Billed the `Game of the Century' the first All-Star Game, in 1933, was a smash hit. In my mind, however, the `Game of the Century' was yet to be played - in St. Louis' Sportsman's Park six weeks later on August 17th.
I was traveling with my two older brothers, Cantril and LaGrand, and their friend, Ed Payne. We had visited Chicago, the Century of Progress exhibits, had seen `the old maestro,' Ben Bernie, and his big band show, the Sally Rand fan dance, and scads of other exhibits.As a youngster out of Utah who was a keen follower of baseball and knew not only players' names, but their batting averages, home run totals and other baseball trivia, I had to see Comiskey Park. From our bleacher seats just beyond first base in the now distinguished park, waiting for the game to begin, I visualized what it might have been like to have watched the All-Star Game. When the lead-off Cleveland Indian came to bat I forgot my fantasizing and watched the Chicago White Sox win handily. More important than the game was that my brothers and I were allowed on the field, where I had my picture taken as I stood on the pitchers' mound.
Two days earlier we had seen a fantastic battle in Chicago's Wrigley Field. The talkative Dizzy Dean had pitched for the St. Louis Cardinals' noisy Gashouse Gang, against the Chicago Cubs. With Charley Root, of Babe Ruth's World Series called-shot fame, on the mound, the Cubs had whipped the Cards 4 to 2. This, according to Chicago sports writers, in a way sort of evened the score for the Cubs since just a week previous in St. Louis, Ole' Diz had fanned 17 Cubbies for a National League strikeout record.
Our last day in Chicago, my brothers and I had a little huddle.
`The New York Yankees are playing the St. Louis Browns in St. Louis tomorrow,' Cantril informed us. `If we leave about 7 a.m. we could make it in time to see the Yankees play. Or would you rather go to Nauvoo?'
What a decision! I'd always wanted to see Babe Ruth play baseball, and I'd heard so much about Nauvoo that I wanted to see that historic old Mormon site, too. Finally I blurted out, `I want to do both.'
Then I proposed, `Why don't we leave Chicago at 4 a.m., drive to Nauvoo, see what remains of the old city, then go to St. Louis.'
The windy city was quiet as a cemetery when we drove away in the early morning. Traffic was light all the way to Nauvoo. To see this historic city of the early Mormon days gave all of us a special thrill, a thrill I still get even though I have now been there six times.
About one o'clock we arrived in St. Louis. We picked up a morning paper, and were we shocked! On the front page a sports bulletin reported that Babe Ruth was ill with a stomach ache and, probably, would not play today. Ed Payne growled, vindictively, `I hope he dies with a bellyache.' Of course, he didn't mean it.
We took our seats in the right field bleachers where we could see the Babe, if he played, when the Yanks were in the field.
Excitedly, we watched these great baseball stars take batting practice. One or two of them blasted a pitch into the bleachers. Then out of the Yankee dugout came a waddling figure with spindly legs, a pot belly, and a cookie-round face. We immediately recognized him. Before stepping up to the plate the Babe took a few practice swings to loosen up. Moving into the batter's box on three pitches he lofted three balls into the right field stands. Then he waddled back to the dugout. At the moment we were content. At least we had seen the great Babe knock balls out of the park in batting practice.
In the Yankee lineup were names I'll never forget. Dixie Walker was roaming center field, Ben Chapman was in right field. What? I thought the inimitable Babe always played in right field. I soon learned this was not so. Sometimes he played in left field - where he would play today. On the hot corner was Joe Sewell, Frank Crossetti was the shortstop, `Push `Em Up' Tony Lazzeri on second and the ironman, `Columbia Lou' Gehrig, at first. Catching was the talented Bill Dickey, and on the mound was the brilliant southpaw, Vernon `Lefty' Gomez.
The former National League superstar second baseman, Rogers `The Rajah' Hornsby, considered by many as the greatest righthand hitter ever to play the game of baseball, had recently taken over as manager of the Browns.
The game began.
Leadoff batter Walker popped up for an easy out. Sewell bounced out to the infield. The crowd cheered as the Babe came to bat. After a couple of outside pitches, he slashed a wicked grounder down the first-base line. The Browns' firstsacker snared the ball, stepped on the bag and the Bambino was out. Ruth gave a weak argument to the umpire, something about the grounder being foul, but it fell on deaf ears.
My dream became a reality on the Babe's next appearance at the plate. He smashed a prodigious clout over the rightfield pavilion, a double-decked set of bleachers, with the ball landing in the street outside the park. Rising to their feet, the fans roared with excitement.
I had seen the Babe hit a mighty home run. I could go now. But, wait. More excitement was to come. In the middle of the fourth inning the game was stopped for a brief presentation. Gehrig, the only player in baseball history to hit four home runs in consecutive at bats in one game, had just broken the consecutive game playing record.
This was some ballgame. Bill Dickey hit a homer to move the Yankees ahead by a run. Going into the ninth inning, the Yankees were still clinging to their one run margin. In the bottom of the ninth, `The Rajah' stepped to the plate as a pinchhitter. A notorious first-pitch taker, Hornsby rifled Gomez' first offering into the centerfield bleachers and the game was tied. In their half of the 10th, the Browns went on to win.
As a starry-eyed young kid from Utah, the thrilling moments of this dream-come-true were indelibly imprinted in my memory. This was my game, played just for me. Imagine, seeing the Babe and `The Rajah' hit home runs. I still get a rush of excitement when I recall that day sixty years ago in Sportsmans' Park in St. Louis.