Christy Mathewson Thread

[Brian McKenna]

I wanted to ask a question about Mathewson but I was surprised he didn't have his own thread (if I'm wrong please merge).

I was reading a Washington Post article from 6/25/1916 and it talked about Mathewson's use of the spitball. It said he had been using it for about a year and:

"Now he uses it quite often, and controls it so well he baffles many batters with it."

Can anyone expand on his use of the spitball?

Of course, this thread is under his name so feel free to run any topic with it.

[Buzzaldrin]

Don't know much about it, but he can't have used it that well, since he was 8-14 the year before, and the last game he started as a Giant in 1916 before being traded was June 14th. He was traded July 20th and appeared in exactly one game with Cincinnati on September 4th.

[Brian McKenna]

Found some other references:

Sporting Life, December 12, 1914
“This Winter he [Mathewson] claims to have decided to fall back upon the spitter to increase his effectiveness, and columns have been printed about how Matty has been working to get control of the moist ball.

“Matty’s reputation and brain will keep him in the majors for years, whereas fooling with the spitter and a few other freak deliveries may ruin his arm forever.”

The Sporting News, December 3, 1914
“It is said that Mathewson will use a spit ball next season. So far Matty has never experimented with the saliva shoot. He feels that his fast and curve balls are not what they once were and proposes to help them out. A goo spitter is a good thing in a pinch.”

New York American, August 16, 1915 by Christy Mathewson
“It has always been my habit to experiment with freak deliveries and to try to develop and discover new curves along the lines of the fadeaway. Of course, I have seen what I could do with a spitter, but I don’t believe I have used it in championship [regular-season and post-season] games since I have been in the big league until this season.

“Once in a while previous to this year I used to cut loose a spitter in an effort to cross some batter who wouldn’t expect one from me. Three or four seasons back someone told me Hans Wagner couldn’t hit a spitball very well, and I used to slip one in occasionally until he pasted two or three of them a block or so, and then I decided to stick to the old stuff.

“What I am doing now is only what nearly every pitcher does when he begins to feel the old snap ooze out of his arm.”

[csh19792001]

I believe that a GREAT film could be made about the life and times of Christy Mathewson. Absolutely. It might be something like "A Beautiful Mind", starting with his scholarly days at Bucknell. He was brilliant and well spoken, extremely handsome, and was the first real national superstar at the very dawn of the media era. He was a complete anachronism in his time, for a baseball player.

Matty's life was rife with true triumph and absolute tragedy (his brother's suicide)... his epic World Series triumphs and heartbreaks, and- finally- the surreal tragedy of his (completely) untimely demise.

[Honus Wagner Rules]

I believe that a GREAT film could be made about the life and times of Christy Mathewson. Absolutely. It might be something like "A Beautiful Mind", starting with his scholarly days at Bucknell. He was brilliant and well spoken, extremely handsome, and was the first real national superstar at the very dawn of the media era. He was a complete anachronism in his time, for a baseball player.

Matty's life was rife with true triumph and absolute tragedy (his brother's suicide)... his epic World Series triumphs and heartbreaks, and- finally- the surreal tragedy of his (completely) untimely demise.

What actor would you like to see portray Big Six?

Cool photo!

Christy_Mathewson.jpg

[csh19792001]

What actor would you like to see portray Big Six?

Good question. What do ya think?

All things considered, Brad Pitt was pretty damn good as Beane in Moneyball, and obviously has the Hollywood panache of Matty...

[Honus Wagner Rules]

Good question. What do ya think?

All things considered, Brad Pitt was pretty damn good as Beane in Moneyball, and obviously has the Hollywood panache of Matty...

Pitt is too short IMO. I can't think of any current actors off hand. A young Jimmy Stewart could have pulled it off.

By thy way did Ty Cobb ever face Mathewson in any exhibition games?

[csh19792001]

By thy way did Ty Cobb ever face Mathewson in any exhibition games?

Page 286 "Christy Mathewson: A Game by Game Profile of a Legendary Pitcher" (Mayer, 2008):

June 28th, 1915:
"On the way back to New York from their Western Swing, the Giants played an exhibition game against the Detroit Tigers in Toledo, Ohio. The Tigers won, 4-3, but it was a historic moment- two giants of the game, Mathewson and Cobb faced each other for the first time. On Matty's first pitch, the incomparable Cobb singled, then immediately stole second. Standing on the mound, looking towards second, Mathewson flashed Cobb a broad smile, perhaps a gesture acknowledging his greatness."

[Joltin' Joe]

Pitt is too short IMO. I can't think of any current actors off hand. A young Jimmy Stewart could have pulled it off.

I can't think of any current actors either but I think the late Christopher Reeve could've pulled it off when he was younger and obviously before his tragic accident. He was tall and resembled Matty somewhat.

[csh19792001]

I can't think of any current actors either but I think the late Christopher Reeve could've pulled it off when he was younger and obviously before his tragic accident. He was tall and resembled Matty somewhat.

Wow, that is one hell of a call. A Matty "doppleganger", perhaps...

[EdTarbusz]

What actor would you like to see portray Big Six?

Cool photo!

[ATTACH]105083[/ATTACH]

Bradley Cooper

[augustabound]

Bradley Cooper

Totally agree.

[Tyrus4189Cobb]

Christy was born in the secluded hamlet of Factoryville, Pennsylvania in 1880. Growing up under very religious parents in the simple near-rural life of a mining town, Christy was instilled with certain values. For one, he appreciated modesty. From his Baptist parents, who desired for him to be a preacher, he also adopted anti-Sunday baseball stance, which would stick with him for the next many years and force managers to carefully rotate him.

At the age of 15 Christy was developing into the strapping, handsome physique of his father Gilbert. For one dollar a game, he played for the Factoryville team alongside and against much older boys. At college age, he enrolled at Keystone. Here enjoyed football more than baseball, according to Ray Robinson's Matty. To earn money for school, Christy played for the Honesdale team over the course of 1898's fair summer. In 1899 his pitching garnered attention from Taunton, MA. Ray Robinson also hypothesizes that it is here where Christy learned the importance of defeat. Christy would later claim that while you gain from a win, you learn everything from losing. I believe it is in Taunton, where he pitched well for a dying club that didn't fully pay their pitcher, where Christy developed his mentality for losing. In later year, Christy added to his thoughts on losing: always acknowledge the loss, but don't let it get to your head. In your head, ask yourself why you lost and try to come up for reasons that caused it, even if you don't believe them. This way, Christy proposed, you knew the next time you could get more out of yourself.

In 1899, Christy also joined Bucknell University. He continued his success as a great kicker for the football team. In the classroom, he was known as an intellect. Fraternity brothers of Phi Gamma Delta looked up to him. Christy’s athleticism, looks, wit, and charming personality could’ve been used for a poster boy for the successful all-American college male. His influence was so appealing that John “Phenom” Smith immediately raised his proposed salary after watching Christy play spectacularly in football game against Penn State. Christy quickly accepted the contract to play for the Norfolk team in the summer of 1900. He performed well enough to attract the attention of both major leagues. Rumors spread that Connie Mack, in his enthusiasm for great pitching staffs, wanted Christy. However, Christy dropped out of Bucknell for the New York Giants. Andrew Freedman bought Christy, now becoming the “Mathewson Boy” or “Matty,” for $1500 (the Hall of Fame chronicles say $1000).

Thus started a Herculean career. I should highlight Matty’s approach to pitching before I get in to his Giants days. Matty was half workhouse half pacer. His large 6’1” frame gave him the ability to last for a long time on short rest. However, even in his college days, Matty realized the importance of pacing himself. Pitching with a large lead or with no one on base meant Matty wasn’t going to nitpick. Like other witty pacers before him, Matty knew he was expected to finish every game he started. Such situations called for Matty to throw for contact with lesser velocity. The fielders, not him, would pick up the slack. For those times where he was pitching in a pinch, Matty tells in the eponymous self-written book that he would then use his control to his advantage. Batters were given pitches (precisely located with Matty’s inhuman control) that were difficult to discern between ball and strike. Using his superior memory of batters’ weaknesses, Matty fed hitters pitches they couldn’t hit in precise locations so they ended up swinging for the out. During such times, Matty relied on the famous fadeaway, now the screwball. Batter trembled knowing this pitch could come at any moment, though Matty himself said he didn’t throw more than a dozen per game. The constant threat certainly worked as a psychological advantage for a pitcher who was difficult to hit to begin with. The Sporting News also says that Matty had a vast repertoire of pitches he could dance in every direction.

John McGraw didn’t manage Matty until 1902. Before that the Giants featured a plethora of managers. McGraw brought stability to the Giants. For the next two decades, the Giants would be McGraw. He controlled virtually everything on the field with explosive temperament (sometimes purposefully exaggerated for strategy). He took an instant liking to Matty, for he was the ideal pitcher in his eyes. At any moment Matty was ready to accept a workload and would execute with uncanny control. In fact, Matty was the only pitcher McGraw gave full discretion to call his own pitching game. Unfortunately, McGraw’s in-game dictatorship had a negative side. Matty believed, which he openly published in a 1915 magazine article, that the multiple World Series Giants downfalls were due to McGraw’s constant micromanaging. Matty attributed the downfalls to the players’ inability to think for themselves in a pinch because they were always so reliant on McGraw.

1902 marked the beginning of a strange relationship. McGraw’s thick, complex personality had been shaped by loss after loss of family member from disease. How an angry, rule-picky, authoritarian managed to befriend the likes of a gentle intellect must be recorded as the “stranger” part of the saying “stranger things have happened.” Within a few years, the two became lifelong pals and even resided together in a complex of upper New York. While Matty enjoyed reading, golf, and being a renowned checkers player, McGraw indulged much more in the finer things of turn-of-the-century New York, something that couldn’t be said of most denizens especially the large influx arriving from Europe. McGraw consorted with all of New York’s well-to-do: restaurant owners, actors, tycoons, and even the occasional bookie. Regardless of the differences, the two would be forever bound by friendship.

Things changed under McGraw’s rule. The Giants were growing stronger and as a result, more New Yorkers were becoming fans. The increased revenue pleased owner John T. Brush, who had replaced the obnoxious Andrew Freedman beginning with the 1903 season. People progressively attended Polo Grounds to get a glimpse at the hype. One game of watching the exploits of Roger Bresnahan, Art Devlin, Bad Bill Dahlen, and Hooks Wiltse converted them to rooters as boisterous as the rest. The unfailing rotation of Joe McGinnity and Christy Mathewson drove the Giants’ popularity through the roof. Durable McGinnity pitched so gracefully with that underhand delivery. Collegiate Matty appealed to even the most pompous of the upper class.

Amidst the typical ranks of spitting, cursing, dirty, boozing, womanizing ball players was now a successful, handsome young male with a good head on his shoulders. Fielders who committed errors weren’t scolded but patted on the back. “Next time,” Matty would console them. Matty remained faithful to his darling wife Jane unlike the brothel-frequenting stereotypical player. Checker players from around the nation issued challenges to Matty, which he usually won. Teammates asked for his in-game advice. They begged him to play cards or games with them, to which Matty always complied. Instead of despising him for being McGraw’s pet, they elected him as the unspoken captain. He could mediate any problems between them and McGraw or Brush. As for fans, onlooking teammates marveled at his way of entertaining supporters even if he wasn’t in the mood. Of course, he so convincingly chatted with them that one might of thought Matty was some long-lost friend. Journalists of the fledgling sportswriting career openly praised New York’s new hero. Writers like Fred Lieb and Grantland Rice adored Matty in their writings, heaping on positive adjectives as if it were nothing. To Rice, Matty was “the knightliest of all the game’s paladins.” Only Frank Meriwell, the fictional college athlete perfectly donning every righteous attribute one could have without being holy, could overcome Matty’s gentlemanly appeal. Furthermore, Matty opposed Sunday baseball (a promise made to his mother), something the religious New Yorkers appreciated.

The Giants captured consecutive pennants starting in 1904. Despite the financial success of the interleague postseason the year before, McGraw and Brush refused to pit their ball clubs against an inferior American League club, pennant winners or not. Out of this boycott would come regulatory rules for the series presided over by the National Commission. A 1905 championship series would be mandatory.

The Giants reached the brink of world championship once again in 1905. This time, it can be said that Matty led the way. McGraw never hesitated to hand pitching duties over to his friend. Since switching to catcher, Bresnahan began ingeniously collaborating with Matty. Still, it was Matty’s memory of hitter’s weaknesses that paved the way for pitch calls. By now Matty was the Giants’ most beloved star. Every game he started began with deafening cheers; the distraction prompted him to walk out sometimes ten minutes after the fielders took the field. Pinpoint control guided Matty’s pitches to Bresnahan’s glove. In 338 innings, Matty walked only 64 batters. He shut out opposing teams eight times, pitching entire games in brief 90 minute adventures. Beside winning 31 games, Matty allowed only 1.28 earned runs for every nine innings.

Connie Mack, most likely still sour for not getting Matty five years ago, took it upon himself to shut up the boasting McGraw. If his “inferior” club could take McGraw’s in a best-of-seven, surely spectators would began to think of the American League as equal if not greater. To take down the Giants, giant not only in name but influence, could hand McGraw the bitter spanking he so deserved.

Though Game One occurred in Philadelphia territory, fans excitedly cheered during Matty’s warmups. They had heard all of the hype from whatever meager media they had access to; now it was time to see if Matty would live up to the test. Mack started Eddie Plank, completely ignored by home fans during his warmups. Sure, Plank was the durable control artist like Matty. He was the ace of the A’s. Could he compete with his NL counterpart?

What ended up as a profitable series (for the owners’ pockets and for baseball’s national popularity) came from none other than Matty. Matty lived up to his reputation as a pitcher who performed best in the clutch. In six days the A’s managed zero runs in all three games against Matty. Even in the deadest days of the dead-ball era, Matty stands alone in World Series pitching accomplishments. Performances by Gibson, Larsen, Koufax, hell, even Pete Alexander echo through the halls of postseason lore. Matty’s legacy has been robbed by lack of footage, age, and living fans.

Thanks to Matty, McGraw was able to walk straight up to Mack and give a firm handshake whilst looking Connie square in the eye. His New York club proved just how meager the fledging AL was. They got lucky against Pittsburgh in 1903. True major league quality was proclaimed only by those teams in the NL circuit.

Following the series, Matty’s popularity reached untold bounds. The New York Times held him in close regard to a god, while Grantland Rice wrote, "he could have pitched shutouts until Christmas." The mid-20s gentleman from Factoryville had risen to the top, his legendary career still underway. Matty never equaled his 1905 World Series romp, but he would become an essential cog in the future postseason endeavors of the Giants. Unfortunately, his parts seemed to come at the unluckiest of times. For now, McGraw fixed his eyes on winning a third straight pennant in 1906.
--------------------------

That’s a good point to break. I’ll have part two up in a few days. I might string them together in a new thread called “The Big Six Chronicles.” We’ll see.

[JR Hart]

Matty was a remarkable player and a remarkable man. Although he is a top 10 pitcher on anybody's list, it is his off the field contributions that make him the significant figure that he is. More than any player, he made baseball mainstream. His place in baseball history cannot be understated.

[Tyrus4189Cobb]

Part 2 of the Big Six Chronicles
-----------------------------------

Very rarely do triumphant bouts in the highest echelon of the sporting world precede immediate decline. The Giants would experience their first of many pitfalls after the the 1905 Series. An outstanding 96-56 record in 1906 didn’t tell the whole story. Matty lost a lot of his edge due to an early season diagnosis of diphtheria. McGraw mustered over 260 innings out of him, but they were plagued with a degree of struggle. Compared to the ailing performances of other members of the staff, Matty still maintained the position as a beacon whenever he started. Other injuries to Giants players contributed to the growing annoyance of McGraw. Chicago took the pennant in a mind-boggling 116 wins. 1907 proved no different; the Cubs won the World Series and left the Giants in fourth place. The following year was much more successful. New York finished second behind Chicago with a 98-56 record. Again, the numbers don’t tell the story, for that was the same year the Giants fell to the unlucky side of the infamous Merkle incident. The win cost them the pennant, which Chicago took for a third time by winning one more game than New York. They won the World Series for the last time.

Scorers credited 37 of New York’s 98 wins in 1908 to Matty. After a dissapointing 1906 season, Matty pitched quite well in 1907. By 1908, he was back as the league’s premier pitcher. As testimony to McGraw’s preference to use his friend, Matty appeared in a third of the Giants’ games to hurl almost 400 innings. His five saves led the league. New York had adopted a mentality that every situation was a Matty situation. Well, almost. The bizarre 1908 debacle is explained in much more detail in Cait Murphy’s Crazy ’08 as well as in depth from The Giants’ point-of-view in Ray Robinson’s Matty, which is what I’ll draw from. Matty imploded for four runs in the last game of the 1908 season. With Chicago up 4-1, Frank Chance called for Mordecai Brown to relieve Jack Pfiester (dubbed “The Giant Killer”). The bases were loaded for Matty in seventh. As capable as Matty was with a bat, McGraw removed him for a lame Larry Doyle who was suffering from a bum leg. Only one run came from the situation, with no help from Doyle, and the Giants ended the game in a 4-2 loss. Matty gloomily sauntered to the dugout and remained there for hours reflecting the bad fortunes of playing a game that should’ve been won a month ago. Fans outside the clubhouse lingered to welcome Matty with applause, to which Matty humbly accepted in a brief address. “I did the best I could, but I guess fate was against me.”

Losing that decisive game hardly compared to the loss the Mathewsons experienced in 1909. Younger brother Nicholas Mathewson was believed to have Matty’s potential. Neither Michael Hartley nor Ray Robinson provide much insight in their biographies, so Nicholas’ mindset is unclear. Lack of psychiatric care and records further muddle the mindset. Only one thing is for certain: Nicholas was sick. Despite his athletic skill, he attended only to his schoolwork during his stay at Lafayette college. He complained of sickness without showing any sign of physical ailment other than fatigue. Something intangible bewildered him. Whatever mental illness affected Nicholas prompted him to take his own life in February of 1909.

None other than Matty found his brother’s body. Funeral arrangements were made, and for the rest of the offseason people speculated on Matty. Already brooding from the disappointing 1908 finish, finding his brother’s body could have shattered Matty’s psyche. Not much can be known what Matty thought during this time. Raising his three year-old son, consoling himself and his family over Nicholas, and balancing the pressure of New York redemption in a city depending on him.

Perhaps it was good that this happened to Matty and not someone else. Perhaps it was only Matty, with his reputation as a the clutch pitcher who performed best in the pinches, the man so admired as a model collegiate gentleman, so shining an example of American youth, who could come back from the depths and dominate as he did in 1909. New York did not win the 1909 pennant, but without Matty they never would have stood a chance. Equaling his marvel 1905 season, Matty retained a 1.14 ERA with a 25-6 record. The despair following Nicholas’ death and the 1908 finish may have served as a perpetual clutch situation in Matty’s mind.

Not much changed in 1910 either. Matty’s persistent excellence garnered him more and more respect nationwide. Baseball nuts in the farther reaches of the country learned of Matty, possibly gaining fictional prestige by unintentional word-of-mouth. Newspapers, primitive telephones, telegrams, and communication wires spread the regality of New York’s Matty. In Giants-opposing areas like Chicago, Pittsurgh, and other dells peppered in Cubs or Pirates territory, fans still admired Matty. Sportswriters continued their praise for the beloved Matty, which only helped exhibit Matty in Herculean fashion in the more rural states. Grantland Rice offered convictions that Matty stirred “an indefinable lift in culture, brains, [and] personality” in baseball.

Yet again Matty did it for New York in 1911. He was also accompanied by a blossoming Rube Marquard, team captain Larry Doyle, and new batterymate Chief Meyers. At long last the team managed to reach another World Series. The odds were in their favor, for it would be the same team Matty burned in 1905 as their opponent. Mack was back, sporting an infield he valued at 100,000 dollars. His team had lost one (to Matty) and won one by Game Three. Marquard was on the losing end of a 3-1 Game Two because of a Frank Baker two-run homer that broke the 1-1 tie in the sixth. Other than that, the Giants were still looking very good on paper.

On paper. Matty stung Marquard for the Baker homer. McGraw specifically cautioned Marquard to avoid “them chin-highs” to Baker. Baker’s power made him a home run an unusual home run threat in the dead-ball era. Following the loss, an article published with Matty as co-writer pointed the finger at Rube. It blamed the loss on him for foolishly pitching to Baker what shouldn’t have been pitched. Not only did it anger Marquard, it gave Philadelphians a jabbing point to attack Matty for poor sportsmanship. It’s worth mentioning that Matty actually didn’t write the article but the real writer, a chap named Wheeler, falsely accredited him. Matty’s refusal to acknowledge this indicates that while he would never go out of his way to openly criticize a teammate (we’re talking about the guy who patted fielders on the backs after errors), he didn’t mind burning someone for stupidity. McGraw always told his players that he expected physical mistakes; the mental ones were the ones that would be dealt with. Maybe after all those years the notion and rubbed off on Matty.

“Will the great Mathewson tell us exactly what he pitched to Baker?” appeared as a line in the papers the day after Game Three. Marquard’s ghost-written inquiry retaliated Matty’s blows with more sting than Matty originally handed out. The day after he criticized Marquard for pitching a high one to Baker, Matty lost an eleven inning bout at home the A’s due to a home run by Baker, which would forever replace Baker’s first name with the nickname “Home Run.” Matty was on the verge of another A’s shutout in the ninth inning. Baker represented the penultimate out for Philadelphia. Disobeying the Series’ orders from McGraw, Matty threw high heat to Baker.

Though he crept on hypocrisy and disobeyed McGraw, Matty handed Baker the very pitch Marquard offered the day before to lose the game. However, it’s important to remember that McGraw gave Matty full discretion in pitching. Matty delivered time and time again via superior academic knowledge of simply where to throw what pitch. There’s also the slim chance that Matty, occasionally cocky even in down-to-the-wire situations, wanted to show Marquard how it’s done: you fool a hitter in serving his strengths complimented with his weaknesses, you appropriately challenge them. Matty was better than the kid McGraw had obtained for 11,000 and he was going to rub it in his face.

All speculation. Matty’s senses most likely told him Baker wouldn’t expect his favorite pitch in such a situation after feasting off it the day before. From where third baseman Buck Herzog stood, Baker struck out on the pitch before the fastball. A ruling against Matty further played into Matty’s misfortunes in crucial moments; it was determined that the “strikeout pitch” was knicked by Baker. Living a second life, Baker capitalized on the high fastball. He sent in somewhere in right field, a very tricky area of the Polo Grounds, to tie the game 1-1. Matty eventually lost the game in the eleventh following back-to-back errors by Art Fletcher and Buck Herzog. The Giants mustered a run in the bottom half, one short of keeping it going. Matty and Jack Coombs had both pitched eleven innings with one earned run in the 3-2 contest.

SABR includes the back-to-back blows in its list of the 20 worst deadball blunders. The Giants did not come back once they were down 2 games to 1. The Series resumed six days later due to rain. New York took a 10-inning Game 5 victory only to lose the Series the following game. Had the Giants lost prestige losing to the same “inferior” team they whooped six years ago? McGraw and his damaged pride sulked off the field with a promise to return stronger in 1912.