Feature -- Baseball's Era of Futility

By Justin Hayes
Published in Sports on April 14, 2017 1:24 PM

• Print
• Email

In the early 1900's, the American League -- borne out of a conglomerate of Western League outposts controlled in all aspects by sports journalist Bancroft Johnson -- officially formed, thus providing a proper rival for what was then a notoriously lawless eight-team National League. 

What developed out of that partnership was a true renaissance for the game, one that saw prolific expansion in new markets across the country and a revival in places that had begun to cast a disapproving eye on lazy days at the ballpark.

In 1903, after a modest two-year run of success, the two forces signed an updated installment of the National Agreement, which spelled out the game we enjoy today, complete with the leagues competing for a championship each fall. 

But as with many startups that too quickly outreach their grasp, a few key details were left to mature on their own -- one of which would play a significant role in two of the wildest decades the game has ever witnessed.

The Dead Ball Era.  

•

The baseball, by today's standard, is a matter of textbook criteria and exacting science, and is defined by the office of Major League Baseball as follows: 

"The ball shall be a sphere formed by yarn wound around a small core of cork, rubber or similar material, covered with two strips of white horsehide or cowhide, tightly stitched together. It shall weigh not less than five nor more than 51⁄4 ounces and measure not less than nine nor more than 91⁄4 inches in circumference."

Alas, when Bancroft's boys began to pester their National League counterparts with quality teams and wins in concentrated doses, across-the-board standards for the pill weren't exactly in place.

It simply wasn't possible. 

For starters, the ball was pieced together by hand, and failed to remain a pillar of consistency once in play. In  many cases, a single ball was used for an entire game, which often resulted in split-stitching, misshapen constitution and soft, pillow-like playability.

Further, there were the pitchers, considered by many to be a rogue outfit keen to take advantage of the orb's early imperfections.

In the early 1900's, the spitball was a legal -- and lethal -- force, used by many hurlers to mow down opposing batters with hard-to-discern, late movement around the plate.

Chief among its users was one Jack Chesbro of the New York Highlanders, who sliced and diced his way on the hill to a staggering 41 victories in 1904. 

There was also the licorice ball, the paraffin ball and the vaseline ball, all of which cut through the air with an unpredictable personality.

Hurlers also explored more natural alterations, such as the concept of smearing tobacco juice on the baseball. Along with the occasional plastering of mud, this afforded rotation staffers the luxury of modifying the aspirin's weight from inning to inning.

It was a matter of simple physics, really -- heavier or lopsided objects moved through the air with differentiating pace and curvature than did those with uniformed integrity.

All of these practices paled in comparison, however, to the emery ball.

Discovered in 1907 by Russell Ford of the Atlanta Crackers, the concept involved using one's spikes, or dugout wall, or run of gravel to permanently roughen or scar a portion of the baseball.

What developed out of this manipulation was a nearly impossible-to-locate bit of curvature that broke in unnatural, sharp ways -- bringing about any and all manner of damage to hitters until its official banishment in 1920.

As one may imagine, the impact these practices had on offensive production during this time was substantial. From 1900 to 1920, teams across both leagues averaged a paltry 4.02 runs per game.

Home-run hitting was also non-existent, as evidenced by the aggregate total of dingers hit per year, a number which eclipsed the 500 mark just four times during that span. 

In short, the bunt, the squeeze, the hit-and-run and various base running strategies became a run-producing lifeline for all teams -- not just those lacking power.

Further dampening prodigious numbers at the plate was the development of the modern day park, which saw the construction of sprawling, block-encompassing structures in major metropolitan cities across the United States.

Cavernous? Absolutely.

In New York, the Polo Grounds featured dimensions that were average enough in appearance down both lines, but stretched to a titanic 455 feet in straightaway center field.

In Chicago, Wrigley Field offered a 400-foot scale to all batsmen, while Comiskey Park taunted hitters with a challenge of 420 feet to the center portion of its outfield.

Perhaps the most colossal of all early 20th century parks, however, was put together by the architect William Steele in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

Costing $301,000 and residence to Connie Mack's Philadelphia A's, Shibe Park featured a French Renaissance-inspired look and a runway to right centerfield that conquered an exhausting 515 feet.

In a word, impossible. 

•

August 16, 1920.  

With the Cleveland Indians a half-game ahead of mighty New York in the American League standings, shortstop Ray Chapman sauntered into the box during the fifth inning to square off with Yankees right-hander Carl Mays -- who, coincidentally, happened to be searching for his 100th victory.

After working into a 1-1 count, Mays -- a known inside thrower who worked from the hill in awkward, under-the-table fashion -- dealt a heater that never left the ear of young Chapman.

Upon being struck by the pitch, the 29 year-old stood motionless. After being gathered by doctors on site, he was ushered off the diamond and transported to St. Lawrence Hospital. 

The result of Mays' extreme effort -- which he blamed on a scuffed baseball -- was a compound fracture of some three inches near Chapman's left temple. Attending physicians at St. Lawrence performed emergency surgery, but the youngster succumbed to his injury the following day.

With that incident, the fast and loose buzz around junk pitching waned. In the following years, the "wet one" and concepts of similar ilk were summarily blacklisted, banished by both leagues and the subject of weighty fines across the board. 

And as fate would have it, a power-swatting behemoth from Baltimore emerged the next year. His name was George Herman "Babe" Ruth, and in 1921, he would torch major league pitching for 59 home runs.