CHAPTER VII

The infield—The greatest play of the 1927 world series—Joe Dugan pulled it—Lazzeri spikes Pirates’ guns—Great second base combinations—The double play—The snap throw to base—Great arms in baseball—Travis Jackson gets Jake Daubert’s goat—Casey Stengel tells one—What to look for in infield play.

In the 1927 world series there were a lot of plays that stood out. One of the prettiest plays I ever saw was Joe Dugan’s fielding and throw of a slow bunt down the third base line in that final game. But by that time most of the fight had been taken out of the Pirates anyhow, and Joe’s contribution was just one more to a long list of breath-takers.

One of the most important plays of the series so far as its after effect was concerned, came in the first game, and Tony Lazzeri was the boy who pulled it. The details, as I remember them, were about like this.

George Grantham, a sweet ball player and a mighty fast man on the bases, was first up to open the inning. He worked Hoyt for a base on balls and the stage was set for a sharp Pirate attack. Joe Harris, one of the best of the Pirate hitters, followed Grantham at the plate and he signalled Grantham for the hit and run. Just as Hoyt drew back to pitch Grantham leaped for second and Joe Harris smacked the ball squarely on the nose. Lazzeri had leaned toward second with the pitch and was starting as if to cover, but caught himself in time. With perfect timing he scooped up the ball and tagged Grantham out as he tore for second. Then with the same motion he shot the ball to Gehrig and Harris was doubled at first base.

So far as actual play was concerned the play was good and snappy, but not spectacular. But it was a death blow to the Pirates just the same. For when that play was pulled it showed them that we had an infield that could click under pressure, and a second baseman who knew what to do in the face of a hit and run attack. Right off the bat it made the Pirates doubtful about their best attacking method, and when a bit later Tony pulled the same play they were thoroughly convinced.

The point is that second base is the pivot of all infield play. Give any ball club a second baseman and a short-stop who can work together in perfect harmony with each knowing the other’s style and methods and you’ve solved four-fifths of the infield troubles right there. By that I don’t mean that the second baseman and the shortstop must be stars. There are mighty few real stars there, or elsewhere. But there are some mighty sweet ball players—and the minute you get two who can work together you’ve got a rare combination.

As a matter of fact the best pair I ever saw around second base weren’t in the big leagues at all. They were Neil Ball and Clyde Derrick, and they were playing with the Baltimore Orioles when I broke in. Ball had been a star at one time, but when I knew him his career was about closed. Old time fans will remember him. He’s one of the few big league players who ever made a triple play unassisted. As for Derrick, I don’t think he ever gained any great fame.

Just the same though, playing together, they were a great combination. One seemed to know, always, just what the other would do—and I’ve seen them field and throw balls without even looking, they were so confident that the other would be there to make the play. Their best stunt was going over back of second base to field balls that looked like sure base hits, and no matter which one went after the ball, the other was right on hand to keep it winging on its way.

Just how important that second base combination is, can be shown by the fact that 99 percent of the teams that win pennants are strong in that department. They may be weak elsewhere: they may have only fair pitching or poor outfielding, or maybe a weakness at first or third or behind the bat—but almost always you find them with a great combination at second and short. From what the old-timers tell me, Joe Tinker and Johnny Evers must have been about as great as any of them. I never saw them working together, but they had to have something to be remembered through all these years.

Of the big league combinations I have seen, there are three or four that stick out in my mind. Barry and Collins of the old Athletics were one pair. Eddie was the master mind of that outfit, and he continued to shine as a second baseman long after Jack Barry was through. Eddie left the Athletics to go with the White Sox, and there he paired up with Risberg and Buck Weaver. There was another great combination.

Probably no other two men on the club had more to do with the Washington victory in 1924 and 1925 than Bucky Harris and Roger Peckinpaugh. Peck, incidentally, is the best shortstop I ever knew, I think. In his prime he could do everything that anyone would ask—and in addition he knew his baseball from front to back. He was smart, and one of the best points he had was an uncanny ability to size up a play.

One of the pet tricks of some smart hitters—fellows like Cobb and Collins and hitters of that type—is to fake a swing to draw the shortstop out of position, and then hit one through him. In all the time I have been in the league I’ve never seen Peck fooled on that play, and I’ve seen fellows try it a lot. In fact I’ve tried it myself, and nearly twisted my neck out of joint trying to snap the ball to left field.

Naturally I don’t know so much about the National League. I see those players only in world series games and occasionally during the summer when we have an off day, but I did see enough of the Giants to know that Bancroft and Frisch made a great pair around second. Like Peckinpaugh with Harris, Bancroft was the boy who supplied the quick thinking and Frankie came through with the smart mechanical stuff. Some of the plays that pair pulled against us in the 1923 world series were plain and simple murder. I’ve never asked John McGraw point blank, but I’ve got a hunch that if you asked him to name the two men on his club most responsible for the Giant pennants in 1922 and 1923, Banny and Frank are the players he would name.

Aside from the mere ability to dig balls out of the dirt, the most important requirement for a good second baseman or shortstop, as I see it, is the ability to throw from any position, and to snap the ball with both speed and control. That’s because of the double play. And don’t mistake the importance of that two-ply killing. It’s the greatest single item in a team’s defense.

Up in the big leagues we always sort of take it for granted that a ground ball to the infield will be one out. But it’s the fellows who are in there getting two at a time who really take rank as stars. And double plays aren’t easy. The place where most infielders fall down on a double play is in pivoting for the throw. That’s where Bucky Harris of the Washington Senators is a past master. Bucky makes his pivot, tags his man if necessary, and gets the ball away to first all with the same motion. And on a play of that sort the split part of a second means the difference between a runner being out or safe.

In throwing, the weight, at the time the ball is delivered, is on the left foot. (That is for right hand throwers and all infielders except first basemen are usually right handed.) Naturally in making a double play, if you can touch second with your left foot and throw at the moment your foot touches the bag you can make the play more quickly than if you tag up with your right foot and then have to take a step forward for the throw. Watch Bucky sometime and you’ll see that nine times out of ten he tags up with his left foot and goes right on through with his motion. Sometimes of course that is impossible, and then he resorts to a quick, underhand snap throw. But the other is best, and he uses it most of the time.

The shortstop should have an arm that is nearly perfect. His throws are longer than those of the second baseman, and usually must be delivered with more speed because he makes his plays deeper and the batter gets a longer start on balls hit to short. Everett Scott, the old Yankee and Red Sox “iron man” was one of the most accurate throwers I ever saw in the shortfield. Scotty “trolley wired” his throws as the boys say. In other words, he sent them on the same straight line every time, as though the ball was traveling on some invisible wire.

One of the best throwing arms in the league today is possessed by young Reeves, a rookie brought up by the Washington Senators last year. That kid throws like a bullet and right to the mark. He isn’t much of a hitter and I’m not sure he’s good enough in the field to make the grade, but he certainly can toss that onion. Travis Jackson of the Giants is another great thrower.

The boys tell a story of a play Travis made in Cincinnati the year he broke in. Poor old Jake Daubert was playing with the Reds then and he hit a hot ground ball through the box and just inside second base. Jake took one look and started jogging to first base. That hit had base hit labeled all over it.

But Jackson went across fast, grabbed the ball out of the dirt, with one hand, then straightened up and sent the ball whizzing like a bullet to Kelly. Daubert was out by half a stride and went back to the bench cussing to himself.

“What a play,” some of the boys on the bench remarked. “There isn’t another shortstop in the league could have made it!”

“Yeh and nobody but that young fool out there would even have tried it,” was Jake’s reply.

One of the toughest plays that either a shortstop or second baseman is called upon to make, is to go back into the short outfield for high pop flies. Taking a ball in front of you is one thing, but running back to take a fly ball over your shoulder is something else again. Some of the boys never do get the knack of it.

Rogers Hornsby is one of the fellows who find this a tough job. Rog is a great second baseman—one of the greatest of all time—but he can’t go after pop flies as he should. He has tried and tried, and down South they tell me he practices by the hour, but somehow he can’t seem to get the hang of it.

Frankie Frisch and Tony Lazzeri, on the other hand, are wizards at this particular stunt. I’ve seen Frisch go way over to the right field foul line and come up with the ball. And one of the greatest plays I’ve ever seen in my whole career was pulled by Frankie Frisch in the 1923 world series when he went into center field back of second base, leaped in the air and caught Ward’s pop fly over his shoulder with one hand, and then whirled and threw to the plate in time to catch Dugan scoring from third.

Of all the difficult plays I’ve ever seen, that one still stands out in my mind as the greatest.

People have asked me why it is the second baseman and shortstop go into right or left for pop flies instead of the first or third baseman. The answer is easy. They’re in better position to see the ball and the play. If a first baseman goes into right field for a pop fly he has to turn his back. The same with a third baseman on a pop fly to left. But the second baseman or shortstop can run at an angle and still keep their eye on the ball throughout its flight. It’s the old, old story that a man can make more speed running forward than he can backward, and you’ve got a better chance of catching a ball that you can see in flight than you have of taking one blind, over your shoulder. This again is a play that can be perfected only by constant practice. Mark Koenig is a fine example of that. Mark is one of those nervous, high strung fellows who will undergo real agony while standing under a pop fly waiting for it to come down. The first year Mark was with the Yankees he kicked pop flies all around the place. He was so bad that once he was hit in the face by a falling ball, and two or three times he got hit on the chest and arms.

But he kept trying—and last season he had so improved himself that he went through the entire season without dropping a single pop fly that he was able to get his hands on.

The first requirement of good play at second and short is complete understanding and cooperation. You’ve got to have a set of signals—we always call them “signs” in baseball—that are quickly and easily understood so there will be no mistaking as to who is to cover the bag or take the throw. Sometimes of course signs are not necessary. With a man on first base and a natural right field hitter up, the second baseman naturally plays over and the shortstop covers up. On a left field hitter the play is exactly opposite. Those are what we call “naturals.”

But there are a lot of other situations that arise when it is absolutely necessary for the shortstop and second baseman to have signs. And it’s a lot better if the pitcher, catcher, and other infielders know what is happening too. Then there’s very little chance for a mix-up.

Another confusing play for the beginner at second base is the handling of a drag bunt or slow roller between first and the pitcher’s box. There’s no rule for such a play. It’s just a matter of practice and understanding between the first and second baseman. If the ball is within reach of the first baseman, then it’s up to the second baseman to cover first and take the throw. Otherwise the first baseman holds his bag and the second baseman fields the ball.

Speaking of drag bunts, that is one of the greatest weaknesses in the Yankees’ infield play. Tony Lazzeri and Lou Gehrig have played tiddle-winks on more drag bunts and slow rollers than any pair I ever knew. Lou somehow just can’t get the knack of judging balls like that and at times he drives Tony nutty. But he’s improving—and in another season or two he’ll have the thing down pat.

But even the ability to do all the things I’ve outlined above—and do them well—doesn’t mean that a man will be a great infielder. There’s still that business of “tagging the runner” to look out for and that isn’t easy at all. Tagging a man properly is an art. I’ve seen some great looking kids come up to the big leagues, kids who seemed to have everything. But they didn’t stick, because they couldn’t “put the ball on the runner.”

Eddie Collins is a master in this specialty. Eddie always manages to get squarely between the runner and the bag, and let the runner slide into the ball. A lot of players are spike shy. That is, they’re just a little bit afraid of the spikes as a runner comes sliding into the bag. A spike shy player will never make an infielder. It can’t be done.

I never knew John Evers in his prime, but I guess John must have been a master at putting the ball on a runner. One of the best yarns I ever heard Casey Stengel tell was about his experiences when he broke in. His first time up he got a hit and a moment later went sliding into second base past Evers.

Casey was a fresh rookie and always had something to say. He said it this time.

“I thought you were such a whiz around that second bag,” Casey said to Evers. “But I was a little too smooth for you, eh? Are you the best they have in this league?”

“Listen, Rookie” Johnny replied, “the next time you come down here you’d better wear a tin helmet. I’m going to slam that ball right down your throat!”

“And,” says Casey, “he did it too!”

In the old days base runners used to go into the bag with their spikes high intentionally. Basemen were considered fair game at all times, and if the base runner could cut the legs or hands or arms of the basemen he did it. By the same rule the baseman felt free to tag the runner out with a swing to the jaw or any other tender portion of his body. Basemen, too, in the old days had a little trick of jumping in the air and coming down on the hands and legs of the runner as he slid.

Those days are pretty much past now. Deliberate spiking isn’t permitted any more, and when such things occur in these days it’s a hundred to one that it was an accident pure and simple. None the less there’s always danger so long as men slide—and always will be. And the good baseman is on his guard. The ability to tag fast and get away has saved many a pair of shins. It’s part of the art of infield play.