Boston is again the capital of the baseball world, history repeating itself yesterday when the Red Sox, who have never faltered in this great classic, defeated the Cubs, 2 to 1.
Flack’s muff of a liner from Whiteman in the third inning, with two out and Sox runners on third and second, made possible the Red Sox victory that carried with it the world’s title.
Only 15,238 saw the farewell battle. Of course the weather was far from ideal, but the disagreement between the National Commission and the contesting players, which held up the starting of Tuesday’s game, was the thing that kept the public away yesterday.
Money differences forgotten
With many minds wandering in scrious channels, it can plainly be seen that it was a fatal mistake for baseball men to argue over dollars, creating a situation that should have been diplomatically squelched in its infancy.
Money differences and further strike talk were forgotten yesterday and the teams fought valiantly, “Right-Eye” Mitchell, who realized that it was do or die, trotting out southpaw George Tyler again, while Ed Barrow pinned his hopes on Carl Mays. But for Tyler’s wildness, Red Sox run-making in that third inning would not have been possible. The New Hampshire boy franked two men to first just before Flack failed to hold Whitney’s slam.
A game to be remembered
It was a ball game that nobody who was present will forget. It left too many lasting impressions. True enough it was lost through a muff, but there were so many sensations plays before the contest was finally decided that maybe in the day to come the fan family, taking a look back, will not dwell too long on how little Flack faltered, but will recall how Whiteman, the sun-kissed and sincere Texan; Jackie Thomas and the somewhat elastic Stuffy McInnis thrilled them in the last act.
Not too much can be said of the determined little Whiteman. The way that he came through from every angle in the series made the gent that declared that youth must be served take it on the run. Everything considered, the Texas hunter has been the ace of this series and maybe when baseball is resumed Whitey will not answer the rollcall. He is approaching 34 and after the war he may not be able to knock aside those obstacles that the gathering years will toss in his path.
His catch off pinchsmith Rollie Zeider in the eighth inning yesterday was one of the best ever observed in a World’s Series. He came in like 60 for a hard-hit ball and plucked it, his own momentum causing him to turn a complete somerset, but he came up with the ball, a smile and wrenched neck, and later had to retire, G. Babe Ruth being provided with an opportunity to make what may be his last bow before those who love to see him bust ‘em.
Freddy Thomas knocked down a hard-hit ball from Merkle behind third base in the seventh, the pill coming at him with such force that it drove him on to foul territory, but he held up, pegging while off his balance to first and getting Merkle with the assistance of “Stuffy, the Stretcher.” In the ninth Thomas went out to the Cub bullpen for Flack’s foul fly.
Scott, McInnis, Hooper and the others were doing things handsomely all afternoon, and “Dode” Paskert played capably for the Cubs.
Mays’ work high class
Mays, the blonde Adonis with the submarine service, held the Cubs to three hits and they assembled two of these in the fourth when they produced their run. They hit Carl, but not safely after the fourth. His control was good, while Tyler’s aerial stunts betrayed his cause. In the seven innings that the Derryman worked, the Sox obtained only five hits, but it was a pair of walks, a sacrifice and Flack’s muff that developed the runs.
Spitballer Hendrix performed against the Sox in the eighth and the sight of a right hander was somewhat of a novelty to the Barrowmen. They have had so much of the forkhand service in this series, the “Right Eye” having started a southpaw every game, knowing that therein laid his only possible edge, that hereafter they will know positively which hand to cut the bacon with.
A peek into the statistics will reveal one big reason why the Red Sox won this series. They made just one error, Whiteman having dropped a fly ball in the second Chicago game, and it was not an easy chance at that. They were airtight constantly. While they did not make many runs, they succeeded in having one good inning in every battle that they won, and were forever keeping the runmaking of their opponents down to bedrock.
It has been a series of few runs and countless spectacular plays, a series that veteran baseball men declare compares favorably in excellence with any series they have observed. It was not a howling financial success, because prices were lowered and conditions were different, but it was a fight from first to last, and while every whit of praise is conceded to Ed Barrow and his boys, even in defeat, that solemn Stow farmer, Mitchell, the “Right Eye” looked big and went down smiling.
The Sox had men on in every inning except the eighth, but this is how they tallied in the third: Mays was passed and romped to the midway when Tyler was looking after Hooper’s sacrifice. Then Shean strolled and Carl and Dave skipped along a peg when Strunk was being tossed out by Pick.
The boys were on the wing when Whiteman lammed to Flack, who muffed, Whitey stopping at first. He was retired trying to go from first to third on Stuffy’s single to Hollocher, Merkle pegging to Deal for the put out.
The last play of the final professional combat went from Shean to McInnis, Stuffy holding up the ball, which was hit by Mann with glee, as the fleet Les was running it out for all he was worth. Then Hooper, Ruth, Mays, Shean, Schang, Scott and others did a fadeout, down came the curtain and from out of the stillness that swept over the battleground came a lone voice, piping up, “Those Red Sox were always a lucky bunch.”