Friday, July 29, 1927: New York City
“Cheating. Plain and Simple.”
Schoolboy’s arm seems to have finally mended. He had his second strong outing in a row this week — a complete game victory over the St. Louis Browns, up at the Stadium on Tuesday. And this one was without pain.
Last week in Chicago he also went nine innings. That one was a masterful performance, as his arm was still sore, so he once again used the forkball and let the boys in the field do most of the work.
The highlight of the Chicago contest was Schoolboy’s Chinese cursing duel with the White Sox infielder, Moe Berg.
In the locker room before the game, Schoolboy was studying his little writer’s notebook from Cleveland, the one with all the choice epithets that the Chee brothers had phonetically spelled out for him that night a couple of weeks ago when we were at the Far East restaurant in Cleveland. He looked like he was cramming for a final exam.
Once he got on the mound, Schoolboy had an easy first inning, even without his best stuff. And since Berg was batting in the eighth spot for Chicago, they didn’t face each other until the bottom of the second.
Schoolboy comes off the mound after the first inning and heads straight for the far end of the bench. He doesn’t pay any attention to the Yankee batters. Instead he buries his nose deep into his little notebook and starts chanting to himself, making these strange oriental sounds:
“Eeeee-yowwwwww!
“Seeee-bowwwww-eeeeeeeeeee!
“Mooooooo-yahhhhhh!”
Everyone in the dugout can hear him. Huggins’s ears prick up, and pretty quickly he sends Sailor Bob down to see if Schoolboy’s alright. I intercept the Sailor before he gets to Hoyt.
“What’s up, Sailor Bob?”
“Hugg want’s to know if Schoolboy’s OK. ’Cause if he’s still in pain, he’s gonna warm up Pipgras.”
“Schoolboy’s fine,” I tell him. “He’s just chanting.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” asks Sailor Bob.
“Eeeee-yowwwwww! Seeee-bowwwww-eeeeeeeeeee!”
“What the fuck is that?”
“It’s chanting. Like I told you.”
“I know what chanting is, Myles. That sounds like pain to me.”
“Owwwww-Owww-Weeeeeeeee!”
“I’m telling Hugg to take him out of the game.”
“For Chrissakes, Sailor, he’s just working on his pronunciation.”
“His what?”
“His pronunciation. The Chee brothers told him he needed to lengthen his vowels. So he’s working on that. He’s tremendously dedicated to his craft.”
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh-High-Eeeeeeeeeeeeee!”
“Who the fuck are the Chee brothers?”
“The managers of the Far East restaurant in Cleveland.”
“Oh, those guys. I really like that place. I love their lo mein. And they have a great band there at night.”
“Actually,” I tell him, “the band’s there all day. We just don’t know it, since we’re at the ballpark, but the band plays from noon til — ”
“Myles, I don’t give a fuck about the band right now.”
“Neeeeeee-gahhhhh-meowwwww!”
Sailor Bob just stares at me.
“You want me to explain it to Huggins?” I ask him.
“Sure. That would be great. Then you can write me a letter from Toronto, or Toledo, or wherever else he sends you, because he thinks you’re a bad influence on Schoolboy.”
That worries me. And hurts my feelings.
“Does he really think that?” I ask Sailor Bob.
“No. He knows Schoolboy’s his own bad influence.”
That makes me feel a little better.
“Actually, Hugg thinks you’re a good influence on Schoolboy.”
“Really? You mean it?”
“LOW-Weeeeee-Fahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!”
With that Little Julie Wera ends our half of the inning by flying out to center, and Hoyt sprints back out to the mound, looking for Moe Berg.
Moe Berg’s up fourth and Schoolboy can’t wait to get to him. He starts pitching fast. Really fast. He completely ignores our catcher, Johnny Grabowski’s signs, and he’s practically in his windup before Grabowski’s throws get back to the mound.
“What the fuck is going on out there?” asks Sailor Bob. “He’s pitching like we’re being invaded by the goddamn Bolsheviks and he’s got a chance at the last train out.”
“He wants to get to Moe Berg,” I tell him.
Not concentrating on anything but Moe Berg, Schoolboy gives up singles to Bibb Falk and Bud Clancy. Bill McCurdy, the ChiSox catcher comes to the plate, and that settles Hoyt down — because Schoolboy can now see Berg in the on-deck circle.
McCurdy flies out to Ruth in left field.
Berg walks to the plate and Hoyt screams at him. Something that sounds like:
“Seeeee-Doweee-Nahhh-Teee-Waaaa-Faaaa!”
Berg, without looking up, asks the home plate ump, George Hildebrand, for time. He steps out of the box and looks down the third base line to ChiSox manager, Ray Schalk, who gives Berg a series of signs. He then steps back into the box and lets loose with a torrent of oriental noises of his own:
“Faweeeee-Nah-Cheeee-Low . . . . . .”
It doesn’t stop.
It goes on for at least 30 seconds.
“. . . Ling-Weeee-Ting-Ting-Wu-Lieng-Ye . . . .”
Schoolboy walks off the mound towards second to confer with Lazzeri. While they’re talking he pulls out his little notebook from his back pocket.
Hoyt finishes with Lazzeri and heads back to the hill. Still ignoring his own catcher, he stares at Berg.
As Schoolboy’s in his windup, Lazzeri starts screaming:
“Whah! Yah! Ning! Ning!”
Or something like that.
Berg takes the first pitch for a strike.
Now Hoyt’s screaming Chinese at Berg, while Lazzeri just keeps repeating “Whah! Yah! Ning! Ning!” — or whatever it is that Hoyt told him to say — and Berg is chattering away as if he’s ordering everything on the menu.
“Cut this shit out, now!”
It’s George Hildebrand, from behind home plate. He’s actually the guy who invented the spitball. Not that that matters right now. I just think it’s interesting that the guy who invented the spitball became an umpire.
Hildebrand takes off his mask and walks between the plate and the mound.
“What’s going on out here?”
Berg talks first.
“He cursed out my entire family, sir. For a thousand generations. And our cats.”
Schoolboy says, “I thought I was saying hello.”
“And him?” says Hildebrand, pointing to Lazzeri.
“I’ve no idea,” says Hoyt. “I don’t speak a word of Italian.”
“I speak Italian,” says Berg. “That wasn’t Italian. He was telling me to do something anatomically inconceivable to my sister. Except he didn’t pronounce it correctly. So he actually told me to do it to my wart. Or possibly a pimple. It depends on the context.”
Hildebrand looks at Lazzeri. Then he turns back to Hoyt and Berg.
“The next person to say anything that I don’t understand is out of the game. You got that? This is the American League, not the fucking League of Nations.”
“And, as for you, Schoolboy — ”
“Yes, sir.”
“Whatever you were doing in the dugout between innings, cut that crap out, too.”
On the next pitch, Berg taps the ball back to the mound and Hoyt throws out the lead runner at third. He then gets out of the inning unscathed.
Schoolboy returns to the dugout, takes a seat and glares at Berg, who’s playing second base today.
“That little Princeton shit’s a cheater,” mumbles Schoolboy. “Where’s he get off becoming fluent in Chinese?
“That’s cheating. Plain and simple.”
- July 21, 1927: “Awed Until Eighth, Yanks Top Chicago”. New York Times article and Box Score.
- July 26, 1927: “Ruth Hits 2, Gehrig 1, As Yanks Win Two.” New York Times article and Box Score.
