the announcement was made and “intimated that he should have at least been given a chance to bid for the services of the three players.” 12
Both Frazee and Weeghman believed that boosting their rosters made sense because the war in Europe would soon end. But there were significant differences in their motivation to stock their teams for the 1918 season. The Cubs were buyers because the team was coming off two disappointing seasons. Boston, though, was a very good team in 1917, finishing with 90 wins, second only to the White Sox. Before that, Boston had won back-to-back championships. But where the Cubs had been virtually untouched by the war, the Red Sox roster had been slashed. Barry, manager and second baseman, took a soft job with the naval reserves. Star outfielder Duffy Lewis, a .302 hitter, and pitcher Ernie Shore, who had gone 13–10 in 1917, were gone to naval jobs too. In all, 11 Red Sox were in some branch of the military. Frazee added players thinking he would get Barry, Duffy, Shore, and the rest back when the war ended, possibly before the season started, leaving the Red Sox with one of the greatest rosters in baseball history.
The off-season was baseball’s busiest on record, but Frazee and Weeghman made the biggest splashes—for better or worse. Weeghman was given harsh public scoldings by NL owners that winter, and Frazee, too, was criticized. A
New York Times
editorial stated: “[Weeghman and Frazee] have stirred up no end of commotion in the two major leagues by starting out to monopolize the two pennants next season. Baseball club owners of the past never knew the methods in accord with which these two owners have started out to buy players who can land them a pennant at any cost.” 13
They were buying at any cost, but for what were they buying? No one could even say for sure whether there would be a 1918 season. Since the United States declared war on Germany in April 1917, baseball had struggled to find its place in a mobilized nation. The game attempted to ingratiate itself to the public with patriotic displays. Johnson had players spend their pregames conducting military drills, using bats instead of Springfield rifles. Magnates bought Liberty Bonds, making sure the papers knew about it. Teams hosted endless military parades and Red Cross benefits. From the war’s outset, America frowned on slackers, and baseball did its best to avoid the label.
But the game’s magnates got mixed signals from the government. In May 1917, Congress passed the Selective Service Act, making all single men between the ages of 21 and 30 (inclusive, which is why the draft age is sometimes listed as 21 to 31) first in line to be drafted.That made players prime targets. It was a tenuous situation. Nobody wanted to see baseball shut down, but how could a league be run when its best players could be called to war at any moment? And how could the frivolity of sport be reconciled with the reality of war? The
Tribune
soberly summed up the situation in May 1917: “An American newspaper will sacrifice a great deal of self-respect if it has to print, or does print, box scores and casualty lists in the same issue.” 14
Baseball pushed forward. Ban Johnson tried to get answers from the government on behalf of the National Commission, the game’s governing body, which was made up of three members: Johnson, representing the AL; John Tener, the former governor of Pennsylvania and now head of the National League; and Garry Herrmann, the owner of the Cincinnati Reds, who was supposed to serve as the neutral head of the commission (though, since the two were old friends and drinking buddies, Johnson held sway over Herrmann). Johnson has been treated harshly by historians for his handling of the war, and that’s reasonable, because he was treated harshly by the public and press at the time. But the circumstances were extraordinary, and what rarely is mentioned is that Johnson’s positions proved right in the end. In July
Both Frazee and Weeghman believed that boosting their rosters made sense because the war in Europe would soon end. But there were significant differences in their motivation to stock their teams for the 1918 season. The Cubs were buyers because the team was coming off two disappointing seasons. Boston, though, was a very good team in 1917, finishing with 90 wins, second only to the White Sox. Before that, Boston had won back-to-back championships. But where the Cubs had been virtually untouched by the war, the Red Sox roster had been slashed. Barry, manager and second baseman, took a soft job with the naval reserves. Star outfielder Duffy Lewis, a .302 hitter, and pitcher Ernie Shore, who had gone 13–10 in 1917, were gone to naval jobs too. In all, 11 Red Sox were in some branch of the military. Frazee added players thinking he would get Barry, Duffy, Shore, and the rest back when the war ended, possibly before the season started, leaving the Red Sox with one of the greatest rosters in baseball history.
The off-season was baseball’s busiest on record, but Frazee and Weeghman made the biggest splashes—for better or worse. Weeghman was given harsh public scoldings by NL owners that winter, and Frazee, too, was criticized. A
New York Times
editorial stated: “[Weeghman and Frazee] have stirred up no end of commotion in the two major leagues by starting out to monopolize the two pennants next season. Baseball club owners of the past never knew the methods in accord with which these two owners have started out to buy players who can land them a pennant at any cost.” 13
They were buying at any cost, but for what were they buying? No one could even say for sure whether there would be a 1918 season. Since the United States declared war on Germany in April 1917, baseball had struggled to find its place in a mobilized nation. The game attempted to ingratiate itself to the public with patriotic displays. Johnson had players spend their pregames conducting military drills, using bats instead of Springfield rifles. Magnates bought Liberty Bonds, making sure the papers knew about it. Teams hosted endless military parades and Red Cross benefits. From the war’s outset, America frowned on slackers, and baseball did its best to avoid the label.
But the game’s magnates got mixed signals from the government. In May 1917, Congress passed the Selective Service Act, making all single men between the ages of 21 and 30 (inclusive, which is why the draft age is sometimes listed as 21 to 31) first in line to be drafted.That made players prime targets. It was a tenuous situation. Nobody wanted to see baseball shut down, but how could a league be run when its best players could be called to war at any moment? And how could the frivolity of sport be reconciled with the reality of war? The
Tribune
soberly summed up the situation in May 1917: “An American newspaper will sacrifice a great deal of self-respect if it has to print, or does print, box scores and casualty lists in the same issue.” 14
Baseball pushed forward. Ban Johnson tried to get answers from the government on behalf of the National Commission, the game’s governing body, which was made up of three members: Johnson, representing the AL; John Tener, the former governor of Pennsylvania and now head of the National League; and Garry Herrmann, the owner of the Cincinnati Reds, who was supposed to serve as the neutral head of the commission (though, since the two were old friends and drinking buddies, Johnson held sway over Herrmann). Johnson has been treated harshly by historians for his handling of the war, and that’s reasonable, because he was treated harshly by the public and press at the time. But the circumstances were extraordinary, and what rarely is mentioned is that Johnson’s positions proved right in the end. In July
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