War on the Basepaths Page 9
The nineteen-year-old Cobb finished his first full year of major league service ahead of all his veteran teammates in batting, and was sixth in the American League with a .317 average.67 Under the circumstances, he performed remarkably. He was facing a situation in which only a handful of individuals were showing him any respect at all, yet he was still able to be successful on his own. And in a way, the isolation he endured worked to his benefit. In the absence of company and friendship, Cobb devoted himself to self-improvement on the baseball field and made tremendous personal strides.68
First and foremost, Cobb wanted to improve his hitting methodology. The generally accepted style in the majors was for a player to get up to the plate and plant his feet flat on the ground, waiting for a ball to be pitched into the zone. Two of the American League greats, Nap Lajoie and Sam Crawford, adhered to this basic formula, Cobb observed, and they were premier batters. Being the greenhorn that he was, he followed suit, but was often confused by his own results. Early in the season, more often than not, he was hitting balls to right field. Suddenly, in May, he was lifting more and more to left, without any comprehension of why. “I can’t account for it,” he explained. “I noticed it and remarked the same to manager Armour. He said that it is liable to happen to any batsman. I guess that’s right.”69
Cobb was a perfectionist and didn’t accept Armour’s words as the final answer to his conundrum. So he kept working on the problem, trying to understand the basic principles of his own batting routine. He also wanted to hit to all fields by design, not just whenever he got lucky. By watching Crawford and others, he assessed their strengths and weaknesses, and realized that those who were established in a singular batting position had highly limited mobility. That didn’t work for Cobb. He wanted to be flexible and adjust on a pitch-by-pitch basis, giving him a greater opportunity to make contact.
In doing so, he kept his feet closer together rather than far apart—the more traditional pose—and stood on his toes. He found that the new stance did exactly what he wanted it to do, and he was much faster and abler at bat than he was before. Another change came in the way he attacked the ball, and it was more of a natural modification as a result of his adjustable batting posture. Cobb used a chop style, quickly slicing at the ball to get on base, and through his natural power, was able to drive the ball to all parts of the field. But mostly, he could maneuver a hit directly into the available gaps or wherever he wanted on purpose.70 Thus, he gained significant control of his own batting ability and learned much about his personal limitations.
Holding the bat, Cobb continued to do it the same old way. He had been gripping it with his hands spaced a few inches apart even before he played at Augusta, and saw no reason to change.
Cobb’s studies didn’t stop there. He was also a student of pitchers throughout the American League—especially those who had his number—and he searched endlessly for an explanation to their mastery. But his central deficiency was against left-handers. At times, there appeared to be no hope to his plight because he was just too far outgunned by their proficiencies. “Doc” White, a 6’1” lefty for the Chicago White Sox, made Cobb look foolish on occasion. On May 30, 1906, at Bennett Park, he fanned him three straight times and, in the eighth inning, Armour pulled Cobb for backup catcher, Fred Payne, who achieved a single.71 Eddie Plank of the Philadelphia Athletics was another lefty with the goods on Cobb.
“Ty Cobb couldn’t hit a lefthander with a paddle when he came up,” said Ed Walsh, White’s Chicago cohort. “But he learned. He took a southpaw pitcher out with him for morning practice day after day until he could hit the lefties as well as the right-handers.”72
In addition to everyday practice, Cobb figured out an important technique that stayed with him for the rest of his career. Against southpaws, he moved to the extreme rear of the batter’s box, which allowed him to fully see the break of the pitch, and then react accordingly.73 The relentless attention he gave to the methods and deliveries of lefties allowed him to overcome his shortcomings at the plate. After awhile, he stopped mentally beating himself before stepping up to face a White or a Plank, and allowed his newfound skills to give him a fighting chance. Versus White later in the year, he was one of two Tigers to have a single off the “Doc,” and although the pitcher remained nearly unhittable, Cobb was figuring him out a little at a time.74 White was magnificent in 1906, throwing for a 1.52 ERA (best in the league) and went 18–6 en route to a World Series championship for the Chicago White Sox. In 26 lifetime games against Cobb, the latter would bat .278 against him.75
All of the valuable baseball lessons he’d picked up didn’t fall into place overnight and, of course, his midseason hospitalization didn’t help his forward progress. Additionally, the darkness of the torment he faced was a detrimental crisis that nearly silenced his career before it really started. Of all the experiences he faced, one of the most heartbreaking came when a teammate entered the clubhouse before practice one day and sawed up two of his precious bats. These weren’t the standard, run-of-the-mill sticks, but were specially crafted from ash timber, black in color, and important tools of his trade since Augusta.76 Cobb was superstitious and sentimental, and was seriously hurt by the destruction of his vital property. The specific individual who cut up Cobb’s bats was never identified. A story later told by a friend of Charley Schmidt said it was a member of Detroit’s pitching staff, but Cobb thought it was Schmidt who did it.77
“Selfishness, bad language, backbiting, intolerance as to religion amongst the narrow and uneducated, [plus] the unfairness and crudeness of the cliques” were the bane of Cobb’s existence in 1906.78 But he had to cope with the ugliness to not only survive, but to prevail and, as time went by, his perspective tended to mature. “A young ball player has a lot to learn,” Cobb admitted. “When I broke into the big leagues, I thought everybody was fighting me. It appeared as though I was the butt of all jokes and, being a southerner and considering myself sort of an outsider, I resented familiarities. It didn’t take long, however, for me to learn that I was only going through the course of mild hazing that is administered to nearly all players.”79
Soon, it would become obvious to everyone that Cobb was adopting a harder line of play, and his attitude—on and off the diamond—was becoming fiercer. E. A. Batchelor, a Detroit sportswriter, summed up Cobb’s evolving nature. “He was a product of [his] environment. He came from a decent home and decent people. He joined the 1905 Tigers when they included some of the worst muckers that ever wore a uniform. They did everything possible to drive him out of baseball. He simply had to beat them at their own game to stay in the game. Once those habits were acquired, he couldn’t shake them.”80
The poisonous vipers after Cobb waited and waited for his mind, body, and spirit to crack, doing everything imaginable to fracture his enthusiasm. They worked on his inner psyche, attacked him physically, and desired with all their might to oust the Georgian prodigy. But Cobb made it. He grew as a man, persisting in spite of the nonsense, and outlived the strife of 1906 with his integrity intact. He was going into 1907 with gained strength and confidence, and soon there would be no stopping him. His adversaries had their chance to run him out of the sport and they failed. Tyrus Raymond Cobb was to remain in the major leagues, and baseball would never be the same.
4
A HUMBLED BATTING CHAMPION
Following a season of misfortune from top to bottom, business manager Frank J. Navin was in a precarious position. He represented shareholders in the day-to-day operations of the club, and, in need of results, immersed himself in retooling the Detroit Tigers. Born in Adrian, Michigan, southwest of Detroit, Navin was a clerk in the insurance office of S. F. Angus before the latter bought a stake in the Tigers.1 He took a predominant leadership role in the team and basically learned the baseball business from the ground up. In his current situation, the thirty-five-year-old was grasping for whatever positives he could muster from the misery he’d just experienced. He knew there were many capable
players in the fold, and if led by the right manager, they could be a first-rate franchise.
Hugh Jennings was a known comedian in baseball circles. He wasn’t the practical disciplinarian some might have felt the Tigers needed, but Jennings, a manager of the old-school, was also not a pushover. H. G. Merrill of The Sporting News wrote that, in comparison to the lackadaisical days of Bill Armour, the “laddybucks” of the Tigers would “find things different when Jennings” assumed control. He concluded by adding, “Jennings will have no dissention in the ranks.”2 But no one really expected all personalities to be streamlined and magically happy once Jennings arrived at the clubhouse. There were rocky days ahead, and this would have been the case regardless of who Navin brought in as manager.
At the tail end of the 1906 season, Jennings spied a couple Detroit games so he could formulate a direct impression of the team. His overall opinion agreed with Navin: the Tigers had winning stock, but direly needed to repair a weakness at first base. Jennings initially wanted Michigan product John Ganzel to play first for Detroit in 1907. However, Ganzel signed with the Cincinnati Reds.3 There was also a feeding frenzy for first baseman Jake Stahl, the playing-manager for the Washington Senators, who was on the market. Detroit, at different points, was one of the top contenders to land him.4 Stahl, incidentally, sat out of Organized Baseball in 1907 because he wanted to play for Boston, but Washington owners dealt him to Chicago instead. Trade considerations were made—particularly with Matty McIntyre—but in none of the proposals did Jennings find a deal giving the Tigers comparable talent.5 Reportedly, a team from the eastern circuit wanted to give Detroit $10,000 for McIntyre, but Jennings and Navin preferred a trade for players.6 A swap between Detroit and Cleveland was also heavily discussed by sportswriters and the names McIntyre, Fred Payne, and Ty Cobb were, in one way or another, rumored to be involved in a transaction for hard-hitting outfielder Elmer Flick.7 Flick was at odds with his manager in Cleveland, Nap Lajoie, but was coming off one of the best seasons of his career, batting .311 with 194 hits and 98 runs.8 It was clear that neither team wanted to trade unless they were significantly compensated.
While the Flick deal went nowhere, Navin and Jennings continued to haggle with Cleveland owners and managed to score an entirely different player during the annual American League meetings from Chicago in December 1906. The duo purchased Cleveland’s first baseman, Claude Rossman, which added a key element to the club.9 Rossman was said to be the best first baseman available, but, as noted, was not Detroit’s original choice.10 Rossman, albeit slower than many of his contemporaries, was a competent offensive weapon and, time and again, he came through at the plate with runners on the bases. The acquisition of a first baseman, combined with the signing of nearly all members of the Tigers roster for the upcoming season, gave Navin and Jennings great optimism, that is, at least temporarily.
Cobb was mobile during the off season. He spent time at the famous Georgia-Carolina Fair in Augusta in early November and shared stories about his time in big league baseball with old friends.11 The following month he was in Atlanta proudly playing in a special ballgame between a squad of “All-Professionals” against local firemen. His two triples were a feature of the contest, which led the pros to a 6–1 victory.12 Intermixed with his appearances in public, he spent a fair amount of time on the hunt for wild turkeys, and living off the land always seemed to be a surefire boost to his health.13 But he was also taken aback by the bombardment of strange news reports, saying that he was about to be traded to Washington or Chicago. Although he had been guaranteed a berth with Detroit in 1907, he could not help wonder what the truth actually was. The erroneous reports, originating from New York, also claimed that Detroit was going to get rid of Crawford and McIntyre as well, leaving Jennings to start with a fresh squad of Tigers.14
With a $900 raise over the previous season, Cobb was content, but broke.15 His strong keenness for financial security was years away, mostly because he hadn’t yet earned enough to save a dime. The plight of young ballplayers in being able to survive a full year on a half year’s worth of pay was always troublesome, and Cobb was still trying to figure it out. In a letter to Navin in Detroit, he inquired about a possible loan to help him get by, but Navin tread lightly on the subject and instead offered to advance him $300 on his future salary, sans interest.16 Cobb accepted the gesture of kindness and, certainly, walked away from the situation with further admiration of Navin as a boss.
Sportswriters were itching for newsworthy items and soon they learned that, of all members of the Detroit Tigers, Matty McIntyre was the only one not signed for 1907. According to the scuttlebutt, he was peeved about one thing and one thing only: Ty Cobb.17 Of course, what else could it be? The mere existence of Cobb to those bemoaning unsportsmanlike grudges was enough to set off an avalanche of hate, and McIntyre apparently wasn’t ready to give up his petty resentment. Cobb, on the other hand, wanted to start anew. He was ready to mend fences with McIntyre, but he had to be met, at least, halfway.18
That being said, Cobb remembered how the last season ended. The fight with Ed Siever was fresh in his mind, and he knew his actions didn’t earn him any new friends on the team. If anything, it might have garnered him respect as a fighter, but as a cooperative colleague and bosom buddy, the scrap worked against the image he might have wanted to convey. He was acutely aware of potential blowback heading into spring training and was more hypersensitive than ever before.
The role of peacemaker fell to Jennings. Bridging the gaps between strained relations, altering the perceptions, and getting guys to dismiss their already formed judgments seemed to be a nearly impossible feat. Cobb, on the other hand, wasn’t instinctively going to trust Jennings either. With the track record Armour put up, essentially failing to expunge team dissidents when not only Cobb’s well-being was on the line, but for the sake of the entire club, it didn’t bode well for anyone else. All things considered, Cobb had seen only small glimpses of niceties in his brief pro experience, and he remembered each and every one of them.19 For instance, he was humbled by the invitation tendered by forty-year-old veteran Bobby Lowe to go to dinner with him and his wife, and took to heart the words of encouragement by right-hander Bill Donovan.20 In his autobiography, Cobb mentioned befriending twenty-two-year-old pitching newcomer Ed Willett of Norfolk, Virginia, who was soon convinced by the McIntyre clique to turn his back on Cobb.21
Second baseman William Herman “Germany” Schaefer was also willing to tutor Cobb on occasion. Part of a middle infield combination with shortstop and fellow Chicagoan Charley O’Leary, Schaefer was one of baseball’s top personalities.22 He was a fun-loving entertainer at his core, yet was not amused by the miserable way in which the Georgian was treated. Some years later, he revealed that he specifically taught Cobb the “old Chicago slide” during this time frame, encompassing a maneuver that saw the runner’s body “twisting away” from the fielder, and reaching the base by hooking his foot. Schaefer was the closest Cobb had to a George Leidy on the Tigers.23 Schaefer’s lessons were of great value, and he would undoubtedly play a considerable role in Detroit’s 1907 campaign, both as an amusing stress distraction and as a leader.24
Having heard enough stories about the rampant chaos in the clubhouse, Jennings knew he needed a different approach than Armour, and his efforts to revamp the Tigers’ den began upon arriving in Augusta for spring training. He established a distinct training regimen with an emphasis on running and long walks, scrutinized rookies, and made personal time to talk one-on-one with his personnel. After Cobb arrived, Jennings spent an hour with him, discussing past happenings and future expectations, and bestowing what the Detroit Free Press called “fatherly advice.”25 The meeting was constructive and Jennings must have been convinced that he successfully “reached” Cobb, touching the young man’s sensibilities and setting a course for a widespread boost of team chemistry.
Cobb was valuable; Jennings was well aware of that fact, and he hoped to suppress whatever negativity he was
emitting. But unfortunately, within a matter of days, a horrendously unpleasant situation erupted at Warren Park in Augusta and cast serious doubt as to whether such a thing was even possible. On the afternoon of March 16, 1907, Cobb completed his mile walk from the hotel and was prepared to plunge into the normal training activities of the day. However, he was encountered by a somewhat familiar face, Henry Cummings, a twenty-seven-year-old African American groundskeeper, known to the populace as “Bungey,” and a strange altercation ensued.26 The latter seemed to anticipate a reunion with the former Augustan player and reached out his hand in friendliness. Needless to say, Cobb didn’t have the same response.27
Almost exactly a year before, during Tigers’ spring training at Augusta, sportswriter Joe S. Jackson of the Detroit Free Press wrote about the local African American population and made a peculiar comment about Cobb. Several times, Jackson noted, Cobb remarked about the efficiency of “colored” people when prompted by white Southerners in comparison to their Northern counterparts. Cobb reportedly supported the theory that blacks “more readily” heeded the “requests or demands” of Southern white folk, a group which Jackson added, “maintain the old relation of master and man between the races.” Jackson finished by stating that Northerners acknowledged the principles of the Fourteenth Amendment.28
The firsthand account by the scribe shed illuminating light on the mindset of Cobb and his perspective of African Americans. With that understanding, it probably didn’t come as a surprise to those teammates who were cognizant of his racial outlook when Cobb recoiled and punched Cummings in the face in reaction to his hospitality. The unnamed reporter for the Detroit Free Press on the scene suggested that Cobb was infuriated by Cummings’ attempt to be on “equal footing” with a Caucasian, and prompted the player’s reaction. The violence didn’t end there, as Cobb speedily pursued the park worker into the clubhouse, behind the stands beyond third base. There, Cummings’ wife, who also worked at the park, intervened, only to be confronted by Cobb’s reckless aggression. According to accounts, she was assailed and choked. The press report also claimed that Cummings was “partially” inebriated and spoke to Cobb as he went for a handshake, saying, “Hello, Ty, old boy.”29