Amidst a presidential campaign in which many of our countrymen deplore the choices we face in November, let’s take a break, follow the counsel of Ecclesiastes 3:1 (“For everything there is a season…”), and turn our attention to a question of major–even transcendental–import: Are we in the Golden Age of Baseball? Or was that the 1920s-1930s? Perhaps the 1950s-1960s?
Cases can be made for each by considering their paradigmatic greats.
The argument for a 1920s-1930s Golden Age is built around the epic career of one George Herman Ruth, my fellow ex-Baltimorean, who learned the game through the disciplinary and athletic ministrations of Brother Matthias, C.F.X., at St. Mary’s Industrial School. There, “Spare the rod [or bat] and spoil the child” was a given–not unreasonably, according to the pre-Dr. Spock ethos of the time, for many of the resident boys had, er, “behavioral issues.” Morphed into “The Babe,” Ruth (once labeled “incorrigible”) was a home-run machine and America’s most prominent personality for decades. Asked in 1930 why he earned a higher salary than President Herbert Hoover, the Babe blithely replied, “I had a better year than he did;” America smiled (and likely agreed).
Ruth was not alone, of course. Immortals like Lou Gehrig, Rogers Hornsby, Walter Johnson (“He could throw a lamb chop past a starving wolf”), Ty Cobb, Jimmie Foxx, Hank Greenberg, Dizzy Dean, and Joe DiMaggio fill out the case for 1920s-1930s baseball as the nonpareil.
As for the 1950s-1960s, the emblematic figure was recently deceased Willie Mays, the “Say Hey Kid,” whom many consider the best all-around ballplayer ever. In a brilliant obituary column in the Wall Street Journal, Jason Gay retailed two Mays stories for the ages. The first involved “The Catch,” in which Mays robbed Vic Wertz of a home run in the 1954 World Series. Willie, however, insisted that he’d made a better play in stealing a hit from Bobby Morgan in Brooklyn’s Ebbets Field: “He hits a…line drive over the shortstop’s head. The only way I can catch the ball is to catch it and hit the fence all in one motion. I catch the ball and knock myself out. When I came to, I saw two guys, Leo [Durocher, his manager] and Jackie [Robinson, of the archrival Dodgers]. I asked Jackie, ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Jackie says, ‘Well I want to see if you caught the ball.’”
Then there was Willie’s encounter with the great Satchel Paige. Mays, a teenager playing for the Birmingham Black Barons in the Negro American League, gets a double off Satch his first time at bat. When Mays comes up again, Paige walks halfway to the plate and tells Mays that he’s going to throw three fastballs, after which “you’re going to sit down.” 17-year-old Mays says to himself, “I don’t think so.” Satchel blows two heaters by the kid, throws the third pitch, and while the ball is in the air, starts walking to the dugout, saying, “Go sit down.” Willie’s comment: “He was just a magnificent pitcher.”
Willie, Mickey [Mantle], and the Duke [Snider]; Jackie Robinson; Ted Williams; Sandy Koufax; Frank and Brooks Robinson; Bob Gibson; Stan Musial; Hank Aaron; Ernie Banks; Roberto Clemente–the list goes on and on, buttressing the case that what some refer to as baseball’s “Silver Age” was really its Golden Age.
As for the 21st-century pastime, athleticism is at an apogee, exemplified by great shortstops like Derek Jeter and incumbent American League Rookie-of-the-Year Gunnar Henderson. Mike Trout, Miguel Cabrera, Aaron Judge, and Albert Pujols hold their own in any discussion of great hitters, while Randy Johnson, Clayton Kershaw, and Stephen Strasburg belong in the pitchers’ pantheon. (Strasburg would have had more than 14 strikeouts in his first game if the home plate umpire had previously seen anything like the rookie’s ability to “paint the black”–the edges of the plate.)
Each era has its issues, be that the infamous “color line” before 1947, careers interrupted by military service in World War II, or the steroid plague that warped the record books. Today, the “ghost runner” at second base in the tenth inning contradicts baseball’s metaphysical and moral architecture; legalized sports gambling hangs a sword of Damocles over the integrity of the game; umpiring is reliably unreliable; the new, move-the-merchandise-driven “City Connect” uniforms are an aesthetic nightmare; “Pride Night” at the ballpark is another corporate surrender to woke pressures and political correctness.
Negro League stalwart and Hall of Famer Buck O’Neil said of baseball, “You can’t kill it.” Oremus that Buck was right, as the possibility that there are at least three Golden Ages suggests.
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Growing up In San Francisco and having Willie Mays play for my team; if that wasn’t the Golden Age, it was good enough.
What an amazing piece.Such a relief from the grim world of politics.Thanks for this.. Long live baseball.
But what does Baseball have to do with Catholicism? Please do not tell me that St Peter played it.
All eras are good. I suspect that prior to 1947, when baseball was segregated, it may not have been quite as good, as it did not have the great black players, like Willie Mays, Ernie Banks, Hank Aaron, etc.
I am wary of legalized gambling. This could be a very danger factor, if gamblers start bribing players to throw games. Remember the Black Sox scandal?
Golden age was in the 1960’s. That is when players still stayed with their teams. To me it meant players like Detroit Tiger’s Al Kaline, who I think is the epitome of what a star should be: Great Athlete, Generous, Humble, and always willing to help other players. If there ever was a saint in Baseball it is Al Kaline, wish he was Catholic. However because he played for Detroit he did and does not receive the recognition that is appropriate. Other Tiger Greats from the 1960’s are Mickey Lolich, He pitched 3 complete games in the 1968 World Series, he should be in the Hall Of Fame along with catcher Bill Freehan. However since they played for small market team, the media glare was never on them.
Al Kaline was truly as class act. A great ambassador for the game of baseball, and the Detroit Tigers. And yes Lolich got it done in the’68 series. That was the last classic World Series. League playoffs started the next year.
No article about the Golden Age of Baseball on a Catholic web site would be complete without mentioning the great Yogi Berra.
Yes, the great Yogi. His individual stats are impressive, but he has 10 World Series rings. 10 world series championships. No one else even close.
Without question or prejudice to Mr Weigel’s fine article. When the Brooklyn Dodgers won the 1955 World Series beating the NY Yankees 4 games to three. That single Brooklyn World Series win lasted glowingly through the ages.
Padre;
Recommended reading – ‘Praying for Gil Hodges’ by Thomas Oliphant, 2005, Thomas Dunne books. A quiet, gentle masterpiece, which I suspect you have read, but if you haven’t – you’re in for a treat.
You can thank me later.
Yes, 1955! Yours truly was in the 6th Grade in a public school, and yet we had two religious preoccupations.
The first was to listen during class hours to some of the World Series! And the second was to begin each day by standing next to our desks together to recite the Pledge of Allegiance and the Lord’s Prayer, led by our widowed teacher. She had lost her husband at Normandy eleven years earlier and alone was raising three daughters.
About the prayer, she explained: “The reason we’re doing this is so that if ‘they’ ever drag me away down the hall, you will know the reason why!”
Now ours was a totally white town in the Northwest, so when a black family moved in, all of the teachers carefully explained at length about race relations and the importance of getting along well. One of the boys (Maurice) was my grade. After the lecture there was silence and a cautious call for questions. Only one; a hand went up in the back of the room: “can he play baseball?”
Maurice was popular student and even president of the senior graduating class in 1962, and passed away earlier this year. As for my 6th-grade teacher; well, the Brooklyn/Los Angeles Dodges sank into their Gay Pride stunt–as if a racial harmony and moral disharmony are somehow equivalent as civil rights issues.
SUMMARY: In the old days we played at baseball, rather than at striking out the meaning of words like “marriage” or “gay” or “pride.”
Peter;
Don’t forget that the only MLB team that didn’t haver a ‘pride’ night last season – The Rangers – won the world series, and you should read CWR 8/20 – ‘Baltimore Orioles host first ever ‘faith night’; players share what God has done’.
Mr. Weigel;
Thanks – we needed this.
1952 – visiting Uncle Donald in NYC – Going to Yankee Stadium – Allie Reynolds, Yogi Berra, Ed Lopat, Mickey Mantle, Johnny Mize, et. al.
Those classy Yankee home uniforms – STILL the greatest in pro sports, the stentorian tones of the Yankees announcer whose name I forget (someone out there – what was it?) – to my 8 year old ears it was the voice of God “Now batting for the New York Yankees …..”, Larry Doby playing for the Indians.
Seeing Ty Cobb at Memorial Stadium in Ballamer, and Brooks Robinson (aka the human vacuum cleaner) was the GREATEST 3rd baseman of ALL time.
So I repeat – Thanks, Mr. Weigel – we needed this.
The Yankees public address announcer was Bob Sheppard. I had the privilege of belonging to the same parish as he did. As one might imagine, Mr. Sheppard was a fine reader at Mass.
I echo Charles Lewis’s comment above- “long live baseball.” I think there is a “golden age” in the hearts of all true fans of the game that consists of nostalgic memories of an innocent time. As a lifelong Red Sox fan, for me it is when Carlton Fisk waved that ball fair in the 1975 World Series against the Reds. Then obviously, of course, years later when they broke “the curse” against the Yankees. I think every New Englander was on cloud nine after that and literally partied for days in the streets. And, ahem, no Terence, the Yankees just can’t compare (lol)!
Will add part of nostalgic baseball memories for me was growing up in late 50’s and 60’s was just playing the game. Didn’t need 9 players on each could play with total of 5 kids, a permanent pitcher with 2 man teams and 1 imaginary player/base runner
per team. Rules were modified to correspond to this situation. It was a great period to be a kid, limited TV, no computer, no cell phone etc. In the summer it was all about playing baseball and having fun. Will add lot of us were alter boys with at least 4 alter boy servers per mass. So we had God and Baseball, now that is a golden period in many of our lives.
The Era of Cardboard Fans, yes, this must be the Golden Era.
An argument could be made that the 1960s-1970s was the great era, especially when you consider it from the pitching perspective: Bob Gibson, Sandy Kofax, Don Drysdale, Jim Palmer, four 20 game winners in Baltimore, Tom Seaver, Steve Carlton, and so on. The list of great pitchers from that 20 year span is long.
Thank you, Mr. Weigel. One thing — that great line about “Big Train” can quite easily and correctly be said also of Steve(Lefty)Carlton. “He could throw a lamb-chop past a starving wolf.” Not many — pitchers or quotes –reach that level.