100 Things Dodgers Fans Should Know & Do Before They Die (26 page)

74. Burleigh Grimes

The very last legal spitball in the major leagues took root at the end of a 12-year-old boy's train ride in 1906 to help his family sell some livestock.

“My father and uncle were sending four carloads of cattle to St. Paul,” Burleigh Grimes recollected at age 73 to Herman Weiskopf of
Sports Illustrated
. “When you sent a carload or more you were allowed to ride in the caboose, and that's how I got to go along on the trip with my uncle. When he had taken care of his business in St. Paul, he said, ‘How'd you like to go to a ballgame?' and he takes me out to the ballpark. I saw this guy—his name was Hank Gehring—using a spitball that day. When I got home, I cut some basswood—some people call it chokeberry—and put it in my mouth to make me salivate. As school kids we used to chew it all the time. Well, I got a catcher and I'd work out with him at noon at school and I'd practice on throwing the spitter. From then on I was a spitball pitcher.”

When Grimes reached the major leagues in 1916, there was nothing particularly unusual about his mouth-watering moundswork—or at least about doctoring the baseball in some fashion. As historian Rob Neyer has written, “if a pitcher did
not
do something to the baseball, at least occasionally, it was cause for mention.” In February 1920, to help inject some dignity in a game that was hearing scuttlebutt about players from the Chicago White Sox losing World Series games on purpose, as well as beginning to appreciate the Babe Ruth-led potential of an emphasis on offense in general and home runs in particular, major league baseball barred pitchers from using any foreign substance on the ball, such as, the
New York Times
wrote, “resin, salice, talcum powder, paraffine, and like aids to the shine ball.”

But the new measures were anything but draconian. A great deal of sympathy existed for “moist ball pitchers” whose livelihood was put at risk. Within months, a one-year grandfather clause designed to protect two spitballers per club was extended to lifetime grace for 17 whose effectiveness depended on the wet weapon. (According to the
Times
, team owners were also none too eager to search for whole-scale replacements for their best hurlers.) Grimes, who had an ERA of 2.22 (145 ERA+) in his third season with Brooklyn in 1920, was considered a definitive spitballer worthy of practicing the dark art as long as he liked. “The big right-hander was at his best yesterday and even the Pirates, who have been known to wield a wicked ash on occasions, were paled into submission before his spitball assortment,” the
Times
wrote about a 1921 game.

 

 

“People meet me today and they say, ‘Oh, Burleigh Grimes? You were the spitball pitcher.” Burleigh Grimes is known for his spitball, but he also mastered several other pitches to become a force to be reckoned with on the mound.

 

For his part, Grimes considered himself anything but dependent on the gimmick. “It wasn't necessarily my number one pitch—the fastball generally was,” he said in Donald Honig's
The Man in the Dugout.
“People meet me today and they say, ‘Oh, Burleigh Grimes? You were the spitball pitcher.' Well, hell, I threw a fastball, curve, slider, change, screwball. One time I pitched 18 innings against the Cubs, beating Hippo Vaughn 3–2, and I threw only three slow spitballs in the ballgame. The rest were all fastballs.

“It was a wonderful pitch for me some days,” he added to Weiskopf. “Other days it would make me weep. Just couldn't make it work at times. There are a lot of untruths about the spitball, like about how hard it was to control, about how it used to be so wet that the infielders had a hard time picking up ground balls and about how hard it was on the arm. I'll tell you, I never had trouble controlling it and only once hit a man with it. That was Mel Ott. Hit him in the neck.”

Grimes, who would go on to manage the Dodgers in 1937–38 before being inducted into the Hall of Fame on the basis of his 270 career wins and 3.53 ERA (107 ERA+) in 4,180 innings, outlasted the other 16 spit doctors, presumably throwing the last sanctioned spitball in his final start for his original team, Pittsburgh, against the Brooklyn franchise that made him famous.

“I like to sit in this easy chair by the window here,” he told Weiskopf at his Missouri farm. “That way I can look out at the birds and animals that come right up on the back lawn—foxes and rabbits. The quail come in the morning. At night the deer show up. I sit here and look out at it all, and I think to myself that everything I've got I owe to the spitball. Yes, sir, I owe it all to the spitball.

“I remember my baseball days fondly, and there has been many a night when I've sat by the window looking out at the sunset or the stars and then looked down and noticed that my right hand was wrapped around my left as though I were gripping my spitball. I haven't pitched in more than 30 years, but I guess I'll never stop throwing my spitter.”

 

 

 

75. Dip Into Philippe's

When it comes to mouthwatering eats and the Dodgers, it isn't always about hot dogs, nor the other concessions inside Dodger Stadium. A host of ballpark regulars plan their chow from the outside looking in—and leading off the alternative Dodger menu is Philippe's.

Philippe's is nothing less than the global home of the French dip sandwich. Established in 1908 in the lost-to-history Frenchtown section of downtown Los Angeles, Philippe's (or officially, Philippe the Original) moved to its present location at the corner of Alameda and Ord, up the street from Union Station, 11 years before Dodger Stadium opened. Though the details are disputed, the consensus is that founder Philippe Mathieu invented the French dip, intentionally or accidentally dipping a roll in his delicious gravy. Whatever the truth, the savory beef, pork, lamb or turkey inside the dipped rolls, with Philippe's own hot mustard a side option, can hardly be topped. In 2008, the restaurant's 100
th
-anniversary year, sandwiches were between $5.35 and $6.50, with lemonade 70 cents a glass and a cup of coffee 9¢. That's right: nine cents. If French dips aren't your style, the Philippe's menu is actually quite expansive, with customers topping off their meal by choosing one of the many pie options.

From Philippe's, you need only take a short drive up Ord to Broadway, then north a few blocks to College Street, then west a few blocks to Chavez Ravine Place, and from there you're primed to join the lineup of cars to Dodger Stadium. So a number of Dodgers fans will get their Philippe's to go; the sandwiches becoming a little soggier in transit but no less tasty. However, the downtown institution has a character all its own, and it's worth budgeting the time to eat in house. Either way, Philippe's is popular with baseball fans in the know, so allow yourself 20–30 minutes just to get your order completed. The wait will be worth it.

 

Alternative Alternatives

In addition to Philippe's, a major dining spot for Dodgers fans (and employees) is Yang Chow (819 N. Broadway), famous across the city for both its slippery shrimp and its collection of business cards from more than 100 past and present Dodger executives. Here are some other pregame dining choices to consider, as suggested by Dodger Stadium regulars Martin Leadman and Craig Minami:

 

Leadman Loves:

• Langer's Deli (7
th
and Alvarado): “In my opinion, the best sandwich in town is Langers' No. 1,” Leadman says. “It's a pastrami on rye with coleslaw and Russian dressing in the sandwich. Best pastrami in the country. They have great crinkle-cut fries too.” (Closed after 4:00
pm
and on Sundays, Langer's is a pregame option for any day games Monday through Saturday.)

• Tacos Baja Ensenada (Whittier, east of Atlantic): “This is the only place I've found that makes fish tacos just like you get at the stands in Baja Mexico.”

• East Side Italian Deli (1013 Alpine Street): “This is probably the closest place to Dodger Stadium. It's practically on Stadium Way. Good sandwiches. The combo beef and pastrami is a gutbuster.”

• Grand Central Market (Broadway). “Terrific place for fruits and vegetables. But I also go there for Ana Maria's Mexican food. Huge burritos, gorditas and tortas.”

•   Nickel Diner (Main Street, between 5
th
and 6
th
): Great diner food and hip vibe. Try the maple-bacon donuts.

•  Wurstkuche (800 E. 3
rd
Street in the Artist District): Great artisan sausages (alligator!) and numerous Belgian beers on tap.

• The Pie Hole (across the street from Wurstkuche): Once you've had your sausage, go here for great pies (both sweet and savory).

•  Far Bar (Little Tokyo, part of Far East Café): Great burgers and beers. They also do artisan whisky flights.

•  Lazy Ox Canteen (241 S. San Pedro): A little higher-end, but great food and drinks.

 

Minami Morsels:

• Mohawk Bend (2141 W. Sunset Blvd.): Nearby beer pub that is open late, with 72 taps of craft beer and a menu featuring pizza, burgers, and several vegan selections.

• Masa (1800 W. Sunset Blvd.): Good before the game or on a weekend, features Chicago deep dish pizzas made with masa (cornmeal) crust.

• UMAMIcatessen (852 S. Broadway): Downtown location of Umami Burger also offers a deli menu along with full bar.

• The Oinkster (2005 Colorado Blvd.): Home of a very good pastrami sandwich along with burgers, chicken, salads, and small list of craft beer.

 

76. Capture the Flag

What it would have meant, had 37-year-old William Errol Thomas, his 11-year-old son, their lighter fluid, their matches, and their willful intentions succeeded in setting an American flag on fire in the outfield grass of Dodger Stadium in the fourth inning on April 25, 1976, is left to your imagination.

One thing that is clear that when Cubs center fielder and future Dodger Rick Monday snatched the flag from the Thomases and carried it to safety fewer than three months before the nation's 200
th
birthday, the action did more to make baseball feel like a national pastime to many people than anything since, at least until the resumption of games following the tragedies of September 11, 2001.

“It was a moment that brought more emotion to a crowd of spectators than I have ever witnessed in a half-century of following the game of baseball,” wrote Fred Claire, who at the time was the Dodgers vice president of public relations and promotions and would later become general manager.

Claire instructed the operator of the old Dodger Stadium message board in left field to write, “Rick Monday...you made a great play.” And spontaneously, first in one part of the Stadium and then another, soon melding into one giant voice among the 25,167 in attendance, the crowd broke into a rendition of “God Bless America.”

As word of the event spread, aided by a Pulitzer Prize-winning photo by James Roark of the
Los Angeles Herald-Examiner
, Monday arguably became the most popular person in America. He would be honored in ceremonies wherever the Cubs next road trip took him.

Without discounting in the slightest the honor Monday brought to the flag, it is hard to reflect on the scene without acknowledging its poignancy. Thomas and his son weren't immediately swarmed upon by stadium security. A photo taken moments later shows the pair standing forlornly in the outfield, not attempting to flee. Cubs left fielder Jose Cardenal, another ballplayer obscured from view and an umpire (probably second-base umpire Andy Olsen) look on as Tommy Lasorda, then the Dodgers' third-base coach, is by his own admission cursing them—in fact, baiting them.

“When I got there,” Lasorda recalled, “I see these two guys and I told them, ‘Why don't one of you guys take a swing at me?' because there were [thousands of] people in the ballpark and I only wanted them to swing at me, so I could defend myself and do a job on them.”

Following up on the case days later, the
Los Angeles Times
found that “the man who tried to burn the American Flag at Dodger Stadium was attempting to draw attention to what he claims is his wife's imprisonment in a Missouri mental institution, authorities say.” It paints the attempt to burn the flag as something less than viciously anti-American. The elder Thomas served three days in jail and received a year's probation, then disappeared from the public record. His son was never prosecuted, and no news ever emerged about Thomas' wife.

Decades later, Monday's rescue of the flag remains a rallying point at the nexus of baseball and patriotism. Lurking beneath the surface was a cry for help, however inappropriately expressed. We know what happened to Monday. We can only hope that somehow, the Thomas family found rescue before putting themselves in further jeopardy.