It’s baseball convention weekend in Chicago, and after a rather difficult 20th Century, this should be a glorious time. Whenever a bunch of Cubs and White Sox gather with no chance of losing another game, what more can we ask?
I ask your indulgence. I’m not here to destroy this fan fest for forgiving and forgetting, but recent events suggest our teams not only haven’t played very well, they haven’t cheated very well either–despite suspicions about the hallowed 1984 Cubs, a subject we’ll address shortly.
What caused my depression was a story in Wednesday’s Wall Street Journal “celebrating” the 50th anniversary of perhaps the most famous home run in history–Bobby Thomson’s three-run, ninth-inning blast off Ralph Branca to provide the New York Giants a 5-4 playoff victory over the Brooklyn Dodgers and the 1951 National League pennant.
According to the newspaper, Thomson’s “shot heard ’round the world” culminating a magnificent surge by the Giants–who were 13 1/2 games behind Brooklyn in mid-August–was the crowning achievement in an elaborate sign-stealing scheme used by the Giants during the last part of that season.
Here’s my problem. Three of the key figures in the alleged subterfuge–Leo Durocher, Herman Franks and Henry Schenz–were or would become Cubs. However, none of them ever won anything here. They might have stretched the rules, but they couldn’t break tradition.
Schenz, a nondescript infielder, joined the Cubs in 1946. Supposedly he stole signals by sneaking behind the Wrigley Field scoreboard with a telescope. Unfortunately, in Schenz’s four seasons here, radar was required to find the Cubs, who lost 339 games and finished in last place twice.
But when Schenz and his telescope went to the Polo Grounds, they found a friend in Durocher, the Giants’ manager famous for doing whatever he could to win. Once, after being ejected from a game, Durocher went to the press box and sat next to Barney Kremenko, a tall, red-haired New York writer. Soon Durocher asked Kremenko to make various gestures. Blow your nose. Take your hat off. Fix your tie. Kremenko obliged. But then he removed his glasses and Durocher exploded: “Hey, stop that! You just signaled for a pitchout!”
Anyway, as the story goes, Durocher devised a plan to watch opposing catchers flash signs from the center-field clubhouse at the Polo Grounds, relay information to the Giants’ bullpen, then to the home dugout, where Leo was assisted by his most trusted coach, Franks. Suddenly, the ’51 Giants went on a binge, winning 16 in a row at one point.
In 1966, the Cubs hired Durocher to manage. He said they weren’t an eighth-place team, and he was right–they finished 10th. In 1969, the Cubs blew an 8 1/2-game lead in mid-August and finished second.
Where was Leo’s telescope then? In 1977 Franks came to manage the Cubs with his reputation for stealing signs, although Bill Buckner thought he was better at pilfering the players’ doughnuts. Franks’ top aide was coach Peanuts Lowrey, another espionage expert. Alas, with all their spies, the Cubs were awful.
Now 1984. I know, here we go again. We’re marking the 17th anniversary of a rare Cubs occasion, and some typist-clerk who appears once a week near the tire ads ruins the party. Not really, but when the Cubs win 96 games in a summer, other teams wonder, and they did in 1984.
Back then you didn’t have to be an astrologer to find the Cubs on TV, and visiting teams noticed unusual commotion in the home dugout when the Cubs were at bat. Were players going to the bathroom? No, there was one nearby. Were they ill from that mystery meat served in the media lounge? Or were the Cubs checking out Ch. 9 in the clubhouse for that handy center-field camera zeroed in on the enemy catcher?
Just Chicago’s luck. The Cubs finish first for the first time since 1945, and curious opponents want a federal investigation. Even if the Cubs knew what pitches were coming, they still had to hit them. The story died in San Diego, where the Cubs lost three straight.
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Now if a pennant appears close, you must own a fine telescope indeed.