October 10, 1924

The top of the Washington Monument turned out to be a great place to hide from Butterworth. I knew the last thing he wanted to do was waste time on the long elevator ride or climb even twenty of the steps. When we got back to Washington Rachel and me stayed with Benny in a rooming house in the colored section of town, also a great place to avoid Butterworth, and we spent most of yesterday's day off playing cards and reading my Game 5 story in the New York Sun over and over.

But today was Game 6, and it might be the end, so we couldn't hide forever. Rachel wanted me to go face him already and put this baby business behind us but I chose to just find a space to stand out in back of the left field stands so I could watch the game and not have to think about it. Rachel wanted a real chair, though, so she broke away and went who knows where as soon as we got into the ball park.

Benny was off getting us food when Cal suddenly appeared out of nowhere, his face all red like he was going to spout lava out of his ears.

"Thought you could get away with that, didn't you?"

"You mean my game story? You're right, I did!"

"You cost me twenty-five dollars yesterday, son. And now Mr. Munsey won't use either of us!"

"Gee, Cal. I'm sorry about that. I just—"

"You're just an insufferable little snipe, is what you are. If you were my son I'd give you a thrashing right here you would never forget!"

"Good thing I'm not then, huh?"

His cheeks puffed out and he raised a hand and then Benny was there, dropping his sausage rolls and separating us with all the muscle he had.

"C'mon, you two, cut that out! Can't we all just get along better?"

Cal and me looked at him, then at each other. Benny's line did have a nice sound to it. He forced us to shake hands with all these ball fans standing around watching, and then the Senators taking the field and all of them cheering, and then he had another question for us.

"So who's going to write today's game story?"


By Rachel Stone Spanelli
Female Ballscriber

WASHINGTON, D.C.—Before a tumultuous, terminally mad throng bursting every crack in Griffith's ball yard, an unforgettably enthralling spectacle was performed for Game Six of the 1924 World Series this afternoon. When it was complete, nary a fan was without a thumping heart or sliding tear.

The contest matched the same Game Two moundmasters Meadows and Mogridge, but this had no resemblance to that one-sided sleep-inducer. The Senators were fresh off their exciting final triumph in western Pennsylvania, and eager to get an early advantage to calm down their recently unsteady ball-thrower.

And so they did. Here was Goslin leading the 2nd with a free pass, and Rice singling him along, and Harris singling him back into the home dugout, a golden run clutched in their hands. In the 3rd it was Pirate right roamer Barnhart helping them out, dropping an easy Tate fly for a two-base gaffe. A single by Judge, double by Goslin and two successive wild heaves by Meadows brought home three runs, and sent the gathering into seizures of joy. Another hideous Pittsburgh misplay by Wright with two outs in the 4th brought Harris in with another run, it was 5-0 for Washington, and Walter Johnson was already sitting comfortably in the shadows, planning his opening pitches for Game Seven.

But this reporter hails from the fair city of Brooklyn, a place of base ball disappointment I am very accustomed to, and something never felt correct or sure about this five-run lead. These Pirates are just too professional and utterly dashing to belly up and die on us, and when seldom-used Jeff Pfeffer took over for Meadows and squirreled out of two straight runner-jams, it seemed very likely a shift in the fates was coming.

And so it did. Heinie Mueller batted for Pfeffer with one out in the Pirate 6th and blistered a double. Barnhart singled him home. Local hopes surfaced again as Grimm bounced an easy double play roller out to Bluege at third. But the Lord saw fit to drop a stray pebble in his path. Ossie reached as the ball abruptly changed course, then kicked it will-nilly, and it was suddenly second and third.

It was here that Harris made a fateful decision, one that may resonate in the sport's history for time evermore. With the lefty-butchering Traynor due at the dish and Mogridge on the verge of collapse, judging from the sweat I could make out glistening on his thick neck, right-hander Marberry was summoned to take his place.

But Pie baked him instantly, clanging a monstrous triple off the left-center wall, bringing home both runners and thrusting the Swashbucklers back into the fray. The Nats got one back on a Judge single in the last of the 6th, but with Mogridge now vacationing, the Washington bullpen was forced to save the game, a not-very-frequent occurrence in these parts of late.

What's more, the Pirates would have been happier getting their teeth extracted than having to face The Big Train in a climactic game.

And they suddenly played that way. Grimm and hot Traynor singled to begin the 8th, bringing in Alan Russell. Carey walked. A single by Wright and walk to pinch-sticker Smith brought home two and made it 6-5. Fans were turning their backs to the field, women were clutching their men or if none were with them, the nearest ones. After Leibold was left on second by the Senators in their 8th, it grew quieter than the Vatican for the top of the 9th. Barnhart led with a walk. Grimm singled him to second. Traynor finally made an out with an easy fly, and when Carey grounded into a force there was just one out left.

How could it not be Kiki Cuyler striding to the plate now? Seriously, how could it not? Russell stared in, the grandstand shadow tickling his big shoulders, likely shut his eyes and whipped in a fastball. Cuyler cracked it into left to tie the game! Cursing and wailing erupted around me. Glenn Wright was next, and took a gentler approach, looping a ball into center that dropped in front of the onrushing Leibold. Wright scampered in and before he could even look up the Pirates had the shocking lead!

And then we were left with Babe Adams, sweeping the debris off Griffith's soiled floor. Rice popped to third. Bluege singled, to at least save him from arsenic after his earlier stooge-moment, but not even manager Harris could muster a hit this time, grounding into an easy force for out number two. Peckinpaugh was lifted for young Lance Richbourg, triple-hitting star of Game One, for it is the young and fiery that always produce hope.

But Richbourg bounced right back to Adams, who floated the ball over to Grimm, who threw the ball and his mitt and his hat so high it still hasn't come down and the Pirates charged onto the field and lifted Adams on their shoulders and no one could believe what had just happened.

And yet it did. And we are all richer for having experienced it. For it is the fate of many a tragic ball hero to die on his home battlefield, his brother-in-bats lying about him, staring at the cold autumn sky and already dreaming of spring.

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Well, Rachel let me read a copy of her story as we got back on the train, and I was pretty knocked out by it. I told her it was a good thing she was giving up novel-writing because it seemed she had a better future with this kind of thing, but that sort of insulted her so I apologized right away.

Cal and me and Benny ended up watching the second half of the game from a pretty good spot near the left field pole, and Benny even met a girl ball fan from Philadelphia who he got onto the return train with him. Butterworth was my friend again, because the game was so gripping that by the end we'd even forgot we'd had an argument. All in all, it was an incredible Series, with three of the games decided by one run and not even one homer being hit. He was taking a different train back to Detroit so we gave each other hearty handshakes and wished him the best for next season, even though he wasn't clear what he was going to be doing yet.

I didn't either, but then I thought maybe me and Rachel picking up different baseball writing gigs wasn't the worst idea. "Uh-uh," she said, as the express back to New York started pulling out, "I don't think all the train travel and late nights would be the best thing for me."

"How come?"

She squeezed my hand and looked in my eyes. "Because I'm with child, Vinny."

I stared at her a long second, then looked around the train car. "A child? Where?"

"No, dummy. " She put my hand on her belly. "In here."

I couldn't breathe. I know this sounds real weird, people, but suddenly, at that moment, I just wanted to be back in Mrs. Crackerbee's class, reciting my multiplication.


As the Rolling Stones have sung, time waits for no one, but for over a year now it's been a daily pleasure to lose myself in 1924 and report the daily adventures of Vinny Spanelli, Calvin Butterworth, and the major league ballplayers of that memorable era.

At some point a few months ago I began copying all my posts into a Word file, and now have two of them totaling around 800 pages. Neither of the two novels I wrote before this were more than 320, so I guess I had a lot to say here, and I hope you all enjoyed your visits to my reinvented Jazz Age world. I hope to make a trimmed-own version of the full saga available online or elsewhere in the near future, but that will happen when it happens.

Thanks go out to Tom Baker and Lou Siegel, Tom for his early belief in the concept and coming up with the name Tuggerheinz, Lou for his constant tweaking tips and heartfelt devotion to the site. Web scribes Mike Lynch and Craig Calcaterra provided early encouragement by linking their readers to the site before anyone else, and Scott Simkus deserves a special mention for creating the magical Negro Leagues card set that helped get me through a season largely devoid of a pennant race, and for enduring an online interview with me. Google and their endless archive of fabulous images also deserve thanks.

Last but not least, 1924 would not have been possible without the love, support, and tolerance of my incredible wife Carmen, who actually designed a desk extension just for my Strat-O-Matic games when we built our new office.

That said, I'm afraid I must journey back through the time portal now, but not quite to the modern age. Beginning later today, I will be launching my next unique "blog novel," Play That Funky Baseball, featuring the almost-best teams of 1977. (What can I say? I've been two-timing you.) An array of noteworthy baseball writers and bloggers are on board to "manage" the teams, and it should be mighty mighty righteous indeed.

And so, to Vinny, Cal, Rachel, Benny, Mama, the Over-the Rhine Boys and kids outside Navin Field, to Cy, Rube, the Babe, Kiki, Goose, Walter, and I suppose even Ty...it's not been re

—J.P., Culver City, CA



By Vicenzo Spanelli
Baseball Fan Scribe-at-Large

October 8, 1924

PITTSBURGH—Can you believe that Butterworth yesterday? What a snot-face! Sticking me in the corner with journalism papers to read like I just peed myself in the fourth grade or something. Mrs. Crackerbee wouldn't even have done that.

So nuts to him, I thought, as I followed him out of our hotel this morning. I'm sitting with the crazed Pirate fans this time and I'm going to write about the game the way I want and I'll get it to his New York Sun guy before he turns HIS in and he can just plain live with it. And if the Bucs win it today I'll probably end up drinking more than I've ever drunk because after all, it is a Pennsylvania team we're talking about, right?

Two lefties, Zachary for the Nats, and Yde for the Pirates, were pitching today, and both have had their crap-parties lately. Yde's actually famous for pitching seven or eight great innings and then melting into a puddle in the 9th.

This time his teammates were doing the melting, and pretty early. With Senators on first and third and two outs, a ball got past Gooch and in came the first run of the game. Then in the 2nd, Ruel hit a ball out to Cuyler who I'm sick of hearing about already and Kiki flubbed it for a two-base error to put men on second and third. Zachary then doubled home two and it was 3-0 Washington and there seemed about as much chance for a big Pittsburgh party as I did of becoming Governor.

Lucky for them, Ossie Bluege was playing third base for the other team. After a Grimm single and Traynor walk, Carey bounced an easy double play ball down to Bluege and he did everything but touch it as the ball ended bouncing off a seat rail behind him for a two-base error. Cuyler hit a sacrifice fly and just like that it was 3-2 and people around me were going ape and banging on their seats.

Around the top of the 4th after Carey dropped a ball I made a note on my pad about how the Bucs seemed to have butter in their gloves, and suddenly a pair of real gloves covered my eyes from behind. A scratchy voice said "Guess who?" in my ears.

"You got me," I said. "I know it ain't you Cal, that's for sure."

Then I smelled perfume. I spun around and looked up at Rachel Stone Spanelli, wearing a sweet light blue dress and matching hat and none other than my best buddy Benny standing behind her. I was so shocked I couldn't even talk.

"Think we were gonna stay home while you had all the fun?" Benny asked.

"I can't believe you're here! How did you ever—"

"Your old principal, that's how," said Rachel.

"You mean Tuggerheinz?"

"He knows the Phillies owner, remember?" said Benny, "Anyway he got left World Series tickets but got sick and couldn't go and left them with your mama—"

"—who sent them to me—"

"—who came down to Philly and scooped me up first—"

"—and now we're here!"

I jumped out of my seat, gave Rachel a hug and kiss and shook Benny's hand and then he took my seat while I went to the other side of home plate and sat with Rachel in theirs.

Meanwhile two more innings went by with no one scoring and the place getting real tense, because the last thing Bucs fans wanted was for their boys to have to go back to Washington.

The Senators begged to differ. Yde got all kinds of shaky all of a sudden, as Bluege singled, and Peckinpaugh and Ruel walked to load the bases. Up came Zachary, like most of the Senator pitchers also a great hitter. Sure enough, he painted the ball down the line an inch from the foul stripe, good for a double and two more runs batted in. Leibold grounded out but then Yde flubbed an easy grounder and a third run ran across.

Gooch tripled one in for the Bucs to keep their fans alive, and after Judge hit a scoring fly in the 8th, Yde knocked in another Pirate run with a two-out single. This finished off Zachary, brought on Firpo Marberry and got the Pittsburghers cuckoo again, but the Firp was up to the task this time. Smith hit for Barnhart and grounded out to leave two on the bases, and after Grimm singled to begin the Buc 9th, Traynor rapped into a killer double play, Carey bounced out, and we were all headed back to Washington!

Were we ever. Rachel and Benny and me were squeezed into the press people's parlor car along with assorted players, wives, writers and operators. Nobody slept because you couldn't. I wouldn't put the train ride in the same fun league as the incredible one we took with Oscar Charleston and Smokey Joe Williams and those Black Phillies back in August, and that's just something else the colored players were better at than us.

It was so packed on the World Series express I don't think I got a word in with Butterworth all night. Which was probably a good thing, because when he sees my name instead of his in the paper tomorrow morning he's gonna blow a valve.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: Game 6 of the World Series will not be available on Twitter this evening, due to Ye Olde Fox Tweeter Network Ltd.'s exclusive rights to all Saturday action. Readers must follow the concluding game(s) on this trusty page, but to quote an old popular sage, a splendid time is guaranteed for all.




October 7, 1924

By C. Jedediah Butterworth
Base Ball Freesciber

While I did appreciate my young understudy's attempt at sports writing yesterday, he is currently reading up on his journalism techniques with an armful of newspapers at the back of this room. Walter Johnson is going in Game Four with a chance to tie the Series back up, and I need the occasion to be professionally recounted.

PITTSBURGH—Virtually suffocated yesterday by the spectacled wizardry of one Lee Meadows, the Senators are determined to polish their clubs this afternoon against Ray Kremer. Oftentimes just a run or two are enough when the Big Train is chugging on the hill, and manager Harris seems certain they can muster that amount.

Rice launches the attack with a shattering triple to begin the 2nd, but an infield hit that Tate beats out fails to bring the runner in. Bluege is struck to fill the sacks, a Peckinpaugh force keeps everyone at bay, and it is left to the regal Johnson to single into left for two quick runs. Harris knocks in another one out later, and Walter has a 3-0 cushion!

Pittsburgh puts a small handful of men aboard, but two double plays erase them pronto. The 4th frame tells a different tale, though. Traynor and Wright open with singles, Kremer moves them ahead with an expert bunt, and the poisonous Max Carey singles them both in to make it 3-2 and awake the teeming crowd. A Judge single and long Goslin double to start the Washington 5th failed to bring in a run, and in the 6th they manage to leave another pair aboard.

It stings them like a hornet right away. Cuyler doubles with one out in the Pirate 6th, Traynor triples him in, and the game is knotted 3-3. And then the 7th happens, a grisly example of Washington's swatting woes. Carey drops Goslin's fly in center to begin the inning with a 2-base error. Rice singles but Goslin holds up at third. Bluege walks with one out but Peckinpaugh and Johnson both ground out to leave three adrift this time!

It stays tied until the 8th, when Judge's single, Goslin's single and third hit (see photograph above), and Rice's single make it 4-3 for the Nats. Mathews and Ruel replace Goslin and Tate for defense, and Johnson strands two Bucs in the last of the 8th by getting the brutal Traynor on a force-out.

Three more Senator hits sandwiched around a sickening pop double play on a bunt attempt by Peckinpaugh send the suspenseful thriller to the last of the 9th. Sixteen runners all told are abandoned by Washington for the afternoon, a number that may soon be haunting their dreams.

For Wright draws a walk to begin the 9th matters. Johnson bears down to fan Maranville and pinch-batter Gooch, though, and we can almost see him hiding a grin from the press row. One more out and the Series is tied.

Except the one more out is Max Carey, punishing the ball all Series with an 8-for-17 performance, or .471. And he does it again, rifling a ball high off the right wall for a double and tie game! Johnson cannot believe it, nor can this reporter. But we barely have time to contemplate the miracle when Grimm strikes the next pitch into the right gap for another scoring double and the ball game for the Pirates!

The Day They De-Railed the Train is what Pittsburghers will call this incredible game, and with a 3-1 advantage now in the Autumn Classic, it may also be known as Walterloo.

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EDITOR'S NOTE: Game Five from Pittsburgh's Forbes Field will be Tweet-casted right here TONIGHT at 10 p.m. Eastern time, 7 Pacific. This will be the final Tweetcast for the World Series, but do not think for a moment that it foreshadows the actual end.



By Vincenzo Spanelli
Baseball Fan Scribe-at-Large

October 6, 1924

PITTSBURGH—After two real close sizzler-games in Washington, everyone hauled west on the train yesterday and made their way out to a city this scribe-at-large feels like he's been to twenty times already this season.

But it never looked anything like this. Pirate flags hung everywhere, along with a couple of straw-filled dummies of guys in suits I figured were supposed to be senators hanging from lamp posts by their necks. Anyway, it's the first World Series here in Steelville since 1909 when Wagner was playing, so the whole town's pretty sauced about it.

Ogden was going for the Nats, and he was 19-6 for the year and was probably going to be tough. Morrison for the Pirates was "only" 14-5 but had three shutouts and was even tougher than the other guy at times.

Leibold managed to work a walk in the 1st but a nifty double play started by Grimm wiped that thing right out. A Carey double and Moore single later, the Bucs were up 1-0 and the Forbes crowd was giving me a headache already.

I guess Ogden didn't get a good night's sleep because he had just about no petrol in his tank. A walk and singles from Traynor and Maranville and Grimm got three more runs across in the 2nd and the Pittsburghians were singing and dancing little jigs in the aisles. I kind of wished I was down there singing and jigging instead of trapped up in a stuffy writer box, but oh well, that's what being a paid professional is about.

After that early excitement came five innings of absolute nothing—except for the three more double plays the Pirates turned on the stinky Senators, every one of them started by the Rabbit. Ogden was kept in because he calmed down awful good, but when the 8th rolled around he lost his mind again. Moore walked and Cuyler singled. Smith got one in with a long fly, Traynor walked, Wright singled and Harris finally brought on Russell to put Curly out of his misery.

I was left to drown in mine, though. Pitching was the name of this snoozer, and you know me, I'm used to 11-10 games at the Baker Bowl day every day, so when Morrison gloved a grounder by Peckinpaugh for the final out after Washington scratched out a measly run, I jumped out of that press row like my drawers were burning.

At least Walter Johnson goes again tomorrow for Game Four. Me and my mentor who you're probably used to reading here Cal Butterworth saw him a few times on the train to Pittsburgh, and he was as polite as a ball player can be. You'd never know he could change the shape of your face with just one of his buggywhip heaters.

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EDITOR'S NOTE: Game Four from Pittsburgh's Forbes Field will be Tweet-casted right here TONIGHT at 10 p.m. Eastern time, 7 Pacific, with the other games continuing at that same time through the week, and full accounts appearing on this site the following morning.




By C. Jedediah Butterworth
Base Ball Freescriber

October 4, 1924

WASHINGTON, D.C.—The reporters swarming around batting practice today are like honey-fattened bees, buzzing about every detail of yesterday's scintillating extra-frame victory for the Senators. How could these clubs come close to topping that scenario?

For the Pirates, their goal is to expunge the horror from their minds as soon as possible. And Clyde Barnhart's rope of a single leading off Game Two against Mogridge seems like a fine first step. Grimm bunts Clyde to second, but Traynor whiffs badly and after Carey hustles out an infield hit and steals second, the extraordinary Cuyler lines to Peckinpaugh to end the threat.

Lee Meadows seems on his game for Pittsburgh, though, and gets the Nats with no effort in the 1st. Mogridge retires the first two Bucaneers in the 2nd, then reverts to the foul pitching ways that have plagued him since Labor Day. Gooch singles, as does Meadows, and Barnhart's second shot brings home the first Pirate score.

Goslin and Rice strike singles to begin the Senator 2nd, but go nowhere as Tate, Bluege, and Peckinpaugh all roll out. It is not a comforting omen. With one out in the 3rd, Carey blisters a two-sack hit and Cuyler walks. Wright and Maranville follow with sharp singles, Gooch lifts a scoring fly out to the Goose and it is instantly 4-0 for the visitors!

The bloodletting continues in the 4th. Barnhart collects his third safety, a double, to begin matters, and after a ground out, Traynor singles him to third. Barnhart is forced at home on a Carey grounder to Bluege, but a predictable Cuyler single brings in a run and finishes not-very-gorgeous George for the afternoon. Peckinapugh caps off the inning by kicking away Wright's grounder, it is 6-0, and the aura of doom we felt much of yesterday returns to the Griffith yard.

Meadows finally flinches in the 5th, as Tate singles, Bluege walks, and with two outs Lance Richbourg, rewarded by manager Harris with the leadoff position for his heroic triple in the first game, singles in Tate to get the home nine on the board.

In the 6th it gets even more interesting. Goslin bombs a double with one out, Rice and Tate single and Bluege hits a scoring fly to make it 6-3! As they always seem to do, though, the swaggering Bucs come right back, scoring a run in the 7th on a walk to the Rabbit, stolen base and double by pitcher Meadows himself off Marberry.

My young assistant fetches me a cold pop halfway through the 8th, and I have my head turned to open the bottle when Goslin starts the Senator inning with a line single. Rice doubles and the ball park is alive once more. Tate singles home two and Meadows is sent packing! The crowd cheers his departure, but it's less of a blessing than they think.

Because in strolls Charles Benjamin "Babe" Adams, the toughest relief man in either league. He walks Bluege, sees the score inch to 7-6 when Wright boots another two-out grounder, but then induces Harris to line out with two men aboard.

Russell hurls a scoreless Pittsburgh 9th, and then Babe returns to the hill. Fresh from the 9th inning dramatics yesterday, the thousands of loyalists on hand rise as one to cheer a new rally to life. Judge singles, and it's begun!

Then Goslin raps into an easy double-play, and it is done! The Goose did manage two singles and a key double, but he has been excelling at times like this all season, and his recent failures have not endeared him to Washington base ball society. Rice flies harmlessly out to Moore in right, and this tension-stuffed championship spectacle moves on to the Steel City in a perfectly even state.

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EDITOR'S NOTE: Game Three from Pittsburgh's Forbes Field will be Tweet-casted right here TONIGHT at 10 p.m. Eastern time, 7 Pacific, with the other games continuing at that same time through the week, and full accounts appearing on this site the following morning.




By C. Jedediah Butterworth
Base Ball Freescriber

October 3, 1924

WASHINGTON, D.C.—Did we really just witness that? It began with President Coolidge wishing Walter Johnson luck, and thirteen innings and nearly three hours of utter tension later, the 27,000 at Griffith Stadium and countless more following Game One on electric boards around the nation were rendered speechless.

The parade of bands and dignitaries seemed endless before game time, and all it did was swell the suspenseful knot in everyone's throat, for this was a matchup that seemed nearly even when jotted down on paper. It was a cool, sunny afternoon in northwest Washington, perfect for sharp play, and the press rows around me were a-clatter with banging typewriter keys.

The Big Train began his twirling day as if he had his namesake to catch at the station, dispatching the first nine Pirates with rapid ease. Kremer was a bit looser with his dexterity, but was able to escape a pair of minor pickles in the first three frames.

The 4th told a different tale, though. Carey opened with a line single and stole second on Ruel. Grimm singled him plateward, but a ferocious arm-bullet from Nemo Leibold finished Carey at the plate to ignite the crowd. The Pirates were just sharpening their cutlasses, though. After Moore walked, Cuyler sizzled a ball to deep left-center, scoring the first two runs. When Smith singled on the next pitch it was 3-0 Pittsburgh, and the park fell into a funereal silence.

Judge ended that mood quickly, though, with a booming double to lead off the last of the 4th. A walk to Goslin, Bluege single and pair of well-timed force-outs gave the Nats two tallies right back, and the teeming horde was engaged in the contest again.

Three quiet innings followed, Kremer and Johnson matching outs, until Maranville led the 8th with a double. A Kremer bunt moved him along, and after a Carey walk, Grimm plated the run with a force grounder, due to Harris putting the middle infielders back. The 4-2 score seemed to depress the locals yet again, and it wasn't until Rice singled with one gone in the last of the 9th that they stirred back to life. Bluege grounded out, and then Harris had a strange hunch and removed himself for left-swinging Richbourg. Lance waited for a fastball that agreed with him, then mashed it deep to center. The ball sailed over the head of Carey as Richbourg slid into third with a triple! It was suddenly 4-3!

Here was Peckinpaugh now, bouncing a ball out to Wright to end the game—except Wright booted it and Richbourg scored the tieing run! Johnson then stayed in the game and doubled, but little Peck had to stop at third. The moment Babe Adams was summoned from the Pirate bullpen, Tate batted for Ruel, popped out, and the game was going into extra chapters.

With daylight on the wane and all nerves on the edge of a blade, Adams and Johnson then did their finest work of the year, each holding the other scoreless for three innings. For the Train it was actually four, and even though he was straining to finish each frame out there, Harris was clearly reluctant to go to his wobbly relief corps of Russell, Marberry and Speece.

He didn't need to. For in the last of the fateful 13th, Goslin led with a single, his first safety of the Series. Rice and Bluege both skied out, and up came backup second sacker Tommy Taylor, forced to enter the contest when Bucky shockingly pulled himself from the lineup and produced Richbourg's incredible triple.

Taylor miraculously did the same! Clubbing a ball high and deep to center field! Carey was off with the crack but couldn't get to the wall in time, the sphere skipping merrily off the top of the barrier and bounding away from Carey! Here came Goslin, running around third and into the arms of waiting mates for the game-winning run!

What a spectacle! What a World Series opener! It was hard to see Taylor being swarmed on the field through the cloud of flying straw hats, and by the time I reached the Senator club house with my assistant, it was stuffed to capacity and we were forced to wait for quotes in the outside tunnel.

But there was nothing really that needed to be said. Only remembered.

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EDITOR'S NOTE: Last night's live "Tweet-cast" of this Game One was a rousing success. Game Two will be Tweet-casted right here TONIGHT night at 10 p.m. Eastern time, 7 Pacific, with the other games continuing at that same time through the week, and full accounts appearing on this site the following morning.



October 2, 1924

WASHINGTON, D.C.—Ain't that jazzy? I gave myself a location so I can start sounding more like a big time baseball writer, seeing I'm going to be friending around with a bunch of them here the next few days and who knows, maybe Butterworth will let me write about one of the games.

Actually, I've already been here a few days, waiting for Game One of the Series tomorrow, and it's been nothing but dinners and parties. The first bash was the one on the train Tuesday night as the players and us rolled in from Boston. Thousands of Washington fans were waiting at the station, and bands were playing and ladies were so randy they were trying to grab Ossie Bluege. Cal and me the other reporters had to get off at the opposite end of the platform and race up to see all this action, and I almost got my teeth knocked in by the tweed elbow of someone's sport coat for my troubles. I heard later that Charles Dawes the Vice-President showed up, Coolidge saving himself up for Griffith Stadium no doubt, but I never saw the guy.

The next day was sunny and cool and the city looked beautiful and I couldn't believe I lived in Philadelphia and never even got down here. After going to a bunch of different Senators parades with Cal I broke off and visited the Smithsonian Institution Museum, and the brand new Lincoln Memorial, and then walked up every one of the 897 steps and fifty floors of the Washington Monument. They had an elevator but it took almost fifteen minutes to get to the top and I figured I needed the exercise, even though it nearly killed me.

They had all the press people booked at the fancy Hamilton Crowne Plaza Hotel, and there were parties in every ballroom every night. I didn't have the best clothes for them, but Cal rented me a sharp waistcoat and bow tie and passed me off as his "understudy" whatever that means. Stuck in a room with a bunch of men smoking cigars and blabbering about baseball wasn't exactly my glass of fizzer so I broke off again and snuck into a bigger room that had a jazz combo playing and some local dressed-up ladies dancing with eager men. Bucky Harris and Roger Peckinpaugh were there with their wives and it was then that I started to miss Rachel and wished I'd talked Cal into bringing her along somehow. I'm sure she had the perfect flapper outfit somewhere and could dance these women right out the glass window.

Cal had all kinds of statistical reports to look at, and when I was sitting up in my bed later, across from where Cal was snoring in his, I found the final list of run differences for all the teams this year. Earned runs instead of total ones were used for the runs allowed, so that's why the totals are higher than you'd think. Everyone made their usual ton of errors.

Washington +225
New York +123
Chicago +114
Detroit +109
Cleveland +108
Boston +63
St. Louis +41
Philadelphia –13

Pittsburgh +293
New York +266
Cincinnati +236
Brooklyn +233
Chicago +157
St. Louis +87
Philadelphia –121
Boston –301

Nice year for the Braves, huh? The Indians were much better than I expected, which I figure was due to their awful 11-34 record in 1-run games.

Finally, before I pass out for the night, here's the lineups for the first game. I can't wait!

Carey CF
Grimm 1B
Moore RF
Cuyler LF
Smith C
Traynor 3B
Wright SS
Maranville 2B
Kremer P

Ruel C
Leibold CF
Judge 1B
Goslin LF
Rice RF
Bluege 3B
Harris 2B
Peckinpaugh SS
Johnson P


EDITOR'S NOTE: The 1924 World Series between Pittsburgh and Washington will be "tweet-casted" live right here beginning TONIGHT at 10 p.m. Eastern time, 7 Pacific and continuing at that time through the week, with full accounts to appear on this site the following morning.