by that darkey out there playing second base. Not only that, but it might make me wonder a little about white supremacy, comparing Robinson’s batting average with those of some bush- league Aryans who have appeared at Ponce de Leon from time to time.

In his daily column, Ed Danforth, the sports editor of the Atlanta Journal, the dean of Atlanta sportswriters, and a native southerner, condemned Green and “his sheeted playmates”:

They can now rush out to defend us white folks from the threat to our supremacy as manifested in the sight of Jackie Robinson and a boy named Campanella playing on the same lot with several dozen paler men of varied racial origins.  .  .  . The two Negroes are considered paid entertainers. . . . Men of good will have no earthly objec-tions to the Dodgers playing their full team. Those to whom the sight would be offen-sive may stay at home. There is no compulsion to attend.

Aware of the negative press that Georgia and the city of Atlanta in particu-lar had recently received over racial issues, Danforth warned his readers that the national media was eagerly waiting to pummel the city and the state once again with “ripe adjectives.  .  .  . Meanwhile most folks will writhe over the sorry press Georgia already has reaped over the incident. When the full treat-ment is given us, we will wonder why the game was scheduled in the first place. We are not yet ready for a senior membership in the community of states. We must wait until our voice changes.”25

The press campaign against Green peaked with the Sporting News issue of January 26, 1949. The secondary headline proclaimed, “Atlanta Fandom Okays Jackie’s Visit.” In the accompanying article, John Bradberry, sports edi-tor of the Atlanta Constitution, summarized the major developments concern-ing the games since Rickey had first announced them on January 14, 1949. A large cartoon titled “Over the Fences of Prejudice” occupied most of the front

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Fenster: Earl Mann Beats the Klan 11

page, reinforcing the sentiment expressed in the headline. In the background of the cartoon, a huge crowd of fans in a southern ballpark cheers wildly for Jackie to hit a home run. The foreground shows two Klan robes and hoods abandoned on a bench just outside the ballpark while a white man, presum-ably a Klansman, has bought a ticket and passes through a turnstile to watch the game. His hand gesture, a raised forearm with a clenched fist, indicates his excitement and eagerness to see Robinson perform. Two young boys— one white, the other African American— stand side by side outside the ballpark peering at the game through knotholes in the outfield fence. The sight of Rob-inson coming to bat enthralls them equally.

In addition to the lead editorial, eight other articles in this issue of the Sporting News directly related to the upcoming Dodgers- Crackers series. A majority of these articles appeared on either page one or two, the others on page four. They repeat the themes the Atlanta and New York writers delin-eated at the beginning of the controversy. Arthur Daley once again censured Green and his fellow Klansmen as “a disgraced and impotent bunch of bigots who childishly like to play cops and robbers while wearing bed sheets, dis-owned and scorned by their own communities.” He again insisted that south-erners would accept integrated play just as northerners had. Jimmy Cannon of the New York Post condemned Green’s actions and opinions as reminis-cent of Nazi Germany. After finishing his lengthy telephone interview with the Grand Dragon, Cannon felt covered in filth: “I hung up and took a bath. I stayed in the tub a long time.” Bradberry dismissed Green’s objections as meaningless hullabaloo and concluded that most Atlantans would accept the games as exhibitions featuring major- and minor-league baseball teams “with-out emphasis or concern that a couple of the big timers happen to be Negroes.” Bradberry added, “Just for the record, I am just as much a Southerner as any-body. . . . But Providence willing, I’m going to see those three Dodger- Cracker games and am glad of the opportunity.”

Bradberry judged popular opinion correctly. People in Atlanta overwhelm-ingly supported the games. The vast majority of the letters Earl Mann received at his office approved of them; very few opposed. Unofficial and unscientific surveys found broad popular support for the precedent- setting series. The Associated Press chose fifty people from the Atlanta telephone directory at random and asked their opinion of allowing Robinson and Campanella to play against the Crackers at Ponce de Leon Park. Forty unhesitatingly approved, four declared indifference, and only six expressed mild opposition. One man proclaimed, “If the Klan is against it, I’m for it. It’s a swell idea. I haven’t seen a ball game since I was kid. I’ll see one of these.” The Atlanta Constitution que-ried ten people on the streets about the upcoming games. Eight wanted Rob-

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.212

inson and Campanella to play, while only two opposed. By the end of Janu-ary 1949, excitement about the Dodgers- Crackers contests had reached fever pitch, and it remained high throughout the spring. Crackers Vice President Jasper Donaldson and several sportswriters predicted that each game would draw capacity crowds and that the exhibition scheduled for Sunday, April 10, might attract the largest attendance in franchise history. Already the railroad had arranged to add extra cars to the Nancy Hanks passenger train to bring African American fans to Atlanta from Savannah. By the middle of February, fans had besieged the Crackers’ front office with requests for tickets, and the railroads had scheduled special trains to bring baseball enthusiasts to Atlanta from all over Georgia, Tennessee, and Alabama. By the end of March, African Americans had deluged the office of Atlanta’s African American newspaper, the Atlanta Daily World, with requests for tickets to the games. The World’s sports editor, Marion Jackson, believed that the series “should be the biggest sports event ever carded here during springtime.”26

At the same time that fans were manifesting their excitement about the games, a bill before the state legislature threatened to prohibit Robinson and Campanella from competing against the Crackers in Atlanta. In mid- February, four rural lawmakers introduced a bill in the Georgia House of Representatives and the Georgia Senate that would make interracial athletic events illegal. Atlanta newspapers editorialized against this proposed law. Per-haps remembering the failed bomb plots of the Columbians, Danforth sarcas-tically commented that this legal attempt to ban the games was “better than dynamiting the ballpark.” In his regular column Jackson angrily interpreted the bill as fighting the Civil War and Reconstruction all over again while the rest of the nation moved forward. He warned that passage of the law would have dire consequences for the state: “The major league clubs will shun Geor-gia like it has the Black Plague. . . . It is quite sad that the world will move on without us, and that in the backwash of its departure, we will fume and fuss because people look at us as an alien and strange race for which there is no hope. Yet Georgia is asking for it and unquestionably will get it.” The World reprinted most of Jackson’s column as its lead editorial a few days later under the title “Don’t Re- Fight the Civil War.” Although the bill cleared the Senate’s State of the Republic Committee and had the strong support of the Talmadge administration, it failed to become law, removing the last legal obstacle to the playing of the unprecedented series.27

With the holding of the games apparently assured, the Atlanta Daily World shifted its focus from condemning efforts to prevent the games to making sure that the games were played without incident. The paper’s staff expected fans from all over the southeast and sportswriters from across the country to attend

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Fenster: Earl Mann Beats the Klan 13

the series. Neither the city nor the state could afford any more negative pub-licity over racial issues. Jackson advised his readers, “It behooves Atlanta to be on its best behavior for it seems as though some folks are expecting ‘a racist- like cause celebre’ over a routine three- day exhibition between the Crack-ers and the Dodgers.” Jackson continued to emphasize this concern, writ-ing two weeks later that the national press coverage of the Dodgers- Crackers games would provide racists, rabble- rousers, crackpots, and troublemakers of any stripe an excellent opportunity to bring national and even international opprobrium and infamy to the city. He asked rhetorically, “Wouldn’t it be the worst publicity in the world for any hate mongers in this state to make trou-ble for Jackie Robinson? Especially since he was born in Cairo, Ga. Wouldn’t the tabloids love this angle and the gazettes behind the Iron Curtain in Rus-sia jump with glee?” Less than a week later and only five days before the first Dodgers- Crackers game, the sportswriter penned two separate articles in the same issue informing his readers that the eyes of the nation would soon fix on Atlanta and that all citizens had a duty to prevent untoward incidents. In this same issue, the World published an editorial titled, “Let’s Hang Out the Welcome Mat.” It argued forcefully that the series offered Atlanta and Georgia an excellent opportunity to overcome the negative press they had received in recent years over racial issues. The games, the editorial opined, allow

Georgia to dispel the fog of prejudice and intolerance which has surrounded this state.It can give the lie to much of the publicity in the newspapers and magazines circu-

lated over the nation which pictures Georgia as a backward state in which lynchings, masked hoodlums, and lawbreakers abound and in which gleeful lawlessness is sanc-tioned with legal and governmental support.

A tolerant and sportsmanlike view of the two players can restore us unto the fel-lowship of states which make up the United States— and in which we have developed the Great American Pastime of organized baseball.

We in Atlanta and Georgia know that much of that which is written and said about Georgia is untrue. We know that the Ku Klux Klan spirit is in the minority and that the majority of citizens are fair and law abiding. Unfortunately the good is seldom written and the evils of the state are glamorized in stories and features— it is this in which the characterizations of us have been obtained. . . .

We welcome Jackie and Roy in Atlanta. We commend the management of the Atlanta Crackers for giving us a chance to see them in baseball, sportsmanship, dig-nity, and in honor.28

Earl Mann, Branch Rickey, Police Chief Herbert Jenkins, and others expected no disturbances or racial incidents at the games. Local and state officials, sportswriters and editorialists, ordinary citizens, and the Crack-

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.214

ers’ players all approved of them. Rickey predicted that the only mob Robin-son might confront would consist of exuberant fans wanting his autograph.29 Dodgers radio announcer Ernie Harwell, who had grown up in Atlanta and had a longstanding affiliation with the Crackers, thought the Klan was a gang of publicity- seeking cowards who would not dare cause any trouble during the series. On the three game days, Chief Jenkins stationed extra officers to handle traffic outside the ballpark, but he was so convinced that no untow-ard incidents would occur inside Ponce de Leon Park that he assigned only the regular detail of policemen to work the white grandstand. Because he and Mann expected a large crowd of African Americans to attend the games, Jen-kins assigned seven African American officers to patrol the segregated Afri-can American bleachers. They were not there to squelch enthusiasm or pride; they were on hand for crowd control. The chief assured Mann that this police presence was sufficient to handle any situation that might arise and that his officers would prevent disorder. Mann, in turn, warned ticket purchasers that the police would eject troublemakers and drunks from the ballpark. He informed Jackson that out of the metro area’s population of nearly six hun-dred thousand, fewer than eight had telephoned his office to object to inte-grated play. He received one such call while discussing traffic control with Jenkins. Mann handed the telephone to the chief. After Jenkins identified himself, the caller immediately hung up and the phone went dead. Accord-ing to Jackson, who discussed arrangements for the visiting black press with Mann at Ponce de Leon Park on April 6, the Crackers’ president “insisted that the game was a landmark in race relations but it had the complete acceptance by the press and public.”30

Boycott

As the games approached, Samuel Green acknowledged that all legal attempts to ban them had failed. Nevertheless, he persisted in his efforts to prohibit integrated play at Ponce de Leon Park. The Klan leader now invoked southern custom to prevent the Dodgers- Crackers series from occurring. On Friday, April 8, the day of the first game, Green told a New York Times reporter, “There is no law against the game. But we have an unwritten law in the South— the Jim Crow law. The Atlanta Baseball Club is breaking down traditions of the South and the club will pay for it.” The Grand Dragon threatened a permanent boycott of Crackers games, warning, “10,000 persons have signed a pledge never to enter the Atlanta baseball park again if a game is played there by players of mixed races. The Atlanta Baseball club will lose thousands of dol-lars if the game is played tonight as scheduled.”31

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Fenster: Earl Mann Beats the Klan 15

Several researchers have accepted the existence of this petition as fact.32 However, the only evidence for its existence are the statements Green made to a New York Times reporter and the subsequent brief article based on those statements on page thirteen of the April 9 issue of the Times. Since mid- January, the three Atlanta dailies— as well as the Baltimore Afro- American, the Pittsburgh Courier, and the Sporting News— had provided extensive coverage and commentary about the Dodgers- Crackers series and Green’s opposition to it. They would continue to do so for several days after the games had been played. None of them ever mention this petition. Moreover, the three Atlanta newspapers, especially the World, reported regularly on the various activities of Green and the Klan. For example, on the same day that the Times carried the article about the petition, the Atlanta Constitution published a story about Green’s speech scheduled for that evening in Langley, South Carolina. In its April 10 issue, the World printed a front- page story about the Grand Drag-on’s complaint that the US Navy and the Marine Corps barred Klan mem-bers from enlisting. But these two newspapers had nothing in them about any Klan petition.33 If this petition had existed, it is inconceivable that the three Atlanta dailies would have ignored it. In the forty- one years between 1949 and his death in 1990, Earl Mann never mentioned this petition to his son Oreon or his wife Myra. Norman Macht, who worked for the Crackers’ radio announcers in 1949 and as an office boy for Mann in 1950, also never heard Mann refer to this petition. A teenager in 1949, Charles Pettett trav-eled by himself from nearby Marietta to Atlanta to attend one of the Dodgers- Crackers games; he insists that his parents would never have allowed him to do so had they heard of any Klan petition.34 In 1952, Furman Bisher, sports editor of the Atlanta Constitution, published a highly laudatory article about Mann’s life and baseball career in a popular national magazine. Bisher began the article praising Mann’s defiance of Green and the Klan in 1949, but he did not mention any Klan petition.35 A petition signed by ten thousand persons committed to a permanent boycott of Crackers games would have negatively affected attendance at Ponce de Leon, especially in the early part of the 1949 season when the offensive events were still fresh in the minds of the signato-ries. In spite of inclement weather that cancelled four games and a crippling strike by the city’s transit workers, attendance at Crackers games soared in April, May, and June. Atlanta baseball fans flocked to Ponce de Leon Park in such great numbers that as of June 22, 1949, the Crackers were on pace to establish new franchise and league attendance records.36 The evidence is not conclusive, but it strongly suggests that the petition with ten thousand signa-tures existed only in Green’s twisted imagination. A desperate man, Green in

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.216

all likelihood invented the petition as a last- ditch effort to preserve a way of life that was inevitably vanishing before his very eyes.

The threat of a boycott— even one based on a nonexistent petition— could have had serious repercussions for Mann and the Crackers. As the Crackers’ president, Mann worked for the Coca- Cola Company, which owned the team, and its chief executive officer, Robert W. Woodruff.37 Woodruff did not like baseball and never attended Crackers games.38 The baseball team was an insig-nificant appendage of his vast soft drink empire.39 As a businessman, Wood-ruff ’s chief concern was selling soda and making a profit. On race issues, he was the ultimate pragmatist: he opposed racism because it was bad for busi-ness. The Coca- Cola executive wanted people of all races to buy his product. He could not afford to offend or alienate either, but especially whites, people like Green and the putative ten thousand who signed the petition, because they were the company’s best customers. A white boycott of Coca- Cola was a possibility as a backlash to the Dodgers- Crackers series.40 The easiest way for Woodruff to solve this dilemma would have been to order Mann to cancel the games. Woodruff had several opportunities to do so. Mann never met person-ally with Woodruff, but he had regular monthly meetings with Hughes Spald-ing, the chairman of the board of directors of the Atlanta Crackers, the senior partner of the law firm that represented Coke, and a member of Woodruff ’s inner circle of friends and confidants.41 Mann met with Spalding at the lawyer’s office on the afternoon of April 8, 1949, the same day that the Grand Dragon announced his boycott of Crackers games.42 To his credit, Woodruff did not interfere, the games were played as scheduled, and they drew record crowds.

The Games

Just prior to the first game of the series on the night of Friday, April 8, 1949, Dodgers manager Burt Shotton gathered his players in the clubhouse and read aloud a letter in which the author threatened to shoot Jackie Robinson if he took the field against the Crackers. According to Dodgers pitcher Carl Ers-kine, the atmosphere in the clubhouse became so tense that the players, who were accustomed to rowdy and angry fans, were dumbstruck and numb. They found the threat on their teammate’s life inexplicable; everyone was at a loss for words and no one knew what to say or do. Outfielder Gene Hermanski broke the tension in the morbid locker room with comic relief. He suggested that all Dodgers players wear Robinson’s uniform, number forty- two, so that the assassin would not know whom to target. Robinson and the rest of the team laughed heartily at this joke. The good humor continued when the Dodgers

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Fenster: Earl Mann Beats the Klan 17

took the field for pregame warmups. Shortstop Pee Wee Reese asked Robinson to move further away from him just in case the shooter’s aim was poor.43

The Dodgers and the Crackers played the three games before 49,309 fans, a record for a three- game series in the Southern Association. Brooklyn won the first contest, 6– 3, and Atlanta prevailed in the next two, 9– 1 and 8– 4. What-ever fear or anxiety Robinson may have felt dissipated quickly. Before the first game he told Associated Press sportswriter Joe Reichler, “Believe me, this is the most thrilling experience of my life. It’s the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me. . . . The strain is over now, but I don’t mind telling you I was plenty worried. . . . I didn’t know what to expect. . . . Deep down in my heart, though, I knew nothing would happen.” Robinson played a full nine innings in each of the three games and performed well at bat, in the field, and on the bases. In the third game he stole home on the front end of a double steal, one of the most rare and thrilling plays in baseball. Roy Campanella appeared only in the first game of the series. He warmed up Dodgers pitchers between innings in the other two contests. No one shot at Robinson (or Campanella), and only two untoward incidents marred the three games. In the first game, two men got into a scuffle over a foul ball hit into the grandstand down the third- base line. During the fourth inning of the same game, two portly white men engaged in fisticuffs behind the home plate. Two policemen immediately separated and escorted the pugilists from the ballpark.44

In their accounts and descriptions of the series, eyewitnesses, researchers, the Sporting News, and the three Atlanta newspapers emphasize the impor-tance of the third game played in perfect baseball weather on Sunday after-noon, April 10, 1949. This game is significant and memorable because of the record- setting attendance. It drew 25,221 fans, including 13,885 African Amer-icans, to Ponce de Leon Park, which seated only 14,500. Baseball enthusiasts had taken every seat in the ballpark long before game time. African Ameri-can fans had occupied every inch of the left- field bleachers before noon, three hours prior to the start of the game. Thousands more formed a deep semicir-cle in the outfield that extended from the left- to the right- field bleachers. Still others perched on the branches of the stately magnolia tree that stood in deep right- center field about 450 feet from home plate. At 2:30, standing- room- only signs went up at all the entrances to the ballpark. Earl Mann estimated that more than 5,000 persons turned away at the gate when they learned that only standing room remained. This crowd was the largest ever to attend a baseball game at Ponce de Leon, shattering the old record of 21,812 set on opening day in 1948 when the Crackers hosted the Birmingham Barons.45 It was also the largest in the history of the Southern Association. An excited Earl Mann told a New York Times reporter, “Nothing like this has ever happened

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.218

before.” He also commented that the throng was one of the most orderly he had witnessed in his two decades as a minor- league executive. The Constitu-tion and the World made the game and especially the record- breaking atten-dance front- page news. The Journal also emphasized the enormous crowd but relegated its coverage to the sports pages. In addition to the usual game sum-mary, the three Atlanta dailies and the Sporting News published large photos of the jam- packed ballpark. The Journal printed a panoramic view of the crowd that extended across the entire width of the newspaper. The World published a panoramic photo that is even more dramatic: it is a shot of the crowd taken five minutes before game time that stretches across the entire width of the top of the front page. The caption eloquently and powerfully captures the vastness of the crowd, its sense of anticipation and excitement, and the feeling that it was about to watch history unfold: “When this photo was made the left- field and right- field bleachers were packed; thousands were lined from foul line to foul line; hundreds were sitting and standing on the steep terrace behind cen-ter field; some were comfortably seated atop sign boards; and others were still streaming into the park.”46

Actually, the first game of the series, not the third game, made history. The first game established an unequivocal acceptance of integrated play in Atlanta and by extension the South. Bumper- to- bumper traffic choked Ponce de Leon Avenue an hour before game time. An overflow crowd of 15,119, including about 6,000 African Americans, attended the game.47 The contest also drew the largest press corps to cover a baseball game in the history of Ponce de Leon Park. The press coverage may have been the largest ever for a spring exhibition game anywhere in the country. Sportswriters from the Pittsburgh Courier, the Baltimore Afro- American, the Birmingham World, the Chicago Defender, the Savannah Herald, and papers from New York, Brooklyn, and Atlanta were on hand to witness and report on the first integrated game in the city. Each of Georgia’s leading dailies, the Associated Press, the United Press, and the International News Service dispatched representatives to report the game. Time magazine recalled its correspondent from the prestigious Mas-ters Golf Tournament in Augusta, Georgia; Life magazine sent a photographer and a feature writer; and Newsweek sent a reporter to cover the game. Many of them expected Klan riots, mob violence, and a racial blood bath, but nothing happened except a baseball game. The high drama of a confrontation between Samuel Green and Earl Mann, Branch Rickey, and Jackie Robinson was over before it even started. The only story from Ponce de Leon Park that night was racial tolerance and goodwill. When Robinson came to bat in the first inning, he received a thunderous ovation from African American and white fans alike that quickly overwhelmed a few scattered, sophomoric boos. After he lashed

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Fenster: Earl Mann Beats the Klan 19

a hard ground-ball single past the second baseman to drive in the first run of the game, Robinson received another round of deafening applause and a standing ovation. “The reception,” wrote sportswriter Sam Lacy of the Bal-timore Afro- American, “was something to behold; something that had to be seen to be believed.” When the top of the first inning ended, Robinson took the field, and for the rest of the game, he was just the Dodgers’ second base-man. After the game, Robinson told sportswriter Joe Reichler, “I wouldn’t change shoes with any man in the world. . . . It’s great to feel that I am play-ing a part in breaking down the barriers against the people of my race. I was afraid it would never be in my lifetime.” But it did happen and it happened on the night of Friday, April 8, 1949 at Ponce de Leon Park in the heart of Geor-gia’s capital. “Atlanta,” wrote Ed Danforth, “double- crossed them. Not a cross was burned. If any of Doc Green’s boys were there, they left their nightshirts at home and paid $1.10 for a grandstand seat. Jackie Robinson and Roy Cam-panella . . . were not molested. They . . . promptly were put in their places at second base and catcher respectively.” Marion Jackson interpreted the game similarly: “The fans— all Georgians— forgot that Negroes and whites were competing for the first time in Georgia and rejoiced in the Great American Pastime of Baseball.” Lacy agreed, writing, “The Klan and its hooded despots were never more thoroughly repudiated.” When the game ended and fans left the ballpark to return home, they “felt no contamination after having watched two Negroes play baseball with and against white people. The Atlanta players didn’t feel any either.”48

The second game, played the following afternoon, attracted a crowd of 18,969 fans and built on the foundation of racial tolerance established the pre-vious night. Interviewed after the game, both Robinson and Roy Campanella told a Constitution reporter that the best treatment they had received from whites came in Atlanta. Dodgers radio announcer Ernie Harwell agreed, com-menting that whites in Atlanta gave Robinson louder and longer applause than anywhere else. Before and after the game, white children besieged Rob-inson for his autograph. The Constitution and the Baltimore Afro- American thought these incidents were so poignant that they published photographs of them in their sports pages. The only editorial about the series written in Atlanta’s white dailies appeared in the Constitution following the second game. The editors emphasized the large crowds and lauded the orderly behavior of both white and African American fans at the first two games. They aimed an especially sharp barb at the four state legislators who had attempted to ban the series back in February. “No law,” the editorial opined, “is needed to protect us.” Although the attendance at the second game at Ponce de Leon Park was smaller than Earl Mann and several sportswriters had predicted, thousands

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.220

of people watched the game on the new medium of television and even more listened to it on the radio. This vast exposure to integrated play was, accord-ing to Marion Jackson, a “democratic gesture [that] meant something towards tolerance in this state.”49 The first two games— with their absence of violence; their large, orderly, and enthusiastic crowds; and the exuberant and gracious reception the fans gave to Jackie Robinson— made possible the record- setting attendance of the third game.

The Dodgers- Crackers series had far- reaching consequences for the city of Atlanta, the African American community, Earl Mann, and organized base-ball in the South. The press lauded Atlanta for its racial tolerance, repairing the soiled image that it had garnered following World War II. In his first regu-lar column after the games, Marion Jackson argued that the record- breaking crowds that attended the series and the lack of untoward incidents struck a powerful blow for racial harmony and democracy. He compared the city’s and the state’s virulent racial hatred of the immediate postwar years with the racial goodwill displayed during the games: “The State of Georgia which has often been the ‘testing ground’ for new schemes of bigotry and intolerance likewise did a complete about face in welcoming home Georgia- born Jackie Robin-son.” Jackson returned to this theme in a column penned nine days later. “The only good publicity that Georgia has sent to the nation in recent years,” he wrote, “was the news of Jackie Robinson and Roy Campanella in action with the Brooklyn Dodgers against the Atlanta Crackers. The Sporting News, base-ball’s bible, devoted several pages to the story that Georgia had rejoined the United States in fellowship and Democracy in welcoming the two Negro stars. Likewise the nation’s newspapers devoted reams of copy and space to the story. “This ought to be a lesson to Georgia!!!” In the only editorial published in its April 14 issue, the World praised the people of the city and the state for their spirit of interracial tolerance. Fans at Ponce de Leon Park treated Robinson and his teammates with sportsmanship and respect. “The series,” the editorial concluded, “was played without incident and Atlanta and all Georgia are bet-ter for it in the eyes of the nation.” Lacy attended all three games in Atlanta, and he too emphasized the shift in racial attitudes from bigotry to tolerance. In the Sporting News, Lacy eloquently— almost poetically— informed the nation’s baseball aficionados, “The State of Georgia accepted its inter- racial baptism with grace and bearing. Immersed in the waters of liberalism, its head anointed with the oil of democracy, Georgia came up smiling. The Great experiment is over and none of the principals is any the worse for wear.”50

Robinson’s appearance in Atlanta received widespread publicity in the nation’s newspapers. A resident of Seattle, Washington, named Lloyd Thorpe was so moved by the game accounts and descriptions in his local paper that

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Fenster: Earl Mann Beats the Klan 21

he wrote a letter to the Constitution. Thorpe believed that the racial tolerance Atlanta fans demonstrated during the games set an example for the rest of the country to emulate:

From this far corner of America I would like to pay my respects to the broad- minded sportsmanship of Atlanta citizens for the reception they accorded baseball player Jackie Robinson on the occasion of his recent appearance in your city.

Our local press gave prominent space to the superbly written wire story which very fittingly, it seemed to me, to place but minor interest on the game and instead dealt with great understanding of the significance of Robinson’s being there.

Certainly the ultimate solution to America’s great problem draws nearer more quickly and with less pain when people act as did Atlanta men and women in your ballpark that day.51

The games electrified the African American community in Atlanta and elsewhere. According to Jackson, the Dodgers- Crackers series was the biggest sports story in the nation’s African American newspapers in the winter and spring of 1949. Only the inauguration of President Harry Truman received more coverage. As Jackson traveled around the state attending high school and college athletic events, people bombarded him with questions about the games. The Atlanta sportswriter observed that by early April, African Ameri-can sports fans throughout the South were so excited about the games that they talked nonstop about them. Atlanta’s African Americans reacted to the series in the same way that they had responded to the integration of the city’s police department a year earlier. They “came [to the games] dressed in their finest wear and created in the ballpark’s colored section a gala, a picnic, a car-nival, and a party atmosphere all in one. It was indeed a weekend to remem-ber.” Robinson replaced heavyweight champion Joe Louis as the African American community’s sports hero, and baseball replaced boxing as the com-munity’s favorite sport. Robinson became “our Jackie who owned that spring weekend of 1949 and won the hearts of black Atlanta.” Moreover, the games set a new standard for what African Americans in Atlanta could achieve. Dur-ing the mayor’s race that summer, John Wesley Dobbs, one of the foremost leaders of Atlanta’s African American community, demanded the hiring of African American firemen and the construction of an African American fire station. He made this demand in front of a large African American audience and the two candidates for the office. Dobbs told them that if Robinson could draw the largest crowd ever to Ponce de Leon Park for a baseball game, then African Americans could successfully fight fires.52

Mann emerged from the games with his prestige greatly enhanced. Because he had defied Green, he earned a national reputation as a prejudice buster.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.222

Writing in the Sporting News, Dan Parker of the New York Daily Mirror extolled his courage and fortitude: “If more people told the Ku Klux Klan where to get off as bluntly as President Earl Mann of the Atlanta Baseball Club did, the bed-sheet braves would all scurry back into their rat holes.” In the same issue of the Sporting News, the lead editorial lauded Mann for his resolute determina-tion to do what was right in the face of grave adversity. Baseball had benefited from his judgment and wisdom, and Mann, the editorial concluded, should be in the major leagues.53 The Crackers’ president also won the accolades of the Atlanta Daily World. In an editorial, the newspaper held him up as an exam-ple for church leaders to follow on racial issues. In defying the Klan, Mann showed great courage and leadership, qualities that they too often lacked.54

The Dodgers- Crackers series in Atlanta cleared a path for integrated games in the other cities of the Southern Association and the smaller towns of the South. Atlanta was the major city of the region. It was the headquarters of the Klan. Moreover, Atlanta was the undisputed baseball capital of the South. Under Mann’s leadership the Atlanta Crackers became the premier minor- league organization in the South and one of the finest in the country. Between 1934 and 1948, his teams won six pennants, more than any other club in orga-nized baseball except the New York Yankees.55 Mann’s Crackers led the Asso-ciation in attendance every year from 1934 to 1947; in 1948 the team finished second. In 1935 Atlanta became the first team in the history of the Southern Association to attract more than 300,000 paid admissions. Atlanta’s attendance of 330,795 was the highest in the minor leagues that year. The Crackers sur-passed the 300,000 mark the following year and again led the minor leagues in attendance. Atlanta was the first city in the history of the minors to draw a two- season total of more than 600,000 spectators. In 1935 Atlanta’s atten-dance surpassed that of five major- league teams and in 1936 it exceeded that of three. After his first season running the Crackers in 1934, Mann turned a profit every year between 1934 and 1948, with the exception of 1942 and 1943, when World War II forced many minor- league teams and leagues to cease operations altogether. Twice Mann won the coveted Sporting News Minor League Execu-tive of the Year Award. Only one other minor- league executive won this award twice, and only one other Southern Association executive won it between 1934 and 1949. By April 1949, Mann had earned a reputation as a baseball genius and as one of the most talented and successful minor- league operators in the country. With this recognition and unparalleled record of achievement both on and off the field, Mann and the Atlanta Crackers exercised paramount influence over the rest of the Southern Association. Because Mann and Atlanta had approved integrated play, integrated play was right for the Association and for the South. “The fact is that when the liberal forces in Atlanta, stronghold of

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Fenster: Earl Mann Beats the Klan 23

the Ku Klux Klan, defeated the white shirters who wanted to bar Jackie Rob-inson from appearing there with Brooklyn last spring,” wrote Dan Parker in the Sporting News, “a powerful blow was struck against the color line in sports. The whole South seems to have regarded the issue as settled by the Atlanta case. . . . It would seem that the racial issue as it affects baseball is practically dead in the South.” Indeed, between 1950 and the end of the spring exhibition season in 1954, every city in the Southern Association, including Birmingham and Little Rock, had accepted integrated baseball games. During these years, Southern Association cities hosted fifty- five mixed- race games, all without incident. Almost four hundred thousand fans attended them, voting with their feet and their money in favor of integrated play.56

Green did not live to see this phenomenon. He suffered a massive heart attack and died at his home on August 18, 1949. Mann had purchased the Crackers from the Coca- Cola Company twelve days earlier, and he contin-ued to operate the club successfully and profitably for another decade.57 By bringing the integrated Dodgers to Atlanta for a series of games against the Crackers at Ponce de Leon Park, Mann engineered a revolution that reverber-ated throughout organized baseball in the South. He broke decisively with the decades- old custom of Jim Crow, shattering a tradition that spread inexorably throughout the region. The Dodgers- Crackers games in 1949 marked the end of an era and the beginning of a new one for Atlanta and southern baseball.

Notes

1. Desk diary entry of Hughes Spalding, April 8, 1949, Hughes Spalding Papers [hereafter HSP] MS 1413, box 18, Hargrett Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Uni-versity of Georgia– Athens. Only rarely did Spalding add notes or commentary in his desk diary, and usually they concern his family life. Unfortunately, he did not summa-rize his meeting with Earl Mann on April 8.

2. This paragraph is a synthesis of many secondary works. The following were the most useful: Frederick Allen, Atlanta Rising: The Invention of an International City, 1946– 1996 (Atlanta: Longstreet Press, 1996); Frederick Allen, Secret Formula: How Bril-liant Marketing and Relentless Salesmanship Made Coca- Cola the Best- Known Product in the World (New York: Harper Business, 1994); Andy Ambrose, “Atlanta,” New Geor-gia Encyclopedia, http://www.georgiaencyclopedia.org/nge/Article.jsp?path=/CitiesCounties/Cities&id=h-2207; David Harmon, Beneath the Image of the Civil Rights Movement and Race Relations: Atlanta, Georgia, 1946–1981 (New York: Garland Pub-lishing, 1996); George Lankevich, Atlanta: A Chronological and Documentary History (Dobbs Ferry NY: Oceana Publications, 1978); Harold Martin, Atlanta & Environs: A Chronicle of Its People and Events, vol. 3, Years of Change and Challenge, 1940–1976 (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1987); Harold Martin, William Berry Hartsfield:

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.224

Mayor of Atlanta (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1978); Paul Miller, ed., Atlanta, Capital of the South, American Guide Series (New York: Oliver Durrell, 1949); Mark Pendergrast, For God, Country & Coca-Cola: The Definitive History of the Great Amer-ican Soft Drink and the Company That Makes It, 2nd ed. (New York: Basic Books, 1999); Welcome South Brother: Fifty Years of Broadcasting at WSB, Atlanta, Georgia (Atlanta: Cox Broadcasting, 1974); and all population statistics are from http://www.census.gov/population/www/documentation/twps0076.twos0076.html.

3. Ronald Bayor, Race and the Shaping of Twentieth- Century Atlanta (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1996), 7.

4. In 1877 the enactment of a poll tax drastically reduced the number of black vot-ers in Georgia. In the 1890s the state Democratic Party adopted a white- only primary that barred blacks from choosing the party’s nominees for office. In 1908 a constitu-tional amendment completed the disenfranchisement of the state’s black population. See Harmon, Beneath the Image, 9– 11; Bayor, Race and the Shaping, 6; Alton Hornsby, Black Power in Dixie: A Political History of Blacks in Atlanta (Gainesville: University of Florida Press, 2009), 12– 72 passim; and Kevin Kruse, White Flight: Atlanta and the Making of Modern Conservatism (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2005), 20– 21.

5. Lorraine Spritzer, The Belle of Ashby Street: A Political Biography of Helen Doug-las Mankin (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1982), 64– 73.

6. Spritzer, The Belle of Ashby Street, xiii.7. Spritzer, The Belle of Ashby Street, 74, 85, 100– 101. Talmadge’s disparaging refer-

ences to Ashby Street were to the largest black voting precinct in Atlanta, Precinct 3- B, which was located at the E. R. Carter Elementary School on Ashby Street. Because of a huge turnout of black voters, this precinct’s votes were counted last in the 1946 election. When the count began, Mankin trailed her chief opponent, Tom Camp, by about 150 votes. In this precinct, Mankin received 963 votes to Camp’s 8, giving her the election by about 800 votes. See Spritzer, The Belle of Ashby Street, 72. Although I have relied primarily on Spitzer’s work, several other books discuss Mankin’s vic-tory and its racial significance. None, however, are as detailed or insightful as Spitzer, a journalist, who knew and befriended Mankin. See Allen, Atlanta Rising, 1– 7; Bayor, Race and the Shaping, 23; Harmon, Beneath the Image, 20– 22; Hornsby, Black Power, 69– 70; Kruse, White Flight, 32– 33; and Gary Pomerantz, Where Peachtree Meets Sweet Auburn: The Saga of Two Families and the Making of Atlanta (New York: Scribner, 1996), 150– 53. For more on Talmadge and his 1946 campaign for governor, see William Anderson, The Wild Man from Sugar Creek: The Political Career of Eugene Talmadge (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1975), 215– 39.

8. Allen, Atlanta Rising, 8; Ambrose, “Atlanta”; Bayor, Race and the Shaping, 18; Harmon, Beneath the Image, 22– 24; Hornsby, Black Power, xv– xvi, 70– 72; Kruse, White Flight, 33; Martin, William Berry Hartsfield, 50; Pomerantz, Where Peachtree Meets, 152. Because of the end of the white- only democratic primary, about one hun-

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Fenster: Earl Mann Beats the Klan 25

dred thousand African Americans in Georgia had registered to vote by the summer of 1946. See Numan Bartley, The Creation of Modern Georgia, 2nd ed. (Athens: Univer-sity of Georgia Press, 1990), 201; and Wallace Warren, “The Best People in Town Won’t Talk: The Moore’s Ford Lynching of 1946 and Its Cover- Up,” in Georgia in Black and White: Explorations in Race Relations of a Southern State, 1865– 1950, ed. John Inscoe (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1994), 268.

9. Steven Weisenburger, “The Columbians, Inc.: A Chapter of Racial Hatred from the Post- World War South,” Journal of Southern History 69 (2003): 833. See also Stet-son Kennedy, Southern Exposure (New York: Doubleday, 1946), 162– 263 passim.

10. On the Klan and Green, see Allen, Atlanta Rising, 9– 10, 18– 19; Anderson, Wild Man, 224– 25; David Chalmers, Hooded Americanism: The History of the Ku Klux Klan, 3rd ed. (Durham: Duke University Press, 1981), 325, 329, 332; Stetson Kennedy, The Klan Unmasked (Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 1990), originally published as I Rode with the Klan (London: Arco Publishers, 1954), 11, 16, 26, 39, 44– 45, 118; Ken-nedy, Southern Exposure, 212; Kruse, White Flight, 50– 51; Wyn Wade, The Fiery Cross: The Ku Klux Klan in America (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), 276– 79; and Weisenburger, “Columbians,” 835.

11. J. Wayne Dudley, “Hate Organizations of the 1940s: The Columbians, Inc.,” Phyon 42 (1981): 264. Stetson Kennedy infiltrated the Klan, won the confidence of its members, and joined the whipping squad. He describes in excruciatingly vivid detail the murder of the cab driver in The Klan Unmasked, 108– 12. The quotation is from Kennedy, The Klan Unmasked, 117. See also the Baltimore Afro- American [hereafter BAA], January 22, 1949.

12. Stetson Kennedy also infiltrated the Columbians. The quotations in this para-graph are from his The Klan Unmasked, 122, 123. See also the photograph of Ken-nedy in his Columbian uniform in The Klan Unmasked, viii. On the Columbians, see Dudley, “Hate Organizations,” 266– 69; Kennedy, The Klan Unmasked, 120– 26; Kruse, White Flight, 42– 48; Robert Patrick, “A Nail in the Coffin of Racism: The Story of the Columbians, “Georgia Historical Quarterly 85 (2001): 246– 56; Spitzer, The Belle of Ashby Street, 117– 26; and Weisenburger, “Columbians,” 821– 26.

13. Allen, Atlanta Rising, 12; Anderson, Wild Man, 232; Bartley, The Creation of Mod-ern Georgia, 203; Chalmers, Hooded Americanism, 329; Kennedy, The Klan Unmasked, 64, 129, 161; Kruse, White Flight, 21; Pomerantz, Where Peachtree Meets, 153; Spitzer, The Belle of Ashby Street, 95– 96, 105; and Wade, The Fiery Cross, 277. Mankin loved baseball and appointed Mann to her 1946 reelection committee. In 1948 Mann hired her as a scout, explaining, “Mrs. Mankin is a baseball fan and sees games nearly every day. She already has given us tips on good players. She deserves the proper creden-tials.” A year later, she joined the National Association of Professional Baseball Scouts. Mann’s hiring of Mankin was not a publicity stunt. As a teenager, her primary interest was baseball. She was a skilled player and was the only girl on her neighborhood team.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.226

Mankin was extremely knowledgeable of baseball, and Mann valued her judgment. Moreover, throughout her life, Mankin was a strong- willed, outspoken, intelligent, and independent woman who would not have tolerated such patronizing. Spitzer, The Belle of Ashby Street, 10, 12– 13, 45, 54– 55, 94, 150; clipping from Atlanta Constitution, May 30, 1948, Atlanta Cracker Scrapbook, Georgia Sports Hall of Fame, Macon; and unidentified clipping, August 14, 1949, Atlanta Cracker Scrapbook, Georgia Sports Hall of Fame, Macon.

14. Dudley, “Hate Organizations,” 263.15. The best and most thorough study of the Moore’s Ford Bridge Massacre is Laura

Wexler, Fire in a Canebrake: The Last Mass Lynching in America (New York: Scribner, 2003). I have relied primarily on this book. The quotations come from Wexler, Fire in a Canebrake, 81, 92. See also BAA, January 22, 1949; Allen, Atlanta Rising, 15– 16; Ander-son, Wild Man, 233; Harmon, Beneath the Image, 53; Martin, Atlanta and Environs, 124– 25; and Warren, “Best People,” 266– 88. The FBI reopened the case in 2006. To date, the guilty have not been identified.

16. The most thorough treatment of this incident is Harold Henderson, “M. E. Thompson and the Politics of Succession,” in Georgia Governors in an Age of Change: From Ellis Arnall to George Busby, ed. Harold Henderson and Gary Roberts (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1988), 49– 65. See also Allen, Atlanta Rising, 14– 17; Bart-ley, The Creation of Modern Georgia, 203– 5; and Scott Buchanan, “Three Governors Controversy,” New Georgia Encyclopedia, http://www.georgiaencyclopedia.org/nge/Article.jsp?path=/GovernmentPolitics/Politics/PoliticalIssuesandControversies&id=h-591; Timothy Crimmins and Anne Farrisee, Democracy Restored: A History of the Georgia State Capitol (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 2007), 117–23. I would like to thank my friend and colleague Paul Hudson for showing me this book.

17. Chalmers, Hooded Americanism, 329; Wade, The Fiery Cross, 283, 289; and BAA, January 22, 1949.

18. Because of the restrictions placed on the African American officers, Horn-sby describes them as “only quasi- policemen” (Black Power, 77). Charles Rosenzweig argues that they were full policemen from the moment the city hired them (“The Issue of Employing Black Policemen in Atlanta, Georgia” [master’s thesis, Emory Univer-sity, 1980], 71– 72). This work is the only study devoted exclusively to the integration of Atlanta’s police force. Allen concludes, “By the standards of the day, they enjoyed near parity [with white policemen]”(Atlanta Rising, 35).

19. Hornsby, Black Power, 78. According to Hornsby, Hartsfield made this state-ment in a ceremony at the black Greater Mount Calvary Baptist Church in front of a large audience of African Americans. According to Pomerantz (Where Peachtree Meets, 163), Hartsfield made this statement only to the eight black police officers in the basement of the Butler Street YMCA. Hartsfield then thrust his fist in the air for emphasis. None of the other works cited in note 20 mention this incident at all.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Fenster: Earl Mann Beats the Klan 27

20. In writing this paragraph, I have relied primarily on Rosenzweig, “Black Police-men.” See also Allen, Atlanta Rising, 35; Raymond Andrews, “Once Upon a Time in Atlanta,” The Chattahoochee Review 18 (1998): 85; Harmon, Beneath the Image, 24– 34; Hornsby, Black Power, 75– 79; Herbert Jenkins, Forty Years on the Force: 1932– 1972; Herbert Jenkins Reminisces on His Career with the Atlanta Police Department (Atlanta: Emory University Center for Research in Social Change, 1973); 44– 53; Jenkins, Keep-ing the Peace: A Police Chief Looks at His Job (New York: Harper, 1970), 24– 32; Kruse, White Flight, 33– 34; Martin, William Berry Hartsfield, 51– 52; and Pomerantz, Where Peachtree Meets, 161– 63. On the significance of the integration of the police depart-ment to Atlanta’s black community, see also the illustration by Benny Andrews of an African American officer in Raymond Andrews, “Once Upon a Time,” 87. This gigan-tic officer towers over a large crowd of blacks lined up to purchase tickets at the Royal Movie Theater. Other than his enormity, the most prominent feature of the officer is his oversized pistol. The two people at the front of the line look approvingly at this imposing figure of public safety and authority. Award- winning novelist Raymond Andrews moved from his native Madison, Georgia, to Atlanta in December 1949 when he was fifteen years old. He lived at the Butler Street YMCA just off Auburn Avenue, the political, economic, social, and cultural heart of black Atlanta. His aunt, whom he visited often, lived in a duplex next door to one of Atlanta’s first black police offi-cers. The prospect of seeing an African American policeman left the young Andrews awestruck: “Never before had I seen a colored policeman. . . . A colored policeman liv-ing right next door to my aunt and cousin! Lord, Atlanta!” (Andrews, “Once Upon a Time,” 22; italics in the original).

21. Sporting News [hereafter SN], February 1, 1950; SN, January 26, 1949; New York Times [hereafter NYT], January 14, 1949; Atlanta Journal [hereafter AJ], Janu-ary 14, 1949; Atlanta Constitution [hereafter AC], January 15, 1949; and Charlie Brown with James C. Bryant, Charlie Brown Remembers Atlanta: Memoirs of a Public Man (Columbia SC: Bryan Company, 1982), 159– 65. On Hartsfield’s dislike of baseball, see Furman Bisher, Miracle in Atlanta: The Atlanta Braves Story (Cleveland: World Pub-lishing, 1966), p. 8; Brown, Charlie Brown Remembers, 286; and Earl Mann to John Mullen, May 8, 1959, Robert W. Woodruff Papers [hereafter RWP] MS 10, box 12, folder 5, Manuscript, Archives, and Rare Book Library, Emory University, Atlanta, Georgia.

22. AC, January 15, 1949; AJ, January 15, 18, 1949; NYT, January 15, 18, 1949; Atlanta Daily World [hereafter ADW], January 16, 25, 1949; SN, January 26, 1949; Memphis Press Scimitar, January 18, 1949; BAA, January 22, 1949; and Pittsburgh Courier [hereafter PC], January 22, 29, 1949.

23. AJ, January 14– 15, 1949; NYT, January 15, 1949; ADW, January 16, 1949; AC, Janu-ary 15, 1949; SN, January 26, 1949; Memphis Press Scimitar, January 15, 1949; BAA, Janu-ary 22, 1949; and PC, January 22, 1949.

24. NYT, January 16, 1949; ADW, January 20, 1949; BAA, January 22, 1949; and PC.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.228

January 22, 1949. Articles in these papers quote statements supporting the games from the two Atlanta papers; the two Macon, Georgia, papers; and the Charlotte and Ash-ville, North Carolina, papers; and Greenville, South Carolina, papers.

25. SN, February 9, 1949; NYT, January 18, 1949; and AC, January 17, 1949. On Tarver as a journalist, see Leonard Teel, Ralph Emerson McGill: Voice of the Southern Con-science (Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press, 2001), 172; and AJ, January 16, 1949.

26. SN, January 26, 1949; NYT, January 18, 1949; AJ, January 30, 1949; ADW, February 16, 1949; ADW, March 29, 1949; and BAA, January 29, 1949.

27. AC, February 15– 17, 1949; AJ, February 15– 16, 1949; ADW, February 16– 17, 20, 1949; and Jonathan Mercantini, “Coming Home: Jackie Robinson and the Dodgers Face the Crackers,” Atlanta History: A Journal of Georgia and the South 41 (1997): 9– 10.

28. ADW, March 11, 17, 24, 29, 31, 1949; and ADW, April 1, 3, 1949.29. Rickey’s prediction was correct. The AC of April 10, 1949; the ADW of April 13,

1949; the SN of April 20, 1949; and the BAA of April 23, 1949, have photos of white chil-dren besieging Robinson for his autograph at Ponce de Leon Park. See also the PC, April 16, 1949; Jackie Robinson with Alfred Duckett, I Never Had It Made: An Autobi-ography (New York: Putnam, 1972; Hopewell NJ: Echo Press, 1995), 81. Citations refer to the Echo Press edition.

30. ADW, March 31, 1949; ADW, April 1, 7, 12, 1949; BAA, April 9, 16, 1949; Arnold Rampersad, Jackie Robinson: A Biography (New York: Knopf, 1997), 208; Robinson, I Never Had It Made, 81; Jenkins, Forty Years on the Force, 108; Norman Macht e- mail to the author, October 1, 2010; AJ, April 9, 1949; and interview with Oreon Mann, March 10, 2011. Although Oreon was only seven years old in 1949, he said in this interview that this story was one of his father’s favorites and that he never tired of telling it. On Ernie Harwell’s background, see Curt Smith, Voices of the Game: The Acclaimed Chronicle of Baseball Radio and Television Broadcasting— from 1921 to the Present, updated ed. (New York: Simon Schuster, 1992), 230– 32.

31. NYT, April 9, 1949.32. Jules Tygiel, Baseball’s Great Experiment: Jackie Robinson and His Legacy (New

York: Oxford University Press, 1997), 265; Mercantini, “Coming Home,” 15; and Nor-man Macht, “Memories of a Minor- League Traveler,” in The National Pastime: Base-ball in the Peach State, ed. Ken Fenster and Wynn Montgomery (Cleveland: Society for American Baseball Research, 2010), 64.

33. AC, April 4, 9, 1949; ADW, February 11, 1949; ADW, April 5, 6, 10, 1949; and AJ, April 8, 1949.

34. Interview with Oreon Mann, March 10, 2011; interview by telephone with Myra Mann Morrison, October 30, 2010; Norman Macht e- mail to the author, October 1, 2010; and interview by telephone with Charles Pettett, July 26, 2011. Unfortunately, when Loran Smith of the Georgia Sports Hall of Fame interviewed Mann in the late 1970s or early 1980s, he did not ask the former Crackers president about the 1949

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Fenster: Earl Mann Beats the Klan 29

Dodgers- Crackers games. A videotape and typescript of this interview is at the Geor-gia Sports Hall of Fame Archives, Macon.

35. Furman Bisher, “They Call Him a Genius in Dixie,” Saturday Evening Post, June 28, 1952, 32– 33, 68, 70, 74.

36. Weather information and attendance data are from the AC. On the record- setting attendance pace, see the AC, June 22, 1949.

37. Robert Woodruff was more than just the leading businessman in the city. He was the most influential man in Atlanta for decades. Mayor Hartsfield never made an important decision concerning city affairs without first consulting Woodruff and get-ting his approval. Woodruff once remarked, “Bill [Hartsfield] thinks he runs the city. Hell it’s my city.” Allen, Atlanta Rising, 29; Allen, Secret Formula, 288– 89; and Pomer-antz, Where Peachtree Meets, 207.

38. Every year from 1935 to 1949, Mann sent Woodruff the number one season pass and pleaded with him to attend Crackers games. Woodruff never did. Woodruff did not even bother to sign his pass for 1949. Mann’s letters to Woodruff and many of Woodruff ’s passes are in RWP, box 12, folder 5. Woodruff ’s preferred sports were golf, horseback riding, poker, gin rummy, and especially hunting. Allen, Secret Formula, 188– 89, 279– 81; and Pendergrast, For God and Country, 156.

39. Even so, Woodruff wanted the team to make a profit. He once chided Mann for giving out too many free passes because they reduced paid admissions. Robert Wood-ruff to Hughes Spalding, April 14, 1939, RWP, box 12, folder 5.

40. Allen, Secret Formula, 7, 285– 290.41. On the relationship between Woodruff and Spalding, see Allen, Secret Formula,

268, 272, 293– 94.42. Desk diary entry of Hughes Spalding, April 8, 1949, HSP, box 18. The entries

for April 9– 11 contain no reference to the Dodgers- Crackers games. Unlike Woodruff, Spalding liked baseball and attended games frequently.

43. Carl Erskine with Burton Rocks, What I Learned from Jackie Robinson: A Team-mate’s Reflections on and off the Field (New York: McGraw- Hill, 2005), 20– 22; Smith, Voices of the Game, 248; and Roger Kahn, The Boys of Summer (New York: Harper and Row, 1972; New York: Harper Perennial, 1998), 325. Citations refer to the Harper Perennial edition. Pomerantz, Where Peachtree Meets, 182– 83.

44. Nashville Banner, April 9, 1949; AC, April 9– 11, 1949; AJ, April 9– 11, 1949; ADW, April 9– 10, 12, 1949; and SN, April 20, 1949. The two incidents are mentioned in the AC, April 9, 1949; and the fistfight behind home plate is mentioned in the PC, April 16, 1949; but these sources do not indicate the cause of the fight.

45. The previous record for an exhibition game was 21,642, established in 1946 when the Crackers hosted the New York Yankees. The largest crowd to attend any event at Ponce de Leon Park numbered nearly 40,000 and came for the Baptist World Alliance in 1939.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.230

46. AC, April 11, 1949; AJ, April 11, 1949; NYT, April 11, 1949; SN, April 20, 1949; and ADW, April 12, 1949. Some newspapers in Southern Association cities limited their coverage of the series to the third game. See Memphis Press Scimitar, April 11, 1949; and New Orleans Times Picayune, April 11, 1949. For researchers, see Mercan-tini, “Coming Home,” 12– 15; Macht, “Memories of a Minor- League Traveler,” 64– 65; Tygiel, Baseball’s Great Experiment, 267; Tim Darnell, Southern Yankees: The Story of the Atlanta Crackers (Atlanta: self- published, 1995), 108– 9. For eyewitnesses, see Clyde King with Burton Rocks, A King’s Legacy: The Clyde King Story (Lincolnwood IL: Mas-ters Press, 1999), 67. See also Burt Shotton’s comments to a banquet audience in Miami in early 1950: “I’ll never forget that crowd. The normal seating capacity of the park was 15,000, and how they got 25,000 into it I don’t know. . . . It was a great sight and so far as crowds are concerned that turnout gave me my biggest thrill” (SN, February 1, 1950).

47. The exact number of African Americans who attended this game is not known. John Bradberry estimates it at 6,000; Ed Danforth and Marion Jackson give 6,419, but they do not give a source for that exact figure; the NYT gives 5,000; and the PC of April 16 says at least 5,000.

48. ADW, April 3, 7, 9, 12, 1949; AC, April 9, 1949; AJ, April 9, 1949; Nashville Banner, April 9, 1949; SN, April 20, 1949; and BAA, April 16, 1949.

49. AC, April 10, 1949; AJ, April 10, 1949; ADW, April 10, 1949; and BAA, April 23, 1949. On March 20, 1949, Mann sold the rights to televise Crackers home games to WSB- TV. Four exhibition games that spring, two against the Philadelphia Phillies and two against the Detroit Tigers, had already aired on television. See clipping from AJ, March 20, 1949, Atlanta Cracker Scrapbook, Georgia Sports Hall of Fame, Macon; and AC, March 20, 1949.

50. ADW, April 12, 14, 21, 1949; and SN, April 20, 1949.51. AC, April 24, 1949.52. ADW, January 21, 1949; ADW, March 11, 1949; ADW, April 5, 1949; Andrews, Once

Upon a Time, 86, italics in the original; Pomerantz, Where Peachtree Meets, 185.53. In its October 1950 issue, Baseball Digest reported that Mann might become

the next general manager of the Pittsburgh Pirates, the position that went to Branch Rickey the following month (74).

54. SN, January 26, 1949; ADW, April 14, 1949; Bisher, “They Call Him a Genius,” 32, 70.

55. In 1944 Atlanta had the best overall season record, but finished second in both halves of a split season, making Atlanta ineligible for the championship playoff. In the Southern Association, Nashville won four pennants during this period. The Scran-ton, Pennsylvania, entry in the Class A Eastern League won five pennants. No other minor- league team in the country won more than four.

56. Charles Hurth, Baseball Records, The Southern Association, 1901– 1957 (New Orleans: The Southern Association, 1957), 7– 8, 134; Lloyd Johnson and Miles Wolff,

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Fenster: Earl Mann Beats the Klan 31

eds., The Encyclopedia of Minor League Baseball, 2nd ed (Durham: Baseball America, 1997), 279– 377, 659; SN, September 5, 19, 1935; SN, October 29, 1936; SN, December 31, 1936; Earl Mann to Robert Woodruff, April 12, 1937, RWP, box 12, folder 5. The loss in 1934 was 40% less than the loss in 1933, and the combined losses in 1942 and 1943 were 17% less than the loss in 1934 (statement of selected financial data of the Atlanta Crackers, 1932– 1948, RWP, box 12, folder 5). SN, February 22, 1950; Bisher, “They Call Him a Genius,” 70; and Kenneth R. Fenster, “Earl Mann, Nat Peeples, and the Failed Attempt of Integration in the Southern Association,” NINE: A Journal of Baseball His-tory and Culture 12 (2004): 85– 87.

57. AJ, August 18, 1949; resolution of the Board of Directors of the Coca- Cola Com-pany authorizing the sale of the Atlanta Crackers, August 6, 1949, RWP, box 12, folder 5; desk diary entries of Hughes Spalding, August 5, 6, 1949, HSP, box 18; stock purchase and transfer form, August 6, 1949; personal papers of Oreon Mann, kindly shown to me by Mr. Mann; AJ, August 7, 1949; and AC, August 7, 1949.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Rooting for the ClothesThe Materialization of Memory in Baseball’s Throwback Uniforms

Stephen Andon

At their essence, sports jerseys function as symbolic materializations that foster a constitutive identity and unity between fans, players, and cities or regions. When new teams are created, often the team logo and uniform are the first manifestations of the team’s identity. These designs are so important that many franchises consult with professional marketing firms on new designs intended to connect with new fans and maximize merchandizing streams.1 Furthermore, when teams acquire new players, the first act as a new member of the team often involves a ceremonial press conference that is opened by the new player donning the team’s jersey (a similar practice takes place during amateur drafts for new players). The jersey thus signifies both an identity and a membership while existing as a transformative object with its own magi-cal provenance: the wearer, whether on the field or off, defers their individual identity for the sake of a team. As such, jerseys are constantly put in place as performance pieces, as when uniforms are raised to arena rafters to give enduring presence to their greatness, or when city statues are draped in team jerseys to unite the citizenry. These uniforms come to symbolize more than just a team; they can become transcendent icons that represent a city, even a country, and its enduring memories.

In the United States, the most enduring uniforms belong to the nation’s pastime: baseball. With several teams founding their identities in uniform designs established almost a century ago, the symbolic power of uniforms has reached unprecedented levels in a society that is enamored with nostalgia. Major League Baseball (MLB) franchises have sought to exploit this infatua-tion by unveiling and donning “throwback” or “retro” uniforms on a regular basis. These garments mimic the uniform histories of earlier teams, utilizing new fabrics and sewing techniques to meet contemporary expectations for uniforms while appearing as a facsimile of a bygone era. As proof of the popu-larity of throwbacks during the past decade, every MLB franchise— save the Colorado Rockies— has deployed some version at least once.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Andon: Rooting for the Clothes 33

Given that baseball uniforms first appeared in the 1840s, MLB clubs have an almost infinite number of throwback uniforms to delve through. With such a library of offerings, the commemorative and nostalgic functions that throw-backs provide is occasionally placed in contrast with histories that reopen divisive franchise relocations. With uniforms serving as the materialization of this divisiveness, multiple teams throughout the major leagues have employed throwback jerseys that highlight their clashing histories. Specifically, the Seat-tle Mariners recently wore throwbacks to the Seattle Pilots, a franchise that moved to Milwaukee in 1970 and became the Milwaukee Brewers. Conversely, the Brewers have also worn throwbacks to the Milwaukee Braves, a franchise that originated in Boston, moved to Milwaukee to start the 1952 MLB season, and then moved to Atlanta before the 1966 MLB season. The Washington (DC) Nationals, a franchise with roots in Montreal, has ignored Expos throwbacks and instead has used Washington Senators jerseys, recalling two earlier fran-chises that did exist as the Senators but relocated to two different cities. After the 1960 season, the Senators moved to Minnesota (and became the Twins) while, simultaneously, a new expansion franchise was given to Washington, thus keeping a professional baseball franchise in the nation’s capital. That ver-sion of the Washington Senators left DC after the 1971 season, moving to the Dallas area to become the Texas Rangers.

These complicated, contextual, and, at times, contradictory histories make throwback uniforms, as nostalgic symbols loaded with meanings and memo-ries, appealing targets for rhetorical criticism. Specifically, throwbacks force us to consider how the material representation of history is fraught with ques-tions regarding collective memory, commemoration, and the impact of mate-rialized style. Perhaps the most contentious and significant relocation in MLB history was when the beloved Brooklyn Dodgers relocated to Los Angeles, California, after the 1957 season, as then- owner Walter O’Malley clashed with New York City’s officials over a new stadium and sought to capitalize on the lucrative Southern California market. The relocation, which seemed incredu-lous given the franchise’s roots in the borough since the late 1800s, cruelly reminded fans that a sports team is far more a business than an outlet for civic identity, unity, and pride. This memory was revisited when the Dodgers announced their plans to wear Brooklyn Dodgers throwback uniforms for six home games during the 2011 MLB season. Rather than celebrate the team’s his-tory, however, the throwback jersey, contextualized by the franchise’s recent financial troubles, served as a reminder that teams are financial entities whose commitment to a city is temporal.

Therefore, this paper will consider how commemorative and material rhet-orics, as well as a rhetoric of style, operate to contextualize the meaning of

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.234

throwback jerseys. I will first outline the rhetorical literature that frames the design of throwback jerseys as intended for nostalgic effect. Next, I will trace the history of baseball uniforms in order to locate how throwbacks emerged as nostalgic products in the late stages of the twentieth century. Finally, I use the Dodgers’ decision to wear throwback uniforms in 2011 as a rhetorical choice that reveals how uniforms can materialize conflicted identities, resurrect poli-tics of memory, and further subjugate fans to the commercialization of sports.

Material Rhetorics and Selling Nostalgic Style

Driven by attempts to expand merchandise offerings, teams that offer throw-back jerseys are tapping into powerful symbols. In this section, I will outline the complexities of these commemorative symbols by implementing the the-oretical approaches used to analyze commemorative and material rhetorics while considering throwback jerseys as material manifestations of memory. In order to so, I argue that a rhetorical approach offers a grammar for con-ducting such an analysis because throwback uniforms exist as non- discursive texts, implement colors and shapes for emotional effect in both commemora-tive and commercial contexts, and exemplify postmodern nostalgic appeals.

At a foundational level, Carole Blair, Greg Dickinson, and Brian L. Ott define rhetoric as “the study of discourses, events, objects, and practices that attends to their character as meaningful, legible, partisan, and consequential.”2 As such, rhetoric is not limited solely to discourse. Their definition allows material objects to be submitted to the four aforementioned categories as fol-lows. First, an object is meaningful when it is emotionally significant as well as when it is thick with “signs that may take on a range of signification.”3 Sec-ond, the legibility of rhetorical objects requires that, as a public symbol, it is identifiable within context. The partisanship of a rhetorical object proposes that it cannot exist objectively, but is “tendentious.”4 Finally, in channeling rhetoric’s origins as outlined by Herbert A. Wichelns’s 1925 essay, objects must have, at least, the potential for effect. This definition provides Blair, Dickin-son, and Ott with a starting point for examining rhetoric and public memory as implemented in commemorative museums and national monuments.

This kind of definition was necessitated by rhetorical scholars’ lack of attention in effectively engaging symbols like memorials. Across all rheto-rics, Carole Blair posits, scholars bypassed “the material articulation of the symbol  .  .  . [except] as a means of transport to its telos— its meaning.”5 This gap allowed for the possibility to engage in what of Dickinson calls “‘non- discursive’ texts like visual and spatial texts,” as outlined above.6 Even though these kinds of texts have received some attention from scholars of architecture

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Andon: Rooting for the Clothes 35

and landscapes, Blair ultimately sees their work as “fail[ing] in my view to describe adequately how the places they study do rhetorical work.”7 Because, Blair asserts, while they may understand that architecture has its own gram-mar, they fail to grasp what it means for architecture to have a rhetoric, “in that it does not just speak, it advocates.”8 These shortcomings are matched by rhetoricians’ failure to effectively address “what happens to or with a text, once it has been produced.”9 Consequently, Blair insists that “we must ask not just what a text means but, more generally, what it does; and we must not understand what it does as adhering strictly to what it was supposed to do.”10 Importantly, this means that critics must also consider the context surround-ing the memorial in order to understand its effect.

Moving past the legitimation of the rhetorical implications of material objects, Carole Blair and Neil Michel are primarily interested in how the design of a memorial site acts upon its audience via its “color, shape, size, and inscriptions,” a distinction that is consistent in their other memorial studies.11 In material rhetoric scholarship, design is important because certain colors, shapes, sizes, and placements become evocative tools. Among other functions of material objects, they “work in various ways to consummate individuals’ attachment to the group.”12 Thus, the reflective black granite of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington, DC, serves to emplace visitors with the memory of the fallen while the decision not to reveal soldiers’ ranks acts as a unifying force.13 In another example, the individuality of the many different colored panels in the AIDS Memorial Quilt speaks to its democratic— rather than synecdochal— representation.14 Both exist in distinct contrast with the other bright white memorials that cover the National Mall.

The significance of colors and shapes in material objects extends beyond memorials to include a role in constructing commercial spaces as well. Nota-bly, Greg Dickinson’s analysis of Starbucks focuses on how the natural shapes, colors, and design orientation of a local coffee shop convey an authentic expe-rience that masks any potential negative connotation associated with being part of the global economy. The analysis pays specific attention to color, notic-ing the images of the coffee beans pictured throughout the store’s displays, as a means of creating a visual naturalness that delivers a kind of serenity to the consumer. Among these displays, Dickinson also observes the predomi-nance of the corporate logo: “Perhaps the best place to start the discussion of the visuality of naturalness is with the dominant color in the space, namely the color in the Starbucks logo.”15 While the color of the logo, he asserts, con-nects Starbucks with the natural green of nature, the logo’s design “makes an implicit argument about the quality of the coffee itself.”16 Essentially, the logo advocates a connection between Starbucks and the rainforests of Cen-

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.236

tral America without invoking complicated associations to global labor ineq-uities that may be perpetuated through the images of say, Juan Valdez, the characterized representative of Colombian coffee. Furthermore, the store’s Art Nouveau– inspired design aesthetic, implemented in the color and shapes of objects throughout the store, speaks to that art movement’s connection to nature, all as a means of creating a naturalized and ritualized authentic coffee experience.

While logos, colors, and shapes are used in Starbucks to create authenticity, they have an equal power in creating a commodified nostalgia in commercial projects, as identified in Greg Dickinson’s examination of Old Pasadena, Cali-fornia. A redeveloped commercial project whose “rhetorical strength lies in its nostalgic invocations,” Dickinson sees Old Pasadena as a construct enabled not only by its architecture but the way “memories [are] encoded by inscrip-tions, signs, and legends.”17 Specifically, these signs appear everywhere, in what Dickinson calls “the nostalgic style,” to match the style of the town’s new buildings, which are retro as well. These structures, new replicas built to look old, forego historical accuracy in a way that makes them “look ‘better’ than the ‘originals’ . . . in the guise of historical forms.”18 Thus, the deployment of retro or nostalgic style leads Dickinson to conclude that “rhetorical invention must be expanded to include not just the invention of linguistic arguments but the stylized invention of the self,” as consumers pour into places like Old Pasadena and heavily- stylized, faux- nostalgic stores like Victoria’s Secret and Banana Republic.19 Importantly, this style is an appealing sales technique that helps to situate identity in postmodernity.

The notion that style can be fabricated to evoke nostalgia speaks to the predominance of style over substance in popular culture, as Barry Brummet attests: “Style is so central to popular culture that the rhetoric of style and the rhetoric of popular culture are practically the same thing.”20 The use of signs and images in popular culture may be merely stylized manipulations, but Brummet’s example of the projected self- image associated with wearing a cowboy hat underscores that it is the “surface/skin/screen spaces of style [that] people respond to. I can take on the skin of a cowboy, if that is what persuades, by adopting certain styles.”21 These surface manipulations, as Dick-inson observes in Old Pasadena, are borrowed across a range of contexts in order to provide a familiarity in public memory. As twentieth- century indus-trial designer Henry Dreyfuss explains, “People will more readily accept something new, we feel, if they recognize in it something out of the past. Our senses quickly recognize and receive pleasure when a long- forgotten detail is brought back.”22 Such is the fabricated nostalgia on display in MLB, where teams have worn throwback jerseys, putting authenticity aside in favor of his-

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Andon: Rooting for the Clothes 37

toric jersey amalgamations designed to evoke a nostalgic style and affirming Andreas Huyssen’s claim that “memory . . . is itself based on representation.”23 The accuracy of these throwback jerseys, as symbols, is far less important than the nostalgic style they convey in their colors, patterns, shapes, and logos.

There is no greater example of this fabricated nostalgia than in the throw-back uniforms worn in 2012 by the Tampa Bay Rays. Having run out of histori-cal uniforms to resurrect during their annual turn- back- the- clock promotion, the Rays invented a hypothetical throwback uniform. Labeled a 1979 throw-back, the uniform predated the existence of the franchise, established in 1998, by nearly two decades. In order to “[embrace] the style of the era while keep-ing the Rays modern colors,” the Rays’ design team channeled the uniform aesthetic of the 1979 San Diego Padres.24 Despite their anachronistic quality, Rays manager Joe Maddon praised the uniform and verified the accuracy of its style: “They’re tasty colors, a great design . . . definitely a ‘70s moment.”25 In this case, the appropriation of another team’s style history, replete with colors and fonts popular at the time, allows the Rays throwback uniform to evoke nostalgia despite having never existed.

Although the nostalgia of sport has received some critical attention, detailed investigations of uniform style are notably missing. Even as schol-ars make note of the nostalgic power of baseball films like Field of Dreams, The Natural, and dozens of others, they fail to mention the use of purport-edly historically accurate throwback jerseys. There is, however, a precedent for deploying the grammar of rhetoric to contemporary baseball uniforms. Conducted in the span of a few short paragraphs, Michael Butterworth briefly mentions the logo style of MLB’s Washington Nationals. Relocating from Mon-treal after the 2004 season, where the franchise existed as the Expos for over three decades, the new team identity capitalized on nationalist sentiments with the new name and the team’s red, white, and blue color scheme. Yet, the context of the redesign had implications in the politically divisive Capi-tal region. A scripted “W” atop the team’s home caps, a reference to the pro-fessional Washington baseball teams from the first half of the twentieth cen-tury, was interpreted by some fans and members of government as a symbol of support for then- president George W. Bush. As Democrats opted to wear the team’s alternate blue caps adorned with an interlocking “DC” logo instead of a “W,” Butterworth highlights the irony in “the Nationals [being] celebrated for bringing Washington- area residents together, [since] the very symbols of fan unity drove at least some of them apart.”26 This short section highlights the potentially divisive power of sports uniforms logos, yet the case is made more intriguing in the context of throwbacks since retro merchandise is still produced for the now- defunct Montreal Expos.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.238

Therefore, the Los Angeles Dodgers’ throwbacks case study will utilize the approaches and grammar of material rhetoric and nostalgic style, and apply it to the complexities of throwback uniforms, outlining not just what they are but what they do. Using the definition of rhetoric offered by Blair, Dickinson, and Ott, I posit that the Los Angeles Dodgers’ decision to wear 1944 Brooklyn Dodgers satin uniforms during six home games in the 2011 season reflected a complicated identity, which the team was unprepared to fully engage, in exchange for the commercial exploitation of the Brooklyn Dodgers. Instead of offering memorial pieces that consummate a group identity, the resurrection of their Brooklyn origins in material form invited a level of divisiveness from fans in both Brooklyn and Los Angeles. As such, selling reconstructed memo-ries in a nostalgic style has repercussions for fans who see sports jerseys as more than just manipulated surfaces. To understand the potential for jerseys to act as powerful symbols, however, I must first outline the historical trajec-tory of sports uniforms and the development of fashion that revived throw-back jerseys on a regular basis.

Sports Uniform History: From Wool to Throwbacks

Baseball uniforms are an essential part of baseball history, pictured in old photos and films of America’s greatest players. The value of some of these his-toric jerseys and the prices they fetch in sports auctions aside, the overwhelm-ing number on display in Cooperstown at the National Baseball Hall of Fame and various stadia and museums across the country are a testament to the enduring aura of baseball uniforms.

Their beginnings can be traced to 1845 and the New York Knickerbock-ers. Notably, the Knickerbockers were organized in accordance with “a for-mal constitution and bylaws . . . that were based upon those men’s social clubs of the era.”27 As a result, the club strictly adhered to a level of gentlemanly propriety that behooved their position as elites. Beyond requiring member-ship dues, the club also issued fines on its members for using profanity (e.g., “damned imprudence”), arguing with umpire decisions, and drinking alcohol during games.28 According to the National Baseball Hall of Fame, at a club meeting on April 24, 1849, the Knickerbockers decided to establish a team uniform comprised of “blue woolen pantaloons, white flannel shirts and chip (straw) hats,” with leather belts.29 These fashionable sartorial choices empow-ered the uniform to further denote elite status. Uniform scholar Jennifer Craik posits that the Knickerbockers channeled contemporary aristocratic fashions and were generally inspired by British cricket uniforms that shared a “close parallel history to that of school and military uniforms.”30 Concordantly, the

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Andon: Rooting for the Clothes 39

National Baseball Hall of Fame attests that the blue color of the Knicker-bockers pants resembled the color schemes of other “well- established, manly organizations such as fire departments and volunteer military companies” and thus maintained a separation from the lower classes.31 The result of the especially close association between baseball clubs and volunteer fire compa-nies, Warren Goldstein asserts, created some “striking . . . cultural similarities between the two institutions,” including similar club and team names, social-izing procedures, and uniforms.32 This relationship was also manifest in “dis-tinctive shirt fronts” that comprised “the most visible resemblance” between fire companies and baseball clubs.33 The team’s jerseys were based entirely on firemen’s uniforms, with a shield- front or a bib- like attached piece of fabric that covered the chest. This part of the uniform would feature team names, crests, or initials, typically in Old English or similar fonts.

As for the materials used in the uniform, wool was (and still is) far from a reasonable cloth for athletic endeavors. It was chosen because, at the time, cot-ton clothing was associated with the working class. For society’s elites, there-fore, wool uniforms signified the affluence to afford separate clothes for the purpose of playing sport.34 Furthermore, the team’s straw cap, Craik suggests, was also a style that American baseball teams borrowed directly from cricket, although, in time, teams would draw from a plethora of different kinds of hats inspired by jockeys and conductors.

With the assistance of new technology (Elias Howe is credited with invent-ing the sewing machine in 1846), baseball uniforms embraced new trends. Famously, the Cincinnati Red Stockings made baseball fashion history in 1868 by adopting brilliant- colored knickers that prominently evidenced their team’s namesake. Though they were more comfortable than baggier pants that could be tripped over, this amount of showmanship, Craik asserts, made for “a rather unlikely outfit for virile males, [though] knickerbockers have nonethe-less remained the basis of contemporary baseball uniforms.”35 However, the San Francisco Chronicle’s coverage of the Red Stockings during their Califor-nia tour in 1869 posed the opposite conclusion, noting:

It’s a bully set for good legs. It’s easy to see why they adopted the Red Stocking style of dress which shows their calves in all their magnitude and rotundity. Everyone of them has a large and well- turned leg and everyone of them knows how to use it.36

In either case, the widespread use of knickerbockers patterned after the Cin-cinnati team helped to create nicknames for a handful of other teams like the White Stockings, the Browns, and the Grays. The Detroit Tigers, known ear-lier as the Wolverines, earned their current nickname by wearing dark socks with horizontal yellow stripes during the 1896 season.37 But uniform history

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.240

does not end with the introduction of stockings. Other developments in uni-form fashions during this time included the introduction of bowties as well as the transition from the shield- front to lace- up and, finally, button- down jer-seys. Teams also experimented with jersey designs by introducing pinstripes and checks. Through the first two decades of the twentieth century, full city names and player numbers would become commonplace on jerseys, while teams would also begin to implement collarless shirts, reflective satin fab-rics, script and arched lettering, zippered- fronts, and vests. Many of the word-marks and logos that eventually became iconic symbols for Major League Baseball (MLB) franchises were introduced at this time, including the Detroit Tigers’ Old English “D” (1904), the Cincinnati Reds’ wishbone “C” (1905), the Chicago Cubs’ encircled “C” (1909), and the New York Yankees interlocking “NY” (1912). From the 1930s through the 1950s, the Baltimore Orioles, Boston Braves, Boston Red Sox, Brooklyn Dodgers, Chicago White Sox, Cleveland Indians, Philadelphia Phillies, Pittsburgh Pirates, and St. Louis Cardinals also instituted what would become long- standing logos and designs.

In the second half of the twentieth century, professional baseball franchises altered and updated their looks via new fabrics and fashions. Notably, MLB teams continued to wear wool until the 1950s and wool- blend jerseys until 1970, when the Pittsburgh Pirates introduced a double- knit synthetic pull- over style jersey. Soon afterwards, every MLB team adopted the polyester syn-thetic standard. This lighter, more breathable fabric led to wholesale adop-tion across all four professional leagues. Commercially, MLB licensing began in 1970 and the sale of authentic MLB jerseys began just four years later. The first company to market these jerseys was Medalist/Sand- Knit, a company that began as an athletic uniform supplier in 1921. Throughout the 1970s and 1980s, Medalist/Sand- Knit not only outfitted MLB teams but provided replica jerseys for sale as well. The company was eventually purchased by MacGregor, and when that company filed for bankruptcy in 1991, both team uniforms and replica jerseys began to be produced by a variety of corporate suppliers.

Also during the 1970s, as color televisions became common, new uniform colors and logos found their fashion.38 Garish oranges and yellows smothered the jerseys of the Houston Astros, Oakland Athletics, Pittsburgh Pirates, and San Diego Padres. A powder blue color seemingly invaded the MLB uniform landscape throughout the 1970s and 1980s, with eleven teams (out of twenty- six) wearing a shade of the color as a primary part of their road uniform dur-ing the 1980 season. One of those franchises relying on powder blue in the early 1970s, the Chicago White Sox, even experimented with wearing shorts on three separate occasions during the 1976 season. Used as a publicity stunt by team owner and promoter extraordinaire Bill Veeck, the shorts are consid-

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Andon: Rooting for the Clothes 41

ered by many— including baseball historian Bruce Markusen— to be one of baseball history’s worst uniforms. The designation is impressive, considering the first ninety years of professional baseball in American produced nearly three thousand uniform variations.

Strange colors and logos continued to infiltrate uniforms of all types well into the 1990s, primarily for new and expansion franchises that delivered some “cartoonish logos” and an almost overwhelming amount of teal blues and greens.39 But for all of the advancements in jersey fabrics as well as the pres-sures to provide new and fashionable logos, a serendipitous discovery of some old fabric encouraged one small sportswear company to look back, sparking a national fashion trend that continues to influence uniform choices today. Mitchell & Ness got its start as a sporting goods supplier in Philadelphia in 1904, but from 1938 through 1955, their business included supplying jerseys for the NFL’s Philadelphia Eagles, the Philadelphia Phillies, and the Philadelphia Athletics. Then in 1983, a customer brought two game- worn wool baseball jerseys to then- owner Peter Capolino and asked for some repairs to be made. Two years later, the challenging request fatefully led Capolino to a stockpile of twelve thousand yards of discarded wool flannel at Maple Manufacturing, a Philadelphia clothing manufacturer that sewed local and college team uni-forms before the switch to synthetic fabrics.40 After acquiring the extra fab-ric, Capolino went to work copying old wool baseball jerseys, beginning by imitating one of the jerseys brought to him two years prior— a 1949 St. Louis Browns jersey. Because accuracy was critical, a significant amount of research was required for Capolino before he could begin manufacturing more jerseys. Fortunately, the bookstore located above his Philadelphia shop maintained an extensive library of old sports journals. He spent days investigating the exact details of jerseys he would go on to recreate, including Warren Spahn’s 1957 Milwaukee Braves and Stan Musial’s 1946 St. Louis Cardinals jerseys. Given the nostalgic nature of these jerseys, Capolino’s white- collar customer base soon purchased his entire first- run stock of these $125– $175 jerseys.

While Capolino had discovered an emotional reaction to retro sportswear, he was also becoming one its few pioneers. The novelty of his products drew the attention of Sports Illustrated and, in 1987, a short article chronicled the growing trend. Carefully crafted and historically accurate sports jerseys had not yet been made available in any sort of quantity. As the article noted, Cap-olino asked, “If baseball hats can sell, why not shirts. . .  . Collectors will pay $2,000 to $25,000 for authentic uniforms, so wouldn’t a serious fan pay $125 for a good reproduction of a [jersey]?”41 While other merchandise was enter-ing the mainstream, Capolino was selling limited quantities of his throwback replications to mostly “white collar” clientele. The hefty price tag, however,

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.242

soon caught the attention of MLB’s copyright divisions. At roughly the same time, MLB was also alerted to a second company recreating flannel jerseys, a Seattle- based outfit known as Ebbets Field Flannels. Channeling the inher-ent nostalgia of the Dodgers’ former Brooklyn home, Ebbets Field Flannels was founded in 1988 by a former rock musician with a dedicated eye for base-ball jersey accuracy. Soon after catching the attention of MLB, the company decided it could not afford the expensive licensing fees for the rights to pro-duce MLB jerseys. Instead, their business shifted to reproducing the jerseys of minor- league teams, a turning point described in a 1990 Sports Illustrated article as “a blessing in disguise” by company founder Jerry Cohen.42 Conse-quently, in the years since, the company has expanded to producing flannel throwbacks for minor- league football and hockey teams.

Conversely, Mitchell & Ness decided that rather than cease- and- desist MLB jersey production, Capolino would hand over his sales records, pay fifty thou-sand dollars in back royalties, and ask MLB to allow him to license their prop-erties.43 Beginning in September 1988, their official collaboration specifically sold throwback jerseys from what was deemed “the Cooperstown Authentic Collection.”

While throwbacks eventually became a fashion fad in the late 1990s and early 2000s with hip- hop artists sporting Capolino’s creations throughout mainstream culture, the enduring legacies of Mitchell & Ness and Ebbets Field Flannels point towards the discovery of nostalgia as material commodity in sport. With baseball leading the way, the practice of utilizing throwbacks con-tinued, at an abated pace initially, but steadily throughout the remainder of the decade and onward, as MLB teams continued to see the value of nostalgic marketing opportunities. Deploying nostalgia, however, resurrects the poten-tial conflicts that are most clearly manifest in material form.

The Divisive History of the Dodgers

As one of MLB’s oldest franchises, the Los Angeles Dodgers have a storied yet complicated identity, rooted in significant historical ties to Brooklyn, New York, where the team resided from 1890 through 1957. After the conclusion of the 1957 season, however, the team joined the New York Giants in their pil-grimage to the west coast when owner Walter O’Malley moved the franchise to Los Angeles (the Giants moved to San Francisco). Introducing a throw-back jersey from the 1944, as the team did for six home games during the 2011 MLB season, therefore, hearkens the team’s deep connections to the borough as part of its identity narrative.

Beginning in the late 1800s, the team spent its first few decades under var-

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Andon: Rooting for the Clothes 43

ious designations and iterations (Trolley Dodgers, Bridegrooms, Superbas, Robins), permanently becoming the Brooklyn Dodgers in 1932.44 The team nickname originated from an old, derisive nickname that Manhattanites used for Brooklyn baseball fans who had to avoid (dodge) the borough’s new, but ill- planned, trolley tracks.45 After playing in different stadiums, the team most famously made their home in Brooklyn’s Ebbets Field from 1913 to 1957. During this time, the Dodgers enjoyed various levels of success. From 1941 to 1953, for example, the Dodgers won five National League pennants, only to be thwarted by the New York Yankees in the World Series each time. Another trip to the World Series was derailed in 1951, due to a dramatic col-lapse against the archrival New York Giants, punctuated by Bobby Thom-son’s game- winning, walk- off home run in the final inning of a playoff series between the two teams. The victory for the “patrician Manhattan followers of the Giants against the plebeian Brooklynites” was devastating for Dodg-ers fans whose team had occupied first place throughout the regular season.46 However, their pain has endured throughout history, given that Thomson’s home run is one of MLB’s most famous ever— familiarly known as “The Shot Heard ‘Round the World.”

Such failures engendered a unique bond between the Dodgers and their fans, a bond that was further strengthened by the local feeling surrounding the club as well as the consistency in the team’s roster. Fans appreciated the local interaction and commitment to the oft- overlooked borough: a former Brooklyn Dodger fan told NPR in 2005, “The Dodgers were family because they lived in Brooklyn. You know, we loved them dearly.”47 Consequently, while the locals’ nickname for the club, “Dem Bums,” as well as the team’s unofficial slogan “Wait ’Till Next Year,” thoroughly encapsulates the frustra-tion with losing, the Dodgers were a lovable fixation in Brooklyn.48 Dodger dreams finally came true in 1955, when the club overcame the label of peren-nial losers and defeated the New York Yankees for their only World Series championship in Brooklyn.

Notably, the Brooklyn Dodgers are also known for featuring a cadre of future Hall of Famers, including Pee Wee Reese, Duke Snider, Roy Campan-ella, and Jackie Robinson, the league’s first African American player. Rob-inson’s iconic role in breaking MLB’s color barrier in 1947 endures through today, as his number is the only one to ever be permanently retired by every team. In regard to his debut appearance on April 15, 1947, Michael Butter-worth claims, “It is difficult to overstate the significance of this moment, and I agree with sportswriter Bob Ryan, who claims it to be ‘the single most impor-tant social happening in American sports history.’”49 Robinson spent all ten of

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.244

his MLB seasons with the Brooklyn Dodgers and, in 1973, he was the first Afri-can American player elected to the Baseball Hall of Fame.

While a stable and respected Dodgers identity in Brooklyn was solidified by the 1955 title, the owners behind the franchise had begun to make the news themselves and shake the team’s roots in Brooklyn. By 1945, Walter O’Malley, the Dodgers’ attorney since 1941, had an ownership stake of 25 percent. According to Dodger historian Glenn Stout, “O’Malley was first and foremost a businessman . . . who believed that a man of his business sense, among the rubes who ran baseball, could make a killing.”50 Thus, one of O’Malley’s first concerns for his investment was a new ballpark to replace Ebbets Field.51 Yet, despite the success of the Dodgers that culminated with the 1955 title, O’Malley had a hard time getting his new stadium built, as Stout attests, “[because] there just didn’t seem to be a compelling need for a new ballpark apart from O’Malley’s desire for one.”52 Even after playing a handful of games during the 1956 season in Jersey City, New Jersey, O’Malley could not mount the pres-sure needed to obtain a new stadium. Throughout the subsequent offseason, O’Malley held meetings with various councilmen from Los Angeles to hammer out a deal. Meanwhile, in concert with O’Malley’s behind- the- scenes machina-tions, which included the purchase of a minor- league franchise in Los Ange-les and selling Ebbets Field, a hostile debate raged between O’Malley and New York City construction coordinator Robert Moses over where to build a new stadium for the team. Moses’s proposal to move the team to a site in Queens, as well as his stern opposition to a stadium on Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn, underscored his aversion to compromise and a general disdain for the bor-ough and the Dodgers.53 Baseball historians Donald Dewey and Nicholas Aco-cella go even further to say that “Moses  .  .  . detested O’Malley personally.”54 This stalemate was accompanied by O’Malley’s “public relations B.S.” in regard to staying in Brooklyn while he kept the Los Angeles deal quiet.55 Therefore, unable to procure a new stadium to replace Ebbets Field, O’Malley announced in October of 1957 he was moving the team to a three hundred– acre site in downtown Los Angeles the following season.56 The fallout from the move vili-fied O’Malley, whom Brooklyn sportswriters Pete Hamill and Jack Newfield infamously placed, along with Joseph Stalin and Adolf Hitler, among the worst people of the twentieth century.57 Nevertheless, as one of the first West Coast MLB teams, O’Malley took advantage of the growing baseball market in the western half of the United States and cultivated a new generation of fans with three World Series victories in their first eight seasons in California.

Several decades later, the shock of the Dodgers’ move across the country still lingers, as baby- booming Brooklynites continue to cherish the memories of their beloved team.58 This aging demographic remembers the legends that

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Andon: Rooting for the Clothes 45

lived next door as their neighbors, as part of a tight- knit Brooklyn commu-nity.59 For those baby- boomers who were still very young during the Brook-lyn Dodgers era, there is an equally strong connection to the team by virtue of their parents. In Ken Burns’s definitive nine- part historical documentary, Baseball, historian Doris Kearns Goodwin recalls crying with her father the day they learned the Dodgers would be moving to Los Angeles: “We lost the Dodgers, my father never transferred his allegiance to Los Angeles, nor did I, and baseball was gone out of our lives for many years.”60 Far from a band-wagon fan, Kearns- Goodwin’s memoir reveals a deep bond with her father over baseball, gleefully reminiscing about her father teaching her to keep score and telling her animated stories about the 1920s and 1930s Dodgers.61 When Peter O’Malley, son of Walter, put the Dodgers up for sale in 1997, a host of local New York politicians— many of them barely teenagers when the Dodgers moved— drummed up support to investigate the possibility of the team returning to Brooklyn as part of what New York Governor George Pat-aki called an “all- out effort” to bring the Dodgers “back to Brooklyn, where they belong.”62

Considering Columbia journalism professor Michael Shapiro’s claim that the Brooklyn Dodgers “endure as a ghost,” there is little more than memory that substantializes the former franchise.63 But, while the number of Brook-lyn Dodgers fans and players is slowly dwindling, the team maintains its pres-ence across a variety of formats. Sports histories and memorabilia regarding the Brooklyn Dodgers remain popular and the team is a constant focus of sports documentaries on ESPN, HBO, and PBS. Notably, the Dodgers are a cen-tral focus in the 1950s episode from Burns’s aforementioned documentary. Officials at the Library of Congress estimate that there are over one hundred Brooklyn Dodgers titles in their collection, more than any other team besides the New York Yankees and Boston Red Sox.64

Still, this divisive identity, a history torn between Brooklyn and Los Ange-les, which has been separated by decades and abated (somewhat) by aging memories, is rarely materialized. In fact, the only place where the team’s new location in Los Angeles is put in conflict with its Brooklyn past is through team merchandise and memorabilia. For decades, however, the commercial value of this past was not recognized in Los Angeles. The sale of Brooklyn merchandise was not spearheaded by the team, but by throwback jerseys and caps produced in the late 1980s by Mitchell & Ness and nostalgic hat man-ufacturer Roman Pro.65 Notably, Brooklyn Dodgers merchandise began to catch on in the mainstream after filmmaker and Brooklyn- native Spike Lee wore a Brooklyn hat and a Jackie Robinson throwback in his 1989 film, Do the

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.246

Right Thing.66 Over twenty years later, sports memorabilia executive Brandon Steiner estimates that upwards of $20 million in Brooklyn Dodgers merchan-dise is sold every year.67

Materializing Throwbacks

Within this context, the Dodgers’ use of throwback uniforms during the 2011 season was a meaningful rhetorical practice that engendered a wide range of emotional reactions not intended by the franchise. These material symbols resurrected over one hundred years of a disparate Dodgers’ history, one that began with Brooklyn’s love affair with their local team, the introduction of Jackie Robinson, the ultimate triumph in 1955 after years of frustration via their local rivals, and the painful loss of a civic institution. Resurrecting and representing uniforms from the team’s history in Brooklyn, therefore, had a series of unintentional, but interrelated, consequences. First, by inaccu-rately reproducing the throwbacks, the Dodgers deceived their fans in order to make a marketable and profitable product that forsook the team’s unique identity. Second, by wearing a Brooklyn throwback in their home stadium, the Dodgers portrayed an attitude that the franchise owns with absolute author-ity the memory and history of Brooklyn’s famous franchise. Consequently, the throwbacks communicated that the Dodgers own the symbol but only intend to use it for commercial purposes, a position enhanced by the context of the team’s dire financial straits during the 2011 season.

As part of a six- game promotion entitled “throwback days,” which included a special rate for purchasing a ticket package for all six contests at Dodger Stadium in Los Angeles, the franchise elected to let their fans choose one of three road Brooklyn Dodgers uniform throwbacks for the team to wear dur-ing afternoon home games. Over a period of three weeks in February 2011, over fifty thousand fans voted online for their favorite of the three uniforms options. The oldest throwback choice was used during the 1911 season and, other than its function as a centennial marker for the team’s 2011 season, was noteworthy for two specific designs. First, the jersey featured narrow navy pinstripes, a design that remained with the team through the 1936 season but is most famously ascribed to other historical MLB franchises like the Chicago Cubs and the New York Yankees. Second, the front of the jersey displayed “Brooklyn” in capital letters vertically along the shirt placket, a unique feature in MLB history. A block letter “B” atop the cap of the 1911 uniform is the only link to the second available throwback choice, a 1931 uniform that positioned the same block “B,” in baby blue, on the left chest. The off- white uniform also featured the same baby blue color trim throughout and the team cap delivers

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Andon: Rooting for the Clothes 47

the same script “B” popularized by later Brooklyn teams. Overall, this style is also unique in that it lasted for just one season for the Dodgers, as full city and team names adorned their jerseys in subsequent seasons.

The baby blue color of the 1931 jersey did not reappear for Brooklyn until the 1944 season, when it was predominantly featured in the team’s road alter-nate uniforms, Dodgers fans’ final throwback option. These uniforms, made of a reflective satin fabric in order to increase player visibility during the first night games in MLB history, were first used in the 1944 season and then sporadically throughout the latter half of the 1940s. Outside of the new uni-forms, the 1944 season was a largely forgettable one as the team stumbled to a seventh- place finish in the National League.68 Without any particular his-torical event or achievement to celebrate, the design of the 1944 uniform was critical to understanding why it was an available choice for the 2011 season. The baby blue uniform had white trim, with “Brooklyn” in a familiar white script across the chest and a royal blue cap with a white script “B,” by then a prominent feature of Dodger uniforms. With fans intrigued by the possibility of reintroducing satin to the major leagues for the first time in seven decades, albeit for afternoon games, the 1944 alternate jersey won the online vote over the 1911 jersey by less than two thousand votes.

However, when the winner was announced, the Dodgers indicated that although the color and design of the 1944 jersey would remain, the fabric would not be satin but a modern polyester blend instead. In recreating the uniform, however, the details are not always necessary, as Pierre Nora asserts: “Memory, being a phenomenon of emotion and magic, accommodates only those facts that suit it.”69 Such is the predicament of many throwback jerseys utilized across all sports. Because of the material composition of any remain-ing originals, if any still exist, the replication of jerseys is fraught with the opportunity to revise history. The vulnerability, therefore, of the original pre-sented an opportunity that was inherently rhetorical because even as it offered new access, it “[was] an intervention in the materiality of the text, and it is important to grapple with the degrees and kinds of change wrought by it.”70 In this instance, that change obscured accuracy for the sake of a more market-able product.

In specific response to the 1944 throwbacks, the color choice of baby blue is not an inherent part of Dodgers history. The color is especially contradictory to the team jerseys since the team has established “Dodger blue,” the shade of blue that regularly adorns the team, as both a legitimate part of the color wheel and a euphemism for playing for the Dodgers. Popularized by former Los Angeles Dodgers manager Tommy Lasorda, who is known for coining the phrase “bleed[ing] Dodger blue,” wearing Dodger blue is an important part

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.248

of Dodgers identity.71 The baby blue of the 1944 throwback violated that in principle, although the players wore Dodger blue throwback caps during all six throwback games, the baby blue color of the throwbacks approximated the conspicuously baby (or powder) blue styling of the far- less prestigious Kansas City Royals. The Royals wore baby blue as their primary color on road jerseys from 1973 to 1991, the team’s most competitive era, and in recent years the look has popularly served as a throwback. The resulting confusion between Roy-als and Dodgers colors was exacerbated by the decision to forgo satin for the modern fabric technology that official uniform supplier Majestic uses for all MLB teams. As a polyester double- knit, the jersey lost the shimmery look and feel of the originals, thus exaggerating the blandness of the re- creation. Fur-ther curtailing the uniqueness of the Dodgers’ throwback, baby blue jerseys were not only one of the most popular colors of the Mitchell & Ness throw-back fad but the color was represented on the jerseys of almost half of MLB franchises throughout the 1970s and 1980s. Therefore, in addition to betray-ing Dodger blue, the 1944 throwback for the 2011 season sacrificed its poten-tial uniqueness by embracing modern technologies and reverting to fashion-able colors for the purposes of marketability.

Importantly, all three choices for Dodgers fans in 2011 were road uniforms that prominently featured a Brooklyn wordmark or logo, to be worn dur-ing Los Angeles Dodgers home games. The use of “Brooklyn” on all of their throwback jerseys, therefore, attempted to further congeal the franchise’s uni-fied historical narrative that delivers one team, albeit in two cities, and not two separate and unique teams. The throwbacks performed as supports that tell a selective story about the Dodgers, a story controlled by Dodger owner-ship interests who seek to control and contain Brooklyn Dodger history by controlling its material deployment. Thus, everything Brooklyn Dodgers— especially its extremely valuable historical significance— is owned by a fran-chise that left the city and now resides thousands of miles away.

As a result, numerous Brooklyn Dodgers fans regard the Los Angeles Dodgers as unsympathetic to their history. The interpretation follows that the Dodgers are only interested in Brooklyn when they want to use nostal-gic appeals for commercial purposes. Such was the rationale behind the team suing a Brooklyn bar in 1993 for their use of the Dodger name to, as the New York Times wrote, “secure the tightest possible grip on sales of merchandise carrying team logos . . . [a] business [that] grew from about $200 million in sales in 1986 to $2 billion in 1991, according to testimony at the trial.”72 As those profits have soared in the past two decades, these interests have kept an eye on Brooklyn. For example, in 2010, MLB, on behalf of the Los Ange-les franchise, sued a restaurant, “Brooklyn Burger,” on account of the restau-

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Andon: Rooting for the Clothes 49

rant’s script “Brooklyn” logo. In reaction, borough president Marty Markow-itz defended the local business: “They left us in 1957 and they’ve got the gall to think that they own the name Brooklyn.”73 Given the numerous lawsuits the franchise has brought against residents and businesses in its former home, Brooklyn fans interpreted the Dodgers throwbacks as merely a convenient “tribute” guised in a potential financial windfall for the current team. As bor-ough president Markowitz defiantly asserted, “If they have any interest in nos-talgia, they could leave L.A. and come back home.”74

By deploying the Brooklyn Dodgers at their discretion, the franchise sought to utilize the commercial value of their history without reminding the public of the real consequences of their tragic past. That history is an unpleas-ant reminder to fans that even the most beloved local sports franchises would not hesitate if given the opportunity to relocate to a more financially profit-able locale. The Dodgers treated the Brooklyn throwbacks as a stylized sym-bol and as copyrighted property they own for the purpose of selling, not commemorating.

Finally, the decision to again prioritize their Brooklyn past was contextual-ized by the time of deployment and the beleaguered financial standing of the team’s then- owner, Frank McCourt. The plan to wear the throwback uniforms for weekday afternoon games during the 2011 season revealed no purpose except to increase merchandise sales and attendance for these often poorly- attended games. Considering that the team had already used 1955 throwbacks in the past, the new throwback choices were not honorific items, but merely new products added to the team’s inventory. In part, this understanding is based on the fact that, as previously mentioned, the 1944 throwbacks did not celebrate any of the team’s specific seasons or significant accomplishments. In addition, the satin jerseys were a footnote in MLB history, with just a few teams experimenting with them for a handful of games during the 1940s. From this standpoint, the satin uniforms were remembered as a unique gimmick, not an enduring jersey that is representative of Dodgers history. When packaged as a featured part of a six- game throwback plan, where fans who purchase the entire six- pack of tickets can receive half- priced food and drink (including alcohol), the legitimacy of the attempt at commemoration was placed in doubt.

The criticism of the throwbacks as a blatant promotional tool was fur-thered by the financial indiscretions of the McCourt family, who while “using the Dodgers and related assets as collateral— had racked up a staggering $459 million in debt, much of which was used personally.”75 The bitter divorce that took place between Frank and Jamie McCourt from 2009 to 2011 also revealed the Dodgers’ attempt to procure a $200 million loan, as an upfront payment for television rights, from their cable broadcaster Fox.76 The financial stand-

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.250

ing of the team, which the Los Angeles Times believed affected the team’s abil-ity to field a championship roster, contextualized the throwback promotion for the 2011 season.77

Given his lavish indiscretions and abuse of funds intended for the Dodg-ers’ franchise, MLB spent most of the 2011 season trying to oust McCourt as team owner. In April, as a response to the divorce proceedings and the belief that McCourt was no longer fit to run the team, MLB commissioner Bud Selig stepped in to manage the franchise’s finances. As part of a bankruptcy agree-ment signed three months later, McCourt agreed to sell the team at auction. Despite the apparent turmoil, the team was sold for a record price of $2.15 billion— over five times what McCourt paid for the team in 2004— to a group of investors that included former basketball star Magic Johnson and veteran baseball executive Stan Kasten.78 The new sale brought closure to an ignomin-ious chapter of Dodgers history and represented a new opportunity for the Dodgers and their material history.

Conclusion

Comedian Jerry Seinfeld once attempted to clarify sports team devotion by focusing on team uniforms. Because teams (and players) are constantly mov-ing, he opined, “You’re actually rooting for the clothes when you get right down to it. You are standing, cheering, and yelling for your clothes to beat the clothes from another city.”79 This observation both points to the significance of sports jerseys, which have operated as symbolic representations of cities and fans for over a century, and implies that sports jerseys can simply exist as ahistorical (or historically- inaccurate) stylized clothes.

Jerseys then, as the example of the Dodgers’ throwbacks has revealed, com-prise a critical library of commemorative material that have strong, evoca-tive appeals. The Brooklyn Dodgers and their jerseys thereby encapsulate a wide range of emotions, covering Brooklyn’s underdog status as representa-tive of the working- class borough, engaging the deep connections that fans in Brooklyn had with the players who lived in their community, and epitomiz-ing the potential of sport to stand against racism. But the Los Angeles Dodg-ers’ 1944 throwbacks, beset by their inconsistencies in fabric and their attitude towards the powerful Brooklyn symbol, are overwhelmed by the context of their deployment as a commodity. Like all memorials, throwbacks are suscep-tible to their surroundings and, in this instance, the financial questions that surround the team adversely impact the jerseys’ potential to advocate a Dodg-ers history.

The case study reveals how difficult it is to materially represent a complex

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Andon: Rooting for the Clothes 51

history, yet MLB teams continue to deploy throwbacks with little concern for historical accuracy or consistency. Rather than be concerned with the poten-tial divisiveness that reveals questions about the ownership of memories, these teams are only interested in the financial rewards of exploiting these memories as stylized symbols. Ultimately, the power of nostalgia encourages a style so vacuous that it can overcome the weight of its substance: messy lega-cies, moral questions about the appropriateness, and the contradictory con-text of the team’s current identity. Producing a stylish throwback is enough. And so the Brooklyn Dodgers play on, in Los Angeles.

Notes

1. Jeff Z. Klein, “Modern Team Moves to a Traditional Look,” New York Times, Feb-ruary 7, 2011, accessed February 28, 2011, http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/08/sports/hockey/08logo.html.

2. Carole Blair, Greg Dickinson, and Brian L. Ott, “Rhetoric/Memory/Place,” in Places of Public Memory: The Rhetoric of Museums and Memorials, ed. Carole Blair, Greg Dickinson, and Brian L. Ott (Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 2010), 2.

3. Blair, Dickinson, and Ott, “Rhetoric,” 3.4. Blair, Dickinson, and Ott, “Rhetoric,” 4.5. Carole Blair, “Contemporary U.S. Memorial Sites as Exemplars of Rhetoric’s

Materiality,” in Rhetorical Bodies, ed. Jack Selzer and Sharon Crowley (Madison: Uni-versity of Wisconsin Press, 1999), 19.

6. Greg Dickinson, “Joe’s Rhetoric: Starbucks and the Spatial Rhetoric of Authen-ticity,” Rhetoric Society Quarterly 32 (2002): 6.

7. Blair, “Contemporary U.S. Memorial Sites,” 17.8. Carole Blair, interview with author, February 26, 2009.9. Blair, “Contemporary U.S. Memorial Sites,” 21.10. Blair, “Contemporary U.S. Memorial Sites,” 23.11. Carole Blair and Neil Michel, “Commemorating in the Theme Park Zone: Read-

ing the Astronauts Memorial,” in At the Intersection: Cultural Studies and Rhetorical Studies, ed. Thomas Rosteck (New York: Guilford, 1999), 40; Carole Blair, Marsha S. Jeppeson, and Enrico Pucci Jr., “Public Memorializing in Postmodernity: The Viet-nam Veterans Memorial as Prototype,” Quarterly Journal of Speech 77 (1991): 263– 88; and Carole Blair and Neil Michel, “The AIDS Memorial Quilt and the Contemporary Culture of Public Commemorating,” Rhetoric and Public Affairs 10 (2007): 595– 626.

12. Blair, Dickinson, and Ott, “Rhetoric,” 10.13. Blair, Jeppeson, and Pucci Jr., “Public Memorializing.”14. Blair and Michel, “Commemorating in the Theme Park Zone.”15. Dickinson, “Joe’s Rhetoric,” 13.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.252

16. Dickinson, “Joe’s Rhetoric,” 13.17. Greg Dickinson, “Memories for Sale: Nostalgia and the Construction of Identity

in Old Pasadena,” Quarterly Journal of Speech 83 (1997): 7.18. Dickinson, “Memories for Sale,” 12.19. Dickinson, “Memories for Sale,” 21.20. Barry Brummet, A Rhetoric of Style (Carbondale: Southern Illinois University

Press, 2008), xiii.21. Brummet, A Rhetoric of Style, 9.22. Henry Dreyfuss, Designing for People (New York: Allworth Press, 2003), 59.23. Andreas Huyssen, Twilight Memories: Making Time in a Culture of Amnesia

(New York: Routledge, 1995), 3.24. “Rays introduce original retro jersey to be worn on June 30 in ‘Turn Back the

Clock’ game against Tigers,” Tampa Bay Rays press release, June 20, 2012.25. Stephanie Hayes, “Rays Turn Back the Clock with a Fake Throwback Jersey,”

Tampa Bay Times, June 30, 2012, accessed October 11, 2012, http://www.tampabay.com/features/popculture/rays-turn-back-the-clock-with-a-fake-throwback-jersey/1237982.

26. Michael L. Butterworth, Baseball and Rhetorics of Purity: The National Pastime and American Identity during the War on Terror (Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 2010), 126.

27. David Block, Baseball Before We Knew It: A Search for the Roots of the Game (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2006), 78.

28. William J. Ryczek, Baseball’s First Inning: A History of the National Pastime through the Civil War (Jefferson NC: McFarland & Company, 2009), 55.

29. “Dressed to the Nines: A History of the Baseball Uniform,” National Base-ball Hall of Fame, accessed January 12, 2012, http://exhibits.baseballhalloffame.org/dressed_to_the_nines/timeline_1849.htm.

30. Jennifer Craik, Uniforms Exposed: From Conformity to Transgression (Oxford, UK: Berg, 2005), 146.

31. “Dressed to the Nines.”32. Warren Goldstein, “The Base Ball Fraternity,” in Baseball History from Outside

the Lines: A Reader, ed. John E. Dreifort (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2001), 14.

33. Goldstein, “The Base Ball Fraternity,” 1534. Craik, “Uniforms.”35. Craik, “Uniforms,” 149.36. Christopher Devine, Harry Wright: The Father of Professional Base Ball (Jeffer-

son NC: McFarland & Company, 2003), 8.37. Sarah Ballard, “Lots of Sox,” Sports Illustrated, April 5, 1989, 108– 18.38. Joey Novak, “Padres Uniforms Through the Years: 1969 to 2009,” San Diego

Union Tribune, July 18, 2009, accessed December 18, 2011, www.utsandiego.com/news/2009/jul/18/1s18unis231057/.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Andon: Rooting for the Clothes 53

39. Jeff Z. Klein and Stu Hackel, “Buffaslug among Cartoonish Logos to Go Extinct,” New York Times, October 5, 2010, accessed October 12, 2010, http://www.nytimes.com/2010/10/06/sports/hockey/06sweaters.html; Rob Bagchi, “Barcelona’s ‘Cool Mint’ Reveals Sorry Lack of Taste,” Guardian, February 23, 2011, accessed Febru-ary 25, 2011, http://www.guardian.co.uk/football/blog/2011/feb/23/barcelona-team-kits; and Patricia Leigh Brown, “Pine-tar Couture,” New York Times, July 18, 1993, accessed February 12, 2011, http://www.nytimes.com/1993/07/18/style/pine-tar-couture.html.

40. David Butwin, “Baseball Flannels are Hot,” Sports Illustrated, July 6, 1987, 105.41. Butwin, “Baseball Flannels,” 105.42. Jay Feldman, “Flannel Jerseys To Order,” Sports Illustrated, July 30, 1990,

accessed October 14, 2012, http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/vault/article/magazine/MAG1136587/index.htm

43. Peter Capolino, interview with author, May 6, 2010.44. Ben Osborne, The Brooklyn Cyclones: Hardball Dreams and the New Coney

Island (New York: New York University Press, 2004).45. Ed Shakespeare, When Baseball Returned to Brooklyn: The Inaugural Season of

the New York- Penn League Cyclones (Jefferson NC: McFarland & Company, 2003).46. Marshall Sahlins, Apologies to Thucydides: Understanding History as Culture

and Vice Versa (Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 2004), 128.47. WNPR National Public Radio, “When ‘Next Year’ Arrived for Dodgers Fans,”

Weekend Edition Saturday, radio broadcast, October 22, 2005.48. Yuval Rosenberg, “What the Dodgers Meant to Brooklyn,” WNYC, July 26,

2010, accessed July 28, 2010, http://www.wnyc.org/articles/wnyc-news/2010/jul/26/what-dodgers-meant-brooklyn/.

49. Butterworth, Baseball, 63.50. Glenn Stout, The Dodgers: 120 Years of Dodgers Baseball (New York: Houghton

Mifflin, 2004), 165– 66.51. Stout, The Dodgers, 152.52. Stout, The Dodgers, 225.53. Peter Ellsworth, “The Brooklyn Dodgers’ Move to Los Angeles: Was Wal-

ter O’Malley Solely Responsible?,” NINE: A Journal of Baseball History and Culture 14 (2005), 19– 40.

54. Donald Dewey and Nicholas Acocella, Total Ballclubs: The Ultimate Book of Baseball Teams (Toronto: Sport Media Publishing, 2005), 123.

55. Stout, The Dodgers, 235.56. Rudy Marzano, The Last Years of the Brooklyn Dodgers: A History 1950– 1957

(Jefferson NC: McFarland & Company, 2007).57. Vic Ziegel. “Book Rewrites O’Malley History,” New York Daily News, April

26, 2003, accessed February 12, 2011, http://articles.nydailynews.com/2003–04–26/sports/18226267_1_shapiro-dodgers-ebbets-field.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.254

58. “When ‘Next Year’ Arrived.”59. Mike Dodd, “Ghosts of Flatbush Alive 50 Years after Dodgers’ Exit,” USA

Today, January 17, 2008, accessed February 15, 2010, http://www.usatoday.com/sports/baseball/2007–09-23-cover-brooklyn_N.htm#; and Manny Fernandez, “When Players Like Duke Snider Were Also Neighbors,” New York Times, February 28, 2011, accessed March 2, 2011, http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/01/nyregion/01flatbush.html.

60. Baseball, directed by Ken Burns (1994; New York: PBS Paramount, 2010), DVD.61. Doris Kearns Goodwin, Wait Till Next Year: A Memoir (New York: Simon and

Schuster, 1998), 17.62. “State Panel to Study Return of Dodgers,” New York Times, March 7, 1997, B6.63. Michael Shapiro, The Last Good Season: Brooklyn, the Dodgers, and their Final

Pennant Race Together (New York: Doubleday, 2003), 329.64. Dodd, “Ghosts of Flatbush.”65. “Spiked on Top: Brooklyn Dodger Caps are a Hot Headgear Trend,” New York

Times, July 3, 1989, 35.66. “Spiked on Top,” 35.67. Dodd, “Ghosts of Flatbush.”68. Dewey and Acocella, Total Ballclubs, 125.69. Pierre Nora, “General Introduction: Between Memory and History,” in Realms

of Memory: Rethinking the French Past, Conflicts and Divisions, ed. Lawrence D. Kritzman and Arthur Goldhammer (New York: Columbia University Press, 1996), 3.

70. Blair, “Commemorating in the Theme Park Zone,” 38.71. “Lasorda Takes Over as Dodgers Manager,” Telegraph- Herald, September 26,

1976, 19.72. Douglas Martin, “Historic Day at Bar: Dodger Stays in Brooklyn Judge Says,

Among Other Things, that Los Angeles Club Has No Good Name to Lose,” New York Times, April 9, 1993, B1.

73. Erin Durkin and Jake Pearson, “Los Angeles Dodgers Burn Brooklyn Again, File Trademark Suit over Brooklyn Burger Logo,” New York Daily News, October 31, 2010, accessed February 19, 2010, http://articles.nydailynews.com/2010–10–31/local/27079741_1_brooklyn-bridge-brooklynites-logo.

74. Barry Paddock and Bill Hutchinson, “L.A. Dodgers Try to Make Amends with Throwback Uniforms, but There’s No Love Lost in Brooklyn,” New York Daily News, Feb-ruary 9, 2011, accessed February 10, 2011, http://articles.nydailynews.com/2011–02–09/local/28550664_1_uniforms-brooklyn-dodgers-fans-dodgers-sym-phony.

75. Monte Burke and Nathan Vardi, “Special Report: Inside Baseball’s Debt Disas-ter,” Forbes, March 23, 2011, accessed April 2, 2011, http://www.forbes.com/sites/monteburke/2011/03/23/special-report-inside-baseballs-debt-disaster/.

76. Bill Shaikin, “Jamie McCourt Says Frank McCourt Endangered Value of Dodg-

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Andon: Rooting for the Clothes 55

ers with ‘Secret’ Fox Deal,” Los Angeles Times, March 1, 2011, accessed March 10, 2011, http://articles.latimes.com/2011/mar/01/sports/la-sp-0302-dodgers-mccourt-20110302.

77. Bill Plaschke, “Dodgers Look Out of Place in L.A.,” Los Angeles Times, April 18, 2010, accessed March 10, 2011, http://articles.latimes.com/print/2010/apr/18/sports/la-sp-plaschke-20100418; and Bill Shaikin and E. Scott Reckard, “Frank McCourt Has Taken Dodgers Deep in Debt,” Los Angeles Times, September 1, 2010, accessed March 10, 2011, http://articles.latimes.com/2010/sep/01/sports/la-sp-dodger-finances-20100902.

78. Bill Shaikin, “Dodgers Sale Complete, McCourt Era Ends,” Los Angeles Times, May 1, 2012, accessed October 30, 2012, http://articles.latimes.com/2012/may/01/sports/la-sp-dn-dodgers-sale-mccourt-magic-20120501

79. “The Label Maker,” Seinfeld (New York: NBC, January 19, 1995).

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Rhetorical Constructions of Anger Management, Emotions, and Public Argument in Baseball CultureThe Case of Carlos Zambrano

Kevin A. Johnson and Joseph W. Anderson

Carlos Zambrano was a pitcher for the Chicago Cubs, and at the time of this essay, a pitcher for the Miami Marlins. Many baseball fans and writers know him for his pitching talents as well as his emotional outbursts. For example, Matt Leland recently noted, “The guy just has a fiery temperament. Some-times, it’s a focused intensity that he channels into his pitching performances. When that’s the case, the Big Z normally dominates. Too often, though, Zam-brano has let his emotions get the best of him, both on and off the mound.”1 Leland described Zambrano as having “no qualms about fighting teammates in his own dugout, showing up his manager or letting the umpires know exactly how he feels about their calls.”2

Leland is one of many baseball writers who have questioned a string of incidents involving Zambrano. In June 2007, Dave Van Dyck reported, “It has come to this with the Cubs: Unable to beat other teams, they have started beat-ing on each other. . . . In the midst of losing their fifth straight game and 11th in the last 15 . . . batterymates Carlos Zambrano and Michael Barrett tussled in the dugout and then apparently had an all- out set- to in the clubhouse.”3 The fistfight between Zambrano and Barrett would be followed by many temper tantrums in the dugout. In June 2010, Zambrano was “suspended indefinitely after a dugout tirade” where he “had to be separated from teammate Derrek Lee in the visitors’ dugout after surrendering four runs to the Chicago White Sox in the bottom of the first inning at U.S. Cellular Field.”4 As part of his sus-pension, Zambrano completed anger management counseling before being able to return to the playing field.

Zambrano talked about the counseling, telling Carrie Muskat, “It’s all done. I’m cured. . . . The problem I have to solve is when I get upset on the field. I think my problem is after I cross those lines. When somebody makes an error or I make an error, that’s my problem. . . . It did work, and believe me, that was an experience that I can take through the years.”5 Fans and baseball writers

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Johnson and Anderson: Th e Case of Carlos Zambrano 57

have begun to question the sincerity of Zambano’s reflection given two subse-quent incidents.

As a batter, Zambrano struck out in a game on May 31, 2011, and broke his bat over his knee in frustration. Then, on June 5, 2011, he called the Cubs “embar-rassing” and questioned Cubs reliever Carlos Marmol’s pitching strategy after the Cubs lost six games in a row and eight of their previous ten. Many baseball writers called for a suspension. For example, Gene Wojciechowski wrote, “You could see this latest meltdown— one in a lonnnnnnng line of nut- job moments by the Chicago Cubs starter— coming for days. And after what he said about his teammates Sunday, Cubs management ought to suspend him for days, weeks, months or, in a perfect world, the remainder of the season.”6 A few writers were sympathetic to Zambrano’s claim that the Cubs were an embarrassment, but even those reporters commented on Zambrano’s anger getting the best of him. For instance, Dylan Polk noted, “If [the Cubs] look long enough, they’ll under-stand Zambrano’s point of view and turn things around.” Although sympa-thetic, Polk still commented, “Zambrano has a history of flying off the handle and letting his temper get the best of him, which prior to Sunday, fans thought had culminated in 2010 with an altercation with then- first baseman Derrek Lee, landing Zambrano in the bullpen as well as anger management. Since then, his temper has been a running joke among baseball fans, sort of a ticking time bomb that fans . . . knew would inevitably explode.”7

The purpose of this essay is to explore the implications of the rhetoric of baseball fans and writers surrounding the early June 2011 episodes involv-ing Zambrano. Zambrano’s case is perhaps the most notable and most recent example of an athlete receiving attention because of his anger, as well as being required to undergo anger management therapy. While this essay does sug-gest that Zambrano’s case has much to teach us about MLB’s anger manage-ment rhetoric, we do not mean to imply that he stands alone. Indeed, there are at least three other examples— two from baseball and one from basketball— that also grabbed national attention.

For example, in 2005, the Los Angeles Times featured an article on then- Dodger Milton Bradley who had been ordered to undergo anger management therapy for, among other things, throwing a water bottle at a fan.8 The article related conversations between Bradley and his teammates to those between former basketball teammates Magic Johnson and Kurt Rambis. A year ear-lier, in 2004, the New York Times featured a piece titled “Anger Management May Not Help at All,” in which Benedict Carey referenced the cases of base-ball players Bradley and Jose Guillen, and basketball player Ron Artest.9 Carey described anger management rather disparagingly, citing Dr. Ray DiGiuseppe of St. John’s University, who calls anger management classes “a band- aid”

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.258

which allows people to think they have done something, when in fact they have not had any “real treatment.” DiGiuseppe goes so far as to suggest that anger management therapists are “operating under the delusion” that they are helping people when they may be making the problem worse.10 Articles such as this perhaps color the public’s trust in anger management therapy, and serve to elide expert opinions on the subject. Notably absent from these depictions of anger management therapy is any serious engagement with anger manage-ment experts and/or therapists. Such absence is problematic for a number of reasons that will become clearer by analyzing the rhetorical constructions of anger management in the case of Zambrano— not the least of which include the way baseball culture perceives the philosophical categories of argumenta-tion, therapy, and expertise.

The rhetoric reacting to Zambrano’s case of anger management is impor-tant for at least three reasons. First, it marks the first accusation from baseball fans and writers that Zambrano had stepped over the line in terms of his anger management. As such, the Zambrano case promises to shed light on the per-missible displays of anger in the current culture of baseball. Second, it marks the most recent incarnation of judgmental rhetoric concerning the effective-ness of anger management therapy. Third, and perhaps more contentious, is the idea that Zambrano has functioned as an icon of “hot- headedness” for MLB— he has become a player most fans would identify quickly as having “anger problems.” Thus, taken together, examining Zambrano’s case we are likely to gain a critical understanding of the baseball public’s perceptions of acceptable ways to manage anger and emotions.

This essay argues that the end of Zambrano’s time with the Chicago Cubs provides a site for understanding deeper issues about MLB culture concerning the perceptions of anger, anger management, emotions, and norms of argu-mentation. In order to defend and explain this argument, this essay delves into four different areas of inquiry that undergird the rhetoric surround-ing the Zambrano episode in early June 2011. First, the essay examines the underlying skepticism and beliefs concerning the practice of anger manage-ment counseling. Second, the essay explores the degree of argument aversion between players and the general public. Third, the essay provides an inquiry into the degree of cultural sensitivity in the rhetoric surrounding Zambrano in his post– anger management era. Finally, the essay explores some of the implicit assumptions concerning the range of acceptable player expression of emotions in the game of baseball.

Before proceeding, it is important to note that whether or not Zambrano engages in “outbursts” after the beginning of June 2011 is largely irrelevant to our examination. Zambrano could undergo a marked transformation in

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Johnson and Anderson: Th e Case of Carlos Zambrano 59

the public eye. What this examination is concerned with is the initial base-ball public disapproval after the June 2011 episode, and more specifically, the implications of the expressed disapproval against Zambrano after he both went through anger management counseling and stated that the counseling worked. Notably, Zambrano completed his first full season without incident. At the same time, Zambrano’s attitude change was attributed more to a change of scenery or situation than to the anger management therapy. For example, MLB sportswriter Tom Green wrote, “There’s something different about Carlos Zambrano now that he’s in Miami. He isn’t the same short- tempered pitcher who took out his frustration in the dugout when things didn’t go his way on the mound in Chicago.”11 To be fair, the change of scenery could have played a large role in the attitude change. Our examination is more concerned with three important areas: (1) the general lack of public discussion about anger management therapy itself, (2) the lack of public engagement with anger man-agement therapists (who might have suggested a change of scenery like what happened when he went to Miami), and (3) the way MLB’s public immediately dismissed the effectiveness of anger management therapy after the June 2011 episode. Thus, this study focuses on the rhetoric concerning anger manage-ment in MLB and its public.

Anger Management and the Questioning of Therapeutic Expertise

Mitch Abrams is a respected expert on anger management in sports. He earned his doctorate in psychology, has counseled thousands of athletes in anger management, and is the chair of the Anger and Violence in Sport Spe-cial Interest Group of the Association for Applied Sport Psychology. Accord-ing to Abrams, “anger is a normal emotion. Anger is neither good nor bad, and no judgment need be attached to it. Some people believe that a prob-lem arises if a person becomes angry. This idea is not true. To pass judgment on anger and condemn those who admit to becoming angry is the equivalent of robbing people of their humanness.” He continues, “The belief that anger is bad is so strongly engrained that people will sometimes deny its existence even when it is spilling out all over the place.  .  .  . Therefore, when we talk about anger management for peak performance in sport, we are not always talking about making athletes polite and calm. Rather, we are referring to their ability to self- regulate their emotions to what their tasks require.”12

That Zambrano has struggled with an anger problem is uncontested. Even Zambrano has admitted he continues to struggle with his anger prob-lem. However, the rhetoric surrounding Zambrano in the first episode after

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.260

his anger management counseling has almost conclusively decided that anger management counseling has failed. To name a few examples, David Haugh wrote in the Chicago Tribune, “Zambrano was the same immature hothead he swore he wouldn’t be again. . . . [I]f it were me, after severing ties with what-ever therapist signed off on Zambrano’s anger management last July, the Cubs’ next move seems easy. Suspend Zambrano as long as it takes Hendry to find a trade partner willing to take on [Zambrano’s contract].”13 Sean Kernan simi-larly expressed his cynicism about anger management counseling, “Yes, ‘Big Z’ looked good in his eight innings even with the busted bat, but if the frus-tration continues all of the anger management classes in the world won’t keep Zambrano from a meltdown.”14

Undergirding such rhetoric is a fundamental disbelief in the process of rehabilitation. A minimal belief and understanding of anger management counseling would result in a different kind of rhetoric. For example, we would likely hear more rhetorical sensitivities concerning the struggles Zambrano goes through when managing his anger. The rhetoric surrounding Zambrano constructs anger management in a consistent manner of the myth Abrams pointed out— the point of anger management is “not always talking about making athletes polite and calm.” And regardless of whether or not anger management objectively worked, there was not a single instance in fan and media reactions where they sought to hear the voice of anger management professionals— there simply was no engagement. Even if fans and writers got it right, they certainly did not rely on any level of expertise on the subject before jumping to conclusions.

One can certainly imagine a different story regarding anger management counseling than the overwhelming opinion that anger management counsel-ing had failed. For example, in 2007 the fight between Zambrano and Bar-rett had nearly identical conditions to the early June 2011 events. The former was a five- game losing streak, the latter was a six- game losing streak. The for-mer was in the beginning of June, and the latter was in the beginning of June. However, in the former, Zambrano confronted Barrett in the middle of his anger which resulted in a fight between the two of them. In the later, Zam-brano did not confront Marmol— he talked to the press, but he did not take it out by yelling at Marmol or any other of his teammates. Rhetoric that is sym-pathetic to anger management counseling might point to the fact that the later incident shows that anger management counseling had made a difference. If anger is not something that goes away, but something that is to be managed, then the later event seems to mark progress. Zambrano expressed his anger to the media rather than getting into a verbal confrontation and fight with a teammate. Expressing anger to the media is a far cry from fighting teammates.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Johnson and Anderson: Th e Case of Carlos Zambrano 61

However, the rhetoric of fans and sports writers constructed anger manage-ment as a failure, and by extension, called for Zambrano to be suspended or traded. Such rhetoric risks the delegitimization of anger management coun-seling’s ethos by not accounting for the complexities of anger management and anger in general.

Furthermore, the lack of reliance on anger management experts is particu-larly noteworthy given MLB’s deference to other forms of mandated counsel-ing. For example, when Miguel Cabrera was arrested in 2012 for his second DUI offense, Detroit Tigers general manager Dave Dombrowski was asked about whether Cabrera would have to spend time away from the team. Dom-browski said, “Those [decisions] are in experts’ hands. There’s people that are experts in these areas, doctors that handle these types of situations. The com-missioner’s office and players’ association work very closely together in trying to help these types of situations. Their knowledge far exceeds mine.”15

Even more troubling, perhaps, is the blatant disregard offered by many fans who are quick to dismiss behavior so long as the athlete is contributing to a winning team. Examples of this certainly abound in professional sports across the board. In terms of therapy, however, the necessity for therapy is dismissed in times when they perhaps need it most— when the glamour and fame is at its peak. This becomes notable in Cabrera’s case, where the severity is down-played by many fans. Fans of Cabrera exhibit an attitude reflecting that they do not care if Cabrera drives drunk, so long as he is a productive player. For example, on October 12, 2012, Twitter user @CurseOfBenitez tweeted at the Tigers official account, “I’ve decided that Miguel Cabrera’s DUI was actually an arrest for Driving Under the Influence of Greatness #MVP. Meanwhile, on October 11, 2012 @MattCapozzi tweeted “Watch out oakland Miguel Cabrera got a hold of some champagne #DUI waiting to happen hahahahaha.” On the same day, @Faraj_MoeAli opined “You know a man is a great man if they smile in their mugshot after getting a DUI. #Cabrera #MVP.”16

Argumentation Aversion

Another tenant of anger management is the ability to engage in constructive argument. Zambrano made two particular claims to the media. One claim was that the Cubs were embarrassing. The other was the argument that Carlos Marmol should not have pitched anything other than a fastball to Ryan The-riot (that pitch selection was responsible for the loss). While it goes against the norm to “criticize” teammates in the media, the violation of the norm in this case tells us a little bit about the role of argument aversion in baseball culture.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.262

Many fans and members of the media took Zambrano’s first argument (the Cubs being an embarrassment) seriously. For example, Tyler Juranovich com-mented, “I am not one that usually agrees with Chicago Cub’s [sic] pitcher, Carlos Zambrano, but he spoke nothing but truth yesterday when he called the Cubs ‘embarrassing’ after being swept by the St. Louis Cardinals. I don’t know if any of you have watched the Cubs lately (or any time really) but if you have, it’s hard not to agree with Zambrano’s assessment.”17 Matt Snyder wrote, “I can envision Zambrano catching a lot of flak for this, but is he really wrong? The Cubs obviously don’t have the best collection of talent and have suffered injuries, but they’re playing pretty embarrassing baseball right now.” Taken together, reporters were able to maintain a sense that Zambrano’s comments were somehow inappropriate, but agreed with his assessment that the Cubs’ play was embarrassing.

Conversely, fans and members of the media took Zambrano’s second argu-ment (Marmol should have pitched nothing but fastballs to Theriot) as insult-ing. Rather than treating the argument with any sincerity, most of baseball culture called on Zambrano to immediately apologize to Marmol because they believed the comments to be inappropriate. For example, a Cubs fan stated, “I agree with what Z said, but it would have been better to not throw Marmol under the bus at the same time.”18 Gordon Wittenmyer of the Chicago Sun- Times wrote an article entitled, “Carlos Zambrano rips Carlos Marmol, calls Cubs ‘embarrassing.’”19 There are at least a couple of problems with this rhetorical construction of Zambrano’s comments.

First, anger management is not about making an athlete polite and calm. Thus, the assertion that Zambrano somehow violated “politeness” toward Marmol is implicated in the rhetorical response and understanding of anger management. Second, media reaction did nothing to inquire about baseball strategy and engage with fans about the question of strategy. While report-ers and fans were happy to engage on the question of whether the Cubs were embarrassing, there was no such discussion about pitching Ryan Theriot any-thing but fastballs. ESPN regularly does pitch tracking, and spotlights entire at bats to talk about pitch selection and location. They could have easily tracked Ryan Theriot’s at bats to show baseball fans whether or not Zambrano’s argu-ment was warranted. Furthermore, one could easily imagine Marmol refuting Zambrano in front of the media so that fans have an idea about the strategy involved in baseball. He could have said something to the effect of, “It was my strategy to show a slider out of the zone that would make the fastball look faster and more unpredictable. Set- up pitches are necessary— I just missed my location on the slider today by getting it in the zone and Theriot made me pay for it.” That would be a reasonable argument against a reasonable argu-

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Johnson and Anderson: Th e Case of Carlos Zambrano 63

ment. Then there could have been a debate about the strategy. However, the debate was closed when people demanded Zambrano apologize rather than engage in a discussion about who chose the strategy or whether the strategy was reasonable.

Taken together, both of these comments and the fan and media reaction confirms a general lack of tolerance for a player’s ability to make arguments about a teammate’s performance— argumentative players may be easily con-strued as angry players. The media may make arguments. The fans may make arguments. Managers may make arguments. Organizational leaders (GMs, presidents, etc.) may make arguments. However, the people who are closest to the action should not. According to baseball culture, an argument about a team’s performance is marginally permissible, but arguing about a teammate’s performance is dangerous territory. Perhaps baseball fans stand to benefit in understanding strategic aspects of the game by encouraging players to engage in debate on a regular basis in front of the media— more debate results in more learning about strategies, details, and norms of baseball.

Aristotle believed in debate from the most credible people on all sides of an issue. To exempt players from debates about baseball strategy in the public is to limit fans’ understanding of the game. Furthermore, an even bigger risk is that refusing to allow the expression of anger in the form of making argu-ments in front of the media risks escalating the way anger is relieved. When players feel like they cannot express their anger, it can build to aggression and physical fights. When internalized, it can lead to depression and lowered self- esteem.20 Perhaps expressing anger in words to the media is a productive outlet and should be encouraged so long as the expression is in the form of argument and not ad hominem. Zambrano’s expression was a far cry from ad hominem.

Culture and Performance

While cultural bias is an increasingly difficult factor to determine given today’s subtle and unconscious biases, the rhetoric surrounding Zambrano is consistent with a long tradition of popular constructions of the hot- tempered Latino. Alfredo Mirande found that Spanish conquistadores introduced the image of the super- macho, virulent, and violent Hispanic man to the New World, an image which has been reinforced in one form or another in mass media.21 Carlos Monsivais traced the perpetuation of this image, including the angry, nostrils- flaring, Latin characters in many American movies in the 1950s.22 Celia Falicov found that contrary images of Latino masculinity rarely find their place in the media. She noted that while watching many movies, “as well as in my clinical practice, I have observed many characters that offer

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.264

alternative positive portrayals of Latino masculinity. However, these charac-teristics have not received the attention that the negative construction has acquired over time.”23

There might be a little bit of this perpetuation imposed on Zambrano. Granted, definitive proof of the framing of Zambrano as a quintessential angry Latino may be a bit of a stretch given how subtly such bias may be man-ifest. On the one hand, numerous Latinos have been featured as “problems” to their teams because of their temperament— Ozzie Guillen, Carlos Silva, Fran-cisco Rodriguez, and Jose Canseco. On the other hand, numerous Latinos have displayed the “calm and polite” expectation of baseball culture— Alex Gonzalez, Benji Molina, and Carlos Lee. To get a better sense of the framing, the case of Zambrano thus requires an examination of the historical construc-tion of Latin American masculinity in the context of MLB.

For decades, scholars have examined sports in general and baseball spe-cifically as a masculine space, a place for hegemonic notions masculinity to develop and flourish.24 Further, gender in general, as well as masculinity spe-cifically is not monolithic but rather intersects with other cultural factors such as race, class, and ethnicity.25 In MLB, the specific construction of “Latin Amer-ican” masculinity is an example of such intersectionality. A careful reading of Latin American integration into MLB reveals that the construction of Latin American masculinity developed along four overlapping yet separate items.

First, Latin players in the 1940s– 1970s faced a double bind of sorts, being perceived as both “black” and “Latin.” As the late Hall of Famer Roberto Cle-mente once famously put it, “Me, I’m a double nigger because I’m black and a nigger because I’m Puerto Rican.”26 Clemente’s remarks underscored the ten-sions that many Latin athletes suffered during their integration. Part of this tension was due to their being unprepared for the type of institutionalized segregation that American baseball offered. While professional baseball in the United States was exclusive (both in terms of MLB and the Negro leagues), professional baseball leagues in Mexico as well as the Caribbean were racially inclusive, a fact that Adrian Burgos Jr. argues “shaped their expectations about what playing professionally in the States would be like once the racial barrier was dismantled.”27

Pioneering “black” (also referred to as “darker- skinned”) Latinos (such as Minnie Minoso and Vic Power) faced the double- burden of entering MLB as both black men and Latinos. Being black and Latino “complicated their place” in baseball integration, and “Latinos who participated as integration pioneers after 1947 continued to face many of the same cultural constraints encoun-tered by those who preceded them into the majors, and also mirrored what everyday Latinos faced in their interactions in US society.”28

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Johnson and Anderson: Th e Case of Carlos Zambrano 65

A second factor in the identity of Latin American players was the fact that many Latino players did not mesh with pioneering African American play-ers. Cultural assimilation was no easier for Latinos than any other group. Alex Pompez (given a job by the Giants to assist in Latinos’ cultural assimilation) explained that many foreign- born Latinos did not adjust well: “some boys cry and want to go home” due to racial segregation. Latin players’ relation-ships were often strained with their black teammates. One African American player said, “Latin Negroes cry when they encounter segregation for the first time . . . We [African Americans] don’t cry and we have it a hell of a lot worse than they do.  .  .  . But we’re conditioned, I guess.”29 Latin players also had to negotiate being confronted with the choice “of whether or not to identify as a ‘Negro’ regardless of their individual family history or physical appearance.”30 Many Latinos were accused of denying their “colored identity,” and of think-ing “they’re better than the colored guy.”31

The third and fourth factors in the construction Latin American mascu-linity revolved around the public behaviors of Latin players. As with pioneer-ing African American players, Latino players were forced to carefully guard their public image. The cultural stereotype of “the hot- blooded Latin” often shaped public perceptions of Latin players. Minnie Minoso, the first black Latino in the major leagues, contradicted the stereotype of “the hot- blooded Latin” by “fighting back without anger.”32 Minoso reportedly would obey seg-regation policies, figuring that such laws could not harm him, however he also recounted that because of his demeanor, “some black ballplayers tell me that I didn’t understand prejudice and discrimination because I was Cuban, not black.”33 Minoso was isolated, not always accepted by black players, and also subject to Jim Crow laws. Like Jackie Robinson did for African Ameri-can players, it was Minoso’s demeanor perhaps even more than his talent that allowed future Latin stars such as Roberto Clemente “to speak more freely as men fiercely proud of being black and Latino.”34

Not all players however had Minoso’s temperament. Perhaps the starkest example is Silvio Garcia, a talented Latino player who had extensive experi-ence playing integrated ball in Cuba and who was refused integration into MLB. Branch Rickey, four years prior to signing Jackie Robinson, believed that Garcia had major- league talent, but was dissuaded due to Garcia’s tempera-ment. When asked by Rickey how he might respond to a physical confronta-tion with a white player, Garcia reportedly responded by saying, “I kill him.”35 According to Burgos, Latino’s intolerance to racial slurs and confrontations based on race was not limited to Silvio Garcia.

Also contrary to Minoso, Vic Power was unafraid of speaking about racism and the institutionalized nature of American inequality. He also was gregari-

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.266

ous, a jokester of sorts, who spoke out without always considering the social codes of conduct. Signed by the Yankees, Power was a “black Puerto Rican [who] ran counter to the genteel black southerner or the corporate player who abided by the rules.”36 Ultimately, the Yankees, who lagged far behind in base-ball’s integration process in general, refused to promote Power to the major leagues, and instead traded his rights to the Philadelphia A’s. Burgos summa-rized that “the controversy over the Yankees failure to bring up Power illus-trates how Latinos were essential actors in baseball’s integration drama.”37

The popular image of the violent Latino, intersecting with issues of mascu-linity and baseball, was given more or less concrete form in 1965. One of the more noted, if not lamented, instances of violence by a Latino came in 1965 when Juan Marichal struck opposing catcher Johnny Roseboro in the head with his bat during a game. Marichal, who accused Roseboro of nearly hitting him in the head with return throws to pitcher Sandy Koufax, was blamed for letting his emotions get the best of him. Marichal, known for taunting oppo-nents (or “bench jockeying”), had broken “the informal masculine and pro-fessional code regarding behavior in the heat of competition.”38 Burgos com-mented that “bench jockeying helped create a hyper- masculine space where players proved their masculinity through physical displays of athleticism, attempts to unsettle their opponents with their words, and control of their own emotions.”39 This concept of “hyper- masculine space” intersecting with the world of baseball is consistent with Messner’s (and others’) arguments regard-ing sports, masculinity, and the negotiated rules of performing masculinity. Such is also consistent with Zambrano’s instance of supposedly publicly chas-tising his own teammate in a postgame interview: Zambrano’s major trans-gression was not so much that he got angry, nor even that he called out a team-mate, but rather that he “broke the code” by calling out his teammate publicly.

Finally, the fourth area of masculinity and construction of Latin American masculinity in baseball centered around language. For example, former Giants manager Alvin Dark’s “English only” policy infuriated some of his Latin play-ers, such as Orlando Cepeda. Cepeda felt not only proud of his native Puerto Rican Spanish, but also felt embarrassed by being forced to speak in broken English. Burgos documented that “cultural pride and masculinity were inex-tricably involved in negotiating the politics of language.”40 While Felipe Alou explained that speaking in their native language was not meant to alienate English- speaking teammates, but rather to alleviate the stress of fumbling for the right words, English- only policies or even the expectancy of English forced the non- fluent to “no longer sound like men able to speak for themselves.”41

Additionally, the English- language sports media frequently engaged in what Burgos and others call “intellectual disenfranchisement” of Latino play-

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Johnson and Anderson: Th e Case of Carlos Zambrano 67

ers by focusing on the players’ accents and pronunciations as opposed to the content of their message. As readers’ attention was shifted from content to accents and difference, the sports media “reinforced popular perceptions of Latinos as unintelligent, inarticulate, and unworthy of being treated as intel-lectual peers.”42 The press also reinforced the stereotype of the “hot- blooded Latin.” As Rico Carty discussed, “when you cannot express yourself the way you want to, you get frustrated,” and when Latin players expressed frustration with the press (for being misquoted, misunderstood, or quoted out of con-text) they were often labeled as “hot- headed, hot- blooded Latinos.”43 Carty explained that when you were not fluent enough to explain and defend your-self with words, “all you have left is to fight and defend yourself.”44

In the face of such intellectual disenfranchisement, many Latino play-ers responded by refusing to talk to the press, as “not appearing in print was better than being publicly mocked, which was considered an affront to their masculinity.”45 Burgos explained that the baseball diamond provides a “space for performances of masculinity,” and that the ability to verbally defend one’s self is a “reflection of one’s cultural pride and as part of one’s masculinity: men stand up and speak for themselves to defend their honor.”46 The intellectual disenfranchisement perpetrated by American- English- media stripped non- fluent men with accents of this facet of what it means to be a man in many traditional Latino cultures.

Carlos Zambrano, the public figure, is, like all public figures, a “cultural production.” Burgos explains that

cultural productions of Latino in media coverage, marketing campaigns, and self- representations have combined to sustain the image of Latinos as persistent foreigners in baseball and U.S. society, arrivals in a “recent” wave. The public face constructed to represent Latinos distorts the Latino past within the game and powerfully elides the long history of Latino participation and the social forces that have shaped that participation.47

Recent media productions, as well as self- representations of Zambrano, depict him as “cured” of his “anger problems.” The current cultural produc-tion depicts “anger” as a “problem to be solved” and anger management issues as synonymous with immaturity. In 2011, for instance, prior to his most recent “outburst,” Zambrano actually joked with a Los Angeles blogger who asked him whether he was always “emotional when he pitches” by turning the ques-tion around, asking “where have you been the last nine years?”48 Later in the same piece, Zambrano admitted to getting angry, but that when he’s mad he is “on his game,” and that now he has “learned to control it.”49

After and since Zambrano’s later frustrations with teammates, he has been

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.268

cast as a redeemed athlete. In one recent interview, Zambrano claims that he will be a preacher in the future, and he credits his “rebirth” and maturity to spiritual enlightenment.50 For another example, Showtime’s recent real-ity series The Franchise featured a three minute and thirty- five second spot-light on Zambrano, in which four basic themes emerged. The first theme is that “the old Carlos Zambrano” is gone (Zambrano’s words) and that “he has matured. FINALLY” (Marlins announcer).51

Secondly, an unnamed source states “he could have been an angry, sulky, pain in the ass— piece of shit— which is what the scouting report said he was. Everyone was wrong.” This quotation is interesting for two reasons: first, it underscores the idea that Zambrano has been cured, noting “everyone was wrong,” and yet it cites no experts in the field of anger management (in fact, the segment in total did not feature a single anger management therapist or expert); second, this quote links Zambrano’s past anger with being “sulky” and “a pain in the ass.” While it is true that Zambrano had outbursts of rage, being “sulky” would seem to be at odds with depictions of the pitcher as a “fiery,” “hot- blooded” Latino.

Third, in several montages, as well as a voice- over by a teammate, Zam-brano is depicted as “intense,” but also jovial, almost childlike. For example, in one montage, he is seen talking to himself, yelling at himself to be motivated and focused. This montage gives way to images of him laughing, even singing “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” in the dugout. Also, Zambrano is quoted say-ing that he feels “grateful” and “blessed” for his new opportunity, and that he plans to “enjoy every moment.” Finally, a Marlin’s announcer notes that Zam-brano has “become a real fan favorite” since arriving in Miami. In sum, Zam-brano is depicted as a calm, happy- go- lucky caricature of his “former self.”

Fourth, Zambrano’s segment in The Franchise features an apologia of sorts for his past frustrations with teammates. There seems to be a concerted effort to depict Zambrano as a “good teammate.” For example, Zambrano is quoted saying “in the past I wasn’t mature.  .  .  . Now I don’t care about what I can’t control.” This quote then cuts to a clip of his third- baseman making a throw-ing error, and Zambrano says, “if somebody fail[s] you go out there and I’ll pick him up.” Another example of Zambrano being a good teammate is in his cheerleading for his closer Heath Bell. The announcer reveals that “of Bell’s four blown saves this year, three could have been wins for Zambrano.” The final clip of the segment shows Zambrano in the clubhouse cheering on Bell and practically jumping for joy when Bell saves the game.

In total, the spotlight feature in The Franchise provides a picture of Zam-brano as a calm yet intense man who has matured, a good teammate who has put the past behind him and is in control of his emotions. Notably, viewers do

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Johnson and Anderson: Th e Case of Carlos Zambrano 69

not hear from Zambrano’s anger management therapists, nor any experts in the field of sports psychology. The Franchise further reinforces the idea that anger is “immature,” a “problem to be solved,” and that the appropriate way to perform masculinity is to be intense within culturally— not clinically— negotiated limitations.

What might cause some to raise an eyebrow is that media depictions of Zambrano focus more on his temper than they do on his likeability (e.g., very little coverage is devoted to his Big Z Foundation). Eyebrows are raised, for example, when one considers the comparison of media and fan reactions to Zambrano with the reactions to Boston Red Sox pitcher Jonathon Papelbon. In the 2011 season Papelbon was suspended for two games for making con-tact with an umpire during an argument. Previously, Papelbon threw a towel and yelled, “Don’t take my fucking picture” to a photographer. He screamed at an umpire while throwing his hat into the ground. He called his team-mate Manny Ramirez a cancer, among many other similar incidents. Yet he has plenty of positive publicity. Papelbon gets positive press for his charity appearances, his dances, his celebrations, and he appears as a positive figure in commercial advertisements. Despite Papelbon’s background, Papelbon was not ordered to undergo anger management. Regardless, Papelbon’s behavior is not intended to justify Zambrano’s behavior. At the same time, the dispa-rate coverage between the two might indicate a media and fan bias in baseball. In any case, Zambrano’s behavior did not help to eliminate the stigma of the “angry Latino” in the media.

Of course, as previously noted in the case of Cabrera, there is also the issue of performance. The baseball culture of fans and media are probably more likely to forgive anger issues if the playing performance is at a high level. Papelbon is legendary in terms of his success. He was instrumental in the Red Sox winning World Series titles, has 275 saves as a closer, a career 2.31 ERA, and is considered a team leader. Perhaps because of his success, fans and media do not think he needs anger management. Bo Jackson was a dual sport all- star and named by some as the best athlete ever, and baseball fans saw little prob-lem with him smashing bats over his knee. Hall of Famer Nolan Ryan beat up on a young Robin Ventura and he was valorized for his fighting abilities. One encounters troubled waters when performance is poor and attitude is poor. The lesson of this rhetoric of baseball fans and media appears to be that poor behavior may be permissible depending on how bad the anger is, balanced by how well the player performs (and in the case of Nolan Ryan, whose “fault” the behavior appears to be— Nolan Ryan is rarely perceived to have instigated Robin Ventura by throwing at him). In the end, culture and performance are subtle issues— the degree of influence such perceptions had on the rhetoric

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.270

surrounding Zambrano is difficult to determine. Still, one cannot help but raise these issues since they appear as trends in baseball culture.

Rhetoric of Emotions

The reaction after Zambrano’s June 2011 episode also teaches a bit about how baseball fans and writers talk about emotions. For Aristotle, emotions were important to understanding pathos. And emotions do not exist in isolation. For example, according to Aristotle, fear may turn to anger, attraction may turn to love, and pleasure may turn to pain. One characteristic of the effec-tive rhetor is the ability to steer their audience from one emotion to another. Learning how to maneuver an audience from one emotion to another allows a certain command of the audience’s attention. Aristotle’s theory of emotions is telling in the case of Zambrano as it helps to highlight the remedial beliefs about emotions in baseball fan and media culture.

According to baseball media and fans, Zambrano needed to channel his emotions effectively in order to be effective. While this is likely true, the rhet-oric surrounding Zambrano demonstrates the problematic lumping of all feeling into the category of the “emotions.” For example, a Chicago Tribune headline read, “At times, Carlos Zambrano’s emotion is his Achilles’ heel— but the Cubs ace can’t succeed without it.” The point of the Achilles heel metaphor is that Achilles’ heel was specifically an area of weakness that led to Achilles’ death. As such, Zambrano’s emotions are constructed as a paradox. The ques-tion of what feelings of emotion result in positive outward performance and what feelings of emotion result in negative outward performance is notably absent in the rhetoric concerning emotions in general.

Importantly, Zambrano has appeared to talk about his emotions in a slightly more sophisticated manner after anger management counseling than do most baseball fans and media. Zambrano explained, “The emotions always will be there, . . . that’s the way I am, that’s the way I know how to pitch. I’ve been in the big leagues nine, 9½ years and I’ve been like that since I came in.” He said the problem comes when he lets the emotion “go out of my hands.”52 Just like Aristotle theorized the rhetorician should be able to move an audi-ence from one emotion to another, Zambrano has acknowledged his desire to steer his mind from one emotion to another rather than letting the range of emotions get the best of him. What Zambrano, baseball fans, and media seem to lack is a rhetoric of subtleties when it comes to emotions.

According to this view, Zambrano’s case is about anger as an isolated emo-tion that is directed. Anger is good when Zambrano is able to direct it into his pitching performance, and it is negative when it harms his pitching perfor-

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Johnson and Anderson: Th e Case of Carlos Zambrano 71

mance. However, anger leads to several other emotions that are absent from rhetoric surrounding Zambrano’s emotions. Anger may lead to aggression, and aggression is what occurs in Zambrano’s “outbursts.” Anger may lead to a feeling of empowerment, and a sense of empowerment leads to a feel-ing of being able to control a given situation. Anger may lead to apprecia-tion that baseball is just a game and small compared to the more important things in life (family, etc.), and appreciation of the more important things in life may lead to a calming sense of relaxation before approaching another bat-ter. Anger may lead to a feeling of curiosity, and curiosity may lead to learn-ing more about the game of baseball. However, the subtleties of emotions are rarely, if ever, found in the rhetoric of baseball fans and media. Typically, one emotion is singled out, and linked to a positive or negative outward display.

Furthermore, the rhetoric of baseball fans and media suggests a strong con-nection to the construction of emotional feelings as relative to their outward display. In other words, emotions are measured based on the external appear-ance rather than the highly subjective internalized emotional feeling. For base-ball fans and media, the more a player “shows” emotion, the more emotion a player feels. Garrett Anderson provides a telling case as he is often constructed as the polar opposite of Zambrano. Anderson was an outfielder for the Angels who stated on several occasions that he felt uncomfortable expressing his emo-tions and heard complaints from people who want him to express emotion to “show that he cares” about playing baseball.53 When Anderson hit a home run or won a baseball game, he seldom expressed any emotion. When Anderson struck out or made an error, he seldom showed any emotion. Anderson is “as stoic as they come on the baseball field and off of it.”54

Notably absent from the rhetorical construction of Anderson is any dis-cussion about how he controls his emotions. For fans and media who believe Anderson experiences intense emotion and passion, Anderson is perceived to keep those emotions in control— a testament to the fact that Anderson is either a master of emotions (mastering emotions is privileged), or that he must not experience the intensity of emotions that are difficult to contain. For baseball fans and media who believe Anderson does not experience emotion, Anderson is perceived as not caring about the game as much as they do, or worse, not caring about the game at all (e.g., perhaps it is only about money or some other selfish interest). The larger point, of course, is that we are only left to theorize the possibilities, because baseball fans and media culture do not tend to delve into discussions about how to talk about emotions with any degree of sophistication in cases of either too much emotion (i.e., Zambrano) or too little emotion (i.e., Anderson).

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.272

Perhaps Aristotle offers a better way of talking about how emotions are “channeled” into baseball performance. Specifically, Aristotle explained that for the rhetorician, there are certain vices and virtues. The comparison between Zambrano and Anderson demonstrates that for baseball fans and media, “caring” is a virtue and a vice. When “caring” is expressed as aggres-sion, the player risks that the emotion will be taken as a vice. When caring is expressed as “joy,” it will certainly be taken as a virtue. Expressions of joy or happiness are virtues when things are good. Showing no expression is a vice when things are good. Expression of moderate anger is a virtue when things are bad. Expression of disappointment is a virtue when things are bad. Expres-sions of anger risk the perception of vice when things are bad. No expression when things are bad is a vice of not caring. Thus, expressions of disappoint-ment hold a certain sense of decorum for baseball fans and writers.

Conclusion

Baseball fans and media may have been correct in many of their judgments concerning Zambrano. The fact that Zambrano struggles with anger manage-ment is uncontested. There is no certainty that in the future Zambrano will avoid fighting with teammates and opponents. In the future, he might break a bat over his knee, and he might take his anger out on a Gatorade machine. He might mock an umpire again by signaling for the umpire to be ejected. Regardless of Zambrano’s future behavior, there is a lot to be learned from the way baseball fans and media have talked about his first “incidents” after going through anger management counseling.

Baseball fans and media might learn to understand the complex struggle to manage anger. We might stand to gain an increased understanding and appre-ciation for anger management counselors and the progress that they are able to make with their clients in expressing their anger by turning away from vio-lent confrontations with teammates. We might be more reflexive of the incon-sistency of our standards of permissible aggressive behavior so that when one player breaks a bat over their knee it is as (im- )permissible as when another player breaks a bat over their knee. We might open the conversation about anger management to include the perspective of anger management profes-sionals before castigating them as failures. We might be more willing to be understanding of people’s anger, to encourage a spirit of argumentation, to further understand the complexities of baseball. In that spirit, we might view argumentation as a practice of caring rather than a threatening endeavor. We might choose to question whether cultural bias has any relation to our per-ception of outward expressions of anger and the way our hunger for watching

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Johnson and Anderson: Th e Case of Carlos Zambrano 73

good performances may cloud our judgment of improper behavior. We might question why we perceive certain outward expressions of emotion as virtues and others as vices. We might work to develop a more sophisticated vocabu-lary to talk about the range of emotions experienced in the game.

We might also learn a type of patience in letting a story unfold without imposing our own sensationalism on those immediately affected. Marmol did not have a problem with Zambrano to begin with. A day after the “incident,” Marmol told reporters that he “accepted the apology and said there were no problems between the two in the first place.”55 Marmol may be more will-ing to tolerate criticism than baseball fans and media. Perhaps baseball fans and media may consider allowing players more control over managing their own tensions without attempting to create issues for them. In sum, we might encourage behavior within ourselves, as part of baseball culture, that increases expressions of care and compassion for a game that, when at its best, inspires those emotions in us.

One area requiring future study and consideration also emerged: an exten-sive study of how the Latin American press has covered Zambrano, as well as other Latino baseball players, is warranted. Our initial reaction to the Latin American coverage is that while some is similar to English/US coverage, Eng-lish media still perhaps biases readers based on language barriers. Further-more, much more can and should be done to compare the Latin American vs. US mainstream media to determine the continued prevalence of “intellectual disenfranchisement” within US media sources.

Zambrano has been cast as a “redemption story” of sorts by recent US media sources. Redemption stories are not new, and such stories make “good copy” from a newspaper standpoint. While Zambrano has largely been redeemed, two items are worthy of note: first, his redemption— be it spiri-tual enlightenment, newfound maturity, or whatever— has been documented along with his pitching success. This indicates that success on the field— not spiritual growth or maturity— is the primary necessary condition for such redemption stories. After all, if Zambrano could no longer pitch, his “story” would not be spotlighted on reality television programs. Second, the rhetor-ical construction of anger management is socially significant. Persistently absent from media commentary on the Zambrano redemption story is the voice of experts within the field of anger management. We find this continu-ing trend of ignoring specialists alarming, and hope to move towards a society which is more trusting of intellectual and technical expertise. If nothing else, it is our contention that the experts ought to have a voice at the table.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.274

Notes

1. Matt Leland, “Big Z and His Big Mouth,” Out of Left Field, June 7, 2011, http://www.out-of-leftfield.com/?p=883.

2. Leland, “Big Z and His Big Mouth.”3. Dave Van Dyck, “Zambrano vs. Barrett: The Slugout in the Dugout,” Chicago

Tribune, June 1, 2007, http://www.chicagotribune.com/sports/cs-070601cubsgamer,0,1493423.story.

4. “Cubs’ Zambrano Suspended After Tirade,” ESPNChicago, June 26, 2010, http://sports.espn.go.com/chicago/mlb/news/story?id=5328972.

5. Quoted in Aaron Gleeman, “Good News for Gatorade Coolers: Carlos Zambra-no’s Anger Management Issues are Cured,” NBC Sports: HardballTalk, February 22, 2011, http://hardballtalk.nbcsports.com/2011/02/22/good-news-for-gatorade-coolers-carlos-zambranos-anger-management-issues-are-cured/.

6. Gene Wojciechowski, “Carlos Zambrano and the Blame Game,” ESPNChicago, June 5, 2011, http://sports.espn.go.com/chicago/columns/story?columnist=wojciechowski_gene&page=wojciechowski/110605&sportCat=mlb.

7. Dylan Polk, “Is Big Z’s Criticism Justified?,” The Courier, June 7, 2011, http://www.lincolncourier.com/sports/pro/x1595586353/Polk-Is-Big-Zs-criticism-justified.

8. Steve Henson, “Dodgers’ Home Opener; Bradley Has a New Outlook; Dodger outfielder says anger management sessions helped him change his demeanor,” Los Angeles Times, April 12, 2005, http://search.proquest.com/newsstand/docview/422013250/fulltext/13a9916a8b538d8073d/1?accountid=10351.

9. Benedict Carey, “Anger Management may not Help at All.” New York Times, November 24, 2004, http://search.proquest.com/newsstand/docview/432907637/13a991d6bc527e3eb0b/21?accountid=10351.

10. Carey, “Anger Management may not Help at All.”11. Tom Green, “Big Z Harnessing Emotions, Thriving in Miami: With Windy City in

Rearview, Zambrano Enjoying Career ReBirth,” MLB.com, June 14, 2012, http://miami.marlins.mlb.com/news/article.jsp?ymd=20120614&content_id=33287856&vkey=news_mia&c_id=mia.

12. Mitch Abrams, Anger Management in Sport: Understanding and Controlling Vio-lence in Athletes (Champaign IL: Human Kinetics, 2010), 3.

13. David Haugh, “Time for Cubs to Cut Ties With Zambrano,” Chicago Tribune, June 6, 2011, http://articles.chicagotribune.com/2011–06–06/sports/ct-spt-0606-haugh-zambrano—20110605_1_jim-hendry-mike-quade-cubs.

14. Sean Kernan, “Cubs Fans Feeling the Frustration: A Fan’s Take,” Yahoo! Sports, June 3, 2011, http://sports.yahoo.com/mlb/news?slug=ycn-8583173.

15. Jennifer Kay and Dionisio Soldevila, “Migeul Cabrera Arrested: Tigers Slug-ger Charged with DUI,” Huffington Post, February 17, 2011, http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/02/17/miguel-cabrera-arrested-dui_n_824455.html.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Johnson and Anderson: Th e Case of Carlos Zambrano 75

16. Search results for “Cabrera DUI,” MLB.com, http://detroit.tigers.mlb.com/search/?query=cabrera+dui&start=31&site=mlb&hitsPerPage=10&hitsPerSite=10&c_id=det&teamCode=det&teamFilter=det

17. Tyler Juranovich, “Carlos Zambrano is Right: The Cubs are Embarrassing,” ChiCitySports.com, June 6, 2011, http://www.chicitysports.com/2011/06/06/carlos-zambrano-is-right-the-cubs-are-embarrassing/.

18. Fan quoted in Carrie Muskat, “6/6 Agree, Disagree with Big Z?,” Mus-kat Ramblings: MLBogs Network, June 6, 2011, http://muskat.mlblogs.com/2011/06/06/66-agree-disagree-with-big-z/.

19. Gordon Wittenmyer, “Carlos Zambrano Rips Carlos Marmol, Calls Cubs ‘Embarrassing,’” Chicago Sun- Times June 5, 2011, http://www.suntimes.com/sports/baseball/5794145–573/carlos-zambrano-rips-carlos-marmol-calls-cubs-embarrassing.html.

20. Dr. Laila Ahmed is a master trainer for the National Federation of Neuro Linguistic Psychology and certified Clinical Hypnotherapist. She found that unex-pressed anger can have these negative outcomes for people. See Laila Ahmed, “Anger Leads to Danger,” Ezine @rticles, June 7, 2008), http://ezinearticles.com/?Anger-Leads-to-Danger&id=1307691.

21. Alfredo Mirande, Hombres Y Machos: Masculinity and Latino Culture (Boulder CO: Westview Press, 1997).

22. Quoted in Matthew C. Gutmann, The Meanings of Macho: Being a Man in Mex-ico City (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996).

23. Celia Jaes Falicov, “Changing Constructions of Machismo for Latino Men in Therapy: ‘The Devil Never Sleeps,’” Family Process 49, no. 3 (2010): 311.

24. See, for example, Adrian Burgos Jr., Playing America’s Game: Baseball, Latinos, and the Color Line (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2007); R. W. Connell, Masculinities, (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995); A. M. Klein, “Dueling Machos: Masculinity and Sport in Mexican Baseball,” in Masculinities, Gender Rela-tions and Sport, ed. J. Mckay, Michael A. Messner, and Don Sabo (Thousand Oaks CA: Sage, 2000); and M. A. Messner, Power at Play: Sports and the Problem of Masculinity (Boston: Beacon Press, 1992).

25. Marian Meyers, “African- American Women and Violence: Gender, Race, and Class in the News,” Critical Studies in Media Communication 21 (2004): 95– 118; and Ralina Joseph, “Tyra Banks is Fat: Reading (Post- )Racism and (Post- )Feminism in the New Millennium,” Critical Studies in Media Communication 26 (2009): 237– 54.

26. Phillip M. Hoose, Necessities: Racial Barriers in American Sports (New York: Random House, 1987), quoted in Burgos Jr., Playing America’s Game, 224.

27. Burgos Jr., Playing America’s Game, 180.28. Burgos Jr., Playing America’s Game, 181.29. Burgos Jr., Playing America’s Game, 203.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.276

30. Burgos Jr., Playing America’s Game, 202.31. Burgos Jr., Playing America’s Game, 202.32. Burgos Jr., Playing America’s Game, 196.33. Burgos Jr., Playing America’s Game, 194.34. Burgos Jr., Playing America’s Game, 196.35. Burgos Jr., Playing America’s Game, 186.36. Burgos Jr., Playing America’s Game, 206.37. Burgos Jr., Playing America’s Game, 207.38. Burgos Jr., Playing America’s Game, 210.39. Burgos Jr., Playing America’s Game, 210.40. Burgos Jr., Playing America’s Game, 212.41. Burgos Jr., Playing America’s Game, 212.42. Burgos Jr., Playing America’s Game, 221.43. Burgos Jr., Playing America’s Game, 222– 223.44. Burgos Jr., Playing America’s Game, 223.45. Burgos Jr., Playing America’s Game, 223.46. Burgos Jr., Playing America’s Game, 223.47. Burgos Jr., Playing America’s Game, 244.48. Paul Sullivan, “Cubs’ Zambrano Excellent as He Finds Anger Management

Works,” McClatchy- Tribune News Service (DC), May 4, 2011, http://search.proquest.com/newsstand/docview/864745528/13a994758ca4a3792c8/14?accountid=10351.

49. Sullivan, “Cubs’ Zambrano Excellent.”50. Joe Capozzi, “Zambrano Experiences Awakening; The Volatile Right- Hander

Credits his Career Rebirth to a Spiritual Transformation,” Palm Beach Post, May 18, 2012, http://search.proquest.com/newsstand/docview/1014202536/13a994758ca4a3792c8/2?accountid=10351.

51. The Zambrano spotlight in the program The Franchise is available at http://sports.sho.com/videos/1046.

52. Quoted in Mike Dodd, “With Zambrano and Garza, Cubs’ Passions Run Deep,” USA Today, April 8, 2011, http://www.usatoday.com/sports/baseball/nl/cubs/2011–04–08-emotions-run-high_N.htm.

53. Garrett Anderson, “In My Own Words,” Fox Sports News Archive, May 7, 2008, http://multimedia.foxsports.com/m/video/19831815/imow-anderson-s-personality.htm.

54. Doug Miller, “Anderson Signs Contract Extension,” Angels.com, April 13, 2004, http://losangeles.angels.mlb.com/content/printer_friendly/ana/y2004/m04/d13/c701862.jsp.

55. Quoted in Matt Snyder, “Zambrano Apologize to Marmol, Who has No Issue,” CBSSports Online, June 6, 2011, http://www.cbssports.com/mcc/blogs/entry/22297882/29834657.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Baseball Players, Organizational Communication, and Cultural DiversityOrganizational Citizenship Behavior in Minor- League Clubhouses

William Harris Ressler

As baseball attracts players from more and more cultures, players are called on to function in an increasingly diverse environment. Scholars of baseball and culture have been following these changes from various perspectives. Several presentations at the Nineteenth Annual NINE Spring Training Con-ference on the Historical and Sociological Impact of Baseball, for example, looked at the roles of owners, media, league officials, and governments in pro-moting or stifling diversity in baseball.1 One presentation, however, alluded to players’ approaches to diversity: Ila Borders described how her on- field per-formance improved following her move to a culturally diverse minor- league team. She attributed much of her improvement to the communication among team members, which she characterized as supporting and embracing cul-tural differences.2

Her story was thought- provoking and leads to a number of questions. What aspects of being in a multicultural context influence communications among team members? What significance does cultural identification hold for professional baseball players? In what ways might culture affect perfor-mance? In an initial effort to address questions such as these, prior interviews with culturally identified minor- league players were analyzed and results were interpreted with reference to relevant and instructive approaches from the field of organizational communication.

Methods

To explore what culture means to players, thirty- seven minor- league players were interviewed during the 2011 season. Of the thirty- seven players inter-viewed, six were playing Class AAA ball, eleven were playing Class AA ball, an additional player was interviewed twice— at both the AA and AAA levels—

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.278

and nineteen were playing Class A Short Season ball. They included seventeen Jewish players, fifteen African American players, and three Spanish- speaking players born in the United States— two additional players, native speakers of neither Spanish nor English, were born outside the United States.

The predominance of Jewish and African American interviewees reflects the original goals of the study: to understand the phenomenological mean-ings of cultural identification in baseball among members of two minorities, one visible (African American), one not (Jewish). During the course of the interviews, and in light of Ila Borders’s story, players’ comments suggested a different research question: How do players react to cultural diversity within their teams? To help address this question, data from interviews with an addi-tional thirty Spanish- speaking minor- league players were also included in the analysis. These latter interviews were conducted in Spanish during the 2009 and 2010 seasons as part of a separate study.3

Semistructured interviews were conducted with players individually, with the exception of three two- player interviews and one three- player interview that included two players who had previously been interviewed separately. Indeed, four of the thirty- seven players were interviewed on two separate occasions. All players were at least eighteen years old, and all were informed that (a) the researcher was affiliated with a college and not with any team or league, (b) participation was voluntary, and (c) no information would be shared that could identify a particular player or team. The inferred trustwor-thiness of responses is also based on observations that players were accessi-ble and generous with their time and expressed interest in the research; many actually thanked the researcher for addressing the topic of culture in minor- league baseball. Many players requested contact information to obtain a copy of the results or additional information related to cultural identification. In addition, it was possible to observe a number of the players’ interactions with other culturally- diverse teammates, and thus to validate their statements.

Players gave their consent to have the interviews audio recorded. All inter-views were transcribed and players’ comments about cultural groups were coded. After a series of meetings and exchanges of memos, the researcher and three graduate research assistants grouped players’ statements into emergent categories, including:

representations of culture;forms of cultural identification, past and present;meanings and salience of cultural identification;within- group relations; andapproaches to cultural diversity.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Ressler: Organizational Citizenship Behavior 79

The analysis focused on players’ comments specifically regarding ap- proaches to cultural diversity. The main theme that emerged captured play-ers’ natural and genuine interest in cultures and cultural diversity, along with the discretionary, inconspicuous, informal nature of their actions to embrace diversity. Six additional themes included players’ reasons for this interest.

Results: Players Embrace Diversity Even When Management Does Not

In organizations, any given internal communication or inwardly directed action, including approaches to diversity, can be formal, top- down, and driven by management, or informal, bottom- up, and initiated by individuals.4 The latter is captured in the concept of organizational citizenship behavior (OCB): discretionary actions taken by an organization’s individual members, at their own initiative, that are not formally rewarded by management, that involve interpersonal communication and specifically interpersonal help-ing, and that promote both the internal functioning and external image of the organization.5

A complementary concept, self- perception theory recognizes that being rewarded for performing a task or disciplined for not performing it reduces internal motivation to perform that task. Top- down, formal requirements to perform a task make the task less likely to be performed when the reward or threat is no longer present.6 Seeing their actions as voluntary, without for-mal demands or rewards, reinforces individuals’ self- perceptions and sus-tains helping behaviors, because it focuses individuals’ attention on their per-sonal reasons for helping. For example, one of the players explained why he enjoys visiting children’s hospitals throughout the season on his own, outside the framework of team- mandated community service, and without receiv-ing credit: “The honest truth— do you want me to go deep down inside?— baseball’s a selfish game. . . . Minor- league baseball is spent mainly as the most selfish game you could ever play. . . . It’s such a selfish, cut- throat thing, that I feel like, maybe subconsciously, I need a balance. . . . [Visiting sick children spontaneously] is just stuff that really makes you feel good about yourself.”

Consistent with the concepts of OCB and self- perception theory, play-ers tended to say that helping each other, across cultural lines, was perhaps encouraged but generally not mandated by their organizations. As a result, players took the initiative in helping other culturally- diverse players and saw their actions as internally motivated. For example, after describing the process of helping different groups of players on the team, one of the players was asked who initiates those contacts. He explained, “I think it’s something that’s dealt

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.280

with among [players in] the locker room between ourselves— communicating and stuff.” Another player echoed this idea, explicitly downplaying the role of team officials: “The players take it on themselves to introduce themselves to a new guy and try to communicate with them as much as they can. . . . I don’t think it has anything to do with the staff.” A third explicitly reflected the idea of self- perception theory— and OCB— that without strong external influences, individuals are more likely to internalize a sense of personal responsibility to initiate prosocial, internal, cross- cultural communications: “As players we should take it on ourselves to get to know the guys.”

Asked directly if the organization encourages him or other players to inter-act with the team’s Spanish- speaking players, for example, a player replied, “That was my personal goal— the day that I signed . . . and I am still living it every single day.”

Many of the Spanish- speaking players said they actually did not expect to receive a great deal of assistance from team officials— and many did not. As one Spanish- speaking interviewee noted, “It is not like the team is obligated to help you.”

None of this is meant to suggest that organizations and individual minor- league teams do not use policy or programming to promote cross- cultural communication. Players acknowledged that they do. One of the players even admitted he was not always enthusiastic about interacting with the multi-tude of cultural groups and languages spoken on his team; he also conceded that he was initially skeptical about his organization’s efforts to force different cultural groups into close contact. At the same time, however, he described his personal efforts and successes— and the satisfaction he felt— interacting socially with members of different cultural groups. He made the point that, while the team created an initial opportunity, successful internal communica-tion across cultures was up to the players themselves.

Furthermore, the preceding analysis is not meant to imply that all interac-tions are cross- cultural or that players eschew social interactions driven by common cultural identification. The same player acknowledged, for example, that even when he would go out to eat with one member of another culture, the other members of that cultural group would invariably all come along as well. Players’ initiatives are meant to bridge but not to erase the boundaries between groups. Their reactions to diversity were a recognition, not a nega-tion, of social categories.

When players’ communication activities surrounding cultural diver-sity were internally motivated, what did those motivations include? Players’ explanations can be categorized into six separate but related reasons for their choosing to help their culturally diverse teammates.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Ressler: Organizational Citizenship Behavior 81

Six Reasons

Players Embrace Diversity Because Cultures Matter

Players expressed an appreciation for cultural diversity on their teams, because culture is meaningful to most of them. Many players, however, ini-tially said that culture does not matter, that they all play the same game, on the same team, with the same goals. Nevertheless, their further statements— and at times their actions— showed that culture really is important to them. In one representative example, an African American player began to explain why culture is irrelevant: “When you get on the field, baseball is baseball. No matter where you’re from. You still play it the same— ” In the middle of that sentence, an African American player from the visiting team called to the interviewee by name, who responded, using the opposing player’s nickname. Returning to the interview, the interviewee continued the sentence exactly where he left off, “— base paths ninety feet, the mound is the same— sixty- feet- six— still got the fence, still got a guy throwing the ball, and people got to make plays.” At the end of the interview, with the microphone off, he was asked how he knew the player from the visiting team. He replied matter- of- factly that there are not many African American baseball players, so when they see each other, they notice. He made it clear that this is something that he does regularly and that other players do as well: African American minor leaguers notice each other, form friendships, and follow each others’ progress. In other words, culture does not matter— except when it does.

Most of the culturally identified players responded similarly, as if they felt that they ought to say that cultural identification should be irrelevant. Thus, many players first asserted that culture was no longer significant or notice-able, then gave examples of noticing and even actively looking for other mem-bers of their own culture, making efforts to meet them, helping them when possible, following their careers, and rooting for them to succeed. Almost all said that being baseball players who belong to a particular culture made them feel special.

Culture, however, included much more than race, religion, or language. For example, meaningful cultural identification was frequently geographical— not just being from a particular country, but being from a given region, city, or even neighborhood. Age and tenure in organized baseball formed bases for meaningful group membership and identification. So did draft order, as reported by one player who said he befriends, follows, and identifies with other players who were selected in the latter rounds of the amateur draft. Cul-ture also included physical condition, such as being a member of deaf culture or having a noticeable skin condition, both of which were cited as having cre-

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.282

ated bonds of identification with others with the same condition. Culture, then, was defined to include any meaningful social category membership.7 In turn, meaningful social identity was often defined by whatever a player felt made him different.8 As one player observed, “Everything is culturally related.”

This juxtaposition of ignoring culture while at the same time noticing dif-ferent aspects of culture and using them as a basis for socially meaningful identification was summed up by one of the players. “I don’t think people are saying, ‘Hey, this is what I am, listen to my story,’ but if you look, you can see it. . . . Music, dress, food choices, . . . where people are, what they like, what they do, who they hang out with, who they speak to, what language they speak in, what religion they are, what they’re wearing, what they’re doing before games.” Culture is pervasive in the clubhouse, and players acknowledged its significance in their daily lives. This, in turn, led players who felt different to empathize with players from other cultures who also felt different.

Players Embrace Diversity Because Th ey Feel Empathy

Daniel Batson has presented extensive empirical evidence supporting the important mediating role of empathy in helping others.9 It is not surprising, therefore, that taking the initiative to help others across cultural boundaries could potentially be moderated by empathy. Indeed, players’ comments sug-gested that some embrace diversity out of feelings of empathy for members of other minority cultures. Asked where these feelings of empathy come from, players’ answers reflected a diversity of sources: parents, culturally diverse youth baseball teams, or playing in Spanish- speaking countries in the off- season. Even American- born, Spanish- speaking players noted that playing in South and Central America fostered a greater empathy for diversity.

In addition, some players suggested that identifying as a member of a minority culture was a source of the empathy they felt toward players from other minority cultures. One of the Spanish- speaking players, referring to an African American teammate who makes more effort to learn Spanish than other players on his team (a pattern repeated on other teams as well), said, “Maybe he understands both minorities, I guess.”

One player, when asked what he would want to know about players from other cultures if he were conducting this research, replied, “I guess I’d just want to know, really, do they feel somewhat left out or kind of set aside. I feel like that at times, being the only African American. I feel like— that I’m left out sometimes from some things . . . you know?” He explained that he was not implying racism or intentional exclusion from activities, but that the other players simply had other culturally driven values and interests and that he was

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Ressler: Organizational Citizenship Behavior 83

unable to find anyone else on the team who enjoyed spending free time the way he did— because of his cultural uniqueness on the team. A second player, after the recorder was turned off, admitted that he has tried to help members of other cultures because he has known what it is like, in his words, “to be a stranger.”

A third player noted, in reference to teammates from other minority cul-tures, “They interact with everyone else but for the most part they stick with each other, and me being on the outside and seeing that, I immediately want to cling to them, because I know that all they want is for someone to go that extra mile just to know them even more.”

A fourth player directly connected empathy with OCB. He noted that play-ers understand the challenges teammates face and choose to help, without prodding or rewards from management, and without recognition for their good deeds: “We do more than what people think. I mean, a lot of people don’t understand how extremely tough it is to come to a completely different country and be involved with people who don’t speak the same language and try and be successful.”

Thus, players who felt like outsiders expressed a certain empathy for other players whose distinctiveness could have led to their exclusion. None of this is to suggest that players’ communication activities surrounding cultural diver-sity were motivated entirely by altruism, however. Indeed, these same players recognized the inherent self- interest in selflessness.

Players Embrace Diversity to Affi liate and to Achieve

The concept of group cohesion is expressed through sharing common goals, taking collective responsibility for outcomes, valuing group membership, using “we” more than “I” in discussing their roles, and building a culture of teamwork and mutual support.10 Not surprisingly, because these are many of the defining components of OCB, members of more cohesive work teams tend to be more likely to adopt a pattern of OCB.11 Group cohesion can take the form of social or task cohesion, and both types of cohesion can work together to help build successful sports teams.12 More generally, this is also true for any work team.13 At the same time, stronger group cohesion has been shown to reinforce group members’ social (cultural) identities.14 In other words, when team members identify with each other more strongly, it becomes easier to express and to accept cultural differences.

Players are therefore not disinterested parties when they take initiatives to help each other. Rather, when players approach diversity, they appear to recognize the opportunities for improved social affiliation and professional

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.284

achievement that embracing diversity offers. The difference between this set of rewards and externally (organizationally) generated rewards is that inter-nally generated rewards are potentially more long- lasting, more meaningful, and more likely to sustain prosocial behavior.

One internal motivation comes from the anticipated satisfaction derived through improved social interaction, consistent with the concept of social cohesion. Players indicated that, given the need to spend so much time together, on and off the field, improved social ties have intrinsic value.

Another internal motivation comes from the anticipated benefit to a play-er’s professional achievement, consistent with the concept of task cohesion. Players’ beliefs that cultural diversity can affect their professional achieve-ments appear to be an expression of what organizational communication refers to as “Value In Diversity.”15 The basic tenet underlying this concept is that diversity among organization members can result in more varied ideas, perspectives, knowledge, and skills becoming available for accomplishing work- related goals more effectively.16

Thus, a number of players implied that their desire to affiliate with team-mates across cultural boundaries was driven by their motivation to succeed professionally. A player remarked in this context, “They learn from us and we learn from them.” Players from Spanish- speaking countries noted specifically that they learn English as they share baseball skills with English speakers.

Consequently, a player explained that he advised his brother to reach out to Spanish- speaking peers, partly for the potential professional profit: “He is down in rookie ball right now, and there’s a lot of Latins down there, and I told him, ‘You have to get to know those guys because those are the guys that are going to help you more than anyone else out there.’”

Another player noted that taking the initiative to affiliate across cultures builds trust, and that “once you have that trust, guys are going to play bet-ter. Not just playing— people operate better when they’re around people they trust. . . . I feel more comfortable playing with that guy because I trust him.” The player went on to give specific examples of cross- cultural communication leading to trust and yielding better performance on the field. Not surprisingly, OCB has been shown in other settings to be a function of trust.17

Benefits can even extend beyond baseball. One player, who spoke neither Spanish nor English before entering professional baseball, talked about his options once his playing days ended. He connected the multicultural experi-ences he has embraced as a player to his future success as a business owner. “I can speak English now, and I can speak Spanish now, so it’s two languages that I picked up while I was here doing baseball, and it’s going to help me going up.”

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Ressler: Organizational Citizenship Behavior 85

Internally generated motivations for embracing cross- cultural interactions can thus reflect enlightened self- interest and the anticipation of benefit. Play-ers’ prosocial behaviors, however, can also be motivated by an inherent inter-est in culture and cultural diversity.

Players Embrace Diversity Because Th ey Enjoy Diff erent Cultures

The concept of cultural intelligence (CQ) has been developed in an effort to capture the tendency for some individuals to have a greater interest in and facility with cultural diversity. It includes four elements: drive, strategy, knowledge, and action.18 Of the four, CQ- Drive— wanting to experience other cultures— offers the most insight into players’ reasons for their communica-tion activities across diverse cultural backgrounds.

CQ- Drive represents not only individuals’ interest in experiencing other cultures but also the extent to which they think they are capable of interacting effectively with people from different cultural backgrounds, their confidence in being able to navigate culturally diverse environments. It includes the anticipation of both types of internally generated rewards discussed above: the personal enjoyment and sense of satisfaction that come from interact-ing with others from diverse cultures as well as the instrumental benefits that those different cultures offer.

CQ- Drive can be seen in players’ comments, such as a player who said sim-ply, “I love their culture,” or another player who said, “When I go to a different culture, I want to be part of their culture as well.” It was reflected in expres-sions of personal gratification, such as when a Jewish player said, “It’s fun interacting with different cultures,” and when another Jewish player noted, “You get to know different people. You get to learn a different culture.” Their interest was reciprocated: African American and Spanish- speaking players occasionally asked their Jewish teammates detailed questions about being Jewish, such as what “kosher” means. Players from Spanish- speaking coun-tries further expressed the desire to learn about English- speaking cultures, especially through the personal, cross- cultural interactions that being in the United States affords them: “They learn from you and you learn from them, how to treat a person . . . in a different way, whether it be because of race or anything else.”

A connection between CQ and OCB was actually made by players. One player recalled, “It has been a great experience getting to meet many play-ers from all around and getting to know them real well and just being able to help whoever I can.” Another player, when asked what he would study if he

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.286

were conducting this research (most of the players were asked this question), replied, “I would ask, do you feel that having people with ability from many different cultures is a positive or a negative for the game? . . . I think it’s a posi-tive, because baseball is worldwide.  .  .  . I think it adds something that you have to have. You have to have people from many different cultures to make the game great.” This was not only a reflection of the perceived instrumen-tal benefits of cultural diversity, it was an acknowledgement of an additional motivation for players’ taking the initiative in embracing cultural diversity: their love of the game itself and their belief that cultural diversity benefits the game of baseball.

Players Embrace Diversity Because Th ey Love Baseball

It is not surprising that players’ love of the game would be related to their ten-dency toward OCB. After all, organizational identification and commitment are related to OCB.19

To the players interviewed, embracing culture helps to promote the game. While organizations should play a role, they felt ultimately the responsibil-ity rests with players, especially if players feel organized baseball is not doing enough to promote the game to culturally diverse audiences. In the words of one player, “Basketball does a great job of promoting its players and promot-ing the game to different cultures, and I think baseball could do a better job of that. . . . I feel like it’s my responsibility, you know? . . . That’s how the game grows. I feel like it’s handed down from one generation to the next, and I feel like it’s your responsibility. I enjoy it, but at the same time, I feel like it’s some-thing I should do [player’s emphasis].”

This quote is typical of comments made by many players. Culturally iden-tified players appear to perceive, within their fidelity to their cultures, an opportunity to pass along their love of baseball and to help sustain and even bolster the popularity of the game. Thus, one player pointed out that culture, overall, is a way to increase fan identification with the players and therefore with baseball: “Most people will be like, ‘How can I relate to that guy? He’s a baseball player,’ but if you have the middle ground of being Jewish, or Black, or Asian, I feel that helps. . . . It is kind of like an icebreaker, . . . it makes you more approachable.”

One player said that sharing a common cultural identity with fans not only draws fans to him, it ultimately draws him closer to fans: “I’m not gonna lie . . . whenever I see a young black kid, I always make sure I try to toss him a ball or sign an autograph or just go shake his hand or something, because I feel like it helps them to identify with you and identify with baseball, and

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Ressler: Organizational Citizenship Behavior 87

hopefully they’ll want to come out again.” Despite the seeming particularism of this quote, he— and other players— repeatedly said that all cultures offer a bridge to greater fan engagement, that cultural diversity benefits the sport as a whole, and this realization enhances players’ appreciation of diversity. Their desire to give back to a new generation, moreover, reflects appreciation not only for the game, but also for the communities the players came from.

Players Embrace Diversity Because Communities Matter

African American, Jewish, and Spanish- speaking players discussed various needs within their own communities and pointed out the benefits that playing baseball offers to young members of their respective communities, benefits that they believed they, as culturally identified baseball players, could bring back to their communities. One African American player said, “It’s just some-thing that motivates me . . . just because I want to and I love giving back and can help change a kid’s life or make him feel like, ‘Hey, I can do anything I want.’ It’s just a very great feeling to have that effect on young people, . . . espe-cially African American kids.”

African American, Jewish, and Spanish- speaking players asserted that they can be especially influential when interacting with members of their own communities. One player’s representative comments captured this: “When I do have the opportunity, I jump at it, because I know that, coming from an African American background, if you hear it from somebody that looks like you, it’s a little bit easier to relate to what’s coming out of that person’s mouth.”

The latter quote also contains a clue for understanding players’ voluntary choices to embrace culture and cultural diversity. Understanding the impor-tance of community within their own cultures also makes players more understanding of the importance of community to all cultures. It thus rep-resents an additional source of players’ appreciation for cultural diversity, one that finds expression in the voluntary acts that players perform. It brings the results back to Ila Borders’s reflections on her own experiences. Perhaps her teammates were better at embracing cultural diversity, and therefore at accepting her, because they understood the contribution of cultural identifi-cation to effective communication, based on their experiences connecting to their own communities. If anything, having a strong connection to one’s own community actually facilitates cross- cultural communication. This was noted by individual Spanish- speaking players and has support in psychological con-cepts of in- group identification, going back to Kurt Lewin’s work on core ver-sus marginal identification.20

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.288

Discussion: What Organizational Communication Can Learn from Baseball Players; What Organized Baseball Can Learn from Organizational Communication

What began as a study of baseball players’ own cultural identifications ended up as an exploration of players’ reactions to each others’ cultural identifica-tions. This was because of a realization that appreciation for diversity and accompanying communication activities originate in the voluntary decisions of players themselves. This, in turn, suggests a number of lessons that can benefit both organized baseball and organizational communication practitio-ners. The relationship between OCB and culture, especially diversity, is still being studied; minor- league baseball can offer fertile ground for exploring possible connections.

Opportunities, Not Demands

One of the lessons for baseball and other organizations seems to be that organizations are well served when they offer their members opportunities to embrace diversity. Results of the current study suggest that the emphasis should be on opportunities. Meaningful approaches to diversity seem to come from individual choice, flowing organically from the bottom up, not from organizational policy, dictated from the top down. To use a baseball analogy, Branch Rickey could communicate the value of diversity by hiring Jackie Rob-inson, but it was up to players like Pee Wee Reese to take advantage of the opportunity and embrace diversity. Bill Veeck could move spring training to Arizona so Larry Doby could stay in the same hotel with the rest of team, but after that the players were on their own, in the hotel and in the clubhouse.

One opportunity involves starting early in players’ careers.21 Lower orga-nizational levels tend to involve higher task interdependence, which has pos-sible links to OCB.22 Moreover, some of the concomitant aspects of being at a lower organizational level, such as having limited resources, can lead to higher OCB, as well.23 One player noted, in this context, “From talking to peo-ple, I have heard that as you get higher up and closer to the majors, when it becomes more real that it is so close, within reach, I think that it is a little more competitive. I feel at this point [Class A Short Season] we are far away from there, so it’s slightly more team- oriented.”

How, then, should players be given the opportunities to embrace diversity, especially at these lower organizational levels? Their comments during the interviews (and self- perception theory) suggest that, left on their own, players can initiate multiculturally inclusive communication activities. Giving players

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Ressler: Organizational Citizenship Behavior 89

a certain latitude in creating roles within the organization rather than hav-ing formally defined expectations can go a long way toward creating these opportunities.

Roles, Not Rules

CQ is related to the ability to negotiate culture and conflict.24 Thus players with higher CQ should be more likely to initiate prosocial internal communi-cations— to adopt an OCB orientation. One player said, “I like to be kind of in the middle and try to help out a little bit if problems come up. Like if Spanish people have problems with the American guys or the other way around, I try to [explain], ‘you got to understand . . . that’s how these guys are’ . . . because I am not really American, I am not really Spanish. But I am speaking Eng-lish and a little bit of Spanish. So, yeah, it kind of helps to be in the middle sometimes.”

Flexible, informal organizational styles can facilitate OCB.25 Perhaps, then, simply letting players take leadership roles in internal communications allows those with higher CQ to engage in cross- cultural OCB. CQ approaches, how-ever, suggest that individuals are more likely to initiate those activities if they are given the confidence that their efforts will succeed. This is one area in which top- down approaches can bear fruit.

Cultural Satisfaction, Not Awareness Training

Asked what organizations could do to promote cultural diversity, players offered ideas that went beyond hackneyed cultural sensitivity workshops or diversity training seminars. A player suggested that celebrations of heritage nights could be used to showcase culture— not to attract more fans, but to let the players on the diamond know that culture is valued by the organiza-tion. He said, “They could do different cultures on different nights. So you can make everybody on the field feel like they are part of it, and everybody in the world is part of this game, regardless of what country, what race you are, and what background you come from.” Other players also expressed an appre-ciation for heritage nights, while admitting that they derived the greatest plea-sure from events that celebrated their own culture. Studies have shown that an increase in perceived support for members’ culture by their organization seems to increase the probability of members’ adopting an OCB orientation.26

Similarly, opportunities for fostering CQ also include a range of non- work experiences.27 These can include community service, for example, which has been shown to bolster minor leaguers’ positive perceptions of culture and comfort with cultural diversity.28

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.290

So, too, community service and other socially responsible communica-tion activities can be related to OCB. Athletes derive personal satisfaction from helping others; they also report stronger feelings of attachment to their team when the team is involved in socially responsible acts, such as promot-ing or raising money for a prosocial cause.29 These outcomes are related to the clear, immediate, positive feedback that can accompany these activities, and that feedback can come from the organization. This can help raise individu-als’ feelings of self- worth, which is in turn related to the tendency to initiate OCB.30 Thus organizational expressions of appreciation, while avoiding the use of incentives, can encourage players’ spontaneous acts of embracing cultural diversity.

Selfi sh Interests, Selfl ess Acts

Doing good can come from the anticipation of feeling good, but players can also perform selfless acts while motivated by more tangible forms of personal self- interest. One player, for example, described why he helps members of all groups: “One thing that my father always told me is that you never know who you are going to need. So it doesn’t matter who you come across, you know, white, black, tall, skinny, it doesn’t matter. You may need them one day.”

Rather than appealing to self- sacrifice, then, encouraging players’ enlight-ened self- interest may be a more effective way to stimulate OCB. Organiza-tions can frame diversity as being in individuals’ interests; this approach can offer greater potential for success in encouraging OCB by its being consistent with players’ nascent perceptions. One of those seemingly selfish interests can be acquiring better skills; greater cultural diversity can mean greater access to diverse and innovative approaches to playing the game.

More Cultures, More Innovation

As noted above, players can perceive professional benefit when linking OCB with diversity. One player said, “It’s fun learning how to communicate with them, but it’s also— hey, this isn’t just the American game now, this is the Latin game as well.” Another said, “In the process of me doing that for them, they’ve taught me so much about the game.”

These comments— and others, some of which were quoted above— suggest that increased diversity leads not only to increased knowledge (of language, customs, or style of play), but also to increased appreciation for the value of diversity as a resource offering innovative professional and communication skills.31 In turn, comments like these and others quoted above suggest that

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Ressler: Organizational Citizenship Behavior 91

players might see the game as moving toward a tipping point, in which so many cultures interact that the concepts of majority and minority are ren-dered increasingly less meaningful.32

Is Multicultural the New Majority?

One lesson from minor- league baseball seems to be that, as the number of culturally diverse players continues to grow, the divide between majority and minority cultures becomes increasingly blurred. One player commented, “The world grew together so much, everybody has to live together. And the clubhouses are the same way. Everybody in the world plays baseball. You have Asian people, you have Latin American people, European people nowadays, American people. . . . And if you just build groups and just separate yourselves from the other cultural groups then that is not going to work out in the end.”

Comments such as this— and others— seem to suggest that because so many different groups play baseball, the mosaic of cultural minorities together constitute the majority— or soon will. As cultural diversity becomes the new majority, then, professional success could become intertwined with a player’s motivation and ability to navigate a multicultural environment. If so, then perhaps an individual player’s approaches to culture could factor into estima-tions of the overall value of that player to the organization.

Is Culture the New “Moneyball”?

In Moneyball, Michael Lewis described an approach through which advanced statistical analysis of player performance is used to identify previously under-valued players.33 As cultural diversity is rapidly becoming the norm, com-munication skills might serve as an additional means for determining player value and identifying undervalued players. Perhaps CQ and a predisposition to engage in OCB can be used to identify undervalued players with the poten-tial to contribute to team success in a growing multicultural environment. The essence of this idea was originally suggested by the culturally identified broadcaster of one of the Class A Short Season teams, who, although he did not specifically address OCB or CQ, referred to “that next inefficiency. Mon-eyball, Oakland, the whole thing. That’s the inefficiency, how many guys are going by the wayside because they just didn’t have the resources to deal with certain things.” Those “things” can include the challenges of cultural diversity, and those valued resources can include the ability and motivation of players to take the initiative in addressing those challenges.

Some organizations, such as IBM, Lloyd’s, Novartis, and Nike, have used CQ

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.292

in some form as a criterion for hiring. CQ has been related to working smarter and learning faster while also being more patient— for example, being able to delay gratification in receiving workplace rewards— skills demanded of base-ball players working their way up through the minor leagues.34 Moreover, research has suggested that CQ- Drive is correlated with successfully identi-fying with a multicultural group, such as a culturally diverse baseball team.35 High CQ of individual team members, then, might relate to increased team cohesion and even enhanced team performance, and could add to a player’s value to the team.

OCB has also been suggested as a possible criterion for selection, retention, and promotion within an organization.36 OCB has been shown to improve organizational productivity and efficiency.37 While feelings of collective group potency (such as winning) have been shown to increase the tendency toward adopting an OCB orientation, OCB could conceivably enhance feelings of group efficacy, which in turn can increase the probability of success, on a baseball team or any work team.38 In that case, a tendency toward OCB could be used in baseball as a criterion for evaluating potential team members.

Attention is often directed to what organized baseball has or has not done sufficiently in addressing and promoting cultural diversity. Typically, how-ever, the conversation ignores players’ contributions, perhaps because their actions tend to be private and informal. Nonetheless, minor- league baseball players appear to initiate meaningful, cross- cultural communication in ways that embrace cultural diversity, and organized baseball can benefit from these self- motivated choices to span cultural boundaries, when teams:

1. recruit and promote individuals who have the motivation to initiate and sustain cross- cultural communication;

2. nurture those motivations by demonstrating that cultural diversity is valued, using carefully planned external and internal communications that celebrate cultures; and then

3. give those individuals latitude to explore culture in their own person-ally meaningful ways, taking care to avoid imposing external, organi-zational incentives that undermine internal, individual motivations to embrace diversity.

Players’ comments indicated that the point is being reached where man-agement can focus on encouraging and trusting individual players’ initiatives, by actively listening to the players’ reasons for embracing cultural diversity. It would therefore be worth testing players’ beliefs that were expressed in the interviews. Future research could examine, for example, to what extent and in what ways events such as heritage nights affect players’ perceptions of cultures

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Ressler: Organizational Citizenship Behavior 93

and their perceptions of how their organizations value cultures. Studies could evaluate how different ways of planning and promoting those events have an effect on players. It would be instructive, as well, to analyze the roles cultural diversity plays in community relations, or the extent to which culture- specific community service influences players’ reactions to culture and cultural dif-ferences; both planning and evaluating these activities could incorporate an experimental approach, to try to understand what aspects of the activities have the greatest influence on the players. Observation and interviews can help provide more detail regarding ways in which socially responsible com-munication activities can impart greater appreciation for culture and increase players’ motivation to explore diverse cultures.

Interactions among OCB, CQ, communication, and cultural diversity war-rant further study.39 Minor- league baseball offers a promising environment for studying those interrelations. Studying the effects of these interconnected variables among baseball players represents a potential contribution to the growing understanding of cultural diversity and communication. The out-comes can have implications not only for baseball teams but for any organi-zation with a multicultural, team- based workforce and an interest in under-standing what motivates its members to build working relationships that cross cultural boundaries.

Notes

1. Raymond Doswell, “19 for 31: Jackie Robinson Steals Home and History”; Andy McCue, “Barrio, Bulldozers and Baseball: The Clearing of Chavez Ravine”; Samuel Gale, “‘It’s a Press Victory’: The Role of the African American Press in Desegregat-ing Major League Baseball”; Mitchell Nathanson, “Race, Rickey, and ‘All Deliberate Speed’”; Robert F. Garratt, “Horace Stoneham: The Neglected Pioneer”; John Sillito, “‘Building the Pirates of Tomorrow’: Race, Mr. Rickey, and R. C. Stevens, 1952– 55”; Maureen Smith, “Constructing History and Heritage 21st- Century Style: Major League Baseball and Statues”; Rebecca Alpert, “Bud Selig: The First Jewish Commissioner of Baseball”; Bill Staples Jr., “From Internment to Hope: Celebrating Japanese Ameri-can Baseball in Arizona”; Steve Treder, “The Pioneer’s Pioneer: Masanori Murakami”; Scott D. Peterson, “‘A Novelty in Baseball Literature’: Ella Black and the 1890 Pre- Season”; Willie Steele, “Poetic Players: Baseball Poetry from Within the Game” (pre-sented papers, Nineteenth Annual NINE Spring Training Conference on the Historical and Sociological Impact of Baseball, Tempe AZ, March 8– 11, 2012).

2. Ila Borders, “Baseball: My Past and the Present and Future of Women in the Game” (presented paper, Nineteenth Annual NINE Spring Training Conference on the Historical and Sociological Impact of Baseball, Tempe AZ, March 8– 11, 2012).

3. William Harris Ressler, Sebastian Itman Bocchi, and Patricia Rodriguez Maria,

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.294

“English- and Spanish- Speaking Minor League Baseball Players’ Perspectives on Community Service and the Psychosocial Benefit of Helping Children” NINE 20, no. 1 (2011): 92– 116.

4. John W. Berry, “Acculturation: Living Successfully in Two Cultures,” Interna-tional Journal of Intercultural Relations 29 (2005): 697– 712.

5. Dennis W. Organ, Organizational Citizenship Behavior: The Good Soldier Syn-drome (Lexington MA: Lexington Books, 1988).

6. Daryl J. Bem, “Self- Perception Theory,” in Advances in Experimental Social Psy-chology, ed. Lawrence Berkowitz, vol. 6 (New York: Academic Press, 1972), 1– 62.

7. Henri Tajfel, Human Groups and Social Categories (Cambridge: Cambridge Uni-versity Press, 1981); Henri Tajfel and John C. Turner, “Social Identity Theory of Inter-group Behavior,” in Psychology of Intergroup Relations., ed. William G. Austin and Ste-phen Worchel, 2nd ed. (Chicago: Nelson- Hall, 1986), 33– 47.

8. William J. McGuire, Claire V. McGuire, Pamela Child, and Terry Fujioka, “Salience of Ethnicity in the Spontaneous Self- Concept as a Function of One’s Ethnic Distinctiveness in the Social Environment,” Journal of Personality and Social Psychol-ogy 36 (1978): 511– 20.

9. C. Daniel Batson, “Prosocial Motivation: Is It Ever Truly Altruistic?” in Advances in Experimental Social Psychology, ed. Lawrence Berkowitz, vol. 20 (New York: Aca-demic Press, 1987) 65– 122.

10. David M. Paskevich, Lawrence R. Brawley, Kim D. Dorsch, and W. Neil Wid-meyer, “Relationship Between Collective Efficacy and Team Cohesion: Conceptual and Measurement Issues,” Group Dynamics: Theory, Research, and Practice 3 (1999): 210– 22; H. Prapavessis and Albert V. Carron, “Sacrifice, Cohesion, and Confor-mity to Norms in Sports Teams,” Group Dynamics: Theory, Research, and Practice 1 (1997): 231– 40; Kevin S. Spink, “Mediational Effects of Social Cohesion on the Lead-ership Behavior- Intention to Return Relationship in Sport,” Group Dynamics: Theory, Research, and Practice 2 (1998): 92– 100; and David Yukelson, “Principles of Effective Team Building Interventions in Sport: A Direct Services Approach at Penn State Uni-versity,” Journal of Applied Sport Psychology 9 (1997): 73– 96.

11. Roland E. Kidwell Jr., Kevin W. Mossholder, and Nathan Bennett, “Cohesiveness and Organizational Citizenship Behavior: A Multilevel Analysis Using Work Groups and Individuals,” Journal of Management 23 (1997): 775– 93; and Philip M. Podsakoff, Michael Ahearne, and Scott B. MacKenzie, “Organizational Citizenship Behavior and the Quantity and Quality of Work Group Performance,” Journal of Applied Psychology 82 (1997): 262– 70.

12. Albert V. Carron, Steven R. Bray, and Mark A. Eys, “Team Cohesion and Team Success in Sport,” Journal of Sports Sciences 20 (2002): 119– 26; Albert V. Carron, Michelle Coleman, Jennifer Wheeler, and Diane Stevens, “Cohesion and Performance in Sport: A Meta Analysis,” Journal of Sport and Exercise Psychology 24 (2002): 168– 88;

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Ressler: Organizational Citizenship Behavior 95

Albert V. Carron and Kevin S. Spink, “Team Building and Cohesiveness in the Sport and Exercise Setting: Use of Indirect Interventions,” Journal of Applied Sport Psychol-ogy 9 (1997): 61– 72; L. Hodges and Albert V. Carron, “Collective Efficacy and Group Performance,” International Journal of Sport Psychology 23 (1992): 48– 59; Stephen A. Kozub and Justine F. McDonnell, “Exploring the Relationship Between Cohesion and Collective Efficacy in Rugby Teams,” Journal of Sport Behavior 23 (2000): 120– 29; Kevin S. Spink, “Group Cohesion and Collective Efficacy of Volleyball Teams,” Jour-nal of Sport and Exercise Psychology 12 (1990): 301– 11; and Mike Voight and John Cal-laghan, “A Team Building Intervention Program: Applications and Evaluations with Two University Soccer Teams,” Journal of Sport Behavior 24 (2002): 420– 30.

13. R. Edward Freeman, “The Politics of Stakeholder Theory,” Business Ethics Quar-terly 4 (1994): 409– 21; and R. Edward Freeman, Andrew C. Wicks, and Bidhan Par-mar, “Stakeholder Theory and ‘The Corporate Objective Revisited.’” Organization Sci-ence 15 (2004): 364– 69.

14. Audrey J. Murrell and Samuel L. Gaertner, “Cohesion and Sport Team Effec-tiveness: The Benefit of a Common Group Identity,” Journal of Sport and Social Issues 9 (1992): 1– 14.

15. Taylor H. Cox Jr., Cultural Diversity in Organizations: Theory, Research & Prac-tice (San Francisco: Berrett- Koehler, 1993).

16. It should be noted that empirical support for this has been mixed; see Kath-erine Williams and Charles O’Reilly, “Demography and Diversity in Organizations: A Review of 40 Years of Research,” Research In Organizational Behavior 20 (1998): 77– 140.

17. Prithviraj Chattopadhyay, “Beyond Direct and Symmetrical Effects: The Influ-ence of Demographic Dissimilarity on Organizational Citizenship Behavior,” The Academy of Management Journal 4 (1999): 273– 87; Dennis W. Organ and Katherine Ryan, “A Meta- Analytic Review of Attitudinal and Dispositional Predictors of Orga-nizational Citizenship Behavior,” Personnel Psychology 48 (1995): 775– 802; and Dennis W. Organ, Philip M. Podsakoff, and Scott B. MacKenzie, Organizational Citizenship Behavior: Its Nature, Antecedents, and Consequences (Thousand Oaks CA: Sage, 2006).

18. Soon Ang and Linn Van Dyne, “Conceptualization of Cultural Intelligence: Definition, Distinctiveness, and Nomological Network,” in Handbook of Cultural Intelligence: Theory, Measurement, and Applications, ed. Soon Ang and Linn Van Dyne (Armonk NY: Sharpe, 2008), 3– 15.

19. Philip M. Podsakoff, Michael Ahearne, and Scott B. MacKenzie, “Organiza-tional Citizenship Behavior and the Quantity and Quality of Work Group Perfor-mance,” Journal of Applied Psychology 82 (1997): 262– 70; and Philip M. Podsakoff, Scott B. MacKenzie, Julie Beth Paine, and Daniel G. Bachrach, “Organizational Citi-zenship Behaviors: A Critical Review of the Theoretical and Empirical Literature and Suggestions for Future Research,” Journal of Management 26 (2000): 513– 63.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.296

20. Kurt Lewin, “Field Theory and Experiment in Social Psychology: Concepts and Methods.” American Journal of Sociology 44 (1939): 868– 96.

21. P. Christopher Early, Soon Ang, and Joo- Seng Tan, CQ: Developing Cultural Intelligence at Work (Stanford CA: Stanford Business Books, 2006).

22. Sheila S. Webber and Lisa M. Donahue, “Impact of Highly and Less Job- Related Diversity on Work Group Cohesion and Performance: A Meta- Analysis, Journal of Management 27 (2001): 141– 62; and C. Ann Smith, Dennis W. Organ, and Janet P. Near, “Organizational Citizenship Behavior: Its Nature and Antecedents,” Journal of Applied Psychology 68 (1983): 653– 63.

23. Steve M. Jex, Gary A. Adams, Daniel G. Bachrach, and Sarah Sorenson, “The Impact of Situational Constraints, Role Stressors, and Commitment on Employee Altruism,” Journal of Occupational Health Psychology 8 (2003): 171– 80.

24. Organ, Podsakoff, and MacKenzie, Organizational Citizenship Behavior.25. You- Ta Chuang, Robin Church, and Jelena Zikic, “Organizational Culture,

Group Diversity and Intra- Group Conflict,” Team Performance Management 10 (2004): 26– 34; Michele J. Gelfand, Miriam Erez, and Zeynep Aycan, “Cross- Cultural Organizational Behavior,” Annual Review of Psychology 58 (2007): 479– 514.

26. James W. Bishop, K. Dow Scott, and Susan M. Burroughs, “Support, Commit-ment, and Employee Outcomes in a Team Environment,” Journal of Management 26 (2000): 1113– 32; and Jarrod Haar and David Brougham, “Consequences of Cultural Satisfaction at Work: A Study of New Zealand Maori,” Asia Pacific Journal of Human Resources 49 (2011): 461– 75.

27. Ibraiz Tarique and Riki Takeuchi, “Developing Cultural Intelligence: The Roles of International Nonwork Experiences,” in Handbook of Cultural Intelligence: The-ory, Measurement, and Applications, ed. Soon Ang and Linn Van Dyne (Armonk NY: Sharpe, 2008), 56– 70.

28. Ressler, Itman, and Rodriguez, “English- and Spanish- Speaking Players,” 92– 116.

29. Ressler, Itman, and Rodriguez, “English- and Spanish- Speaking Players,” 92– 116.

30. Linn Van Dyne, Jill W. Graham, and Richard M. Dienesch, “Organizational Cit-izenship Behavior: Construct Redefinition, Measurement, and Validation,” The Acad-emy of Management Journal 37 (1994): 765– 802.

31. See, e.g., Thomas Rockstuhl and Kok- Yee Ng, “The Effects of Cultural Intelli-gence on Interpersonal Trust in Multicultural Teams,” in Handbook of Cultural Intel-ligence: Theory, Measurement, and Applications, ed. Soon Ang and Linn Van Dyne (Armonk NY: Sharpe, 2008), 206– 20.

32. Cf. Dora C. Lau and J. Keith Murnighan, “Demographic Diversity and Fault-lines: The Compositional Dynamics of Organizational Groups,” The Academy of Man-agement Review 23 (1998): 325– 40.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Ressler: Organizational Citizenship Behavior 97

33. Michael Lewis, Moneyball: The Art of Winning an Unfair Game (New York: Norton, 2003).

34. P. Christopher Early, Soon Ang, and Joo- Seng Tan, CQ: Developing Cultural Intelligence at Work (Stanford CA: Stanford Business Books, 2006).

35. Efrat Shokef and Miriam Erez, “Cultural Intelligence and Global Identity in Multicultural Teams,” in Handbook of Cultural Intelligence: Theory, Measurement, and Applications, ed. Soon Ang and Linn Van Dyne (Armonk NY: Sharpe, 2008), 177– 91.

36. Organ, Podsakoff, and MacKenzie, Organizational Citizenship Behavior.37. Nathan P. Podsakoff, Steven W. Whiting, Philip M. Podsakoff, and Brian D.

Blume, “Individual- and Organizational- Level Consequences of Organizational Citi-zenship Behaviors: A Meta- Analysis,” Journal of Applied Psychology 94 (2009): 122– 41.

38. Michael Ahearne, Narasimhan Srinivasan, and Luke Weinstein, “Effect of Tech-nology on Sales Performance: Progressing from Technology Acceptance to Tech-nology Usage and Consequence,” Journal of Personal Selling & Sales Management 24 (2004): 297– 310.

39. Organ, Podsakoff, and MacKenzie, Organizational Citizenship Behavior.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

“Patriotic Industry” Baseball’s Reluctant Sacrifice in World War I

Paul Hensler

Nearly a century ago— as the Red Sox and White Sox held sway over the American League, and the National League was dominated by teams in the Northeast corridor— the United States found itself in a super- heated atmo-sphere of patriotic fervor. In the spring of 1917, the continuing and expanding German pugnacity on the high seas coupled with the revelation of the nefari-ous Zimmerman telegram, forced an agonized President Woodrow Wilson to abrogate his reelection pledge to stay out of the fight. In early April, he asked Congress for and received a declaration of war against Germany.

With America’s participation as an active combatant now a reality, the nation’s mobilization lurched into high gear, and to remove any trace of doubt as to the worthiness of the United States’s commitment to the conflict, the Wilson administration sought to encourage— others would say coerce— a skeptical public into supporting the war effort. Legislation, in the form of the Alien Act, the Trading with the Enemy Act, the Sedition Act, and the Espionage Act, was adopted to squelch dissent of any kind among the popu-lace, while the propaganda machinery embodied in the Committee on Pub-lic Information, created by the administration and fronted by George Creel, was chief among the instruments of promoting, indeed enforcing, patriotism. Associations such as the American Protective League, described by the his-torian David Kennedy as practicing “the excesses of a quasi- vigilante organi-zation” with the blessing of the Justice Department, intimidated the United States citizenry into toeing the patriotic line so that the ultimate defeat of the Central Powers could be hastened.1

In 1917, baseball became immersed in this cauldron. The exigencies of the time dictated that young men be conscripted into the armed services or oth-erwise employed in war industry, such as working in a shipyard, munitions plant, or steel mill, to prepare the American military for action in Europe. On May 19, 1917, the government officially instituted the Selective Service Act,

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Hensler: Baseball’s Sacrifi ce in World War I 99

subjecting men between the ages of twenty- one and thirty— later expanded to a range of eighteen to forty- five years— to conscription. Eventually 24 mil-lion men (44 percent of all American males) would be registered; 6.5 million were deemed fit for service, with 2.7 million finally serving in the army dur-ing hostilities.2 Given these numbers, it was only natural that a swelling of the military ranks would include athletes from the worlds of baseball, football, boxing, and tennis. As the national pastime lost increasing numbers to the war effort, baseball became increasingly resistant to the drain of players from its teams’ lineups.

A nationwide Army Registration Day, held on June 5, 1917, was an unqual-ified success because Secretary of War Newton Baker and Provost Marshal General Enoch Crowder employed the small tendrils of local draft boards overseen by men who in most cases were friends, neighbors, or at least acquaintances of many of their regional enlistees, thus avoiding the poor response rates that Baker and Crowder knew had hampered Union conscrip-tion attempts during the Civil War, in which high- ranking— and imposing— military officers comprised the committees that decided what men were to be inducted into the army.

For baseball’s part, however, two weeks before Registration Day, National League president John Tener wrote to the NL club owners opining that he felt “no obligation, either fixed or moral, that we should depart from our daily routine of business” of playing scheduled games.3 Days later the National Commission— comprised of Tener, American League president Ban Johnson, and commission head August Herrmann— asked that each team “co- operate heartily” with the registration event not by postponing games but by ensur-ing that “bands be engaged to play patriotic music . . . where games are sched-uled on that day.”4 Those obligated to register could do so from seven o’clock in the morning until nine o’clock that evening, and rather than overplay their patriotism by postponing contests, the commission felt that music would suf-ficiently convey “public expression of the willingness on the part of major league baseball clubs to serve the country at this vital crisis of its history.”5

Due to the time necessary for troop training and arms procurement, nearly a year passed between the initiation of the draft in the spring of 1917 and the American military’s first participation in substantial combat operations in France. During the 1917 baseball season, the full force of the draft had not caught up with team rosters, and both the American and National leagues were able to finish their 154- game schedules, albeit with a shortfall in atten-dance due to an economy plagued by fears over the war.

But by the end of 1917, trepidation was rising about the conflict’s impact on baseball as more players answered the call to duty, either in uniform or

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.2100

by gainful employment in war industry. “The fact that four members of the Boston American League team have volunteered in the navy indicates how great will be the loss of professional ball players next season,” reported one account in the press. Furthermore, Barney Dreyfuss, president of the Pitts-burgh Pirates, warned of a crisis in baseball if exemptions from conscription, which allowed players to remain in the employ of their clubs because of their value as sportsmen and entertainers, were to be eliminated.6

In a letter to Tener, Dreyfuss expressed concern that changes to the policy of granting exemptions to certain draftees— which would make it more dif-ficult for ballplayers to avoid military service— would leave most teams with barely a handful of regular players to carry on the business of the national pastime in 1918. “It has been pointed out several times by those most stren-uously engaged in war affairs, including I understand President Wilson and Secretary of War Baker, that wholesome sports, and diverting entertainments, should be continued for the benefit of the relaxation and recreation they fur-nish to those who remain at home,” implored the Pirate magnate. “It might be, therefore, that if proper steps were taken, it would be considered that ball players were in a degree worthy of consideration in this respect, as their ser-vices are unique and unusual, and cannot be performed properly except by one who has a natural ability for the work and has developed it to the limit of his skill.”7 Dreyfuss’s missive more than implied that any draftee could be molded into a soldier or that a common man could find work in a munitions plant, but a baseball player gifted with a special athletic ability was entitled to remain at his craft because his value to the war cause as an entertainer and morale booster surpassed that of an infantryman or factory worker. Striving for an eighteen- man exemption per team in both circuits, Ban Johnson con-curred, citing that “the high standard of the game would be destroyed if the players were indiscriminately drafted for military service.”8

If baseball tried to skirt the issue of service by its players, proof of the sport’s commitment to the war effort and direct support of the troops abroad were evident in other ways. Players and managers purchased war bonds, assisted the Red Cross, and played in charity exhibition contests. Some costs of transmitting baseball news, including accounts of World Series games via cable dispatch to American newspaper bureaus in Paris for distribution to the troops, were borne by the office of the National Commission. A proposal was made to pay Series participants with Liberty Loan bonds rather than cash winnings, and “one percent of the Commission’s revenue from the Series will be donated to the Clark Griffith Ball and Bat Fund for supplying parapher-nalia of the game to the American Soldiers who are abroad.”9 White Sox uni-forms for the 1917 Fall Classic were outfitted with American flags on both

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Hensler: Baseball’s Sacrifi ce in World War I 101

sleeves, complementing the star- spangled “Sox” logo on the front of the jer-sey, yet even before the United States became embroiled in hostilities, a 1915 edition of Baseball Magazine emphasized the importance of the World Series in helping the country forget about the war if only for a brief time.10 With America fully involved as of April 1917, baseball’s flagship event assumed a heightened importance.

Baseball Magazine also editorialized in June 1917, “Enthusiasm is a fine thing and patriotism a vital necessity. . . . War is a sober business demanding the full co- operations [sic] of all classes and types of industry. And war above most things needs the helpful co- operation, not the extermination of athletic sport. . . . No industry has shown a stronger desire to do something of mate-rial benefit to the nation than baseball.”11 As that publication conflated patrio-tism and industry, it also noted later that summer the enthusiastic manner in which Braves catcher Hank Gowdy departed for the armed forces as “the first of major league players to join Uncle Sam’s army.”12 By March 1918 and with no fewer than seventy- six players in active service— or nearly one- fifth of the total number of participants among all clubs— Baseball Magazine staunchly defended the national pastime’s contribution of manpower by rhetorically asking, “How many other industries have lost 19% of their working force?”13

Offering a different interpretation, however, was the military. The organ of the armed forces, Stars and Stripes, told its readers of the players’ resistance to serve by sniping at the game’s “magnates acclaim [of] the immense value of baseball to the morale of the nation.”14 Yet Baseball Magazine editor F. C. Lane stood his ground and countered, “We cannot believe that the adminis-tration would wreck the national game, the peculiar institution beloved by the masses in order to supply a few hundred ill equipped young men for indus-tries of which they know little[,] where their work would be on a par with the most unskilled labor in the land.”15 Lane had good reason to pander to the best interest of baseball, since decreasing popularity in the game, which was already manifest in a decline in attendance, also meant fewer copies of his publication would be sold.

In early July 1918, August Herrmann, the president of the National Com-mission, along with league presidents Johnson and Tener, wrote to the major- league teams instructing them to have players submit an affidavit to their draft boards requesting deferred classification. The first argument proffered by the affidavit— a stock form of which was furnished by the commission— held that a player’s compliance with Selective Service Act “will cause substan-tial financial loss not only to himself and to his employer but to the general prosperity of the country,” and the second argued that the “affiant further says that he is not skilled in any employment other than the one in which he is

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.2102

now engaged,” a claim which was to be stricken from affidavits submitted by players who were also farmers.16 The affidavit cited Henry Groh and his $800 monthly salary— $4,800 for a six- month season— as an example of the finan-cial loss that could be suffered, but Groh’s case was hardly representative of the common player. Based on his 1917 performance, in which he ranked near the top of most offensive categories in the National League, Groh was one of the better- paid players in the game, thereby skewing the impression of the financial position of most players as indicated by the affidavit. In June 1918, Herrmann informed Crowder that the average annual salary of drafted play-ers and of those who volunteered was $2,441.26 and $2,521.24 respectively, about one- half of what Groh was earning.17 To put these wages in perspective, workers in manufacturing, mining, construction, transportation, and other various trades earned on average about 53 cents per hour in 1918, and govern-ment statistics show that mean annual family income at the time was $1,518.18 With the average player’s salary at least sixty percent above that of an average household, players subjected themselves to a serious financial loss upon heed-ing the call to arms.

Not convinced by Herrmann’s argument, Secretary of War Baker at last ruled on July 19 “that baseball is a non- essential occupation,” thereby making players subject to the “work or fight” order which mandated either military service or employment in a war- related industry. In sharp contrast with Lane’s disingenuous assessment of players being poorly fit for duty, Baker stated that “ball players are men of unusual physical ability, dexterity, and alertness, just the type needed to help in the game of war at home or abroad.”19 President Johnson, in a sudden fit of obsequiousness, announced the suspension of play in the American League, but the circuit’s owners quickly forced Johnson to renounce his edict so that games could continue and allow revenue to flow into each team’s coffers.

Stars and Stripes also came down squarely on the side of the soldiers in a scathing editorial of July 26 in which the paper announced it would no longer print its “sporting page.” Choosing instead to focus on important war news from the front, the paper lambasted players whose evasion of military service had trumped becoming a brother- in- arms and offered this defense of its deci-sion: “There is no space left for the Cobbs [and] the Ruths . . . when the Ryans, the Smiths,  .  .  . and others are charging machine guns and plugging along through shrapnel or grinding out 12- hour details 200 miles in the rear.”20

Insult was added to the injury inflicted by recalcitrant players when it was learned that some players who entered shipbuilding and steel trades did so not for industrial employment but for the purpose of playing on company- sponsored baseball teams. This construction of the “work or fight” order

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Hensler: Baseball’s Sacrifi ce in World War I 103

was hardly what Baker had in mind, and Baseball Magazine’s Lane properly decried such “slacker contracts” as “a menace to the national game.”21 Cited by Lane were Joe Jackson of the White Sox and Brooklyn’s Al Mamaux, the latter among those excoriated by owner Charles Ebbets, who proclaimed his disdain at the prospect of reemploying players who sought the haven of a shipyard.22

By the beginning of August, the National Commission was forced to capit-ulate to Baker’s edict, and in spite of a final appeal to Provost Marshal General Crowder for the suspension of the “work or fight” order as applied to base-ball, agreement was reached to bring the regular season to a close on Labor Day, September 2. The commission announced that after “wind[ing] up the GREAT NATIONAL SPORT with a big jollification and  .  .  . appropriate ceremo-nies,” the traditional Fall Classic was to follow.23 All players “excepting those on the two teams contesting the World’s [sic] Series” were to “secur[e] use-ful employment, so that they lose no time in obeying the letter and spirit of the amended order of Secretary Baker.”24 Overcome by a sense of urgency to comply with the order, the Cleveland Indians, who were in second place, two and one- half games behind Boston and one and one- half games ahead of Washington entering the holiday, elected to forego their doubleheader in St. Louis. “The Indians preferred to take a chance on losing second place rather than take a chance with the work or fight order,” reported the Sporting News. “[Manager Lee] Fohl’s workers were more anxious about getting into useful employment than they were worried over the prospect of things coming out that way in baseball.”25

The grand finale of the World Series began on September 5— the National Commission claiming no “mercenary” intent for staging the championship— and the Red Sox bested the Cubs four games to two.26 This Fall Classic was nonetheless marred by controversy when players on both teams threatened to strike over a reduction in the amount of shares to be paid. Originally, play-ers on the winning club were to receive $2,000 each, with $1,400 awarded to players on the losing club, but the commission, blaming a shortfall in revenue, offered $1,200 and $800. When the players bristled at the proposed cutback, the Cubs and Red Sox ownership agreed to make up the difference out of their own pockets, thus averting a work stoppage. It seemed that the players had now outstripped the commission with regard to any mercenary tendencies.

However, damage had already been done to baseball’s reputation as a result of the lengthy controversy over “work or fight.” Readers of the Sporting News learned that attitudes of the soldiers toward the players were both positive and negative, but reporter Thomas Rice said that a letter he received from a rela-tive serving in France indicated that “all of the soldiers with whom he has come in contact have a most profound contempt for the major leaguers who

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.2104

sought refuge from the draft and violated their contracts by hiding with ship yard teams.”27 Resentment that had been evident in the purging of the sports page by Stars and Stripes obviously lingered as teams futilely resisted the attri-tion of their rosters during 1918.

From a business perspective, baseball’s attempt to shield itself from the eroding effects of conscription made sense, as replacement players unfit for the military or other war service filled the shoes of departed major leaguers. But in the zeitgeist of the day, the more honorable deed would have been for baseball to forego its squabbles with the War Department and voluntarily sus-pend play earlier than the negotiated date. On an American home front where sauerkraut was relabeled as “liberty cabbage” and the playing of German music was all but banned, baseball’s effort to confer its players with a status of irreplaceable talent necessary to the nation’s morale rang hollow. Johnson rec-ognized the futility of the situation when he opined to Hermann in late Octo-ber, “It would be the height of folly to attempt a continuance of professional baseball until conditions are in a normal and healthful state.”28

A fortuitous conclusion to the controversy emerged two months after the end of the World Series, the armistice of November 11, 1918, having ushered in an era of peace. The cessation of hostilities in Europe cut short the debate over how patriotic an industry the national pastime had really been. “By next spring the game will be revived in full force,” observed the Sporting News, which added, “[I]t will require little effort to reassemble the players who have all been regularly reserved by their respective clubs.”29

Bitterness on the part of some fans notwithstanding, attendance across both leagues in 1919 more than doubled over the war- wracked year of 1918, and the national pastime seemed eagerly poised to enter the postwar era after weathering the ugly storm of its reluctant sacrifice during the conscription controversy.

Notes

1. David M. Kennedy, Over Here: The First World War and American Society (New York: Oxford University Press, 2004), 81.

2. John Milton Cooper Jr., Pivotal Decades: The United States, 1900– 1920 (New York: W.W. Norton and Company, 1990), 272.

3. John Tener letter to National League Club Presidents, May 21, 1917, Papers of August Herrmann, 1887– 1938, BAMSS12, National Baseball Hall of Fame Library, National Baseball Hall of Fame, Cooperstown NY, Box 42, Folder 12.

4. Ban Johnson, John Tener, and August Herrmann letter to Major League Club Owners, May 25, 1917, Papers of August Herrmann, 1887– 1938, BAMSS12, National

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Hensler: Baseball’s Sacrifi ce in World War I 105

Baseball Hall of Fame Library, National Baseball Hall of Fame, Cooperstown NY, Box 80, Folder 15.

5. Johnson, Tener, and Herrmann letter to Major League Club Owners, May 25, 1917.

6. Untitled Cincinnati Times- Star article, December 10, 1917, Papers of August Her-rmann, 1887– 1938, BAMSS12, National Baseball Hall of Fame Library, National Baseball Hall of Fame, Cooperstown NY, Box 112, Folder 26; and Barney Dreyfuss letter to John Tener, November 20, 1917, Papers of August Herrmann, 1887– 1938, BAMSS12, National Baseball Hall of Fame Library, National Baseball Hall of Fame, Cooperstown NY, Box 112, Folder 26.

7. Dreyfuss letter to Tener, November 20, 1917.8. “Players of Quality Are Needed,” unknown newspaper, November 22, 1917,

Papers of August Herrmann, 1887– 1938, BAMSS12, National Baseball Hall of Fame Library, National Baseball Hall of Fame, Cooperstown NY, Box 112, Folder 26.

9. Notice regarding World’s Championship Series of 1917, Papers of August Her-rmann, 1887– 1938, BAMSS12, National Baseball Hall of Fame Library, National Baseball Hall of Fame, Cooperstown NY, Box 91, Folder 3.

10. Kid Gleason’s jersey, on display at the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum in Cooperstown, New York, features these adornments.

11. Baseball Magazine, 1917, vol. 19, no. 3, 359.12. “Why I Enlisted,” Baseball Magazine, 1917, vol. 19, no. 5, 507.13. Baseball Magazine, 1918, vol. 20, no. 2, 389.14. “Ball Players Say They’re Productive,” Stars and Stripes, June 28, 1918, 2.15. Baseball Magazine, 1918, vol. 20, no. 3, 269.16. Copy of affidavit, Papers of August Herrmann, 1887– 1938, BAMSS12, National

Baseball Hall of Fame Library, National Baseball Hall of Fame, Cooperstown NY, Box 113, Folder 4. Emphasis in original.

17. Copy of August Herrmann letter to Provost Marshal General E. H. Crowder, June 15, 1918, Papers of August Herrmann, 1887– 1938, BAMSS12, National Baseball Hall of Fame Library, National Baseball Hall of Fame, Cooperstown NY, Box 112, Folder 31.

18. Data sourced from the United States Bureau of Labor Statistics, www.bls.gov.19. “Khaki or Overalls for Ball Players,” Stars and Stripes, July 26, 1918, 6.20. “The Sporting Page Goes Out,” Stars and Stripes, July 26, 1918, 6.21. “A Rising Menace to the National Game,” Baseball Magazine, 1918, vol. 21, no.

4, 345.22. Letter from Charles Ebbets to F. C. Lane, Baseball Magazine, 1918, vol. 21, no. 4,

347.23. National Commission memo to teams, Papers of August Herrmann, 1887– 1938,

BAMSS12, National Baseball Hall of Fame Library, National Baseball Hall of Fame, Cooperstown NY, Box 113, Folder 3. Emphasis in original.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.2106

24. National Commission memo to teams, Papers of August Herrmann, 1887– 1938, BAMSS12, National Baseball Hall of Fame Library, National Baseball Hall of Fame, Cooperstown NY, Box 113, Folder 3.

25. “What’s Position in Case of This Kind?”, Sporting News, September 5, 1918, 1.26. National Commission memo to teams, Papers of August Herrmann, 1887– 1938,

BAMSS12, National Baseball Hall of Fame Library, National Baseball Hall of Fame, Cooperstown NY, Box 113, Folder 3.

27. Thomas Rice, “Soldiers, Though Interested, Are Sore at Ball Players,” Sporting News, September 12, 1918, 1.

28. Ban Johnson letter to August Herrmann, October 22, 1918, Papers of August Herrmann, 1887– 1938, BAMSS12, National Baseball Hall of Fame Library, National Baseball Hall of Fame, Cooperstown NY, Box 112, Folder 27.

29. “Everybody’s an Optimist Now,” Sporting News, November 14, 1918, 2.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

T R I P L E P L A YPersonal Reviews, Op- ed Pieces, and Polemics from Outside the Purview of the Umpires

Leagues of Their Own Design

David Nemec

In The Great American Novel Philip Roth stretched his genius to chart the his-tory of the Patriot League, an imaginary third major league whose existence was subsequently expunged from all record books and even from human memory owing to its nefarious demise. An actual third major league, one for women only, has similarly all but been forgotten. In 1954, for economic rea-sons, the All- American Girls Professional Baseball League (AAGPBL) folded its tent after a dozen seasons. Several generations of women with baseball in their blood have emerged since. Here we meet three of them who came of playing age in three very different parts of the country. The three seemingly had only one thing in common before I sat down with them: each had played baseball either with or against me. But as we all talked, I discovered they have many more commonalities. Before recounting what they told me about the diverse paths they have taken to play the game at a high level in the wake of the AAGPBL’s disappearance, let me introduce them:

JAN BORGIA EDWARDS was born in Cleveland in 1938 and grew up in Bay Vil-lage, Ohio, where she was a classmate of mine. She holds a BA in English from Wooster and also MAs in theater arts and counseling. After teaching in Mansfield, Illinois, she and her ex- husband moved to California where she completed a long tenure as a teacher, counselor, and coach. Following a forty- two- year career in education, Jan retired in 2003 while serving as the direc-tor of counseling at Vallejo High School. Currently she volunteers by driving high- risk patients to medical appointments and teaches adult classes on “Liv-ing Well.” During her playing days Jan was often called “Borge,” a tribute to her ferocious bat; her career BA was in the .420s and she still swings a mean golf club.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.2108

SAL COATS was born in Walnut Creek, California, in 1961 and spent her early years in Piedmont before moving to Sonora during her freshman year in high school. She holds several degrees including an MA in kinesiology/teaching and coaching from California State University– Chico. In 1992– 93 Sal was the second baseman for the Oakland Oaks, an otherwise all- men’s baseball team for which I served as player- manager, and she later played professionally in the Ladies League Baseball, the only women’s pro league since the AAGPBL to last a full season, before helping to found a California women’s version of the Men’s Senior Baseball League (MSBL). Following a lengthy string of jobs that allowed her ample time to pursue her first love— baseball— Sal has worked for the past eight years at Genentech, Inc., in South San Francisco.

MELISSA FRYDLO is “The Moll of a Million Monikers.” Among them are Frid, Mel, Mo, Bird Dog, Nurse Nancy, Muff, Missy, Albie, Sadie, Moxie, and a new one she will discuss. Moxie, the nickname on her baseball card, best befits her. Moxie was born in Buffalo, New York, in 1971. After moving to Amherst, New Hampshire, when she was eight, she graduated from Milford High School in nearby Milford. Moxie holds degrees in architectural design and landscape architecture from Cazenovia College and the University of Massachusetts, respectively, and is currently a project engineer for ARCADIS in Springfield, Massachusetts.

Jan: Three women meeting for the first time, we’re all naturally curious about one other. I’m especially curious how Moxie acquired so many nick-names and what Sal was paid to play pro ball.

Moxie: When you play on as many teams as I have it’s bound to occur. I’ve always felt nicknames were a sign of acceptance and even affection. In vintage baseball, which I now play, everyone has several.

Sal: I pulled down $1,200 a month; I was a tough bargainer and among the higher paid players.

Jan: Wow! Not bad. I know you both wonder what brought David and me together. We were the pitchers in the 5th and 6th grades for our rival crosstown elementary schools in the annual “Army- Navy Game,” I for the girls and he the boys. But whereas David went on to play throughout junior high, high school, and college, unhappily that was it for me as far as any organized school baseball.

David: What was your first remembered experience playing baseball?Jan: Pickup hardball games on my street in Bay at six. I then started

playing in pickup sandlot games with boys like you, David. Right away, I was usually captain or else chosen first in games. The games themselves and the favored position I held in them were equally compelling. But my

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Triple Play 109

first real awareness that I had an unusually strong passion for baseball came at around seven when I realized I was the only girl playing in neigh-borhood games and that a lot of the boys didn’t care nearly as much about the game as I did.

Sal: For me it came in the early 1970s growing up in Oakland with the run of the “Swingin’ A’s” and learning they had a captain named Sal— talk about hooked! My dad, whose father had barnstormed against Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig in 1927, would come home from work and we’d play catch and he’d throw batting practice to me (with tennis balls). In Pied-mont girls’ sports were zilch so I’d hang out with the boys at the school playground where we’d play strikeout. Playing with boys, most of them older than me, I discovered I could keep up with them. I knew the rules of the game, the stats of the Oakland A’s players, and constantly strived to improve my skills.

Moxie: My brother Jamie and I would throw a baseball ball back and forth to each other as fast as we could. We were right on target. Straight to the chest. Almost as soon as I started throwing with my brother I felt just about all I wanted to do was play catch with him. We also played a lot of Wiffle ball by ourselves or with neighborhood boys. Not only did we make up rules to various bat and ball games but we had different shaped fields between our neighbor’s property and our own. So, in short, I was drawn from early childhood to male competitiveness.

David: When did you realize how good you were at the game, espe-cially for a female?

Sal: I never thought about it, playing baseball with the boys all of the time, just that I was good enough for them to keep asking me back. But when I moved to Sonora and tried out for the girls’ softball team (a first for me), I was immediately one of the top players.

Moxie: My judges were always my teammates. After I moved to Amherst, New Hampshire, a borderline rural, very historical environ-ment, being shy it was hard for me to make friends. Fortunately, the town had a recreation department and my parents signed me up. Nothing has changed. I still feel most compatible with my teammates, all of them male at the moment.

Jan: I didn’t realize how far I was above my peers until I was recruited for the semipro fastpitch Bay Steel team after my sophomore year in high school and was put at first base, my favorite position by then. My girl-friends seemed oblivious to my athletic skill except to always choose me first in gym classes— the boys actually acknowledged my sports ability much more.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.2110

David: What attitude did your parents, peers, and teachers take toward your enthusiasm for baseball?

Sal: My mom, I won’t say that she was adamantly opposed to me play-ing sports, but she certainly wasn’t supportive. My brother wasn’t ath-letically inclined and didn’t care what I did. Most of my teachers were supportive until it became a distraction (when the A’s were in the World Series, I had a little TV in my desk that I would watch the games on). Sometimes my girlfriends and I would play catch at recess (I only had tomboy friends). My dad’s attitude was super positive.

Jan: Strangely, I remember nothing about their attitude, perhaps because I was involved in so many other school, church, and musical activities.

Moxie: My mom and my dad, Jerry, have always been my greatest fans and chief supporters. My high school softball coach, Mr. Kelly, who just passed away, was extremely supportive but tough to please and enigmatic. My current job supervisor gets a kick out of me too. At every opportunity he tells everyone— clients, co- workers— about my playing.

David: Your earliest influences on your developing enthusiasm for the game?

Jan: My father was an excellent softball pitcher in a Bay Village league and I was the bat girl. He and I played catch often, and he later came to my games. My mother, in contrast, took no interest in my sports activities. The first person to really take note of my ability was a young man whose name I think will blow everyone’s mind when we discuss who our best coaches were.

Sal: My dad all the way. He would play with me whatever the sports season was at the time. There was only one other girl on our block and she wasn’t interested in sports, so I played with the boys in the neighborhood. There wasn’t anyone else in particular that taught me; just old- fashioned repetition and practice. Plus, if I wanted to continue to be asked to play by the boys, I had to keep improving.

Moxie: My entire family. My father and brother were huge fans of all sports. I didn’t have their same passion, but I always wanted to tag along to take part in all the excitement. My brother is an ace at memorizing baseball statistics and forming views about the sports industry. I got none of that. Instead I decided to become involved in the way that interests me most— by actively participating in what everyone was talking about. My dad coached me in soccer and baseball throughout my formative years. I didn’t want special treatment because I was the coach’s daughter, and I never let him spoil me.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Triple Play 111

David: Were you considered a tomboy or a jock?Sal: Definitely a tomboy and also a jock. I took it as a compliment, as

long as it wasn’t “dumb jock!”Moxie: Tomboy . . . right! When I was young I felt the term had a

stigma. Now, I don’t mind it at all. When people think of me I know other things may come first to mind besides tomboy or jock. I have multiple interests and backgrounds. So far, I’m pleased how everything has turned out. I wouldn’t want to be anything or anyone else— except maybe a Ful-bright Scholar.

Jan: Jock was never used around me, but I was surely a tomboy.David: The position you first played?Jan: Pitcher, but when the competition advanced to fastpitch I sensed

my arm wasn’t strong enough for it and switched to first base.Moxie: I played shortstop and caught in high school softball. When I

played Division III softball at Cazenovia College, I was strictly a catcher. I still love the position and have caught on occasion in vintage games.

Sal: I preferred third base like captain Sal Bando but learned to play all positions. I wanted to be on the left side of the infield. My second year in college, I was moved from third to second, a move that I initially fought. My impression at that time was second was for the weaker armed, less skilled players; I soon learned that second is more difficult than third or even short because the play is never in front of you.

David: Your favorite position at a competitive level?Jan: I loved the game’s perspective from first base, and I loved being in

on almost every play. I played with a big “mutha” of a first baseman’s mitt. My scoops and reaches and throws were all good. I had a great sense of the runners and what the outfield would be doing. I caught in my later years only because first base was taken and I was the only one on the team who could throw out runners and guide our pitchers.

Sal: As I’ve said, I can play everywhere. Probably because as a student of the game I learned what was required of each position and showed the confidence to be able to perform there, but my favorite position by college became second base.

Moxie: When I was young third, short, and center were my posi-tions, then catcher. I’m now playing second in vintage baseball for the 1886 Whately Pioneers. I think partly because no one knows I’ve got (or once had) an arm. I like second now because I have a great shortstop. I’m becoming more accustomed to playing with him. Turning the double play or opening up to make the throw to first is still a challenge, but I hope someday to perfect both through muscle memory.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.2112

David: Did you play Little League Baseball or Softball?Moxie: I played all the way through Little League Baseball starting at

age seven.Jan: Both were unavailable to me.Sal: I too never had Little League opportunities.David: Did your high school and/or college field a girls’ softball team?

If so, would you have preferred to play for or at least gotten the chance to try out for the varsity baseball team?

Sal: When I transferred to Sonora High School, it was my first real opportunity to participate in organized sports for girls and also the first year that the school fielded a girls’ softball team. On the first day of spring tryouts, I went to the baseball field, where I was instantly told to go play softball.

Jan: For me there were no school teams or even girls’ intramural teams after grade school and it was a huge black hole in my life. For several rea-sons, after my Bay Steel experience I had to put baseball on hold until my late twenties, but I’d love to have tried out for both my boys’ high school and college teams.

Moxie: I played softball for the first time in high school— previously it was always baseball. I was the starting varsity catcher as a freshman. The school was Class 1. Therefore it was the most competitive high school divi-sion. My pitcher was very wild and fast— fun to catch. I didn’t try out for the baseball team. High school ball is a decent level of play. I would have been benching on the boys’ team at best. I wish there’d been a girl’s base-ball team.

David: Your first organized team? The first in which you either played with or against males?

Sal: During the summer in junior high there was an organized league for boys that I’d show up for and hang out relentlessly until they let me play. I was an unofficial team member; I made my own uniform, just to feel part of it.

Moxie: I never played tee ball. My first organized baseball team was pre- Little League. I was the only girl in the league.

Jan: Bay Steel at age sixteen. I was never on a team that played with or against men, but would have welcomed the opportunity.

David: The first great thrill you experienced on the ball field?Jan: When I pitched a no- hitter in the sixth grade “Army- Navy Game”

to spearhead my Forestview team in trouncing your Glenview dubs, David.

Moxie: My first unassisted double play. A double play from third

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Triple Play 113

around- the- horn is also fantastic. But the hidden ball trick . . . our vintage Whately club was playing in Forest Park Stadium. Bulldog (Jim Bouton) likes to keep a flow to his pitching and typically disdains attempted hid-den ball tricks, but this time he decided to take the box. I was in my ready position and had the ball in my hand on my knee at second. Bulldog fooled around in the box. Nails, the catcher, was in his crouched position . . . . and the runner took his lead. I tagged him in the chest. I tell you, a hidden ball trick gets your adrenaline going way more than any double play.

Sal: Mine came in a fastpitch league game against my former team when I turned an unassisted triple play while playing shortstop.

Jan: My greatest overall thrill, though, was slamming a walkoff double to drive in two runs to win an “A” League fastpitch game at age forty- five. It was my last hurrah as it turned out.

Sal: My greatest is a tie between playing on opening day of the profes-sional Ladies League Baseball in 1997 and winning a championship ring in Arizona with the Oakland Oaks in 1993.

Moxie: This may seem weird, but after injuring my knee this spring, I was relegated to keeping score and rooting for my Whately team. One day I was asked to fill in for the umpire who had to leave early. I’d never seen a woman ump a men’s game before and felt both thrilled and honored. I really saw the game from a new perspective. Players tried buttering me up, pouring on the charm. On the flip side, even my own teammates weren’t afraid of getting in my face. I told one, who received what he thought were two bad calls from me, “Remember, the umpire will make eight bad calls a game. I only made six.”

David: Your proudest achievement to date on the ball field?Sal: Serving as the starting second baseman for the Oaks when we

won an “over 40” Men’s Senior Baseball League World Series in Arizona in 1993.

Moxie: Being able to say I’ve always exhibited true sportsmanship and have never once talked back to the umpire.

Jan: Still being able to play “A” League ball in my midforties. At the time I was playing for a roofing company. The team was sponsored, but we played mostly on our own dimes. They bought shirts, jackets, bats and caps only. May I also share my most mortifying on- field achievement? In an “A” League night game a pop fly hit to me came down in the lights. I lost sight of it and tried to barehand it. The ball split the webbing between my fingers. Blood spurted everywhere and it looked like I was throwing a ripe tomato to third base. It turned out I had a warped contact lens, only evident when a ball was hit in the air into the lights.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.2114

Sal: I’ve erased all such moments from memory.Moxie: I remember in high school chasing down a wild pitch and get-

ting my face mask stuck in the backstop while runners circled the bases. Mr. Kelly, my coach, was frantically hollering, “Missy!” My old teammates still remember that moment and we have a good laugh, but it wasn’t funny at the time.

David: The most bizarre play in a game in which you participated?Sal: It’s baseball; you see something new or bizarre every time you go

to the park.Jan: While catching— a position I hated— in an “A” League tourna-

ment I was mowed down at the plate by a woman six inches taller and 60 pounds heavier than me. I tagged her, then passed out. When I came to it was eerie to see the ball still in my hand.

Moxie: My vintage teammates just started laughing and throwing the ball around carelessly in a game while trailing badly. Our player coach went so ballistic he switched everyone’s position on the spot and that was the day I permanently became a second baseman.

Jan: I’ll add that having to move to catcher when I joined my last “A” League team because my beloved first base post was occupied by a woman who’d held the job for ten years was my last great disappointment. The damage to my body— hip replacement and lower back problems— eventually superseded the fun.

Sal: My greatest disappointment came in July 1997 playing for the San Jose Spitfires in the Ladies League Baseball. We were seven games into our inaugural season. I was just getting used to the slower pitching after play-ing MSBL when I tore my ACL during a game and was out for the remain-der of the regular season. I was devastated; here I finally got a chance to not only play baseball with other gals but got paid to do it! I rehabbed on the longshot that if we made the playoffs I’d be able to play. I literally busted my ass and defied the naysayers that said I couldn’t do it in that short period of time; well, don’t tell me what can’t be done! We made the playoffs and the team doctor was floored when I was in the starting line- up for the postseason opener. My greatest regret, on the other hand, was that my dad never got the chance to see me play MSBL in Arizona or in the pro league.

Moxie: Witnessing cheating during a game or players who don’t pos-sess good sportsmanship is most disappointing to me. My regret? Quit-ting. I left my Babe Ruth team during the season without telling the coach because I didn’t want to be stopped. I tried quitting U Mass, but the coaches wouldn’t let me. They said bench warmers are the ones that push

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Triple Play 115

the starters to play well and keep their positions. A week and a half later I was in California with the team. In one game I was a pinch runner and came home. Still, I never bumped any of the starters, largely because we were strong enough to win the Atlantic 10 championship that year.

David: Your greatest strength as a player?Jan: Being a team player. I loved my teammates and the mutual encour-

agement. I was also very good at anticipating where a batted ball was likely to go. My greatest weakness was that I was SLOOOOOOOW. I’d have to hit a triple to get safely to second.

Sal: Mental toughness, knowledge of the game, and defense. If only I could have hit a curve ball!

Moxie: DEFENSE. But my hitting is another story, though I’m continu-ally trying to improve. This March I practiced with a championship team at Wilbraham Munson Academy. I work in Wilbraham so stuck around after work to play at 7:00 p.m. in their facility. We’d hit off the batting machine at ninety miles per hour with wood bats. I tell you, the stinging in my hands was excruciating. The player who brought me in was a great motivator. He’d yell, “Don’t be afraid, Moxie, get back in there!”

David: Do you take the game home with you after a loss?Moxie: When you win the mood it sets carries with you all week. Like-

wise losing. Sometimes, after a successful game, I’ll write down the plays just for visual purposes to remember how much I achieved.

Sal: If we got our asses kicked because the other team was just bet-ter, I’d get over it pretty quickly. If a teammate did something stupid that caused us to lose (like a cartwheel at home plate to cost us the winning run), it takes longer. Actually, I’m not sure if I’m over that one yet. How-ever, if I somehow caused our loss, I’ll replay it over and over in my head, sometimes for years.

Jan: I didn’t take many games home because I left so much on the field. Moreover, no one at home— my kids or my ex- husband— cared about my games.

David: Ever select a job on the basis of whether it gave you the time to play ball?

Jan: While teaching adult school in California, I picked the classes I wanted to teach based totally on practice and game times.

Sal: When I worked for Big B Lumber, I demanded Sundays off to play MSBL. When the women’s pro league formed, I took a leave of absence so I could focus solely on enjoying the experience of playing in it.

Moxie: My hours have fluctuated over the years depending on my job. But I’ve always engineered things to make time to play sports.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.2116

David: Has the game ever taken precedence over your social life? If so, was your participation ever grudgingly chosen?

Jan: Yes, and never grudgingly.Sal: Of course it has, which is why I have no social life.Moxie: My teammates play a large role in my social life. With that you

can deduce that I have a very (short- term) goal- oriented social life. My boyfriends have had issues of varying degrees with my baseball participa-tion. What they don’t appreciate is that nothing but good can come from baseball. Self- assurance, skill development, team building— who’d give up that because it stood in the way of a social life?

David: Do you feel you’ve been able to push your baseball skills to the edge given the opportunities available to you?

Jan: Lack of opportunity in my younger years impeded me. I never had a chance to learn how well I could have competed in my late teens and twenties, normally an athlete’s prime years.

Sal: Having the opportunities to play with and against men was a huge push to improve and showcase my skills and help open the doors for other women to play.

Moxie: Professionals in my field are encouraged to conduct activities to push the limits to improve their job performance. Teamwork is a common element in both the workplace and on the ball field. Both my career and ball playing have improved because I am constantly working in groups. I appreciate the value of camaraderie.

David: The highest level of competition you’ve faced in your career?Moxie: 1886 vintage baseball and Division I softball tie for the honor.Sal: I’ve played at the highest levels in both baseball and softball. In

softball, Chico State won a National Championship my freshman year; I played at the ASA major level during the summers and was on the gold medal team at the National Sports Festival. At that time there was no Olympic team or pro softball. In baseball I played on a MSBL World Series champion my second year; the San Jose Spitfire won the championship our first year. After the pro league folded, a teammate started a women’s baseball league, (similar to the MSBL) where I coached the Oaks to two championships in four years. Teammates have said I’m the “David Justice of women’s softball/baseball.” Wherever I go the team wins!

Jan: My Bay Steel experience in high school was both my most chal-lenging and most gratifying. I was the youngest team member and play-ing a key position— first base. The competition was tough; my “A” League competition in California was tougher, but I was much more mature.

David: If you’ve played both softball and baseball, which do you prefer?

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Triple Play 117

Sal: Fastpitch softball is great, but it’s not baseball! Because fastpitch is such a quick- paced game and defense is key, this is where I learned to think ahead, know what I was going to do before the ball was hit. That really helped me with the transition to men’s baseball. Given a choice, I’m playing baseball.

Moxie: Baseball. I left softball over five years ago even though I can compete a whole lot better on a smaller diamond.

Jan: My competitive juices would have been more elevated if I’d had an opportunity to play baseball. They still get significantly stirred just watch-ing a MLB game. Not nearly as much even when watching a good women’s softball game.

David: The most important game you’ve ever played in?Jan: The playoff game in which I was clobbered at home plate by a

moose of a woman and realized my organized softball days were over. We won the game incidentally.

Sal: The semifinal game in the 1993 MSBL World Series against Sas-katchewan. Our taut 2– 1 win enabled us to move on to the championship game against Philadelphia.

Moxie: The Putney Diner (Brattleboro, Vermont) was a perennial softball league champion. We would sometimes win tournaments. Those games were all important.

David: Have you coached?Jan: I coached a middle school softball team for three years and was

invited to coach at Vallejo High School, but as a single parent I needed to be home once the regular school day ended.

Moxie: No, but I’m going on my fourth year of teaching kids ranging from ages four and one- half to thirteen at Williston Academy for the Non-otuck Hockey League Learn to Skate program.

Sal: I’ve coached softball at the high school level up to college. I also coached a women’s team in the California Women’s Baseball League, a rec-reational league patterned after the MSBL.

David: Jan, only you have children that played sports. Did they follow in your footsteps?

Jan: Neither of my two children played contact sports. My daughter was a swimmer and gymnast; my son also swam and was a superb water skier. Growing up, they each had my undying support— including driving them to practices and games, timing them in practice and cheering them on. However, it wasn’t mutual. I never really knew how my kids or my ex- husband felt about my playing. They never came to my games.

David: Your most serious playing- related injury?

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.2118

Moxie: Right now I’m rehabbing my knee. This is my first time being benched for this long in thirty years. I simply wore out my knee on What-ely’s “Opening Day” this year, which was a long, long doubleheader.

Jan: Hip replacement resulting from injuries directly related to catch-ing. Nagging lower back injuries that don’t interfere with my golf game.

Sal: I’ve been relatively lucky. The worst was when I tore my ACL dur-ing the pro league and missed basically the entire season. The ACL is healed and I was able to continue playing. In my postplaying career, I’ve had elbow problems due to years of use and abuse, but playing golf actu-ally triggered my recent surgery for them.

David: The player you most admire, male or female, whom you’ve played with or against?

Moxie: Pres Peiraccini, a hyper sixty- year- old man who’s constantly trying to perfect his game. He has a phenomenal swing that just keeps get-ting better. Part of his charm is his self- criticism. He’s not cocky, but defi-nitely quirky and unbelievably psyched when he does well. On the average he manages four teams per year. Peiraccini is the face of western Massa-chusetts vintage baseball.

Sal: Alex Sickinger, the catcher for the San Jose Spitfires. Alex was seventeen when she became my teammate. She’d been the catcher on her boys’ high school team. She was very confident behind the plate, took charge on the field, could play any position, and could hit for the situation. She was experienced way beyond her years.

Jan: No particular player but any who capitalized on average skills to be the best they could be.

David: Did the best woman player that you ever played with or against have the tools to play Organized Baseball?

Sal: Sickinger good enough to play Organized Baseball? I don’t know about that.

Jan: Maybe the pitcher on my last “A” League team, Judy Klein. To play pro ball she’d have had to drop some pounds and receive coaching to cor-rect her tendency to pitch high and inside— good batters waited her out.

Moxie: Justine Siegal whom I played with in Whately. An amazing pitcher and fielder. Incredible knowledge of the game. A Cleveland native, in February 2011, at thirty- six, she became the first woman to throw bat-ting practice to a MLB team, the Indians. She’s also a good coach, but the best one I’ve ever had was U Mass head coach Elaine Sortino who’s now battling cancer. She has over 1,100 wins and was the eighth coach in Divi-sion 1 history to reach that plateau.

Sal: My top coach was Joan Wallace at Chico State. She was a star for

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Triple Play 119

the Raybestos Brakettes in her heyday. She stressed fundamentals and rep-etition; there were no new- fangled gimmicks or tricks in her repertoire. I went to Chico to play basketball. I didn’t really care for softball that much, but Kathy Arendsen was Chico’s pitcher at the time and later won over three hundred games for the Brakettes. When we met during basketball tryouts, she convinced me to try out for softball. Joan not only honed my raw skills but planted the seed that maybe coaching was what I wanted to do for a living.

Jan: In junior high there was nothing athletic available to girls except the Junior Olympics in the summer. There I met my best coach— none other than George Steinbrenner! David, why aren’t you as shocked as the others?

David: Because he was also probably the best coach I ever had. He actually taught me things— how to throw, high jump, get out of the start-ing blocks.

Jan: Along with being compassionate and tough at the same time— and instrumental in getting me on the Bay Steel team, which was sponsored by the shipping company his family ran.

David: We knew a different George than people remember now. Who do you each think was the greatest woman ballplayer ever?

Sal: I don’t know much about the history of women’s baseball— I just know I love to play the game.

Jan: Dottie Kamenshek— I played first at her size: five- feet- six and 135.Moxie: I know very little about modern baseball, but after attending

this year’s Vintage Base Ball Association conference I’ve become fascinated by the game’s early history. David, who do you think the best early- day woman player was?

David: Alta Weiss would be a strong candidate. Did each of you have a major- league idol as a kid, or a player you patterned yourself after?

Jan: Bob Feller. He filled up the whole infield when he pitched and was beautiful to watch. But when I converted to first base, Lou Gehrig was my model— his grace and character under horrible circumstances.

Sal: Sal Bando, naturally. Even though I was already called Sal, it was because of him I unofficially dropped the “ly” from my name. He was a quiet leader on those great A’s teams, a team player; didn’t mind letting the Reggie Jacksons get the publicity. He just went about his business of play-ing baseball. That he was the team captain shows his true value.

Moxie: Mike Schmidt because he was a third baseman (my position at the time in Little League) and wore a pretty pinstripe uniform. Hey, I was a girl!

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.2120

David: Your favorite major- league team?Jan: Still Cleveland. But it’s fun to live near San Francisco and see the

Giants. I’m a Buster Posey fan but worry about his injury potential too much to really relish watching him play— the cringe factor.

Sal: Forever the A’s! Though I don’t get to many games anymore for various reasons.

Moxie: Sorry to say I’m not a fan. I don’t even own a TV. Plus, I feel I can learn a lot more from watching players closer to my level.

David: No TV and you’ve told me you rise daily at 4:00 a.m. Would you say you’re eccentric?

Moxie: Different anyway. One of Erik Erikson’s theories included a map of lifetime milestones. According to his timeline, mine are backward. I’ve been doing the things that people do in their later years. I joined the Northampton Lions Club and became the first women’s president six years after getting out of college. I vividly remember my first meeting. It was on September 11 at the Northampton Airport, which was temporarily closed because of the orange terrorist alert. The board decided to hold the meet-ing. There was no hysteria, but there was a strong feeling of uncertainty. It was imperative to keep my composure. I made the opening speech, carried on with business, ate dinner and made plans for the future.

David: Sal and Moxie, you’ve played with men’s teams. What’s been their attitude toward you?

Sal: When I first tried out for the MSBL, the reception was, “What the hell is this girl doing here?” Only one guy even offered to warm up with me (Andy Weissmann). During the tryout, I opened some eyes but not wide enough for any team to draft me. You, my friend, at Andy’s urging, took a chance on me and added me to your “over forty” Arizona World Series roster. I was the first woman to play in the MSBL World Series and believe our opponents thought that I was only there as a favor to my boy-friend. They would soon find out otherwise. I knew I’d have to have thick skin that week but relied on my skills and ability to play the game to prove myself. I was tested on every play and the recipient of some cheap shots, but I just got up and went back to my position and readied for the next pitch. Not all of the guys in Arizona were jerks about me playing, but many were.

David: When I sought permission from the National MSBL commis-sioner in 1992 to add you to the Oaks’ roster even though you didn’t qualify age- wise, he was reluctant but finally supposed, “A thirty- year- old woman is the equivalent of a forty- year- old man.” How did you feel about that?

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Triple Play 121

Sal: I wish I still felt like a fortysomething. Seriously, I was just excited to be allowed to play. I saw the commish at a game and went up to thank him for the opportunity, and he just looked at me and walked away. If he only knew then what a can of worms he’d opened.

David: Talk about spending almost a week in Phoenix with an all- male team, plus having to have a male roommate.

Sal: I was fine with hanging out and talking baseball with the guys. Initially the idea of sharing a room was a bit awkward for both parties, but there was nothing but respect and no big deal; I was there to play baseball. I think it was of more interest to the other teams who was rooming with the girl.

David: Remember when a Denver player took you out at second base and was dissed for it?

Sal: A take- out slide would have been fine; the problem was he came in standing and flung an elbow in my face causing me to throw wildly. Knowing the rules, I threw while being interfered with, which should have been an automatic double play. His excuse was he’d pulled his groin and couldn’t slide. I was prepared for aggressive play by opposing players but within the rules. I was angry that he elbowed me in the face and I couldn’t complete the double play, but I was angrier at the umpires for not seeing the elbow contact and ruling no interference. The support of my team-mates throughout the entire week was awesome and their reaction on that play was not focused on me as “the girl” but for the unsportsmanlike con-duct of an opposing player. When he got an earful for his shabby maneu-ver, I smiled inside.

Moxie: Like Sal, I’ve received nothing but positive reinforcement and a sense of complete equality throughout my baseball experiences. Lately, however, when it began to seem that fewer batters were hitting balls my way, I began being called Otto. That sounded derogatory until I learned it was really Auto for automatic out. I rarely make errors. Recently Chris Flynn, aka Blackjack of the Pittsfield Elms, moaned, “I hit the ball as hard as any man could and she threw me out.” A tip of the hat from an oppos-ing player in vintage baseball is as satisfying as a peck on the cheek.

David: In the early years of the game there were barnstorming Bloomer girls teams. Would you have lived out of a suitcase and led the rugged life Bloomer girls did just for the chance to play baseball and be paid for it, albeit rather meagerly and sometimes not at all when your manager or the promoter ran off with the gate receipts?

Jan: Probably not since I had kids.Sal: I basically did that with fastpitch softball for many summers, trav-

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.2122

elling all over the country to play tournaments. Just about every Friday we’d head out for a tournament somewhere, get home Sunday night, go to work on Monday, wash our unis and be gone again on Friday. We weren’t paid, but our travel expenses were covered. This was probably the only time my dad was miffed by my ball playing. He wanted me to pursue a career in golf, where I could make some money.

Moxie: I have a difficult time traveling for sports and pretty much loath the idea. But if times were tough and I had no other work, although I might be miserable, I’d do it.

David: How old were you when you first discovered that for a dozen years there had been a flourishing women’s professional baseball league?

Jan: In my twenties. Even though the league existed until I was in high school I was unaware of it. There was no coverage of it in the Cleveland sports pages.

Sal: I’d heard of it but really became aware of the league through the movie about it.

Moxie: I never knew until very recently.David: Would you have tried to play in the All- American Girls Profes-

sional Baseball League if it had still been extant during your peak playing years?

Jan: Without question.Sal: Sure, but I would have hated the “charm school” stuff.Moxie: Absolutely.David: Do you feel A League of Their Own was a fair portrayal of what

life in the AAGPBL must have been like in its early years of existence?Jan: Despite all the Hollywood add- ons, I believe the feeling of the

period was accurate. The stuff on the field I’m not so sure about.Sal: I’m sure a lot of it was accurate, but some the baseball scenes were

unrealistic to me. Personally, I fell asleep during the movie.Moxie: (laughs) The charm school scenes were hilarious.David: Sal, only you here had firsthand experience with the Colorado

Silver Bullets. What went wrong?Sal: The Silver Bullets were both good and bad for women’s base-

ball. They brought attention to the fact that females can play baseball and offered girls a chance to play it and not be herded into softball. On the negative side, the Bullets didn’t choose the best baseball players; their play-ers were successful softball players, but that doesn’t always transfer over to baseball. Also, the belief that a team of women could compete head- to- head with a men’s professional baseball team comprised of eighteen to twenty- five- year- olds was far- fetched. As it turned out, they couldn’t;

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Triple Play 123

they then began challenging high school and MSBL- type teams, with simi-lar results. Men are just genetically faster, stronger, hit for more power and receive better coaching growing up. I know a few of the players from the first year’s Bullets team and went to a game once. After watching two innings, I went looking for a beer. I was completely disgusted; it appeared that the lineup was drawn from a hat— a quality shortstop was in left, the leftfielder was at second. Seeing that made me thankful I wasn’t selected for the team because I was “too old.”

David: Moxie, you alone have played vintage baseball. There are sev-eral forms of it, each employing the rules extant in a particular nineteenth- century season. What seasons have you participated in and what’s your favorite season?

Moxie: Playing 1886 rules with the Whately Pioneers. In 1886 they pitched overhand. The ball was similar to a modern ball, harder than the earlier version so it goes further when hit but not as far as a modern ball. The Pioneers play in New Hampshire, Rhode Island, and Massachusetts. I also play 1865 and 1864 with the Wethersfield Liberty. I like to play by these rules because they’re so different from 1886. We slide into first, steal more frequently, play without gloves and therefore need to develop dif-ferent offensive and defensive strategies. Presently I’m designing a skirt to fall just below the knee for my 1864– 65 uniform. The skirt will be worn over my knickers. Then I’ll be in complete compliance with how women dressed when they first began playing the game.

David: Why do you prefer vintage ball to modern ball?Moxie: No swearing or spitting, no high fives or fist bumps. A simple

handshake, tip of the cap, and a “huzzah” for a spectacular play is the way to congratulate a teammate or an opposing player. Doesn’t that take you back in time? Furthermore, the game is based on fundamentals like squar-ing your body in front of the ball to snag a grounder or a fly. Backhanded catches are very rare. After playing for thirty- five years, I’ve developed an eye for knowing with whom and how I like to play. Right now I choose to play with vintage players and by old- time rules.

David: Was Title IX as pivotal as it’s been made out to be with respect to women’s sports?

Jan: Title IX has fallen as flat as many other mandates. It did bring the inequity to the attention of some male and female coaches who were able to carry out its intent initially. Overall, it’s a fizzle, and I find it ironic that to assure gender equality softball had to be dropped from the Olympic Games because baseball was dropped.

Sal: At the time Title IX was instituted, it was a great thing, affording

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.2124

girls the same athletic opportunities and funding as boys. Today, I believe it needs to be re- evaluated; some of the decisions that have been made lately don’t seem like what was intended when Title IX was written. Now in colleges men’s sports are being cut based on the campus population; I think there are more guys interested in playing sports, but women make up the majority of the student body on campus. There is also a glaring inequity in the athletic opportunities available to white females as opposed to those belonging to minority groups, particularly ones from poorer fam-ilies who can’t send their daughters to college, never mind tennis camps.

Moxie: Title IX was essential, at least for me. I came onto the scene when everything was already developed. It would have been a shame to miss out or start late. I’ve heard many stories from both men and women who were unable to play soccer because the school didn’t have a program. I feel very fortunate to have had so many choices right from childhood.

David: Do you feel you came along too early, too late or at the right time to fully utilize your skills and passion for baseball?

Jan: I was far too early, and my life circumstances— caring for my mother, working my way through school, being a single parent— prevented me from playing the game I so dearly loved during my prime years.

Sal: I came along too early to take full advantage of the opportunities that are available for women now. However, having said that, I also think I came along at the right time to help pave the way for the opportunities currently available.

Moxie: I came along the right time and I live in the right place. There are so many baseball options in western Massachusetts.

David: Jan, we go back the farthest, so the last question belongs to you. Prior to our senior year of high school you ran a brilliant campaign and won the student council presidency. In looking back over your life, which was more meaningful to you? Being the student council president with all its attendant recognition and challenges, or your experiences playing ball?

Jan: Baseball by far, David. More effort, more results, more friends, more life lessons. And, above all, more life skills.

The author thanks Merrie Fidler and Debra Shattuck for their generous coun-sel in preparing this article.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

The Fireman

Robert A. Moss

This is the story of a great pitcher and a deeply flawed man, of a duality that elicits both admiration and regret, and of the tragic realization that it is often impossible to savor the taste of one without the bitterness of the other.

In Brooklyn, the summer of 1947 was a time of hope for Dodgers fans. The war had ended, and Branch Rickey, president and general manager of the Dodgers since 1943, was building a pennant- winner. He had stocked up on talent during the war, and now those young players, Carl Furillo, Gil Hodges, and Duke Snider, were back from the military, joining established returning stars like Pee Wee Reese and Pete Reiser. The Dodgers were a rising force, per-haps one player away from dominance. That player arrived in 1947; his name was Jackie Robinson. Despite the opposition of all fifteen of the other major- league owners, Rickey had broken the color line. Baseball and the country were changing.

I was seven that summer, just beginning to understand baseball and in love with the Brooklyn Dodgers. After school, I would hurry home to catch the end of Dodgers games on the radio. On hot summer afternoons, I would often sit on an upended milk crate outside my father’s grocery store on St. John’s Place in Brooklyn, listening to the dulcet southern tones of Red Barber on our new portable radio. I learned about “sittin’ in the cat- bird seat,” “rhu-barbs” on the playing field, and “F.O.B.,” which meant that the bases were “full of Brooklyns.”

Red Barber had been born in Mississippi, raised in Florida, and steeped in the bigotry endemic to his habitat. When Rickey told him, in confidence, of his plan to bring an African American to the Dodgers, Barber seriously con-sidered resigning. As he tells it, his wife Lylah urged him not to act rashly. Barber listened to her advice, thought things through, and realized that his job was to broadcast the ballgame, not to concern himself with the color of the ballplayers.1 And that’s what he did; he described the game and Robinson’s tal-

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.2126

ent spoke for itself. Not only did he galvanize the Dodgers, but he electrified Brooklyn with strategic bunts, stolen bases, clutch line drives, and unquench-able verve. He was on his way to Rookie of the Year, to be followed in 1949 by the MVP award, and the Dodgers were on their way to a pennant. Robinson’s Hall of Fame career has been recounted many times and, in 1997, his number forty- two was permanently retired throughout Major League Baseball.

There were other stars on the 1947 Dodgers— Pee Wee Reese, Pete Rei-ser, and Dixie Walker— but there was another player I also came to admire. His name was Hugh Casey, also known as the “Fireman,” a nonpareil reliever who won 10 games, lost 4, and saved 18, the most in the National League. He pitched seventy- six innings, all in relief, and it seemed to me that he magically materialized at moments of maximum peril. I began to anticipate his appear-ance when the game was most on the line. The other Dodgers could forge a lead, but only Casey could preserve it. In 1947, the closer’s role was not well- defined, and managers would put their best man on the mound late in the game and ask him to pitch two or three innings as needed. For the Dodgers, the best man was Casey.

As Red Barber put it: “Trouble starts in the game and away down in the right field corner, a bulky right- hander gets off the bullpen bench, picks up his glove, and in almost majestic and unhurried tempo begins warming up . . . then an arm is waved toward the bullpen and here he comes. Ole Casey, walk-ing as serenely as a barefoot boy down an empty country road.”2 “Sukeforth waited at the mound with the ball. He handed it to Casey, and left. There was nothing Sukeforth could tell Casey. You don’t tell a supreme artist how to paint a canvas or sing an aria.”3 Casey said that his manager, Burt (Bar-ney) Shotton was responsible for his success in 1947: “Barney handled me per-fectly. He asked me how much work I thought I could do, and I told him I could work three innings almost every day if necessary. So Shotton told me he would never call on me before the seventh.”4 Shotton used to sit next to Casey in the dugout during the first six innings, picking his brain for advice on the opposition’s batters. Only in the seventh would Casey trudge down to the bullpen in case he was needed.

Casey was born in 1913 in Atlanta, Georgia. Wilbert Robinson, who had managed the Dodgers from 1914 until 1931, became president of the Southern Association’s Atlanta Crackers in 1932 and Casey joined his team at age nine-teen. “It was debated whether he was picked because he was a fine natural pitcher or because he was an expert shot and had a way with a bird dog. When Casey’s first season was over, Mr. Robinson took him to his hunting camp and kept him there all winter.”5

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Triple Play 127

Casey meandered through organized ball for seven years with indifferent results, stopping with the Crackers, the Chicago Cubs, their Los Angeles farm team, Birmingham, and Memphis. It was in 1938 that Larry MacPhail, presi-dent of the Dodgers, picked Casey up for the bargain price of $7,500. MacPhail had begun to rebuild a chronic second division team into a powerhouse that would challenge for the pennant in 1940 and win it in 1941. With the Dodg-ers, Casey flourished, going 15- 10 in 1939, 11- 8 in 1940, and 14- 11 in 1941. At first, he was used as a starting pitcher, but he gradually shifted toward relief. In 1941, he appeared in 45 games and pitched 162 innings, but started only 18 times, compiling 7 (unofficial) saves to go with his 14 wins. He’d become a “closer,” finishing 25 games. After the 1941 pennant was secured, Dodgers manager Leo Durocher said “We couldn’t have won it without Casey.”6

Nevertheless, the 1941 World Series against the Yankees featured trau-matic gaffe for the Dodgers. Trailing the Yankees two games to one, Brooklyn entrusted a 4– 3 lead in Game 4 to Casey. With two out in the ninth inning, and a full count on Tommy Henrich, Casey struck him out on a pitch that broke sharply down and in. Opinions vary whether the pitch was a curve or a spitball, but, more crucially, catcher Mickey Owen couldn’t handle it. The ball rolled to the backstop, Henrich reached first safely, and the ensuing rally, fueled by Joe DiMaggio and Charlie Keller, led to a 7– 4 Dodgers loss. The Series ended the following day with another Yankee victory; the Brooklyn Eagle’s sorrowful headline, “Wait Till Next Year,” became the mantra of my generation of Dodgers fans.

The 1947 season marked the summit of Casey’s career and the World Series his apotheosis, but it generated unprecedented obstacles for the Dodgers. Not only did Jackie Robinson break the color line, with all the internal stress and outward opposition that engendered, but, just before the season began, Man-ager Leo Durocher was suspended by Commissioner Chandler for “conduct detrimental to baseball.” Branch Rickey installed his long- time friend Burt Shotton as manager. Shotton had managed St. Louis farm teams for Rickey and had piloted the Philadelphia Phillies from 1928 to 1933, but presiding over Robinson’s rookie year while attempting to bring an elusive pennant to Brook-lyn were challenges of far greater magnitude. Casey made his contribution: used only in relief, he appeared in 46 games, finishing 37, winning 10, losing 4, and saving a league- leading 18 games. He was the indispensable man, clos-ing game after crucial game as the Dodgers finished 94– 60, five games ahead of the Cardinals.

Once again, Brooklyn’s World Series opponent was the Yankees, a classic confrontation that went the full seven games. It was a Series that featured two

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.2128

outstanding relief pitchers, Joe Page for the Yankees and Casey for the Dodg-ers. I vividly remember those games sixty- five years later. One of my father’s customers had a television set, and I was invited to come to his home after school to watch the late innings. In those days, even a tiny screen with a per-petual “snow storm” was a marvel not to be forgotten, and for the first time in my life I learned what it was like to hang on every pitch and cheer or lament every hit or run.

The Dodgers lost the first two games at Yankee Stadium; Casey pitched two scoreless innings in Game 1, but did not figure in the decision. In the third game, at Ebbets Field, the Dodgers led by 7– 2 after three innings, but by the seventh inning their lead was only 9– 7 and Shotton called for Casey. Clutch pitching limited the Yankees to one additional run, and Casey, who pitched the final 2 and 2/3 innings, was awarded the victory. In the key moment, he induced Joe DiMaggio to hit into a double play with two runners aboard.

The ninth inning of Game 4 remains high on the all- time list of World Series tension. After eight innings, the Yankees led 2– 1 and pitcher Bill Bev-ens, though wild, had yet to surrender a hit. In the top of the ninth, the Yan-kees loaded the bases with one out. Tommy Henrich was due up, and Shotton brought in Casey. Six years after the debacle of 1941, Casey faced Henrich again. This time, with a single pitch, Casey induced a comebacker that he turned into an inning- ending double play! In the last of the ninth, Bevens walked Furillo and Al Gionfriddo ran for him. With two out, Pete Reiser, on a badly sprained ankle (actually fractured), pinch hit for the pitcher. On Shotton’s signal, Gion-friddo stole second. The Yankees then walked Rieser intentionally and Eddie Miksis ran for him. What happened next has never been better described than in Red Barber’s classic radio play- by- play: “Wait a minute . . . Stanky is being called back from the plate and Lavagetto goes up to hit. . . . Gionfriddo walks off second . .  . Miksis off first.  .  .  . They’re both ready to go on anything. .  .  . Two men out, last of the ninth . . . the pitch . . . swung on, there’s a drive hit out toward the right field corner. Henrich is going back. He can’t get it! It’s off the wall for a base hit! Here comes the tying run, and here comes the win-ning run! . . . Well, I’ll be a suck- egg mule!”7 The Dodgers won 3– 2 on Lavag-etto’s double, their only hit; they had evened the series at 2– 2, and Casey was awarded the victory for his single crucial pitch to Henrich. In Barber’s words, Casey “was at a peak few pitchers ever reach. He had defended completely in the Series everything his manager had entrusted to him.”8

The Dodgers lost Game 5 to Spec Shea’s four- hitter, 2– 1. Casey pitched the eighth and ninth innings of this tight ballgame, giving up no runs and one hit. In the ninth inning, an error and a hit- batsman put two men on for the Yan-

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Triple Play 129

kees with none out, but Casey again induced a double- play grounder from DiMaggio.

Game 6 provided the last hurrah for both the Dodgers and the Fireman. It was another scintillating contest, featuring a come- from- behind rally that pro-pelled the Dodgers to an 8– 5 advantage, preserved by a spectacular catch by Al Gionfriddo that robbed DiMaggio of a game- tying three- run homer (Red Bar-ber: “Here’s the pitch, swung on, belted . . . it’s a long one . . . back goes Gion-friddo, back, back, back, back, back, back . . . heeee makes a one- handed catch against the bullpen! Oh, Doctor!”9). In the last of the ninth, Joe Hatten put two Yankees on with no one out. Once again, Casey took the mound. Rizzuto was retired on a fly ball. Aaron Robinson singled, loading the bases. Lonny Frey grounded into a force out and a run scored, but that was the second out. Casey then got Snuffy Stirnweiss on a comebacker, saving the 8– 6 victory.

That the Dodgers lost the final game and the Series was not Casey’s fault; of the three Dodgers victories, Casey was credited with two wins and a save. He appeared in six of the seven contests, but Game 7, a 5– 2 defeat for Brook-lyn, was lost before Casey entered in the seventh inning. He did surrender a run on one hit, but Joe Page pitched five innings of shutout relief to seal the win for New York. After the Series, Tom Meany asked DiMaggio what had impressed him most about the Dodgers. DiMaggio replied: “Casey, Ol’ Case really had it this time.”10 Red Barber summed it up: “There he stood in Octo-ber, but in my mind’s eye he has been standing there for many and many a year. He was great against the Yankees in 1947, but he has been doing that same job, game in and game out, through the weeks and months.”11

I was devastated. How could my team have lost? It was the beginning of a life- long detestation of the Yankees. Even today, with the Dodgers long gone from Brooklyn, I watch Yankees games and reflexively root for their oppo-nents. But Yankees- phobia is not my subject here. Rather, it is a young man’s realization that all people, most assuredly including baseball players, are amal-gams of the admirable and the deplorable. It’s one thing for a seven- year- old to thrill to the Fireman’s on- field heroics; it’s another for someone ten times his age to scrutinize the darker, ultimately tragic flaws of Casey’s character. At age eleven, in 1951, I was unaware of Casey’s troubled life and ultimate suicide (of which more later). My mother and I were then trying to cope with our own tragedy, the untimely death of my father. Although baseball remained important to me as I grew up, it assumed a more proportionate place in my increasingly adult world.

From the vantage point of age, I can see Casey in the round: he was a good old southern boy who, in no particular order of preference, liked cigars,

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.2130

liquor, women, and a good fight. And in keeping with his origins, he didn’t particularly like black people.

In Bums, Peter Golenbock gives us a reality check on Casey’s personal-ity and his hair- trigger temper. Once, late in the 1941 pennant race, umpire George Magerkurth— a particular peeve of manager Leo Durocher— called a balk on Casey, waving in the tying run from third base in a hard- fought game against the Pirates. Casey threw the next pitch at Magerkurth’s head; and the ball “whistled past Magerkurth’s left ear.”12 In fact, in Superstars and Screw-balls, Richard Goldstein maintains that Casey threw three successive pitches at Magerkurth. When the umpire warned Casey, Durocher bounded out of the dugout, took issue with Magerkurth, and was promptly ejected. Worse, the Dodgers went on to lose the game.13

Another time, Casey and Bill Reddy, on the trail of someone kiting checks forged with Casey’s signature, explored and patronized a succession of Brook-lyn bars, and then engaged in a brawl in Flatlands. “Before the fight ended, Hugh had thrown someone through a plate- glass window of a saloon. But the police didn’t arrest him, because he was Hugh Casey.”14 Carl Furillo recalled that whereas most players took along toiletries on road trips, Casey’s kit bag contained two quarts of whiskey. Red Barber heard from teammates that Casey’s “bedtime routine included cigars, comic books, and a bottle of whis-key. He would lie in bed smoking the stogie, reading the comic books, and drinking his liquor straight until either the bottle or he was finished.”15

A legendary example of Casey’s pugnacious temperament took place when the Dodgers trained in Havana prior to the 1942 season. After a day of pigeon shooting with Ernest Hemingway, several Dodgers— including Billy Her-man, Larry French, Augie Galan, and Casey— accompanied Hemingway back to his home outside the city. There, after preparatory libations, Hemingway observed that he and Casey were of like size and ought to spar a few rounds. As they were putting on boxing gloves, Hemingway quick- punched Casey, arousing his ire. In return, he decked Hemingway, launching glasses and bot-tles across the room. Finally, the spectators separated the combatants, addi-tional drinks provided calm (if not stupor), and the evening came to a close around midnight. As the Dodgers were leaving, an inebriated Ernest took Hugh by the arm and said, “You got the better of me tonight, but I’d like to try you again. In the morning we’ll both be sober and we’ll have a duel. You pick the weapons— pistols or knives or swords— whatever you want to use.”16 Fortunately, for both literature and baseball, the duel never took place; a chas-tened Hemingway apologized the next morning.

During spring training in 1947, also in Havana, Dixie Walker led an infa-mous attempt to prevent Jackie Robinson’s addition to the Brooklyn roster.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Triple Play 131

Walker enlisted mainly southern players, although Golenbock reports that Casey was not enthusiastic. To his lasting credit, manager Durocher squelched this initiative in colorfully profane rhetoric. Nevertheless, Casey’s southern bias was painfully evident in his unthinking way with words. As Golenbock recounts: “One time Robinson was playing poker with pitcher Hugh Casey, and Hugh was losing. To everyone in the room, Hugh hollered, “You know what ah used to do down in Georgia when ah ran into bad luck. Ah used to go out and fine me the biggest, blackest, nigger woman ah could find and rub her teats to change my luck.” Robinson became dizzy, but did nothing. “Deal the cards,” he said icily.17

Baseball Annies abounded on Dodgers road trips and Casey was suscep-tible. Carl Prince maintains that “the pursuit of sex was part of some Dodgers’ road life.”18 Paternity suits were a constant threat, and one of them ultimately led to Casey’s downfall. He owned a bar and grill near Ebbets Field in Brook-lyn. It was there, Casey claimed, that he met Hilda Weissman. Hilda claimed much more, specifically that she spent four nights with Casey at Brooklyn’s St. George Hotel, where Casey fathered her son, born in November 1949.19 Weissman lodged a paternity suit against Casey which she won in Decem-ber 1950. By then, Casey had left the Dodgers and was out of baseball, but his marriage— rocky to begin with— broke up. His wife Kathleen, who was living in Georgia, accepted Casey’s denials of paternity, but did not return to him. According to Al Gionfriddo, Hilda Weissman was “crazy for ballplayers” and “it could have been anybody’s baby.”20 But, in those long ago days before DNA, who really knew the truth?

Casey’s had long skirted disaster on the ballfield, but it caught up with him in 1948. Shortly after the season began, he fell down a flight of stairs at his apartment, above the bar. Whether drink contributed to this accident is unclear, but torn ligaments and tendons sidelined Casey for more than two months. When he did pitch again, he was much less effective, logging only 36 innings and completing only 11 games, with his 3- 0 record offset by a swol-len 8.00 ERA. The Dodgers released him in September of 1948. In 1949, he pitched acceptably for the sixth- place Pirates, appearing in 33 games, closing 23 of them, compiling a 4- 1 record with 5 saves and a 4.66 ERA. However, the Pirates released him too, and he signed with the Yankees, appearing in just four games. He was not on the Yankees World Series roster and did not pitch against his old team when the Yankees, much to my dismay, defeated Brook-lyn four games to one in the 1949 Series.

Hugh Casey had just one more season of baseball left, and it ended where it began, in Atlanta. Dixie Walker had been traded to the Pirates after the 1947 season, finishing his playing career with them in 1949. In 1950, he was named

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.2132

manager of the Class AA Atlanta Crackers of the Southern Association and set out to reinvigorate a struggling team. Walker hired Kirbe Higbe as pitching coach and Hugh Casey for his pitching staff, while he took on the duties of the batting coach himself. Although Casey was hit hard in his first few appearances, he soon returned to form. By season’s end, the 92- 59 Crackers boasted the best record in the league, and Casey had appeared in 45 games, winning 10 and los-ing 4.21 Encouraged by his success, Casey attempted to return to the Dodgers in 1951, but nothing came of it; he was finished as a major- league pitcher.

And then Casey’s troubles compounded. To his failure on the diamond was added the stress of the paternity suit, separation from his wife, and tax trou-bles with his bar and grill. These were not problems to be solved with a curve ball. Casey returned to Atlanta in June and checked into the Atlantan Hotel, telling the bellboy that a heart condition gave him only ten days to live.22 At 1 AM on July 3, Casey called his friend Gordon McNabb and announced that he was about to kill himself. While McNabb hurried to the hotel, Casey called Kathleen informing her that he was “ready to die, ready to go.” She pleaded with him, telling him that she believed he was innocent of the paternity charge and that it was “for God to decide when a man must die.” But Casey replied, “I feel just like I was walking out to the pitcher’s box. I was never any more calm than I am right now.” He continued, “I can’t eat or sleep since going through all the embarrassment. And I had to drag you through it, too, but I swear with a dying oath that I’m innocent. I’m completely innocent of those charges.” Kathleen heard the shotgun blast over the telephone, as Casey shot himself in the neck. Gordon McNabb, who arrived at Casey’s door at the same moment, heard it too.23 At Casey’s funeral, his old teammates Dixie Walker and Whitlow Wyatt served as pallbearers. The minister, referring to the pater-nity suit, said, “You never know what is in a man’s mind at such a time, but I think Hugh believed that he had been knocked out of the box, unjustly per-haps, and he didn’t want to go back to the bench.”24

How do we measure a man’s life? How does one square the flawed Casey of reality with the idealized, one- dimensional hero of the seven- year- old child? How can we reconcile similar dualities in anyone? I’ve come to believe that it’s impossible; it’s the cost of growing up; nothing is proof against disillu-sion. Perhaps only in the realm of art can good and bad coexist in a tenuous equilibrium.

For poor Casey, I prefer to imagine a different dimension, another earth, where Ebbets Field still stands. There, it is the late September of a close pen-nant race, the final innings of a bitterly contested game. An arm is waved toward the bullpen, and, amid hopeful recognition from the faithful, num-

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Triple Play 133

ber twenty- five ambles slowly toward the mound. This Casey is neither a bigot nor a boozer, and his life is in order. Without a word, Clyde Suke-forth hands him the ball and turns away. The small knot of players dissolves: Bruce Edwards dons his mask and heads back to home plate, Spider Jorgensen returns to third, Pee Wee Reese to short, and Eddie Stanky to second. The black first baseman lingers for a moment. The country boy looks up at him and smiles: “Nothin’ to fear, Ole Casey’s here.” Jackie Robinson smiles too: “Go get ’em, big fella!”

Notes

1. Red Barber, 1947, When All Hell Broke Loose in Baseball (New York: Da Capo, 1982), 63– 64.

2. Red Barber, “My Ten Years with the Dodgers,” in The Story of the Brooklyn Dodg-ers, ed. Ed Fitzgerald (New York: Bantam Books, 1949), 80.

3. Barber, 1947, When All Hell Broke Loose in Baseball, 349.4. Tom Meany, “Hugh Casey,” in The Story of the Brooklyn Dodgers, ed. Ed Fitzger-

ald (New York: Bantam Books, 1949), 109.5. “Casey, Ex- Dodger is Atlanta Suicide,” New York Times, July 4, 1951.6. Barber, “My Ten Years with the Dodgers,” 79.7. Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Red_Barber.8. Barber, 1947, When All Hell Broke Loose in Baseball, 349.9. “Red Barber,” Wikipedia, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Red_Barber.10. Meany, “Hugh Casey,” 112.11. Barber, “My Ten Years with the Dodgers,” 79– 80.12. Peter Golenbock, Bums (New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1984), 47.13. Richard Goldstein, Superstars and Screwballs: 100 Years of Brooklyn Baseball

(New York: Dutton, 1991), 215.14. Golenbock, Bums, 48.15. Russell Wolinsky, “Hugh Casey,” in The Team That Forever Changed Base-

ball and America: The 1947 Brooklyn Dodgers, ed. Lyle Spatz (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2012), 117.

16. Goldstein, Superstars and Screwballs: 100 Years of Brooklyn Baseball, 221. For more on this incident, see Steven P. Gietschier, “Slugging and Snubbing: Hugh Casey, Ernest Hemingway, and Jackie Robinson— A Baseball Mystery,” NINE: A Journal of Baseball History and Culture 21, no. 1 (Fall 2012):12– 46

17. Golenbock, Bums, 159.18. Carl E. Prince, Brooklyn’s Dodgers: The Bums, the Borough, and the Best of Base-

ball 1947– 1957 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1996), 79.19. Wolinsky, “Hugh Casey,” 118.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.2134

20. Golenbock, Bums, 51– 52.21. Lyle Spatz, “Three Georgia- Born Former Dodgers Lead the Crackers to a Pen-

nant,” SABR, http://sabr.org/research/three-georgia-born-former-dodgers-lead-crackers-pennant

22. Wolinsky, “Hugh Casey,” 118.23. “Casey, Ex- Dodger is Atlanta Suicide,” New York Times, July 4, 1951.24. Spatz, “Three Georgia- Born Former Dodgers Lead the Crackers to a Pennant.”

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Bill KulikThe Gringo Malo Speaks the Language of the Game

Franklin Otto

His introduction to the game of baseball came at the age of seven, on a sum-mer vacation while visiting his cousins in Rhode Island. William Kulik was born in New Jersey but moved with his parents at a very young age to South America. He spent nine years living in Argentina, Bolivia, and Colombia, none of which are bastions of baseball. When Bill played Wiffle ball with his cousins, his teammates stood behind the backstop because after he swung at the ball, he threw the bat. Attending his first major- league game at Shea Sta-dium, Bill thought Wayne Garrett was “God’s gift to baseball” because he hit a home run and Bill caught the ball. He thought every time you went to a game, you caught a ball.

Being behind the other kids in learning the subtleties of the game almost worked out to his advantage later on. Playing soccer at high elevations in both Bolivia and Colombia, he was becoming a fine- tuned athlete. Returning to New Jersey for four years of high school, his inexperience with the game was welcomed by the baseball coaches who proceeded to mold him. He played varsity ball in high school and at Bryant College in Rhode Island, mostly as an outfielder and pitcher.

Currently, Bill anchors the three- person Spanish- language broadcast team for the Philadelphia Phillies. They rotate their responsibilities doing three innings each of play- by- play and color analysis. I interviewed him at Citizen’s Bank Park in August 2011.

How did you become interested in broadcasting?Aft er graduating from college, I went to work in the fl edging telecommunica-tions fi eld in Boston, building the New England Sports Network tower and installing pay- per- view systems in hotels. Later on working for Comcast, I headed up an innovative distance- learning program between the Museum of Science and the Cambridge public schools. Deciding that if I was going to

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.2136

stay in the cable television business I wanted to do something I really loved, I started a weekly show called Forever Baseball that got carried on many Com-cast local- access stations. Before I knew it, I was in fi ve million homes.

One aft ernoon, my crew and I went to Fenway Park to do a feature. Th e Yankees are in town and Dan Duquette has just acquired Pedro Martinez, who is going up against Roger Clemens. I happen to be standing within earshot of Dan and some folks, and Dan sounds like he’s annoyed because there is no Hispanic coverage of any sorts. So I took a deep breath, walked over to the group and told Mr. Duquette that I might be able to help. Th e next thing I know it’s, “Sit down, son.” Watching the game from Mr. Duquette’s box, a deal is cut. I quit my job and started a company called Spanish Baseball Produc-tions (SBN) which began carrying Spanish- language broadcasts in Boston.

How did you wind up in Philadelphia?We were in Philadelphia during an interleague series. Aft er watching us, the Philly brass wanted to know if I could do the same thing here that I was do-ing in Boston, which had a much smaller Hispanic community. I thought, if I could be close to my high school home and double the sales eff orts, why not? So we expanded.

How did you get nicknamed Gringo Malo?We were doing our pre- game show, which includes a call- in portion. Th is is back in 2003 around the time of the Sammy Sosa illegal- bat incident. I was only producing then in Boston and was rarely on the air. My announcer was Dominican and said very emphatically that Sammy didn’t use the bat inten-tionally and he didn’t know the bat had been doctored. Th ere’s a lull in the calls, so on the air I say to my colleague, “Hey, an illegal bat is an illegal bat. Sammy has to be suspended for it.” My colleague says, “Ay, ese Gringo Malo.” (Oh, that Terrible Gringo.) And don’t you know the phone lines light up and everyone now is on my case. So, if you ask the Hispanic ballplayers in Boston or Philadelphia whether they know who Bill Kulik is, they’ll say, “No.” But ask them if they know Gringo Malo, and they’ll immediately say, “Sure.”

What kinds of feedback do you get from the listening audience?At fi rst, people were only interested in calling to talk about particular Hispanic players or stars, like Sammy Sosa and Manny Ramirez. Not even interested in whether the Phillies were winning or not. I notice that now on our call- in show the hard- core audience has defi nitely converted to pure Phillies fans. Th ey ab-solutely get it. Th ey want to talk about why the Phillies lost last night, or moan about a Charlie Manuel decision with a particular pitcher. Th ey are caring about how the team is going to win and what the rotation should be. Th ey now know just as much about Ryan Howard and Jimmie Rollins as they do of the

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Triple Play 137

Latino players. Five years ago, I guarantee, they would not have known who any of these guys were.

How do you address the cultural and linguistic nuances of the Latino communities?I don’t really think a lot of markets understand the cultural nuances between a Puerto Rican Latino, a Dominican Latino, a Cuban Latino, or a Mexican Latino. We play our Spanish kind of down- the- middle, not favoring one group over another. We absolutely allow Spanglish in our broadcasts because we are talking to two, three, or four generations of Latinos, and some are more domi-nant in English than Spanish.1 I don’t want to lose these folks to the English- speaking broadcasters. I want them to listen and enjoy the game with their parents and to unite the Hispanic community. Th at’s our main goal.

Has fl uency in Spanish and exposure to the Hispanic culture infl uenced the manner in which you approach your job and look at life in general?Absolutely. I can give you a recent example. I was on vacation with my fi ancé in the Dominican Republic at an all- inclusive resort, which really limits your expo-

Fig. 1. Bill Kulik. Photo by the author.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.2138

sure to the local culture. I happened to strike- up a conversation in Spanish with our maid and told her that I’d love some local fi sh. Here was a humble woman who saw my ability to communicate in her language and sensed my interest in her as a person. A short while later, we visited her relatives, who treated us to a horseback ride and a wonderful meal of fresh fried fi sh on the beach.

My fi ancé has a shoe store which caters to mostly Hispanic and African American clientele. I am able to help her out from time- to- time. When the His-panic women come up to the cash register to pay, I sometimes say, “Diez pesos y se acaba esta vaina.” (Ten dollars and this nuisance is fi nished.) Th ey get a real charge hearing this gringo unexpectedly speaking their language. Th ere is an element of racism and apprehension that I don’t feel, which I attribute to my be-ing able to communicate in Spanish and my assimilation of the Latino culture.

Some players say that 80 percent of the game is mental and 20 percent is ability. Is there something comparable for you?Absolutely. I think that one of my advantages is that I played as a starter at a pretty high level through high school and college. Th at was my preparation, and I lean on that all the time. Many broadcasters who have played at the pro-fessional level may not realize that they are leaning on all of their experiences. It’s a special gift we’ve been given— both the chance to play on the fi eld and then to take it to the broadcast booth. I don’t go to work, I go to the park, so I cherish every day I have here. Taking those fun days from the neighborhood or the playing fi eld and bringing them into the broadcast booth is my favorite thing to do.

How do you keep all of your anecdotes and statistics organized so that you can plug them in at the right time?I probably have a very silly memory for a lot of the anecdotes, and in par-ticular, some of the history of the sport. During the color analysis portion of the broadcast, some of the anecdotes will be from my own playing career even though it’s not a major- league career. It’s an opportunity to teach the fans about baseball, especially those who know very little about the game. With play- by- play, you don’t have much time for anecdotes because you’re painting a picture of the game as it’s unfolding and you have to keep everyone informed about what’s happening on the fi eld. I do plenty of statistics, but too many are a crutch to kill time. I rather do more banter or describing the scene, the weather, the fans or something going on around the ballpark.

When you talk with other broadcasters or writers, what do they seem most interested in?Th ey get to know eighteen of the twenty- fi ve players fairly well, including the Latino players who are conversant in English. On occasion, they will ask me

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Triple Play 139

about a particular Latino player, especially if there is a cultural or language barrier. Th ey might have seen a story of a player who is doing well and ask, “What’s he like? Is he from a poor neighborhood or rich neighborhood, be-cause he seems diff erent from the others? What are diff erences between a Ca-ribbean player and a South American player?” We’ll get all kinds of pronuncia-tion questions, whether it is the player’s name or his hometown.

Do you have any signature calls?Th ere is one I use to open the game. “Abrochen los cinturones que el Gringo Malo tiene el micrófono. Cuídense.” (“Fasten your seat belts because Gringo Malo has the mike. Beware.”) My strike- out calls are, “Siéntate y gracias por tu participación” (“Take a seat and thanks for participating”), and “Puro vientos” or “Congelado” (“All air” or “Frozen”), depending on whether he was swinging or watching. My home- run call is, “Vete de aquí. Hasta la vista pelotita.” (“Get out of here. See you later little ball.”) I also like to use programmed recordings for some dry, light- hearted humor. Aft er an error, I play Bart Simpson’s “Ahí caramba!” (“Aw, shucks!”) I tend to fi nd rare statistics which make my col-leagues wonder where the heck I got that from? “Desde la mente del Gringo Malo.” (“From the mind of the Gringo Malo.”) And I’ll play the theme from Th e Twilight Zone.

Notes

1. Spanglish, as a linguistic phenomenon incorporating code- switching and word- borrowing, elicits strong opinions on its viability as a form of communication. It is evident in certain areas of the United States and has also been identified within the British population of Argentina and in the Panama Canal Zone. Having worked in the field of language policy in education for twenty seven years, I am aware of how practi-tioners value the correctness of language representation and usage and disdain the use of Spanglish as a viable form of communication.

I have listened to Bill Kulik’s radio broadcasts on several occasions and consider his Spanish to be grammatical albeit infused with an Americanized accent. The play- by- play and color analyst roles of his broadcast team are shared each game on a rotating basis with a native- born Cuban and Dominican. Bill’s passion for the game is beyond question. He is informative and provides an accurate portrayal of the action on the field in a uniquely entertaining manner. I hear other Spanish broadcasters seamlessly incorporate baseball terminology in English into their narrations. Being “America’s game,” it’s unavoidable. It’s probably a matter of degree as to what their listening audi-ence finds acceptable.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Baseball’s Other Expansion Team of 1962Fifty Years of Frustration in the National League Ends for Houston

Ron Briley

While the attention of the baseball world was drawn to the San Francisco Giants’ 2012 World Series triumph and speculation about what roster changes the New York Yankees would make following their disappointing perfor-mance in the American League Championship Series, another baseball mile-stone received scant attention. After fifty years of futility in the National League, the Houston Astros switched their affiliation to the American League (AL) West. Ostensibly, the Houston club will now be able to foster a natural rivalry with the AL West Texas Rangers, increasing interest for the sport in the Lone Star State. During its fifty- year tenure in the National League, the Houston franchise won six division titles and made two playoff appearances as a wild card entry. In 2005, Houston won its only National League pennant and played the Chicago White Sox in the World Series. The White Sox swept the Series in four games, still leaving the Houston ball club without a World Series victory. Since that World Series appearance, the club has suffered a steady decline. The Houston Astros achieved the dubious distinction of hav-ing the worst record in Major League Baseball their last two National League seasons, losing 106 games in 2011 and 107 contests in 2012.

But baseball in Houston seemed much more promising in 1962. Respond-ing to Congressional antimonopoly concerns and efforts by Branch Rickey and others to form a third major league, Major League Baseball placed expan-sion National League franchises in Houston and New York City. The two new franchises, however, failed to receive equal attention from the nation’s media. Houston, fielding a competent expansion entry, was overlooked by sports-writers and fans in favor of a New York Mets team which established modern records for futility.

Of course, there were reasons for the national attention to focus on the New York Mets. They resided in the nation’s media center and were able to attract chroniclers such as Jimmy Breslin. The Mets were also represented by

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Triple Play 141

General Manager George Weiss and Manager Casey Stengel, who recalled the glory days of the New York Yankees in the 1950s. Having to compete with the popular Yankees for the New York market, Weiss decided that the Mets would draft well- established veterans to fill the expansion roster. Players such as Gil Hodges, Don Zimmer, Gus Bell, Charlie Neal, and Richie Ashburn adorned the roster, providing the Mets with older hands who were household names to baseball fans in New York and throughout the country. While the team was old and short on pitching, Stengel remained quotable, and the nation became infatuated with such loveable losers as former Yankee “Marvelous” Marv Throneberry. Indeed, the Mets proved to be so bad that they did restore some of the interest in baseball which many in the game feared was being lost to professional football.

Meanwhile, ignored in the national hoopla over Stengel and the Mets, a solid first- year expansion franchise was taking shape in Houston. Appealing to the frontier images still associated with Texas and its largest city, the ini-tial name for the Houston team was the Colt .45s, often shortened to Colts, a symbol of the gun which was considered to have played a leading role in the winning of the West. In 1961, the Houston electorate approved $22 million in general obligation bonds for the Harris County domed stadium. However, the Astrodome, as the stadium was eventually called, was not ready for the inaugural 1962 campaign. The Colt .45s would have to compete against the Mets without the publicity of the world’s first indoor baseball park. Instead, the Colt .45s played in a temporary structure, Colt Stadium, which had a seat-ing capacity of thirty- two thousand and was located on the same lot as the projected domed stadium.

Unlike the Mets who emphasized name players in the draft, Houston selected younger athletes, many of them out of the talented Los Angeles Dodger system. Among the players assembled by Houston were Dodger prod-ucts Norm Larker, Bob Lillis, and Bob Aspromonte; Boston Red Sox short-stop Don Buddin; and outfielder Al Spangler from the Milwaukee Braves. For pitching help the Colts selected such players as veteran Dick Farrell from the Dodgers, Bob Bruce from the Tigers, and knuckleballer Ken Johnson of the Cincinnati Reds. To guide this group of young players, Houston management pegged former Baltimore Orioles manager Paul Richards as general manager, and former journeyman outfielder, and skipper of the Kansas City Athletics, Harry Craft as manager.

Craft tried to lower expectations for the young club, but the Colts cre-ated considerable excitement by starting the season in Houston with a three- game sweep of the Chicago Cubs. On opening day, thirty- year- old, five- foot- seven Bobby Schantz went the distance for the Colts, holding the Cubs to just

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.2142

five hits in an 11– 2 victory. Offensive punch was provided by former Pirate Roman Mejias who blasted a pair of three- run home runs. Houston contin-ued its mastery on April 11 and 12 by tossing consecutive shutouts at the over-whelmed Cubs. Hal Woodeschick and Dick Farrell combined for a 2– 0 vic-tory, followed by veteran left- hander Dean Stone’s three- hitter.

The expansion team was quickly brought back to reality by teams such as the Dodgers and San Francisco Giants. Nevertheless, the Colts, predicted to finish in last place in the ten- team league, attained eighth place, completing the year with a record of 64- 96. While finishing thirty- six games out of first and sixteen out of seventh, the Colts completed the season six games ahead of ninth-place Chicago and twenty- four ahead of the Mets, who compiled a record of just 40- 120. The Colts’ surprising finish was primarily due to a fine pitching staff which achieved a 3.80 ERA, while amassing 1,039 strikeouts and only issuing 467 walks. The hitting star of the franchise was outfielder Roman Mejias with a .286 batting average, 24 home runs, and 76 RBI. However, during the off season the Colts traded their popular Latino ballplayer to the Boston Red Sox for American League batting champion, and Houston native, Pete Runnels. The team also did well at the box office, ending up sixth in National League attendance. Team owner Roy Hofheinz concluded, “We made great progress in a year, and we look forward to continued hard work and prog-ress. No one in the Houston organization will be satisfied until Houston has a world’s champion.”

But the championship predicted by Hofheinz has eluded the Houston fran-chise. In 1965, the team sought to change its image from the old West to the modern space age with the Houston Astros and the Astrodome. While enjoy-ing some success and playing through the 1970s in rainbow- colored uniforms, the Astros never attained a National League pennant, nor played in a World Series game during their tenure in the Astrodome. In 2000, the club moved into a new downtown park, Enron Field. The corrupt Enron energy corpora-tion went bankrupt, and in 2002 the Minute Maid orange juice company pur-chased the naming rights for the park. These changes in venue and corporate sponsorship have not produced a championship.

And there seems little chance that the shift to the American League West will soon improve things. Under the ownership of Houston businessman Jim Crane, who purchased the team in 2011, the club has jettisoned veteran play-ers while focusing upon the development of younger talent which seems years away from competing for any type of championship. Meanwhile, the Ameri-can League West— with strong clubs in the Oakland A’s, Texas Rangers, Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim, and Seattle Mariners— will be a tougher divi-sion for Houston than the National League Central, where the Astros could at

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Triple Play 143

least compete with the Cubs (including three shutouts at the end of the 2012 season, reminiscent of the club’s start against the Cubs in 1962). Addition-ally, no player has entered the Baseball Hall of Fame as an Astro. Nolan Ryan pitched for the Astros, but the no- hit and strikeout king opted to enter Coo-perstown as a member of the Texas Rangers. This may change when Craig Biggio, who played his entire career with Houston while compiling over 3,000 hits, becomes eligible for the Hall in 2013. So after fifty years, the prospects of a championship season in Houston remain slim. And some of us who have followed the team for fifty years despair that we may not see a World Series victory in our lifetime. Nevertheless, I will stick by the team. As a young man laboring in the cotton fields of West Texas in the early 1960s, the Astros were a lifeline to a world beyond the back- breaking labor and heat of the Texas Pan-handle. They kept me going then, and the least I can do now is to continue to stand with them as the possibility of another one hundred– loss season looms. But hope springs eternal in baseball, and once more I’ll have to say, “Wait till next year.”

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

B O O K R E V I E W S

Mitchell Nathanson. A People’s History of Baseball. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2012. 275 pp. Cloth, $29.95.

Daniel A. Nathan

“It’s hard not to be romantic about baseball,” muses Oakland A’s general man-ager Billy Beane (played by Brad Pitt) in Moneyball (2011). Beane is right. His-torically, many Americans have been unable to resist the game’s romance, its cherished (and incessantly repeated) images of “fathers playing catch with sons on fields of dreams in the glory of their times” (“Can’t Anyone Here Take This Quiz?,” Village Voice, August 18, 1992, 146). Sentimentality and nostalgia, ignorance and nationalism, becloud our sense of baseball history and reality. In this country, baseball romance rules.

Mitchell Nathanson’s A People’s History of Baseball is a historical correc-tive. It examines Major League Baseball (MLB) through an “alternative lens” (219), one that provides a useful, critical perspective. Nathanson’s critique is founded on the idea that stories matter, that narratives help “construct our world” (xii). A legal scholar, Nathanson explains that his book “is not about the baseball stories we already know but the ones we are much less famil-iar with— the counter- stories” (xiv). By “counter- stories” Nathanson means narratives “that challenge accepted, conventional beliefs” (xiii). As one might expect, counter- stories “are often dismissed as (take your pick) manipulative, political, anecdotal, unprincipled, and/or unfair” (xiii). That is, they are onto-logically just like the dominant narratives that most people take for granted as always- already true.

Organized thematically rather than strictly chronologically, the book’s six chapters cover a lot of ground. The first considers the 1876 founding of the National League, whose team owners promoted their version of the game as a mainstay of “Victorian values,” especially when compared to upstart rival leagues (15). In the process, the National League contributed to the “baseball creed” (15), which, though “little more than a cultural fiction” (29), argued

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Book Reviews 145

that the game was “an educational, socializing, and acculturation tool” of great moral value (18). The second chapter traces the roots of MLB’s extra- legal authority, thanks largely to a series of court decisions based on some dubious legal logic, beginning with the Supreme Court’s “infamous Federal Baseball decision” in 1922 (39). This chapter also discusses historically sig-nificant incidents— the game- fixing Black Sox scandal, the Pete Rose gam-bling affair, the steroids debacle and subsequent Mitchell Report— during which MLB swung its “extra- legal scythe” (35). Chapter three assesses “one of the most affirming morality tales in American history— the story of Branch Rickey, Jackie Robinson, and the integration of Major League Baseball in 1947” (68). Nathanson documents the nascent civil rights movement and the political push to integrate MLB that predated Robinson’s signing, the struggle for control of the Robinson story, and despite the 1954 Brown v. Board of Edu-cation decision, the disappointingly slow pace of MLB racial integration after Robinson.

The fourth chapter examines some of the most important ways in which MLB changed in the postwar years: continental expansion (adding eight new teams in the 1960s); an influx of new corporate ownership; a revolution in television broadcasting; the rise of the Major League Baseball Players Asso-ciation, led by the remarkably effective executive director, Marvin Miller; and the historic Curt Flood legal case, which challenged (but did not defeat) the reserve clause. The end result of all these changes, Nathanson argues, was that “the entire structure of the game had been overhauled. It was now a play-ers’ game, not an owners’ game” (144). The penultimate chapter scrutinizes the complex relationship among the American penchant of rooting for the underdog, the power of positive thinking movement, and the collectivism of the Players Association. This creative mélange of subjects reveals Americans’ preference for “romance over reality” (173); it suggests a preference for idyl-lic baseball fantasies and mythology rather than sober historical assessments. The concluding chapter focuses on baseball’s storytellers, the members of the media who “spun tales of baseball as America” (180), chief among them the influential, British- born Henry Chadwick, who in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries was responsible for formulating many of baseball’s most cherished statistics, such as the batting average and the run batted in. Nathanson’s appraisal of baseball writers is generally unfavorable. He writes that “despite their journalistic credentials, many media members were and are unashamed fans of the game and have simply been unwilling to present a more complex, perhaps less zealously patriotic, image of something they had looked up to all of their lives” (196). The one writer Nathanson admires was an outsider: Bill James, the statistical innovator who “directly and indirectly,

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.2146

challenged the baseball creed” and who argued that “there was no higher moral purpose of the game and there could be none because the game existed only on the field” (202).

In most ways, A People’s History of Baseball succeeds. The book is well organized and engaging, and Nathanson is fundamentally correct. Baseball is more than a game. It is, as he puts it, “a concept” that “bears significant emblematic weight” (xi). While true, this is not a novel or trenchant insight. Numerous writers, ranging from Walt Whitman and Mark Twain to Jacques Barzun and George F. Will, among others, have also proposed that baseball is indelibly linked with American ideals and values, history and culture. Add Nathanson to the list, although unlike some of the aforementioned writers, he is no cheerleader.

Nathanson is also right that over the course of many years, myriad people— most notably, MLB team owners and members of the media— have success-fully forged a strong “nexus between baseball and America” (xii). It was and is in their interest to capture the flag, which is usually a winning strategy in the United States. Oddly, however, an important baseball stakeholder is missing here: baseball fans. They/we too have helped build and maintain the “nexus between baseball and America” (xii). In a book titled A People’s History of Baseball this is a strange and perhaps disappointing omission. Baseball can only be the people’s game if the people assent to it, no matter what stories the power elites spin or what political and legal shenanigans they get away with. The game’s “enduring popularity” (180) has many sources, including aesthetic ones, some of which are beyond MLB’s reach.

Speaking of the book’s title, it obviously evokes the work of Howard Zinn’s popular A People’s History of the United States, 1492– Present (1980), and Nathanson thanks the late historian and social activist for inspiring him and “for demonstrating to anyone willing to listen that the received wisdom is hardly the only wisdom” (ix). Zinn’s book, like Nathanson’s, is drawn mostly from secondary sources and is polemical (which is fine by me). But many respected historians panned Zinn’s work when it was first published. Cor-nell University’s Michael Kammen said that it read “like a scissors- and- paste- pot job” and called it “simpleminded” (Michael Kammen, “How the Other Half Lived,” Washington Post, March 23, 1980), while Columbia University’s Eric Foner argued that it “reflects a deeply pessimistic vision of the Amer-ican experience” (Eric Foner, “Majority Report,” New York Times, March 2, 1980). My point is not to suggest that A People’s History of Baseball is similarly flawed, although it too has a dark vision of MLB ownership and the media, but to emphasize its intellectual and political lineage.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Book Reviews 147

At the same time, Nathanson’s title also calls to mind Harold Seymour’s Baseball: The People’s Game (1990), which we now know was mostly written by his widow, Dorothy Seymour Mills. The books are remarkably different. Baseball: The People’s Game chronicles how the game was played by boys on sandlots and in schoolyards; by adults in colleges and prisons; by ballplay-ers on semiprofessional, industrial, and town teams; by men, women, whites, African Americans, and Native Americans. In her review of A People’s History of Baseball, Mills, no doubt thinking about the relationship between Nathan-son’s title and the book’s content, writes, “When most writers speak of ‘base-ball,’ they really mean the major leagues. They don’t even consider the minor leagues, the independent leagues, and the thousands of amateur players. To them, Major League Baseball is the only baseball that counts. Mr. Nathanson, too, falls victim to this narrow use of terminology” (Dorothy Seymour Mills, review of A People’s History of Baseball, New York Journal of Books, February 23, 2012, http://www.nyjournalofbooks.com/review/people’s-history-baseball). She has a point. Then again, Nathanson’s project is different (and more com-plicated) than his title suggests.

And finally, Nathanson is right that MLB is “conservative by nature,” extremely proprietary, and willing to fight to protect its interests, which are principally financial (212). The same is true of most multi- billion- dollar industries. But since baseball is more than a game— because it is a valued cultural institution and a text shared by millions of citizens and fans, passed down from one generation to the next— Nathanson’s desire for us to under-stand its complex, messy history (rather than just its sanitized mythology) is salutary, worthy of praise. A thoughtful, substantive exploration of some aspects of MLB’s unsavory past and present, A People’s History of Baseball is a welcome alternative to the far more numerous baseball romances published every spring.

Patrick K. Thornton. Legal Decisions That Shaped Modern Baseball. Jefferson NC: McFarland, 2012. 240 pp. Paper, $39.95.

Richard C. Crepeau

Over the past two decades there has been a growing interest in the intersec-tion of sport and the law. Websites and journals devoted to the subject have appeared across the academic landscape, emanating from law schools, history

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.2148

departments, and sport studies programs. At the same time it seems as if there has been an increase in litigation involving sports at many different levels.

Litigation has been a significant element in baseball for well over a century. Patrick Thornton, a professor of sports management at Rice University, com-pleted this survey of baseball and the law just prior to his death in January 2012. Thornton put together a set of essays on a number of law cases that he felt had particular importance in baseball history.

His choices were guided by a desire to represent a variety of areas of the law and a desire to include cases that would be of interest to fans. He begins with the legal struggle over the Barry Bonds home run ball, which he says has become a staple for law students studying property law. In terms of time, the first case he reviews is the 1890 suit in which John Montgomery Ward challenged the reserve clause. Philadelphia Base- Ball Club, Limited, v. Lajoie is given a thorough analysis with all its implications for issues of contracts and the reserve clause.

Thornton devotes several chapters to other cases involving the reserve clause, including Flood v. Kuhn and the Andy Messersmith/Dave McNally arbitration ruling, along with the subsequent legal appeals of that decision. The latter is one of the strongest chapters in the book. Several cases deal with the powers of the commissioner of baseball, including the John Rocker sus-pension, the Pete Rose case, and the banning of Steve Howe from baseball. The Bernice Gera and Pam Postema discrimination cases also receive a full airing.

Other cases of lesser importance but perhaps of some interest are the trial of the Black Sox and the suits brought by fans who suffered from an injury or the death of a loved one at the ballpark. Of more contemporary interest are the suits over the use of players’ images and baseball statistics by fantasy base-ball gamers.

In each of the chapters Thornton summarizes the circumstances leading to the lawsuits or arbitration cases, examines testimony and rationale for the suits, and reviews the content and reasoning of the legal decisions. In some of the chapters he comments on subsequent legal developments.

In my view, baseball historians will find much of the background material on the cases and those involved to be superficial or relying too heavily on con-ventional wisdom. Several times Thornton asserts that baseball has a long his-tory of being vigilant in its opposition to gambling, when in fact the historical record is spotty and contradictory. Within the confines of the Black Sox case alone, there is repeated evidence that baseball authorities were not vigilant in opposing gambling across the board, but were willing to use it as a club against some players but not others. The names of Hal Chase, John McGraw, and Rogers Hornsby come to mind here.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Book Reviews 149

When reviewing books of this nature, it is always quite easy to quibble over what is chosen for inclusion and what is excluded from the book. Certainly there is a case to be made for the inclusion of the cases Thornton examines.

What is quite remarkable, however, is that neither Federal Baseball Club of Baltimore v. National League nor Toolson v. New York Yankees is treated in separate chapters. The Federal Baseball case is central to the understanding of the antitrust exemption and would seem to be a case that would be featured in a book titled Legal Decisions That Shaped Modern Baseball. The Toolson case might be of less importance, but it did move the antitrust issue forward. Both cases were cited in the Flood decision, and of course, Federal Baseball was the controlling case for the decision. Thornton does discuss these cases in the context of the Flood case, but a full treatment prior to dealing with the Flood case would seem to have been advisable. It is also somewhat surprising that Danny Gardella’s legal battle with baseball is not mentioned in connec-tion with the antitrust issue.

There are times in these chapters that the significance of the cases chosen is not clear. Greater attention to that issue would be helpful. Cases involving stadium injuries, the fight over Barry Bonds’s home run ball, and the batting championship of 1910 are interesting and entertaining reading, but their sig-nificance seems to be slight.

In the end this is a book that should and will find an audience. The larger baseball public will find many of the cases quite interesting, as indeed they are. Many of the examinations of the judicial decisions are informative, enlighten-ing, and explained clearly. Thornton compensates for the unevenness of the book with some strong chapters and sections, and ultimately Legal Decisions That Shaped Modern Baseball does advance our understanding of this impor-tant part of baseball history.

Mathew J. Bartkowiak and Yuya Kiuchi. Packaging Baseball: How Marketing Embellishes the Cultural Experience. Jefferson NC: McFarland, 2012. 216 pp. Paper, $39.95.

Roberta Newman

As its title suggests, Packaging Baseball: How Marketing Embellishes the Cul-tural Experience ostensibly deals with marketing the major- league product outside the lines, from bobblehead giveaways to wide- scale globalization, in

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.2150

relation to the culture of the game. While a vast body of literature has been published scrutinizing the marketing of baseball, most particularly in pub-lications dedicated to the business of sport, there has been surprisingly little work done on the cultural meaning of sports marketing, and much of what has been written tends to focus on the Olympics. Packaging Baseball, there-fore, should be a welcome addition to the literature. But overall, this work misses the mark.

In a previous work entitled “More Than Just the Crack of the Bat,” pub-lished in Rockin’ RBIs: Popular Music and Baseball (New York: Praeger, 2012), authors Mathew J. Bartkowiak and Yuya Kiuchi examine walk- on music as part of the “larger sound politics of the ballpark” (11). Treating the ballpark as sacred space, a conceit common to the cultural analysis of baseball, the authors rely upon theories as varied as Emile Durkheim’s notion of “collective effervescence” and what they identify as “Aristotle’s idea on music and leisure” (17) to undergird their argument that, in some vague manner, walk- on music functions as marketing. Indeed, in spite of their discussion of “use values” and the dubious claim that music interrupts the “quiet space” of the ballpark, the authors do little to indicate exactly how player walk- on music works in this regard. Although Bartkowiak and Kiuchi eventually conclude that individual teams use specific walk- up songs to “brand” individual players, their clear-est example of this practice is fictional— the use of “Wild Thing” in the film Major League to identify pitcher Ricky Vaughn. When the authors reference actual players and their music— citing, for example, Prince Fielder’s preferred walk- on music, the “Theme from Shaft”— they do not explore the commercial impact of player music choice. Nor do they expound upon how different play-ers who choose the same music, albeit on different teams, are differentiated from one another in the marketplace.

The authors make some interesting points in this chapter regarding the use of music in ballparks, particularly when not addressing marketing issues. Packaging Baseball, however, is considerably less successful when dealing with its stated subject matter. The second chapter, which focuses on the uses of bobbleheads and other ballpark giveaways as marketing tools, has the poten-tial for cogent analysis. But there is very little here. The authors’ research is far from comprehensive. For the most part, they derive their information on fan responses to giveaways— an important feature of any work purporting to scrutinize the ways in which marketing adds to the cultural experience of the game— from postings on a variety of websites. While fan postings may serve as important examples of the impact of giveaways, postings alone provide thin justification for the authors’ conclusions. Responses to SI.com’s rankings of ballpark promotions, for example, are certainly entertaining, but they do not

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Book Reviews 151

scholarly research make. A fan who resents his team’s practice of only giving bobbleheads to children because he prefers not to pay “10- year- olds $10 to get a bobblehead” (37) and the like hardly serve as sufficient evidence to support arguments both on the success and cultural importance of giveaways.

Only in later chapters that deal more specifically with MLB’s marketing of the game on a global level, most particularly in Japan, does Packaging Base-ball begin to approach its stated subject. But where the earlier chapters deal specifically, if not especially effectively, with ideas of cultural embellishment, the globalization sections pay less attention to the fan experience than to MLB’s commercial interests. Indeed, the impact of marketing on fan culture takes a backseat to the discussion of the ways in which globalization changes the culture of professional baseball for the players. While this is certainly an interesting topic, it is not the stated focus of this work— to “decode baseball today, and not just the sport itself, but the experience that constitutes Major League Baseball today” (2). Neither are the presumed anti- American bias of the International Olympic Committee or the anemic play of the United States’ national team in the World Baseball Classic, topics that receive con-siderable attention here.

Writing about the effect of MLB’s commercial interests in Japan, the authors note, “Although relevant industries in Japan, MLB’s Japanese office, and the Japanese professional baseball league try to identify various ways to generate profit through Japanese baseball players in the U.S., they has [sic] not been successful erasing the common idea that the trans- Pacific baseball diplomacy resulted in the loss in Japanese culture and sport” (131). As this passage indi-cates, Packaging Baseball is beset with problems far more serious than its soft and shifting focus on its stated subject matter. Despite its lack of heft, Pack-aging Baseball might have been at the very least a good read, had it, in fact, been well written or well edited. Given the professional background of the authors— Bartkowiak is an associate professor of English at the University of Wisconsin at Marshfield- Wood County and Kiuchi is an assistant professor of writing, rhetoric, and American culture at Michigan State University— it is rather surprising that Packaging Baseball is so riddled with awkward syntax, repetition, and lack of clarity. Particularly unfortunate in this regard is the way in which interviews are presented in this text.

Without a doubt, interviews with MLB officials and others intimately involved with the marketing of the game have the potential to serve as impor-tant tools in support of the authors’ arguments. And Bartkowiak and Kiuchi make frequent use of interviews, most notably in the globalization sections. As such, their interview with Brad Horn, senior director of communications and education at the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum, certainly

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.2152

has its place in this text. But while the interview appears to have yielded some interesting information, the way in which it is presented, in the form of an unedited transcript, makes that information difficult to locate and process. A full page- and- a- half anecdote detailing Kiuchi’s unfortunate refusal of an offer by the Red Sox to become Daisuke Matsuzaka’s translator— as well as how “Mat was in the same office with me and that’s when we started talking about ‘you know it’s quite interesting to see how some random things hap-pen with the globalization of Major League Baseball’”— precedes any state-ment by Horn other than, “Oh, okay” (97). Although explaining the genesis of the project to an interviewee may be a good way to commence an interview, it is not germane to this portion of the text, especially when presented in this manner.

Although Packaging Baseball attempts to take on a subject much in need of study— a subject which led its authors to say, “‘Okay, let’s write an aca-demic book on this,’ so we could talk about things that many people, typical baseball fans, were not really talking about” (97)— this work fails. This is par-ticularly unfortunate, as its failure leaves a gap in the literature which it ought to have filled.

Rob Fleder. Damn Yankees: Twenty- Four Major League Writers on the World’s Most Loved (and Hated) Team. New York: Ecco, 2012. 304 pp. Cloth, $27.99.

Adi Angel

Rob Fleder invited twenty- four writers to contribute their feelings about the Yankees without devolving into “the never- ending bar- stool chatter that sus-tains baseball fans,” focusing instead on the “idea of the Yankees” (2). As a result, Fleder brings together the memories and remembrances of many nota-ble contemporary authors (many of whom are familiar names from The New Yorker and Sports Illustrated), including Jane Leavy, Colum McCann, Pete Dexter, and Roy Blount, Jr. While many of the stories are overwhelmingly friendly to the home team, Fleder has compiled a selection that ranges from the introspective to the genuinely funny, from the historical to the sentimen-tal. The result: a collection that simultaneously seeks to dismantle essentialist conceptions of the Yankees, while casually reifying many of the stereotypes, tales, and glories of Yankee lore and fandom. Accessible, funny, and delight-

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Book Reviews 153

fully self- aware, Damn Yankees: Twenty- Four Major League Writers on the World’s Most Loved (and Hated) Team appeals to baseball fans of all stripes, not just the “bleacher creatures.”

The contributors to this volume were asked to reflect on the Yankees con-ceptually, allowing for visceral and, at times, honest and funny reflections on the game of baseball as a whole. Invariably, the trope of baseball as a repre-sentation of America weaves itself into the stories, but not always sentimen-tally. Reading this collection, two things become clear: it is almost impossible to talk about the Yankees without eliciting an impassioned response to “The Boss,” George Steinbrenner, and it is equally unimaginable to talk about the Yankees without talking about the city they call home. New York establishes the binary language upon which fandom relies: it is always about us and them. Steinbrenner, too, represents a challenge to the cognitive dissonance of the average Yankee fan: he is us, but throughout this collection he is unequivo-cally them. Enshrined in perpetuity in the House That He Built, the legacy of the “brigand shipbuilder from Cleveland” (51) hangs tenuously between the memories of those of us who survived him and the annals of Yankee lore yet unwritten. Steinbrenner’s presence in all but a handful of the narratives col-lected here should, then, come as no surprise.

While the repeated references to Steinbrenner offer a glimpse into the id of the modern Yankee fan, the strength of this collection lies in the indepen-dence given to the contributors. Jane Leavy opens her contribution, “Sully and the Mick,” with an anecdote about how she listed Frank Sullivan as dead in her Mickey Mantle biography. “Mickey murdered the ball, sure,” Leavy writes, “but I killed Frank” (132). Dan Barry reminds the reader that there was a time when being a Yankee fan meant developing a keen sense of humility, as they “fac[ed] two opponents every time they stepped onto the field: the American League team of the moment and the Yankees team of the past” (210). Humor and healing go hand- in- hand, the past ever present, and each author in this collection navigates the past with an astute awareness of the present.

While it is, perhaps, unfair to single out any one of these entries, Will Leitch’s “An Innocent Abroad” captures with nearly perfect candor the mes-sage behind this collection. Leitch, like many other New Yorkers, is a trans-plant, and his experience of leaving home and moving to New York is recounted humorously through the sights and sounds of the bleachers of the Cathedral in the Bronx. With Mark Twain’s shadow looming throughout, Leitch writes of the “communal comedic concertos” (127) with the erudite ear of a fan. Ultimately, Leitch reminds the reader of the real reason New York flourishes: the blue collar community that calls New York City home and that doesn’t easily fit the narrative of the vibrant city of wealth. Ultimately, there

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.2154

are reasons to laugh with, and at, the absurdity of grown men with painted stomachs. Somewhere along the line, the Yankees became synonymous with Steinbrenner, with the hyperreality of excess, with the money and power and win- at- all- costs attitude, rather than with the people who fill the cheap seats. Leitch reminds the reader that it isn’t that simple.

Rob Fleder brings his years of editorial experience with Sports Illustrated to bear in Damn Yankees as he weaves the varied submissions into a narra-tive that evokes the entire emotional spectrum. The humorous tone is often supplanted by the sonorous facts of life: the passing of legends, the fears of uncertain times, the mistakes that yield friendships. There will always be new ways for people to find fault with the Yankees or with the inequitable system that has, at times, seemed to favor the large- market teams. There will always be something to be said about a city, a team, or a player with which people will take issue. Ultimately, this is where Fleder’s collection is most success-ful. Worthwhile reading for any fan, Damn Yankees succeeds in finding the ground between a celebration and a critique, all the while making accessible the bright lights, the big city, and the stories behind the pinstripes.

Charlie Bevis. Jimmy Collins: A Baseball Biography. Jefferson NC: McFarland, 2012. 238 pp. Paper, $29.95.

Ron Kates

In the wake of Ron Santo’s passing, Bill James offered a spirited endorsement for the Cubs third baseman’s inclusion in the Baseball Hall of Fame. Among other arguments, James posited that Santo’s offensive and defensive statis-tics outshone a number of already- inducted third basemen, specifically, and ballplayers in general. James and other baseball writers often single out turn- of- the- century star Jimmy Collins as a prime example of a player— a third baseman to boot— whose reputation outshone his actual accomplishments, leading critics to emphasize Santo’s merit in competition. In his biography of Collins, Charlie Bevis documents not just Collins’s playing career, but also his business acumen, devoting a good portion of the book to discussing how Collins negotiated contracts to his favor, then invested heavily in real estate throughout his hometown of Buffalo, New York. Despite some redundancy in emphasizing Collins’s success off the field, Bevis presents a certain divergence from the typical trajectory of the late nineteenth- and early twentieth- century

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Book Reviews 155

star player: rises out of obscurity/poverty, overcomes early struggles, becomes a regular or a star, then (often) has an inability to integrate into life outside of baseball once his playing career is finally done.

As Bevis notes, James “named Collins as the third baseman on his All- Why- Did- They- Elect- Him Team” in The Politics of Glory (1994). Bevis con-curs in his conclusion that while “every third baseman that the BBWAA elected to the Hall of Fame since Collins’s enshrinement in Cooperstown in 1945 is a legitimate choice as a better third baseman than Collins,” he was “the best third baseman for the entire Deadball Era and even the entire first century of professional baseball” (219). Earlier in the text, however, Bevis recounts the circumstances surrounding Collins’s first professional appearance at the hot corner, a “legend  .  .  . [that] like so many ball legends, grew over time” to eventually “bear only a partial resemblance to the 1895 facts” (33). Hav-ing been loaned by his Boston club to the last- place Louisville team, right fielder Collins assumed the hot corner following third baseman Walt Pres-ton’s four errors in five innings. The opponents, the mighty Baltimore Ori-oles, in the midst of a championship three- peat, purportedly laid down four bunts aimed at Collins, only to see Collins throw out all four bunters, includ-ing Hall of Famers Willie Keeler and John McGraw. Never mind that the game’s box score shows only one assist for Collins or that “he didn’t play third base again for another two weeks” (34), the legend began, as Bevis notes, “to bend from fact into fiction” (69). Another Oriole Hall of Famer, shortstop Hughie Jennings, recollected in a 1926 interview that the Orioles kept their promise to Collins that they “would not pull any balls down the third base line and that [they] would not bunt on him,” and that Collins’s mythic field-ing demonstration occurred several weeks later in Louisville when “three men bunted in succession, and Collins threw out each man” (35). The legend per-severed beyond Collins’s respectable career to the point where “Collins’ name regularly surfaced as the third baseman picked for the various all- time teams selected by famous ballplayers and sportswriters,” including Ty Cobb, Con-nie Mack, Honus Wagner, Babe Ruth, and Grantland Rice (204). In exploring the role adulterated “facts” play in establishing Collins’s reputation as a stellar fielder and all- around player, Bevis offers a vision of how such reputation- building trumped statistics when Deadball era players were considered for Cooperstown enshrinement. Indeed, several other late nineteenth- and early twentieth- century Hall of Famers make James’s list based largely on reputa-tion, most specifically Joe Tinker, Johnny Evers, and Frank Chance, all lion-ized in Franklin Pierce Adams’s poem “Baseball’s Sad Lexicon.”

Bevis also devotes a significant portion of his narrative to Collins’s role in working with American League president Ban Johnson to establish the league’s Boston entry, now known as the Red Sox, offering a window to the machina-

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.2156

tions that resulted in baseball becoming a bi- league sport. Despite leading the Red Sox to victory in the inaugural World Series in 1903 and to a pennant the following year, Collins’s fame diminished in Boston shortly after taking con-trol of the franchise. Indeed, Bevis notes, “over a two- year span, Collins plum-meted from revered hero who led a veteran team to a second consecutive pen-nant to a reviled bum who deserted an aging last- place team” (152). Following the inglorious end of his Boston tenure, Collins then joined Connie Mack’s A’s for one and a half seasons followed by three mediocre minor- league seasons. By the time the Red Sox reascended as a baseball powerhouse in the 1910s, “the 1903 World Series title was a distant memory, and Jimmy Collins was just another old ballplayer” (192).

Having emphasized Collins’s business and real estate acumen in the chap-ters covering his playing career, Bevis devotes two chapters to detailing the player’s post- baseball life, including the loss of his real estate investments in the 1929 stock market crash, an event that resulted in his eventually having to move in with his daughter and her family, and Collins’s role as “evangelist for municipal ball” in Buffalo (205). Following a chapter covering the successful campaign by a Buffalo newspaperman to induct Collins into the Hall of Fame, Bevis concludes by considering Collins’s “legacy to Baseball” (213). Rather than ending with a statistical defense of Collins as a Hall of Famer, Bevis links Collins’s “entrepreneurship” and “operational fortitude” to the building of Fenway Park as well as the enduring success of the Red Sox franchise, declar-ing that “Jimmy Collins truly is the patron saint of Red Sox Nation” (220– 21).

Much the same argument— that of the player as spirit or “patron saint” of a ball club— appeared in contemporary support of Santo’s Hall of Fame bid, leading one to wonder whether Jimmy Collins would have operated differently— and perhaps even more successfully— in baseball’s media- saturated twenty- first century. That Bevis’s book leads a reader to ponder such associations indicates the quality of its research and argument.

L. M. Sutter. Arlie Latham: A Baseball Biography of the Freshest Man on Earth. Jefferson NC: McFarland, 2012. 280 pp. Paper, $29.95.

Charlie Bevis

L. M. Sutter’s exploration of the life of nineteenth- century baseball player Arlie Latham is not your stereotypical baseball biography that is peppered

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Book Reviews 157

with scores and play- by- play details of games long forgotten. Rather, this biography is a refreshing look at the personality, escapades, and foibles of a man who happened to play baseball for a living.

Latham’s 1,629- game major- league career spanned two decades, from 1880 to 1899 (supplemented by four appearances in 1909). His public persona extended five more decades through the first half of the twentieth century, culminating in a celebrated 1951 photograph of fourteen ballplayers snapped at Toots Shor’s restaurant in New York City. In the photo, the ninety- one- year- old Latham was conspicuously out of place among the thirteen Hall of Fame players, with his leg jokingly “kicked up in the air like a Rockette’s” and a smirk on his face as if he had “just launched into a ribald song” (9).

After apprenticing with several professional teams in his native New Eng-land, Latham made his major- league debut with Buffalo of the National League in 1880, where he took his first steps toward being “baseball’s neediest clown, a man who would spend his life in hot pursuit of a crowd’s adulation” (21). After a few more stops among the era’s many independent professional teams, Latham returned to the major leagues in 1883, where he launched his journeyman career as a third baseman for seven seasons with the St. Louis Browns of the American Association. As Sutter recounts in detail, Latham not only had his ups and downs in baseball by both entertaining and battling with team owners, opponents, and teammates, but he also had a colorful life off the baseball field, where he was an inveterate gambler, spendthrift, womanizer, and alleged wife beater.

Latham was best known for his clowning antics on the coaching lines, where he used his acerbic tongue to pester both the opposition and the umpire to gain an edge for the Browns, who finished in first place for four consecu-tive years (1885– 1888), partly as a consequence of Latham’s badgering. While it was his “vocal coaching style that thrust him into the limelight” of baseball, Latham also literally spoke under the stage lights for several winters in the baseball off- season (33). In 1888, he first appeared on stage in the vaudeville production Fashions, where he sang the song “The Freshest Man on Earth” (also his on- field nickname, hence the subtitle of the book). Sutter’s writing about the intersection of baseball and theater is one of the strongest portions of this biography.

After retiring from baseball after playing several years for Cincinnati in the 1890s, Latham became an umpire and then a coach for John McGraw’s New York Giants. Unfortunately, his tongue, “as it was wont to do, began to get the best of him,” so McGraw had to let him go (203). During World War I, Latham served as a baseball ambassador in England, where, with his tongue finally more under control, he diplomatically chatted in public with King George V.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.2158

In the book’s preface, Sutter notes that she “tried to paint a picture of the cities and decades in which Arlie lived” (1). As she did in her two earlier books, Ball, Bat and Bitumen: A History of Coalfield Baseball in the Appala-chian South and New Mexico Baseball: Miners, Outlaws, Indians and Isotopes, 1880 to the Present, Sutter provides plenty of social context for the reader to place Latham’s “inimitable gall, brazen cheek and ready wit” (71). For exam-ple, it was no wonder that Latham went adrift with his bad habits in St. Louis, as Sutter depicts a wanton city where “the list of saloons was endless,” and there were so many brothels that the city was compelled “to legalize prostitu-tion so as to regulate it” (26– 27).

This is a well- researched biography, as Sutter mined the digital archives of the Sporting News and Sporting Life baseball publications as well as other newspapers to ferret out details of Latham’s non- baseball life, providing not only evidence but zest to her examination of the man’s personality. Sutter, though, periodically lapses into having the research tell the story through the extensive use of block quotations that can overwhelm the reader.

By not focusing only on Latham’s positive persona as “the biggest enter-tainer in baseball,” Sutter avoids descent into a hagiographical account of his life (211). Instead, Sutter provides a balanced look at both the good and bad aspects of the man who was “beloved one minute, a goat the next” (198). How-ever, she writes in the preface that “it is not my job to decide for the reader whether he was ultimately a good man or a bad one” (2– 3). Readers may be disappointed that Sutter is not more demonstrative in siding one way or the other on an overall evaluation of Latham’s life. Readers benefit from biogra-phers who see their role as interpreting the research evidence in a quest for truth, which in his seminal work How to Do Biography: A Primer biographer Nigel Hamilton calls “the wellspring of the biographical endeavor” (111). Even the writer of a Rogerian argument, which is predisposed to a balanced look at both sides of an issue, eventually reaches a common ground and develops a proposed outlook that inevitably leans to one side or the other.

On the whole, Sutter makes a valuable contribution to baseball biography with this exploration of Latham. In a subgenre dominated by biographical subjects who are enshrined in the Baseball Hall of Fame, Sutter’s work dem-onstrates that biographies of baseball’s lesser- known but eminently intriguing characters can add much to our understanding of how the sport has affected American culture.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Book Reviews 159

Daniel R. Levitt. The Battle that Forged Modern Baseball: The Federal League Challenge and Its Legacy. Lanham MD: Ivan R. Dee, 2012. 314 pp. Cloth, $39.95.

Steve Treder

To the extent that it’s known at all to most modern baseball fans, the Fed-eral League tends to be known merely as a footnote, a peculiar triviality. The league played ball for just three seasons, and in only two of those (1914 and 1915) did it endeavor to, in Daniel R. Levitt’s word, “challenge” the Ameri-cans and Nationals to be taken seriously as a third major league. And in that endeavor, of course, the Federals failed.

Failure isn’t something that tends to be celebrated by historians; as the old saying goes, “History is written by the winners.” And the winners in this case, the American and National leagues, quite definitely went on to forge their own historical narrative in which the Federal League was, if not forgot-ten, then relegated to the background. Why should anyone care about these obscure losers?

Levitt’s book goes against that normative grain and takes the Federal League episode seriously. We discover that, yes, the Federal League failed to take root, but its brief and desperate struggle is not only quite a story in its own right— among the decades- before- their- time innovations that the Feder-als either seriously considered or actually implemented were the designated hitter and night baseball, and a Federal League franchise built the edifice we know today as Chicago’s Wrigley Field— but the legacy of the Federal League’s challenge of the operational structure of “organized” baseball is immense.

Levitt’s previous book was his 2008 biography of Ed Barrow, a landmark achievement that vividly demonstrated the author’s bona fides as a “business of baseball” expert. No other historian of the sport surpasses Levitt’s skill at grasping a bewildering tangle of financial and legal strands, and weaving them into a coherent and instructive narrative fabric. While the scale of this effort is less sweeping than the multi- decade Barrow epic, The Battle that Forged Modern Baseball: The Federal League Challenge and Its Legacy shares the same capacity to tell an inherently complicated story in a direct and understandable manner without dumbing it down. Levitt makes this look far easier than it is.

One way he succeeds is by spiking the bland punch of balance- sheet and court- briefing facts and figures with a healthy shot of personalities and anec-dotes. Indeed, for all the historical heavy lifting going on, for this reader the most enjoyable aspects of The Battle that Forged Modern Baseball are the digressions that hydrate the dry details of the business battle.

For example, in early March 1914, an aggregation of star players was

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.2160

returning to New York from a world barnstorming tour (on board, inter-estingly enough, the R.M.S. Lusitania). Levitt devotes several pages to the tale of how Federal League and Organized Baseball owners feverishly com-peted to be the first to grab the attention of the ballplayers at the moment of arrival. The hilariously complicated efforts included elaborate plans, crosses, and double crosses, involving a customs ship meeting with the liner before it docked, “East Side gunmen,” and agents secretly passing notes to players com-ing down the gangplank. The derring- do is almost cinematic.

Another rollicking yarn revolves around the Federal League’s scheme to spirit star first baseman Hal Chase away from the Chicago White Sox in June 1914. The Feds signed Chase on a Sunday, so that, with the courts closed, the White Sox could not secure an injunction. Chase was then whisked away from Chicago before Monday morning, and a party led by White Sox owner Charles Comiskey boarded a train in hot pursuit. The effort to get Chase into a Federal League game in Buffalo before he could be served with papers required private detectives to hide him in Canada and then on an island in the Niagara River. Then, Chase was sped via motorboat to US mainland soil and disguised in “feminine clothes” while being snuck into the Buffalo ballpark’s toolshed, where he finally suited up and triumphantly appeared on the field in mid- game. The highly entertained reader can’t help but speculate about which Hollywood hunk would get the role of Chase.

In broad spans between the adventurous sidebars, Levitt proceeds with his primary thrust. Necessarily, that thrust mostly resides in meeting minutes and trial transcripts, and despite Levitt’s best effort, there are points at which this reader found his eyes glazing over at the recitations of dollar amounts and legal precedents. To be sure, The Battle that Forged Modern Baseball is not for the casual fan or the reader seeking only batting averages and no business val-uations. This is a work of serious historical scholarship, and it may well be the case that it succeeds more strongly as an economic, legal, and social history than a baseball story per se.

But succeed in that hardheaded realm it surely does. Illuminating how the Federal League confrontation came to be and how its uneasy culmination had multiple and lasting effects, Levitt’s ultimate achievement is to place his par-ticular characters, events, and details within resounding historical perspec-tive, answering that nagging “Why should we care?” question in a number of insightful ways.

We’re smoothly guided to the central point: the multilateral disputes sparked by the Federal League led directly to the monumental 1922 United States Supreme Court ruling that upheld professional baseball’s claim of exemption from federal antitrust law, and therefore allowed continued appli-

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Book Reviews 161

cation of the infamous reserve clause in player contracts. Thus, the Federal League challenge stands as the final and pivotal event in the “developmen-tal” phase of professional baseball history, the vital step to establishing a profoundly stable structural form. That form, in turn, served as the essen-tial model followed by all other major professional team sports in the United States, and it remained firmly in place until the arrival of a genuinely forceful players’ union in the 1970s.

At the book’s conclusion, when considering how things might plausibly have turned out differently, Levitt puts the exhaustive details and diverting anecdotes into perspective and pulls his many- layered construction together. The case presented is highly persuasive that the Federal League challenge, though largely forgotten, was indeed not only a lively chapter in baseball’s his-tory, but one with deep and lasting importance. For the serious student of the development of the organizational framework of baseball as a business, Lev-itt’s work should be required reading.

Mitchell Conrad Stinson. Deacon Bill McKechnie: A Baseball Biography. Jefferson NC: McFarland, 2012. 238 pp. Paper, $29.95.

Cliff Hight

Mitchell Conrad Stinson’s second book with McFarland, Deacon Bill McKe-chnie: A Baseball Biography, is a full- length biography of a man who spent nearly fifty years in professional baseball as a player, manager, and coach. Best known for his managerial success and kindly way, Bill McKechnie piloted five clubs in three major leagues, winning four pennants with three of them. The Hall of Famer and two- time World Series winner was the first manager to take three franchises to the Fall Classic. Despite occasional and brief tangents, Stinson’s informative profile is a foundational resource for understanding McKechnie’s baseball career.

An award- winning sportswriter in Evansville, Indiana, Stinson has fol-lowed up his 2010 profile of Edd Roush with a book that is what the subtitle suggests: a baseball biography. While interviews with and records from McK-echnie’s only living child enhance Stinson’s brief recounting of family history and add insight to the Deacon’s early years and life off the field, the bulk of the text focuses on McKechnie’s life between the chalk lines and in the dugout. This new biography shows McKechnie in his best light: a sagacious manager

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.2162

with uncanny abilities to get the most out of his pitchers and to have solid defensive teams.

William Boyd McKechnie, son of Scottish immigrants, was born in 1886 in Wilkinsburg, outside Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. He embraced baseball at a young age, starting his professional career in 1905 with an independent team north of Pittsburgh. For fifteen of the next sixteen years, McKechnie played major- and minor- league baseball with eleven franchises. His managerial career included six major- and minor- league teams in twenty- six seasons, including one year as a player/manager. Include his eight seasons as a coach with four major-league teams, and McKechnie worked with sixteen different franchises during his forty- six years in organized baseball.

As a player, he was a versatile, switch- hitting infielder with a good glove and a weak bat. McKechnie bounced between teams for much of his career, and perhaps these peregrinations taught him insights about ballplayers’ think-ing that later improved his managerial skills. He also learned finer points of the game from men like Honus Wagner, a fellow Pirate infielder, friend, and mentor. Ultimately, as Stinson says, “McKechnie proved ordinary as a player, and that part of his life ended about the time Babe Ruth gave up pitching for swinging lumber. As a manager he was sublime— one of the greatest ever” (4).

He is most often remembered as the Cincinnati Reds manager from 1938 to 1946, where he won the 1939 National League pennant and the 1940 World Series. It was his final managerial stop after piloting National League (NL) teams in Boston, St. Louis, and Pittsburgh as well as an earlier stint with New-ark of the Federal League. His only place without an overall winning record was woeful Boston, and even there he exceeded most people’s expectations. Further, he won the 1925 World Series with Pittsburgh, and he won NL pen-nants with St. Louis in 1928 and Cincinnati in 1939.

When considering McKechnie’s career, what stands out is its sheer breadth. He entered the game when stars included Ty Cobb, Christy Mathewson, and Joe Tinker. He strategized against managers like Leo Durocher, John McGraw, and Wilbert Robinson. And when he retired, the big- name players included Mickey Mantle, Stan Musial, and Jackie Robinson. In the interven-ing decades, McKechnie had accompanied the game’s evolution from dead ball to lively ball, through baseball wars and world wars, and from segregation to integration.

In retelling McKechnie’s life, Stinson uses typical sources like team histo-ries, baseball biographies and autobiographies, and materials at the National Baseball Hall of Fame. Contemporary sources include national and local newspapers, and his most unique information comes from his efforts to inter-view those who remembered McKechnie. That group’s MVP is Carol McKech-

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Book Reviews 163

nie Montgomery, who published her memoir, The Deacon’s Daughter, in 2011. Beyond sharing her book with Stinson, she adds information that paints a fuller portrait of Bill McKechnie.

A good example of Stinson’s efforts to show McKechnie’s personal side is his use of an interaction between Beryl Bien— McKechnie’s future wife— and the Deacon: “The first time Beryl Bien spoke to him, he got so flustered that he swallowed his chewing tobacco” (39– 40). Knowing that McKechnie was so rattled in such an exchange personalizes him with readers.

Further, Stinson effectively describes games and seasons in an understand-able manner that maintains the reader’s interest, occasionally adding nuggets of detail that enrich the final product. When he describes spring training in 1946, he includes the flattering experience of fourteen- year- old Carol being on the beach when one Reds prospect asked her to the movies. In response, “Deacon Bill issued a wide- ranging edict: His daughter could NOT date ball players— ever” (193).

Stinson’s writing is sometimes limited when connecting McKechnie and baseball to contemporary national and world events. Although the effort is understandable, at times it feels forced and unnatural, like when he mentions the radio broadcast of War of the Worlds after the 1938 season (170– 71).

Another story that Stinson relates— that of the aged McKechnie handling an attempted home robbery— is too foreboding. Using phrases like “Deacon Bill was shown no mercy” (6) and “If only McKechnie had just handed over his valuables” (211), Stinson leads the reader to assume the worst. As it turns out, McKechnie effectively defended himself with no mentioned injuries, even returning with a shotgun to an empty room because the two robbers had fled.

Nonetheless, with his biography of Deacon Bill McKechnie, Stinson has attempted to repeat his efforts with Edd Roush: to pull from baseball obscu-rity a giant of the past and make him relevant today. It appears that Stinson has been successful, reminding readers that occasionally good guys actually finish first. As Reds pitcher Paul Derringer memorialized, “In a sentence I’d say he was the greatest manager I ever played for, the greatest manager I ever played against, and the greatest man I ever knew” (212).

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.2164

John Rosengren. Hank Greenberg: The Hero of Heroes. New York: New American Library, 2013. 400 pp. Cloth, $26.95.

David Surdam

To paraphrase a popular movie title, there’s something about Hank. My father, who cared little about baseball, knew very few Jewish people. Yet when he talked about baseball, he mentioned Hank Greenberg as a great player— not Babe Ruth, but Hank Greenberg. While John Rosengren’s new biography on Hank Greenberg is comprehensive and lengthy, it provides a pleasurable reading experience. Better yet, despite the hyperbolic subtitle (“The Hero of Heroes”), Rosengren presents a well- rounded portrait of Greenberg the man.

Rosengren reveals that Greenberg was not “Roy Hobbs,” a natural player. He was big, ungainly, and lacked self- confidence. One of his key attributes, though, was his determination. Again and again, Greenberg felt the need to prove himself and did so by outworking many of his peers.

Of course, a key element in the Greenberg story is his Jewishness. Even eight decades later, a player’s ethnicity or race can be an identifying mark (Witness 2012’s “Lin- sanity” with Chinese American basketball player Jeremy Lin). As with many children of immigrants, the young Greenberg struggled to reconcile his life in America with his parents’ cultural mores. As in the Lou Gehrig story, Greenberg’s parents did not initially understand or approve of his love of baseball, but they grew to appreciate the fame and respect their son earned from his ball- playing prowess.

Greenberg’s debut during the 1930s came at a dramatic moment for Jew-ish people. With virulent anti- Semitism erupting in Germany and spreading across Europe and even America, Greenberg, similar to Joe Louis and, later, Jackie Robinson, could not simply be a baseball player. He became a symbol, which is a particularly difficult burden for any person to carry. If he failed or reacted in an unseemly way, some people would ascribe his behavior to all Jewish people. Even when sportswriters praised Greenberg, they resorted to stereotypes. For example, Dan Parker writes, “But none of these attributes is half as important to Hank’s baseball career as the good old Jewish quali-ties of thoroughness and perseverance” (161). Rosengren believes Greenberg “changed the way Jews thought about themselves” (162). Since he cherished his privacy, this burden was an exceptionally onerous one; fortunately, as with Jackie Robinson, he handled it largely with grace and aplomb.

The book opens with Greenberg pondering whether to play on Rosh Hashanah during the 1934 season. The Tigers were hanging on against the Yankees, so the game was a critical one. He had promised his parents he would not play, but his teammates and the Detroit fans needed and wanted him to

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Book Reviews 165

play. He played and performed wonderfully, increasing his popularity with the fans. Sad to say, the Detroit fans and management proved remarkably fickle throughout his career (shades of that other hero, Ted Williams). Greenberg’s decision mirrored that of Sandy Koufax in the 1960s. Unfortunately, Rosen-gren calls Greenberg the greatest Jewish player, but a similar claim could be made for Koufax. There’s no point in anointing one or the other.

“What- if ” questions swirl around Greenberg. After the Tigers captured consecutive pennants in 1934 and 1935, the team appeared primed to rebuff a resurgent New York Yankees club in 1936. Greenberg broke his wrist early in the 1936 season, and player- manager Mickey Cochrane was badly beaned. The balance of power shifted to the Yankees, who won the 1936– 39 pennants by blowouts. Would the Tigers have been able to capture a third consecutive pennant had Greenberg and Cochrane been healthy? Greenberg lost many of his prime playing years to military service. Would he have ended up with more than five hundred home runs had he not lost those years, or would inju-ries have sidelined him? How much money would he have earned in more recent years? As a sign of the era, Greenberg had to fight to get a five thou-sand dollar raise after driving in 170 runs in 1935 (only his third season in the major leagues). He had an easier time getting a five thousand dollar raise after hitting 58 home runs in 1938 (179). Similar to Joe DiMaggio, Greenberg had a keen sense of his value to the team, so he fought hard for pay raises. In the midst of the Depression, his concern over money irritated many fans.

As World War II ended, Greenberg returned from military service in time to help the Tigers win the 1945 pennant. Greenberg played in his fourth World Series. The three times he was healthy during the World Series, he hit over .300 in each, along with at least one home run. While he was disappointed with his 1934 showing, failing in some key situations, he certainly had an envi-able postseason record.

After he stopped playing, Greenberg became a front- office mainstay of the Cleveland Indians. As general manager, he developed a reputation for being a tough, even ruthless, negotiator. Aside from the team’s triumph in 1954, Greenberg’s efforts were sufficient to maintain the Indians as perennial run-ners- up to the New York Yankees.

While Rosengren describes how Greenberg was capable of extraordinary feats of grace, such as encouraging Jackie Robinson at a crucial moment, he also relates incidents of pettiness, such as mistreating Al Rosen. Because he was a symbol of both hope and hatred, Greenberg had to deal with annoying and ugly distractions. He could erupt in bad temper. That he did not always respond with grace and dignity does not diminish him, because as Rosengren documents, the ledger was heavily balanced in favor of grace.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.2166

Rosengren’s biography is likely to remain the definitive biography of Hank Greenberg, especially since the eyewitnesses to Greenberg’s life are fading. Greenberg is fortunate to have Rosengren for a biographer.

Robert C. Cottrell. Two Pioneers: How Hank Greenberg and Jackie Robinson Transformed Baseball— and America. Washington DC: Potomac Books, 2012. 270 pp. Cloth, $27.50.

Rob Edelman

Every contemporary grade- schooler should know that Jackie Robinson was the first African American to play in the major leagues in the twentieth cen-tury. That’s a fact of history, and it transcends balls, strikes, and on- field exploits. Hank Greenberg, on the other hand, may not have been the first of his faith to make the majors, but he was the initial bona fide Jewish baseball superstar and surefire Hall of Famer. When Robinson came to the Brooklyn Dodgers in 1947, Greenberg’s career was on the wane; that year was the last of his thirteen big- league seasons. Yet both are linked in that, during their time in the limelight, they frequently (and often painfully) confronted the perva-sive racism and anti- Semitism that were embedded in the American fabric. Their life stories— with an emphasis on how, in their time, both men were set apart from the mainstream of professional baseball— are simply and effec-tively recounted in Robert C. Cottrell’s Two Pioneers: How Hank Greenberg and Jackie Robinson Transformed Baseball— and America.

Because the struggles of Greenberg and Robinson are well- documented elsewhere, the baseball fan with a grasp of the sport’s history will already have insight into their lives as presented by Cottrell. The author also need not remind such fans of the rudimentary facts of baseball’s past; even casual fol-lowers of the sport will know that the 1941 season was highlighted by Ted Wil-liams’s .406 batting average and Joe DiMaggio’s fifty- six- game hitting streak. But the reportage contained in Two Pioneers, which consists primarily of pro-files of both ballplayers, offers a first- rate introduction to younger readers. Additionally, Cottrell puts forth some facts and insights that are well worth pondering, and that just may expand the awareness of those already in the know. For instance, he observes that, under different circumstances, Robin-son easily might have played professional football or basketball— and thus, baseball history would have been inexorably altered. Greenberg, who was

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Book Reviews 167

reared in the Bronx, was scouted by the hometown New York Yankees but chose not to sign because he “simply did not believe he could displace Geh-rig at first base” (27). The presence of Jewish gamblers who were connected to the 1919 Black Sox scandal ignited anti- Semitic feelings in certain quarters, playing into the stereotype of the Jew as a brainy, manipulative cheater. Some of Cottrell’s reportage transcends sports. He notes that, during the Civil War, General Ulysses S. Grant “issued a directive, General Order #11, expelling Jews from his military district, blaming them for pervasive smuggling and speculation that caused a spike in cotton prices” (20). Over and over, Cottrell stresses that, during the 1930s and 1940s, anti- Semitism did not just contami-nate Nazi Germany; in his time, Greenberg encountered narrow- minded fans and bigoted fellow ballplayers without leaving the shores of his native country. He was viewed not just as a great slugger but as a great Jewish slugger— just as Robinson was labeled a multitalented Negro ballplayer.

While generally well researched, Two Pioneers is not flawless. Cottrell reports that the celebrated incident in which Kentuckian Pee Wee Reese placed his arm around Robinson in a show of public support took place in a game pit-ting the Dodgers against the Boston Braves. However, its exact time and loca-tion, not to mention the Dodgers’ opponents, has never been determined; vari-ous individuals have offered different recollections of the incident. In a chapter covering the events of 1947, Cottrell describes Lena Horne as “the young singer and Brooklyn resident” (192), yet by that time Horne had long left the borough of her birth and was established in Hollywood as an MGM contract player. He notes that the 1947 film Crossfire spotlights the murder of a Jewish “war hero” (195); however, the victim is no Audie Murphy but rather a World War II vet-eran who was discharged because of wounds sustained at Okinawa. Cottrell cites the title of another 1947 release that deals with anti- Semitism as Gentle-men’s Agreement, rather than Gentleman’s Agreement (195). Too often, it has been my experience that historians who thoroughly explore the area of their expertise misstate the simplest facts when dealing with other topics.

Despite these imperfections, Two Pioneers serves as an all- purpose history lesson for both the seasoned and the novice baseball buff— not to mention those with no interest whatsoever in the sport. Cottrell offers a thoughtful portrayal of Greenberg and Robinson as proud men who loathed the racial and religious prejudice directed their way. He also emphasizes that the link between them was a public one. From firsthand experience, each understood the abuse that the other was subjected to as well as its impact on the human psyche. During the 1947 season, Robinson and Greenberg collided at first base on a play in Pittsburgh. Cottrell notes that the encounter “resulted in a mutual display of respect rather than the abuse and slurs that each frequently suffered

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.2168

from other players and fans” (xiii). Robinson eventually admitted that Green-berg offered “the first real words of encouragement I received from a player on an opposing team,” while Greenberg observed that he “identified with Jackie Robinson . . . because they had threatened me the same way” (xiii).

When one reads these quotes, one is reminded of the antagonism that has often characterized African American– Jewish relations across the decades. In this regard, Two Pioneers is a sobering testament to the fact that African Americans and Jews have more in common than individual members of both groups are often willing to admit.

Lyle Spatz, ed. The Team That Forever Changed Baseball and America: The 1947 Brooklyn Dodgers. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2012. 380 pp. Paper, $26.95.

Robert A. Moss

This lovely volume is an entry in SABR’s series Memorable Teams in Base-ball History. Here are 380 double- column pages devoted to the 1947 Brooklyn Dodgers of Jackie Robinson’s rookie year, a multifaceted, multiauthor effort edited by Lyle Spatz.

Of course, other books deal with Robinson and the 1947 Dodgers: Red Barber’s 1947, When All Hell Broke Loose in Baseball (1982) provides a pas-sionate and personal perspective from the Dodgers’ longtime play- by- play announcer; Jonathan Eig’s Opening Day: The Story of Jackie Robinson’s First Season (2007) affords an updated introduction to one of baseball’s most excit-ing seasons and a pivotal chapter in the evolution of civil rights in postwar America; and Jules Tygiel’s classic, Baseball’s Great Experiment: Jackie Robin-son and His Legacy (1983), provides an even deeper and broader treatment of this topic.

However, The Team That Forever Changed Baseball and America: The 1947 Brooklyn Dodgers is unique: three intertwined threads combine “time-line” capsule summaries of the Dodgers’ 1947 games; multipage, fully sourced biographies of the players, coaches, managers, and owners; and freestanding essays devoted to various aspects of the season. This nonlinear, interspersed structure allows the book to be opened anywhere and browsed for pleasure and instruction, and a detailed table of contents is available for those who desire a more deliberate or selective approach.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Book Reviews 169

To briefly unpack the tripartite structure of The Team, consider first the 1947 season. The Dodgers had finished the 1946 pennant race in a dead heat with St. Louis, but lost the ensuing playoff. The addition of Robinson in 1947 might lead to victory, but only if the racial tensions within the clubhouse and those emanating from opposition dugouts could be contained. Adding to the combustible situation, Dodgers manager Leo Durocher was abruptly sus-pended for the season by Commissioner Chandler “as a result of the accu-mulation of unpleasant incidents detrimental to baseball.” Branch Rickey installed Burt Shotton as Durocher’s replacement. Although Shotton was an experienced minor- league and major- league skipper, he was, in Red Barber’s words, “handed by Rickey and the fates the most upset, torn- apart ball club in history. The coming of Jackie Robinson brought a seething turbulence that was waiting to explode.”

Following the timeline game summaries in The Team, we see how Shot-ton melded his disparate cast of players into a championship club. The heart of the season was July 21– 31, when the Dodgers fashioned a thirteen- game winning streak, including doubleheader victories against the Reds and Pirates and a three- game sweep of St. Louis, increasing their lead over the Cardinals from two and one- half to ten games. The key contributors included Dixie Walker, Bruce Edwards, Pee Wee Reese, Jackie Robinson, Carl Furillo, Pete Reiser, Eddie Stanky, and Gene Hermanski among the hitters and Joe Hatten, Ralph Branca, Vic Lombardi, and Hugh Casey among the pitchers. Although there would be ups and downs for the remainder of the season, the Dodg-ers coalesced under Shotton’s direction: rookies and veterans, southerners and Robinson, journeyman pitchers and Hugh Casey, the nonpareil reliever, all became one team. As Barber put it, “I have known two actual magicians— Blackstone and Shotton. Blackstone was on the stage. Shotton, with what passed for a pitching staff in 1947, was in the Brooklyn dugout.”

The Team’s fifty- three biographies, each accompanied by a photograph, comprise the largest portion of the book. Here are stars like Dixie Walker, Pete Reiser, Pee Wee Reese, and Hugh Casey; soon- to- be greats like Gil Hodges, Duke Snider, and Carl Furillo; and the cup- of- coffee drinkers. Who now remembers Dan Bankhead, the first African American pitcher in Major League Baseball? He pitched ten indifferent innings for the 1947 Dodgers, but homered in his first at bat. Who recalls Tommy Brown, the youngest position player to appear in a major- league game, at the age of sixteen years and seven months in 1944? Brown went on to play in fifteen games for the 1947 Dodg-ers, posting a .235 average. The Team provides a cavalcade of names to freshen our memories: Rex Barney, Clyde King, Bobby Bragan, Arkie Vaughan, Al Gionfriddo, and Cookie Lavagetto. Coaches are included: Clyde Sukeforth,

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.2170

who scouted Robinson for Rickey, and Jake Pitler, the Jewish first base coach who did not appear on the High Holy Days. Sportscasters and owners receive equal coverage with the players. In addition to Rickey and Walter O’Malley, we encounter John L. Smith, president of the Pfizer pharmaceutical company, who loved the Dodgers and bought a one- quarter interest in the club. Pfizer’s Brooklyn plant was a major supplier of penicillin, and Sir Alexander Flem-ing, who was the drug’s Scottish discoverer as well as a Nobel Laureate, vis-ited Smith in Brooklyn. Who knew that Fleming, through Smith, became a Dodger fan and acquired a collection of autographed memorabilia?

The essays in The Team focus on various aspects of the 1947 season, includ-ing spring training in Havana, Rickey’s relationship with the press, the sus-pension of Durocher, ownership infighting, and Robinson’s first game. Sev-eral essays are devoted to the memorable 1947 Dodgers- Yankees World Series, won by the Yankees in seven games. Highlighted are Al Gionfriddo’s game- saving catch of Joe DiMaggio’s 415- foot potential home run in Game 6, and Cookie Lavagetto’s pinch- hit, walk- off double in Game 3, which knocked in two runs and spoiled Bill Beven’s bid for the first World Series no- hitter.

The Team That Forever Changed Baseball and America: The 1947 Brooklyn Dodgers is a volume to be treasured, to be read in small, savory portions, but it is not a dissertation on how the 1947 Dodgers “changed baseball and Amer-ica.” Other books— Tygiel’s Baseball’s Great Experiment and Chris Lamb’s Blackout: The Untold Story of Jackie Robinson’s First Spring Training— provide more synoptic treatments of this topic. Rather, The Team excels in recreating the era and its ethos, the players and their arena, the drama and the triumph of Robinson. Something wonderful happened in the Brooklyn of 1947; The Team is a portal to that time and place.

John G. Zinn and Paul G. Zinn, eds. Ebbets Field: Essays and Memories of Brooklyn’s Historic Ballpark, 1913– 1960. Jefferson NC: McFarland, 2013. 240 pp. Paper, $39.95.

Steven P. Gietschier

This package of essays and related materials was compiled and edited by a father- son team, neither of whom ever had the good fortune to see a ball game played at Ebbets Field. John Zinn, the father, is chairman of the board of the New Jersey Historical Society. His son, Paul, is a former sportswriter now

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Book Reviews 171

working for a virtual communications software company. They have teamed up before, coauthoring The Major League Pennant Races of 1916: “The Most Maddening Baseball Melee in History” (2009). Other contributors are Ellen M. Snyder- Grenier, former chief curator of the Brooklyn Historical Society; James Overmyer, biographer of Effa Manley; and Ronald Selter, whose essay here is adapted from his book, Ballparks of the Deadball Era (2008), also pub-lished by McFarland.

This collection is the second in the publisher’s Historic Ballparks series, following the initial volume on Forbes Field (2007) put together by the series’ general editors, David J. Cicotello and Angela J. Louisa. No doubt each vol-ume will include some testament to its subject’s exceptionalism; this one gets right to it. “All historic ballparks created important relationships,” John Zinn writes in the preface, “but Ebbets Field is special in its own way” (1). No reader should be surprised by that assertion.

Perhaps the most interesting essay in the book, Snyder- Grenier’s “A Ball-park and Its ‘City’: Ebbets Field, Brooklyn, and Changing Times,” is a solid piece of cultural history. Written in two sections, it contrasts Brooklyn in 1913, when Ebbets Field opened, with Brooklyn in 1957, after which season the Dodgers left. Her thesis, not unique but certainly presented well here, is that “Ebbets Field’s construction suggests why the ballpark served as one of a number of enduring symbols of a city— even after Brooklyn had become a borough of New York City— and how its demolition in 1960 was all the more poignant as a symbol of changing times” (34).

Similarly fine, Overmyer’s essay is a neat summary of all the African Amer-ican baseball that Ebbets Field hosted before the debut of Jackie Robinson in 1947, including the ballpark’s stints as the home field for the Bacharach Giants; the Brooklyn Eagles, who later moved to Newark; and the Brooklyn Brown Dodgers of the short- lived United States League. Selter, an expert on ball-park dimensions, presents a thorough history of how Ebbets Field’s evolving configuration affected team offenses. Simply put, Ebbets Field was an aver-age offensive park during the Deadball Era, but as more seats were added at the expense of fair territory, the park, not surprisingly, became an offensive heaven.

The other four essays include two by Zinn père, one by Zinn fils, and one cowritten by both. John Zinn contributes a rather standard and uncritical bio-graphical treatment of Charles Ebbets, the man who built the ballpark and was majority owner of the Dodgers until his death in 1925. As much a business history of the Dodgers as a biographical essay, this piece does not say much about Ebbets personally, nor does it engage the argument that his shortsight-edness in acquiring insufficient land before construction began led inevita-bly to the park’s being hemmed in and handicapped by future development.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.2172

John’s second essay is much shorter. It presents simple narrative accounts of the first and last Dodgers games at the ballpark.

Paul Zinn’s solo effort, “Ebbets Field: Sporting Venue and Community Center,” covers the many uses besides baseball to which the ballpark was put. These include a remarkable amount of boxing and football, both college and professional; soccer; and a handful of opera performances in the 1920s. Fans tend to think of Ebbets Field as a pure baseball park, but it, like so many oth-ers, was also multipurpose.

The Zinns’ joint effort is a rather large accumulation of the most nota-ble games played at Ebbets Field, starting with the Dodgers’ first win in 1913 and concluding with the last game of the 1956 regular season. For each, they include a pithy narrative and, for most, the box score.

Following the essays, the editors present three sets of remembrances: one by Dodgers, a second by opposing players, and a third by fans. These rem-iniscences are culled mostly from interviews conducted by Paul Zinn with some coming from oral histories conducted by the Brooklyn Historical Soci-ety. Much of what the players have to say is repetitive: Ebbets Field was small; it was cozy; the fans sat close to the action; the fans were loud and exuberant; one could hit well there; the Dodgers were tough to play against. More than one opposing player remembers that the playing surface was always in first- rate condition, a recollection that is a bit of a shock to those who have pored over photos of old ballparks and seen lots of bare earth where grass should have been. The fans’ memories, perhaps surprisingly, prove to be well worth reading. Each tells an individual story adorned with family tradition, memo-ries of first games attended, and nostalgia for a team that truly was part of the neighborhood. One is struck by the intensity of these experiences, like that of Mary Walsh Heagney, now seventy- five years old, who, once wanting Pee Wee Reese’s autograph, simply walked a few blocks to his apartment, rang the bell, and saw Reese, who answered the door, oblige with a smile.

Donald Spivey. “If You Were Only White”: The Life of Leroy “Satchel” Paige. Columbia: University of Missouri Press, 2012. 347 pp. Cloth, $29.95.

Jim Overmyer

Another book on Satchel Paige? There has been so much written about the legendary African American pitcher since he was finally allowed into the

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Book Reviews 173

white major leagues thirty- six seasons ago that another biography might seem redundant. A search of the New York Public Library’s online catalog by Paige’s name, for example, turns up twenty- five titles. Donald Spivey’s bibliography for this book references seven devoted to the hurler.

But few of these dealt with Paige the individual, as opposed to Paige the legend. And fewer still put Paige in the context of the historical eras in which he lived, fitting him into a much broader narrative than that of his lengthy baseball career. People interested in Paige have waited a long time for this book. Spivey spent twelve years researching and writing it, and the result is biography the way it should be written and a top- flight entry in the extensive Paige canon.

Spivey, a history professor at the University of Miami, has done deep research on several of the eras and places in which Paige lived and pitched. First, there’s the early section on what it was like to grow up African American in Mobile, Alabama, in the early 1900s— his family was “dirt- poor and, com-mensurate with their lowly status, lacked every conceivable amenity associ-ated with a good life” (2). Something of a lawbreaking youngster, Paige was shipped off at age twelve to the Alabama Reform School for Juvenile Law Breakers at Mount Meigs, which despite its imposing name was a progres-sive place where youngsters were well- cared for and learned a trade. Paige’s, of course, turned out to be baseball, and Spivey has dug so far into Mount Meigs’s history that he claims to have correctly identified Paige’s first coach, Moses Davis, whose credit has been given to others in past biographies.

To add depth to the well- covered defection of Paige and other Negro League stars to Dominican Republic dictator Rafael Trujillo’s team in 1937, Spivey has delved into State Department files in the National Archives to bol-ster his claim that African American baseball owners’ complaints to the gov-ernment created a sort of international incident in which Paige, of course, was at the center. And he has gained access to the FBI’s file on Paige as agents dutifully tracked his statements encouraging baseball integration in the 1940s, which became “suspicious” because, on that subject alone, he was on the same wavelength as the Communist Party.

The best of Spivey’s sources, though, are a multitude of interviews with for-mer Negro League players, particularly Ted “Double Duty” Radcliffe, a child-hood friend and teammate of Paige’s, and two of Paige’s children, Robert and Pamela. Those remembrances allow the Satchel Paige story to leave the base-ball field and become a personal profile in which Spivey doesn’t soft- pedal the less than heroic parts. More than once he connects the dots of circumstantial evidence to come to the conclusion that Paige was an enthusiastic woman-izer, marriage vows notwithstanding. He keeps track of Paige’s many material

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.2174

acquisitions— fancy autos, antique furniture, photography equipment. But he also makes it clear that the great pitcher was a very poor saver, telling how Paige and his second wife, Lahoma, worried a great deal over how to make ends meet when the baseball career was over and how Paige suffered maladies that were the result of sheer medical neglect of his body.

Likewise, there is no glossing over Paige’s constant movement among Negro League teams, leagues, and entire baseball playing areas of North and South America, contractual or handshake agreements notwithstanding. The pitcher’s constant “jumping” from teams earned him something of a reputa-tion as unreliable. But in Spivey’s analysis this was a conscious decision of a man who grew up dirt- poor but with tremendous talent to maximize his earning potential over the years: “He may well have been not only the first free agent in baseball but the most successful one” (140).

Spivey does a particularly good job describing the summer of 1933 when Paige, Radcliffe, and other African American players paired up with white teammates to represent Bismarck, North Dakota, in the city’s attempt to become the undisputed champions of the relatively obscure baseball empire of the upper Great Plains. The team conquered its opposition, maintained good racial relations among themselves with just a few setbacks, and foreshadowed the integrated professional baseball that was still years down the line every-where else. The Bismarck team, faced with limited hotel choices in far- flung Plains towns, “were in all likelihood the first integrated sport team on which blacks and whites also roomed together” (115).

Paige often was paid separately from the rest of his teammates to make spe-cial appearances on the mound. This star- for- hire persona, in which he often employed stagecraft aspects of his trade such as his hesitation pitch, double and triple windups, and calling in his outfielders before striking out the side, made him appear a comic figure at the same time that he was seen as a domi-nant ballplayer. Spivey confidently asserts, though, based in large part on the interviews, that under Paige’s constant performer façade burned an interest in and commitment to racial civil rights: “The affable and easy going manner that Paige displayed to the media and the public did not mean that there was not fire in his bosom, a constant burning and smoldering because of racism in America” (241).

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Book Reviews 175

Joseph M. Schuster. The Might Have Been: A Novel. New York: Ballantine Books, 2012. 329 pp. Cloth, $25.00.

Adi Angel

In the opening monologue of Arthur Miller’s After the Fall (1964), Quentin, reflecting on his decision to leave his job, says to his offstage listener, “I felt I was merely in the service of my own success. It all lost any point. Although I do wonder sometimes if I am simply trying to destroy myself.” In the wake of his life’s tragedies, Miller’s Quentin leaves his career, only to wonder if his decision is one of self- destruction. Not so for Joseph Schuster’s Edward Ever-ett Yates. Yates, a late- blooming minor leaguer coming up for his cup of cof-fee with the 1976 Cardinals, falls victim to his own hubris, only to reflect upon and repeat his mistakes in a life defined by the almosts, the should haves, and a string of never- agains. Earning a spot as the starting right fielder in a game against Montreal, Yates sees his future in baseball before him. Hitting for the cycle before the end of the fifth inning of a game destined for a rainout, his entire career hinges on a two- out fly ball to right. Knowing that this catch would be the final play, making the game and his place on the team official, Yates leaps to catch the ball, but gets caught in the chains and suffers a cata-strophic knee injury. The injury brings the unofficial game to a close and with it Yates’s cycle.

Yates’s injury leaves him bedridden— first in the hospital, then in his hotel— isolated and forgotten. The Cardinals move on to their next series, leaving him in Montreal to recover. Isolated, alone, and ultimately forgotten by his team (literally), Yates invites his ex- girlfriend Julie to stay with him. The relationship develops around his vision of a new life. He can make this work this time. He can have a different life. But like Roy Hobbs before him, Yates undermines his own good intentions when he meets Estelle Herron, whose hair is, naturally, red. Thus begins Yates’s fall from grace: unfortunate circum-stances, poor decisions, and a pattern of questionable behavior and failed relationships. Losing Julie leads to a relationship one year later with Connie. Connie, however, is also no more than a fleeting glimpse at a life Yates almost allows himself to have. The novel jumps from 1977 to 2009, where Connie has become no more than a passing memory: a name Yates can barely recall, a love he no longer clings to.

What Schuster builds in the second half of his novel is something of a familiar story. Yates, older if not wiser, has grown into the seasoned manager of a minor- league- affiliate team whose memories are as untrustworthy as his knees. Names of players, statistics, cities, dates— all become a blur, as the col-lection of Sporting News he has assembled through the years get flooded in the

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.2176

basement of his home. The past, crossed and forgotten, comes back into view, and Yates tries to accomplish for his players what he never could accomplish himself— even if only on the minor- league scale. The story of what could have been, what might have been, is compelling. In the realm of novels that use baseball as a metaphor for life, The Might Have Been ranks high, with famil-iar images woven together with the agony of watching something so precious slip away from a character who, but for the grace of God, could have been me. Schuster knows his audience.

Though the novel may recall many themes familiar to the seasoned base-ball fiction audience, Schuster breathes new life into the genre through his use of sound. From the familiar organ sounds of the ballpark to the “slap of the ball into leather at perhaps the instant his foot [meets] the bag” (11), Schuster transports the audience into the ballpark and into Yates’s life. The more Yates learns to see things differently, the sounds that surround him are the sounds that ground him in the reality that Schuster has carefully crafted. Where the familiar sights of a ballpark become the unfamiliar world of the professional, the sounds remain the same, both to Yates and to anyone who has ever spent a summer day playing catch. To appreciate The Might Have Been is to appreci-ate the little details about life and baseball: the sights and sounds that escape if you don’t pay attention. With enough detail for a casual fan to appreci-ate the action on the field, yet with enough nuance for a seasoned fan of the game, Schuster’s novel is one of those rare gems that reaches out to all fans. Schuster’s novel is, ultimately, a moving testament to choice: the decisions we make, on the field as in life, can change the way things play out. The sights and sounds encountered along the way, like the people that weave in and out of our lives, become the backdrop upon which life plays out.

Dorothy Seymour Mills. Drawing Card: A Baseball Novel. Jefferson NC: McFarland, 2012. 261 pp. Paper, $25.00.

Tim Morris

Drawing Card: A Baseball Novel is a historical novel that asks a question for the sake of argument: if a woman signed a contract to play professional base-ball, and then found her opportunity denied by a baseball commissioner solely on the grounds of her sex, how might she react? The question isn’t entirely a “what if ”; two such contracts were annulled in real life, in 1931 and 1952. “I

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Book Reviews 177

have often wondered how these two women felt about being prevented from playing baseball because of their gender,” Dorothy Seymour Mills says in her “Note on Sources” (259), and she wrote this novel to explore that wonder.

Drawing Card is incident- packed, written in a utilitarian style that tells more than it shows. Every scene is fully explained and worked into the over-all rhetorical purpose of the novel. All the characters sound exactly the same, speaking in decorous, full sentences that reveal much background information and give a clear account of their actions and motives (even their deceptions are carefully explained and clear, at least to the reader). Copious research is on dis-play: this is a book where you trust the baseball details (given the author’s con-siderable ethos as a sport historian) and also trust the descriptions of places as far- flung as Ohio and Sicily, in the present, recent past, and deep past.

And as the book’s cover foreshadows, the novel’s incidents are nicely unre-strained, often sinister in a way that borders on black comedy. To quote that cover (so that I’m not spoiling the plot very much), “Annie plots her revenge— murder. A deft blend of sports history and thriller, Drawing Card demon-strates the danger of a woman scorned, especially one with a mean curve ball.” Annie Cardello is believable as the “Drawing Card” of the title, pitching local baseball in Cleveland, exemplifying her Sicilian roots. And she’s at least con-sistent, in a far- fetched way, when she turns avenging angel. This is a woman whose answer to a mildly disappointing marriage is a quickie divorce, Italian style. One is prepared for her to wreak havoc on Organized Baseball.

The accumulation of incidents, time frames, characters, and allusions in Drawing Card may bewilder some readers. It’s not a book for those with ruminative tastes or Proustian attention spans. But as a contribution to the re- imagination of the twentieth century from once- elided perspectives, the novel has something to offer readers who like their fiction brisk, lucid, and vividly imaginary.

Joel S. Franks. The Barnstorming Hawaiian Travelers: A Multiethnic Baseball Team Tours the Mainland, 1912– 1916. Jefferson NC: McFarland, 2012. 254 pp. Paper, $29.95.

John Harney

Barnstorming has an intriguing history beyond the borders of the American mainland, particularly across the Pacific Ocean. Babe Ruth and his fellow All-

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.2178

Stars’ 1934 visit to Japan is the most prominent example of American players bringing the sometimes chaotic world of early twentieth- century exhibition baseball to East Asia, but it was by no means the only one. Herbert Harrison Hunter led a significantly less stellar roster of players to games in Japan and Taiwan over a decade earlier in 1920, but that particular experiment collapsed amid acrimony between the athletes involved over money. In both cases, the exclusively Caucasian American ballplayers made sure to entertain, regardless of the conditions; antics in the outfield were a staple of these performances, and Ruth’s decision to play first base during a rain- soaked game while holding an umbrella immediately became an iconic image.

Exhibition baseball in East Asia did not remain the province of American visitors alone. Japanese university teams in particular showed a tremendous appetite for travelling abroad to find opponents, from Taiwan and Korea to California and Chicago. These tours, ostensibly undertaken to engender posi-tive relations between Japan and its colonies as well as between Japan and the United States, in practice played directly into the complex politics of Japan’s changing relations with the world as its own political and military ambitions evolved in the decades leading up to World War II. Race played no small part in such politics and not only cast a shadow over the visits of Japanese teams to the campuses of Stanford University and the University of Chicago, but also further complicated Hawaii’s path to statehood, as Joel S. Franks ably demon-strates. In The Barnstorming Hawaiian Travelers: A Multiethnic Baseball Team Tours the Mainland, 1912– 1916, Franks examines the dubious politics of race in the United States at the beginning of the twentieth century and the compli-cated path for Hawaiians to truly inclusive American citizenship, while deliv-ering unto the reader a fascinating narrative of a truly unique baseball team.

The Travelers, a barnstorming outfit from Hawaii that typically played upwards of one hundred games a season on their visits to the American main-land each year between 1912 and 1916, featured an increasingly multiethnic lineup that took on college and semiprofessional teams across the country. Presented to American audiences as an “all- Chinese” team, the Hawaiians acquitted themselves rather well on the field as their efficacy in advancing Hawaii’s profile on the mainland came under scrutiny at home in Honolulu. In fact, the book is a particular source of fun for the reader when the author returns to Honolulu to offer some context on the racially infused criticisms of American papers, with Hawaiian journalists utterly bemused by the prev-alence on the American mainland of the idea that the athletes represented the fictional “Chinese University of Hawaii.” This particular ruse arose from the foundations of the team in Honolulu’s Chinese community and American interest in the Chinese mainland’s recent emergence from centuries of dynas-

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Book Reviews 179

tic rule following the establishment of the Republic of China in 1912. Franks’s account highlights the vast chasm between conceptions of racial identity on the American mainland and the notably multiethnic composition of Hawai-ian society, though by no means free of racially infused conflict itself. The athletes themselves sought to actively manage the racial politics of the time, skirting around the ethnicity of the Travelers’ first non- Chinese participants, going as far as to pass off the team’s first Caucasian athletes as Chinese in 1916. Interestingly, mainland journalists appear to have agreed to perpetuate the myth that the visiting athletes represented Chinese interests rather than those of fellow Americans.

Franks has succeeded in producing a valuable scholarly contribution to the fields of American history, Asian American history, and baseball history, but his book will also appeal to a wider audience. The narrative is character-ized by exhaustive reports on individual game results from various locations across America. Such accounts will delight readers accustomed to leafing through box scores of both current and historical games and eager for more information on the history of the American pastime. The newspaper articles come thick and fast, and herein lies the heart of Franks’s research: a thorough investigation of the Travelers’ journeys through the forty- eight contiguous states as recorded by newspaper after newspaper from the Oakland Tribune to the Brooklyn Eagle. To have pored through so many of these accounts and arranged them into a cohesive narrative is to be highly commended and, as this reviewer can attest, is by no means a straightforward task.

This narrative approach is complemented by the author’s consistent efforts to contextualize each game with reports from local newspapers that often reflect the open racism of early twentieth- century America. Honolulu was by no means a bastion of racial integration, with the Chinese community so frus-trated by the dilution of the Travelers’ ethnic composition that they supported the creation of a new barnstorming outfit to travel west into East Asia as the Travelers returned east to the American mainland. However, the city still suc-ceeded in producing a team that, by 1916, contained players with claims to Caucasian, Japanese, Chinese, and native Hawaiian ethnic origins. This barn-storming outfit was a world apart from an American baseball community still decades away from breaking down the color barrier.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.2180

Katya Cengel. Bluegrass Baseball: A Year in the Minor League Life. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2012. 272 pp. Paper, $19.95.

William Harris Ressler

*SPOILER ALERT* Baseball is people.Granted, that is not as startling as Charlton Heston’s revelation forty years

ago. But it feels good to remember every once in a while that the real stories in baseball center on people. In the expansive world of baseball writing, plenty of fine authors focus on politics and economics, teams and titles, numbers and records. Even well- written baseball stories about people tend to center on the people who play the game, particularly in the major leagues.

Katya Cengel’s Bluegrass Baseball: A Year in the Minor League Life is devoted to people and not just the players. Kentucky’s minor- league teams— Class AAA, Class A, and independent— provide the context for her well- conceived and skillfully woven tapestry of personal stories that moves beyond a nar-row focus on players to the often unnoticed and unrecognized silent major-ity of the minors: merchants, media, mascots, marketers, moms (and dads), ministers, medics, mentors, and the many others who complete the picture of minor- league baseball. Cengel profiles a host mom in Florence, for example, one of the devoted and nurturing guardian angels who can be found through-out the minor leagues protecting players’ interests. Lori Snider organizes housing for Florence’s players each year, and through her experiences readers come to know some of the other archetypes populating minor- league base-ball. She describes, for example, the cougar who wanted to host players in her home: “They call them cleat chasers, and every year there’s somebody” (205). Through such personalities, Cengel reminds her readers that an indispensable thematic element in minor- league baseball story lines is captured through the eyes of the women— girlfriends and groupies, wives and wannabes— who move in and out of the players’ lives. Her book, in fact, is filled with both men and women whose perspectives and experiences help readers to understand the minor leagues and professional baseball in general.

Cengel’s focus on people sheds light on other important facets of baseball. Her portrait of Lexington Legends president Alan Stein, for example, takes her readers from the team’s national anthem auditions to the outrageous “bets” Stein would make each season when guaranteeing a victory on open-ing day. In doing so, Cengel directs readers’ attention to the core of the minor- league brand: “being able to ‘touch the community,’ generating excitement for the club, and, of course, providing entertainment” (7).

Cengel also offers brief but important glimpses of the obstacles fac-ing foreign- born players, who by 2011 and 2012 constituted over 46 percent

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Book Reviews 181

of minor leaguers (“Percentage of Foreign Players Rises,” ESPN.com, April 5, 2012, http://espn.go.com/mlb/story/_/id/7779279/percentage-foreign-major-league-baseball-players-rises). She shows her readers a part of the minor leagues that “Alan Stein doesn’t want you to see” (36): the often neglected liv-ing situations of many Spanish-speaking players, unseen environments that exemplify the many inequities concealed within the business of baseball. In telling the stories of Louisville pitcher Aroldis Chapman and, more impor-tantly, of Louisville’s trainer and general problem solver, Tomas Vera—who helped Chapman acclimate—Cengel is able to make the important point that the problems confronting foreign-born players go beyond learning the lan-guage to the often more difficult challenge of mastering subtle yet significant cultural differences.

Indeed, Cengel broadly directs her readers’ attention to challenges fac-ing minor leaguers: travel and transportation, housing and laundry, shop-ping, relationships, and meeting the most basic of needs— eating and sleep-ing properly. Through Bowling Green’s trainer, Scott Thurston, for example, readers learn about the challenges of feeding a baseball team on a shoestring budget while trying to maintain some semblance of nutritional balance. More than anything, her descriptions serve as a reminder that the game of base-ball revolves around details that are largely unknown to most followers of the game: “the more mundane tasks of fielding a baseball team, like debat-ing whether to purchase smoked or regular turkey. Important stuff, but then, when it gets down to it, the everyday business of baseball can be downright boring” (165). Actually, as they emerge from Cengel’s stories, those “mun-dane” details are what bring baseball to life.

Without betraying fidelity to their favorite team, many baseball fans sooner or later focus on following and rooting for individuals. Cengel’s book captures this repeatedly, such as when she introduces her readers to Louisville player Matt Maloney: “He is the kind of guy you can’t help but root for; he wasn’t born with a ton of talent, money, or connections, just a dream and determina-tion” (90). Fans “can relate to players like Justin [Lehr] who have seen success and failure and have the fortitude to keep believing day after day that it is all worthwhile” (249). But devoted followers of the game also find satisfaction in the successes of the people off the field: Jared Elliott, Bowling Green’s strength and conditioning coach, moving up to the next higher organizational level; Tom Gauthier, the team’s radio broadcaster, receiving a promotion to Class AA; and Tomas Vera, the problem solver, getting to the bigs.

Bluegrass Baseball is a reminder that players are not the only people in baseball with dreams of making it to the show— they are not the only or even the best stories to follow in baseball. Baseball is more than just the teams and the players, the records and the numbers. Baseball is people.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

F I L M R E V I E W

Moneyball. Dir. Bennett Miller. Columbia Pictures, 2011. DVD.Trouble with the Curve. Dir. Robert Lorenz. Warner Brothers, 2012. DVD.

Ron Briley

Focusing on the application of sabermetrics and statistical analysis by general manager Billy Beane and the Oakland A’s, journalist Michael Lewis’s Money-ball (2003) was an unlikely bestseller, and baseball statistics would seem an even more unlikely subject for a major Hollywood film. Indeed, it would take eight years to translate Moneyball from book to film. The project was piqued by the commercial and critical success of The Blind Side (2009), a film based upon Lewis’s 2006 bestseller of the same title. Nevertheless, the film version of The Blind Side emphasized the relationship between Michael Oher (Quinton Aaron) and his adoptive mother Leigh Anne Tuohy (Sandra Bullock), rather than how Oher helped to revolutionize the position of left tackle in profes-sional football. Bill Beane’s story in Moneyball fails to offer the dramatic pos-sibilities of race, gender, and class contained in The Blind Side. Actor Brad Pitt’s interest in the project, nevertheless, kept Moneyball alive as a film, and Steven Soderberg was signed to direct the picture. Sony Pictures, however, was reportedly nervous regarding Soderberg’s efforts to inject humor into the film as well as blurring the line between feature film and documentary with actual players commenting upon Billy Beane’s approach to talent evalua-tion. Accordingly, on the eve of filming in June 2009, Soderberg was removed from the picture and replaced by Bennett Miller, who earned a Best Direc-tor Oscar nomination in 2005 for the biographical picture Capote, for which Philip Seymour Hoffman received the Best Actor award. Filming commenced in July 2010, and Moneyball was released in the fall of 2011 to critical acclaim and a strong box office. With a budget of approximately $50 million, the film grossed nearly $90 million while earning Oscar nominations for Best Picture (in an expanded category), Best Actor for Pitt, and Best Supporting Actor for Jonah Hill.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Film Review 183

By the time Moneyball was released, sabermetric concepts, such as OPS, were common knowledge to serious baseball fans as well as baseball execu-tives, but many of the ideas discussed in Moneyball were novel for more casual observers of the game. In fact, in tracing the 2002 Oakland season Money-ball is somewhat of a history film, and in Hollywood neither the history nor baseball film genre have generated great box office excitement. The appeal of the film owes much to the performances of Pitt and Hill, as well as the script by Steven Zaillian and Aaron Sorkin, which reduces the abstract principles of Moneyball to a few easily- internalized concepts— such as hitting is more important than pitching and fielding, a walk is as good as a hit (a cliché which many weak Little League hitters learn early in life), bunts and stolen bases are risky activities which may squander scarce outs, and the worth of a player may be measured statistically by past performance. Yet these simple concepts are resisted by the baseball establishment who focus upon such traditional scout-ing tools as power, speed, and the look of a ballplayer. The audience is invited to identify with Beane’s smug sense of insider knowledge, which his contem-poraries reject in favor of a conventional wisdom that privileges investment in power pitching and hitting home runs.

Moneyball is a David and Goliath story which appeals to the audience’s sup-port for the underdog. In 2001, the Oakland A’s won 102 games in the regular season before falling to the New York Yankees in the playoffs. Yet, the Yan-kee payroll was $126 million, while the A’s were limited to spending $40 mil-lion. And the gap between these two representative large- and small- market clubs seemed destined to grow even greater when after the 2001 season the A’s lost three of their best players to free agency: relief pitcher Jason Isringhau-sen, center fielder Johnny Damon, and first baseman Jason Giambi. In fact, Giambi signed with the Yankees for $120 million. It would seem impossible for the A’s to compete with the Yankees, but Beane finds a way. And perhaps it is not surprising that film audiences in 2011 identified with the Oakland club. In the midst of the worst economic downturn since the Great Depression, the Yankees embody the values of Wall Street, earning large bonuses while most people are simply struggling to survive. Billy Beane represents Main Street values against the entrenched power and money of the Wall Street Yankees.

To compete with the large- market club, Beane is convinced that teams with smaller budgets must change their approach. Rather than rely upon his tradi-tional scouts, a roomful of white- haired men dependent upon their accumu-lated years of baseball knowledge and conventional wisdom, Beane chooses to follow the advice of Peter Brand, a young economist from Yale, who seeks to introduce empirical evaluation based upon past player performance. Brand is a composite figure of the young economists whom Beane brought to Oakland,

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.2184

most notably Paul DePodesta, who became assistant general manager but did not want his name used in the film. The Brand character is essential to the film. Jonah Hill, whose previous credits include sex- obsessed young men in Super-bad (2007) and Knocked Up (2007), plays Brand as a quiet, unassuming young intellectual, who initially shows up to work every day in a suit and tie, but after hanging with Beane jettisons the tie and dons a windbreaker. Although he initially appears to be a comical sidekick, a Sancho Panza for Beane who is tilting at windmills and attempting to dream the impossible dream of beating the Yankees, there is considerable strength to the Brand character as played by Hill. At first, Brand is somewhat intimidated when confronting the scouts and players; he has never played the game, but he has the strength of his convic-tions and is even able to hand an athlete his unconditional release. Brand is an everyman, suggesting to intelligent audience members that they could also run a major- league ball club based upon sound scientific principles.

Moneyball is also successful as a film because it does not confuse audiences by attempting to introduce too many members of the A’s 2002 roster. The film concentrates upon three players, David Justice (Stephen Bishop), Chad Brad-ford (Casey Bond), and Scott Hatteberg (Chris Pratt). Justice, who is some-times best remembered for being married to Halle Berry, is in the twilight of his career, but Brand and Beane like him because he draws walks and the Yan-kees are willing to pay part of their former player’s guaranteed contract. Brad-ford is a middle- relief pitcher whom few wanted because of his low velocity, yet with his extreme submarine delivery, Bradford is able to fool hitters by getting his eighty- four mile per hour fastball to move in the strike zone. Hat-teberg was a catcher with the Boston Red Sox whose career was thought to be over due to an elbow injury. But Brand and Beane propose transforming him into a first baseman, as defense plays second fiddle to offense, and Hatteberg is a master at working the count and getting on base.

The Beane and Brand experiment, however, is undermined by A’s Manager Art Howe (Philip Seymour Hoffman), who insists upon playing rookie Carlos Pena at first base rather than Hatteberg. Beane deals with this insubordination by trading Pena to the Detroit Tigers, and he fails to give Howe more than a one- year extension on his contract. Hoffman, a personal friend of the direc-tor, is an interesting choice as he seems to fit the stereotypical image of an old- school baseball manager. While the real Howe was a tall, thin man, Hoffman is more heavyset and his stomach tends to hang over the belt on his uniform.

After Howe begins to play Hatteberg and makes better use of Bradford out of the bullpen, the A’s begin to rise in the standings, reeling off twenty straight victories to establish an American League record for consecutive wins. The twentieth game of this stretch is the only game which director Miller develops

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Film Review 185

in any detail. Most of the action in the film takes place off the playing field, and Miller often relies upon archival footage of A’s games. But the contest of September 4, 2002, was different. After attaining nineteen consecutive wins, the A’s led the Kansas City Royals 11– 0 in the fourth inning. The A’s, how-ever, began to commit errors, and Bradford gave up a three- run home run. In the top of the ninth, the Royals tied the game, and the A’s and their fans were stunned. During the bottom half of the inning, Howe sent Hatteberg in to pinch hit, and in true Hollywood fashion he hit a home run to win the game. Reality provided the filmmakers with a perfect ending, and Miller can be for-given a little slow- motion imitation of Scott Hatteberg as Roy Hobbs.

In 2002, the A’s who appeared decimated by their free- agent losses actu-ally won 103 games, one more than the previous year. Yet they again lost in the first round of the playoffs; this time to the Minnesota Twins, another small- market team. Critics, such as broadcaster and Hall of Famer Joe Morgan, asserted that the tactics of Moneyball were inappropriate to the playoffs where the bunt and stolen base were essential to manufacturing runs. The film con-cludes with Beane mulling an offer to employ his strategy on a larger canvas as general manager of the Boston Red Sox. Beane, however, elects to stay with the A’s, but the film concludes with the caption that in 2006 the Red Sox were able to win their first World Series since World War I and the trading of Babe Ruth by implementing Beane’s Moneyball strategies. The film suggests that Moneyball concepts now dominate Major League Baseball due to the vision-ary Billy Beane. While baseball enthusiasts continue to argue over the merits of Moneyball and sabermetrics, more casual fans and filmgoers will be drawn to Beane’s story, which is in many ways more interesting than the deciphering of baseball statistics.

In the film, Beane remains a rather enigmatic figure. We learn that scouts depicted him as a “can’t miss” prospect with power, speed, an excellent throw-ing arm, and the proper look. But for whatever reason, Beane did not reach his potential as a player, often displaying irrational outbursts of anger that appear out of character with his emphasis upon empirical evidence as a general man-ager. Beane regrets that he signed with the New York Mets rather than accept a scholarship to attend Stanford. He asserts that he will never make another decision based entirely upon financial considerations. While on the surface he is laid back and relaxed, Brad Pitt’s Beane is actually a bundle of nervous energy; pacing around the room, dipping snuff, exercising and working out during games as he is afraid that he will jinx the team by watching them play, and driving endlessly to destinations that are not always clear. Beane’s only passion outside of baseball seems to be his daughter Casey (Kerris Dorsey), and although the film fails to consider the reasons for his divorce from wife

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.2186

Sharon (Robin Wright), one can surmise that Beane may have focused more on his job than his marriage. The Beane presented on the screen seems to have no interests or friends beyond the Oakland Coliseum and his daughter. He is driven by one desire: to prove that the scientific principles of Moneyball are sound. In the final analysis, Beane rejects the Boston offer so that he may stay near his daughter, pursuing his vision from his California home.

Moneyball emphasizes the role of statistics, but the film’s personal insight into Beane’s character makes Moneyball of interest to the moviegoer and casual baseball fan. As for the principles of Moneyball, there is still some debate. From 2007 to 2011, Beane’s teams did not make the playoffs, although the general manager’s defenders point out that it is more challenging for Beane now as other clubs emulate his approach to the game.

In Trouble with the Curve, Clint Eastwood is again speaking to an empty chair, but rather than addressing an absent President Barack Obama, Eastwood’s target is Billy Beane and Moneyball. Sabermetricians and fans of Moneyball may be uncomfortable with a film which has little use for computers and new modes of statistical analysis. Instead, Trouble with the Curve places its faith in the traditional baseball scout who relies upon experience with the sport to evaluate talent— the older baseball organization men whom Beane fires early in Moneyball.

Trouble with the Curve is also an old- fashioned feel- good movie. Writ-ten by Randy Brown and directed by Eastwood’s friend Robert Lorenz in his directorial debut, Trouble with the Curve is dominated by the eighty- two- year- old Eastwood, who portrays aging baseball scout Gus Lobel, struggling with his prostate, hearing, and eyesight. In many ways, Gus is similar to Eastwood’s grumpy old man in Gran Torino (2008), but Trouble with the Curve does not explore the darker regions of this character.

The film begins when executives from the Atlanta Braves, such as Phillip Sanderson (Matthew Lillard), seek to dismiss Gus and rely more upon com-puters and statistical analysis, which should also save the ball club money. Pete Klein (John Goodman), director of scouting for the Braves, defends his old friend and arranges for Gus to scout a new slugging phenomenon, Bo Gentry (Joe Massengill). Nevertheless, Pete has some reservations regard-ing Gus and urges the scout’s daughter, Mickey (Amy Adams)— and all base-ball fans should know that she is, of course, named after Mickey Mantle— to accompany her father on his scouting mission to North Carolina. Although Mickey is an attorney working on a major case and seeking to attain a part-nership in her law firm, she accepts the responsibility of monitoring Gus, who is opposed to her joining him on the road.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Film Review 187

The core of the film concerns the estranged relationship between father and daughter. The stoic Gus finds it difficult to talk with his daughter, and she wonders why her father continues to push her away. As the story unfolds, we learn that following the death of her mother, Mickey accompanied Gus on his scouting trips. When she is nearly molested, Gus decides that he can-not properly care for his daughter, dispatching her to live with relatives and attend boarding school. Yet Gus fails to explain the reasons for his actions, and Mickey feels rejected by her father and unable to pursue her passion for baseball. Gus grudgingly admits that Mickey is helpful to him as he struggles with failing eyesight, and the father and daughter reconcile.

Meanwhile, Mickey finds a love interest in Johnny Flanagan (Jason Tim-berlake), a scout for the Boston Red Sox, who was originally signed by Gus. Flanagan was traded by the Braves to the Red Sox, and his career ended pre-maturely due to arm troubles. Thus, he is considerably younger than the other scouts with whom Gus associates, making him an appropriate romantic part-ner for Mickey. Flanagan is also scouting Bo Gentry, and the Red Sox and Braves have the top picks in the baseball draft.

Gentry is an egotistical home- run hitter who seems destined to be the number- one pick in the draft. Gus, however, is convinced that Gentry is a prospect who will require considerable development. Eschewing computer and statistical models, Gus is able to discern by the crack of the bat and exam-ining his swing that Gentry has a serious problem with the curve ball. His home- run statistics are inflated by metal bats, and Gus instructs the Braves to not draft the prospect. He also convinces Flanagan and the Red Sox to pass on Gentry, but Flanagan feels betrayed when the Braves select Gentry with their first draft pick. The Braves rejected the scouting report submitted by Gus, and his career appears over.

Trouble with the Curve, however, is hardly a tragedy. Redemption comes in the form of a left- handed pitcher discovered by Mickey after Gus departs to Atlanta for a confrontation with Braves management. Mickey is packing to leave a motor lodge when she observes Rigo Sanchez (Jay Galloway), the son of the Latina woman operating the motel, playing catch with his younger brother. She grabs a catcher’s mitt and has Sanchez throw to her. Impressed with both his fastball and curve, Mickey insists that the young man and his family accompany her to Atlanta. Mickey arrives at Turner Field just in time to prevent Gus from being released by the Braves. Employing her feminine charms as well as litigation skills, Mickey convinces the Braves to give San-chez a tryout. In a perfect example of an only- in- the- movies coincidence, Bo Gentry is taking batting practice. The first- round draft pick, however, is unable to put a bat on Sanchez’s curve ball.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.2188

In a classic happy ending, Philip Sanderson is fired rather than Gus, and Pete Klein’s confidence in Gus is rewarded when the aging scout is offered a new contract by Braves management. Atlanta also extends a contract to San-chez, who will be represented by his agent, Mickey. In fact, Mickey is consider-ing abandoning her legal firm to pursue a career as a sports agent. To complete this all- too- convenient happy ending, romance triumphs as Mickey is reunited with Flanagan. The couple walks off arm- in- arm, while Gus grabs a bus, finally acknowledging that he should abandon driving. He cannot see the road signs anymore, but he is certainly able to judge trouble with the curve ball.

Trouble with the Curve is a sappy movie which has, nevertheless, proven entertaining to audiences interested in light romantic- comedy fare. Clint Eastwood is his crusty old self, while Amy Adams is charming as Mickey. Justin Timberlake is certainly a pleasant romantic interest for Adams, but he never touches a baseball during the film, so viewers do not have to evaluate his athletic abilities.

For baseball fans, Trouble with the Curve is primarily of interest as a rejoin-der to Moneyball. For those less enamored with Bill James, Billy Beane, and technology, Trouble with the Curve suggests the primacy of the individual in the evaluation of talent. Although baseball has finally embraced many of the innovations associated with technology and the analytical tools of Bill James and his disciples, it is well within the human spirit to hope that there will always be room for a Gus Lobel in the game. It would be a shame if the empty chair in the future proves to be the professional baseball scout who has dedi-cated his life to baseball. Trouble with the Curve may be light fare, but it does raise some serious questions regarding the future of Major League Baseball.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

Contributors

Joseph W. Anderson is a full- time lecturer at California State University– Long Beach.

Stephen Andon received his PhD from Florida State University in 2011 after writing a dissertation on sports fans and the materiality of sports memora-bilia. His research interests involve a wide array of topics dealing with sport and media, sport and nostalgia, fan cultures, and material rhetoric. Currently, he teaches speech, debate, and rhetoric classes at Nova Southeastern Univer-sity in Fort Lauderdale.

Ron Briley is a long- suffering fan of the Houston Astros. He has taught his-tory and film studies at Sandia Prep School in Albuquerque, New Mexico, for over thirty years. He is the author of five books and numerous articles on cin-ema and baseball history. His teaching has been recognized by organizations such as the National Council for History Education, Organization of Ameri-can Historians, American Historical Association, Society for History Educa-tion, and the Golden Apple of New Mexico.

Kenneth R. Fenster is professor of history at Georgia Perimeter College in Clarkston, Georgia. He co- edited The National Pastime: Baseball in the Peach State, and he has published in NINE, The Baseball Research Journal, The National Pastime, The New Georgia Encyclopedia, and The African American National Biography. He is a previous winner of the McFarland- SABR prize and a Yoseloff- SABR grant.

Paul Hensler (MA, Trinity College, Hartford CT) has served as an instruc-tor at Trinity’s Lifelong Learning Academy and Manchester (CT) Community College’s Non- Credit Program, and is a member of the Society for American Baseball Research, which has published several of his essays. He is the author of The American League in Transition, 1965– 1975: How Competition Thrived When the Yankees Didn’t.

© 2013

by th

e Univ

ersity

of N

ebras

ka P

ress

nine vol. 21.2190

Kevin A. Johnson (PhD, 2007, Communication Studies, University of Texas at Austin) is an associate chair and assistant professor of communication stud-ies, and serves as the director of research for the Center for First Amendment Studies at California State University– Long Beach. His relationship with base-ball is complicated.

Robert A. Moss is research professor and Louis P. Hammett professor of chemistry emeritus at Rutgers University in New Brunswick, New Jersey. His baseball memories begin with the 1947 Dodgers, who set a standard seldom equaled and never surpassed.

David Nemec is a baseball historian and novelist. Like the The Beer & Whisky League, a history of the American Association’s ten- year sojourn as a rebel major league, most of his recent baseball books focus on the nineteenth cen-tury. Apart from Early Dreams, a tale set in the tumultuous 1884 season, his eight published novels are marked departures from his baseball works.

Franklin Otto was born and raised in Puerto Rico. He worked for thirty years as a teacher and administrator in the field of bilingual education both in the US Virgin Islands and at the New York State Education Department. He has previously published in NINE. He lives in Slingerlands, New York.

William Harris Ressler is assistant professor of strategic communication at Ithaca College. His areas of research include athletes’ perspectives on cul-ture, community service, and cause promotion. The author wishes to express his profound gratitude to Professor Mary Lou Kish, whose sagacity and elo-quence shaped this paper, to Sarah Upperman and Caitlin Hamryszak for their dedication and contributions to the data analysis, and to the players, for their insight, candor, and graciousness. This research was supported in part by a series of James B. Pendleton Faculty Research Grants from the Ithaca College School of Communication.