For Bad Play, He’s in Good Company

In one respect, the recently completed World Series between Florida and Cleveland was a throwback.

It had a goat.

World Series of old always had goats. The Series most valuable player might be arguable, the goat never. Or hardly ever.

Tony Fernandez made this dubious company when, in the 11th inning of a tied seventh game Sunday, he let a routine ground ball, maybe an inning-ending double-play ball, go under his glove for the error that put the winning run on third, soon to be knocked in.

A lot of guys had to move over to let Fernandez in the club. It’s a pretty closed fraternity, these guys who could have made a difference and didn’t, guys who didn’t come through, they came apart.

Billy Buckner of the 1986 Boston Red Sox knows how Fernandez feels. Billy Buck had a long and illustrious career, but he’s always going to be remembered for, in effect, “losing” the World Series that year to the Mets. Here was the scenario: Boston led the Series, three games to two, and led Game 6, 5-3, going into the bottom of the 10th. The Red Sox got two quick outs and were twice within one strike of winning the World Series when Gary Carter and Kevin Mitchell got hits. Then, on an 0-and-2 count, Ray Knight singled to center, scoring Carter and moving Mitchell to third. A wild pitch brought Mitchell home with the tying run, then Mookie Wilson hit a routine ground ball to first, and it went right between Buckner’s legs. Knight scored from second with the winning run while the ball died on the outfield grass. Demoralized, the Red Sox went quietly in Game 7.

Goat horns have been affixed on some pretty surprising characters. In 1926, for example, guess who pulled the gaffe of the Series? None other than George Herman Ruth, the Sultan of Swat, the Bambino, the Serial Killer in Murderers’ Row. Oh, the Babe had hit four homers in that Cardinal-Yankee Series. He batted .300 and drove in five runs, and in Game 7, the bottom of the ninth, with two out and his team trailing by a run, the Babe drew a walk.

But with Bob Meusel, who had driven in 138 runs the year before, and Lou Gehrig, who would drive in 175 the next year, coming up, Ruth decided to steal second. Catcher Bob O’Farrell threw him out. The Series ended with a whimper not a bang. The Cardinals won.

The Goat of the 1946 World Series between the Red Sox and Cardinals is generally held to be Boston shortstop Johnny Pesky. With two out in the eighth inning of Game 7, the score tied, 3-3, St. Louis’ Enos Slaughter was on first when teammate Harry Walker lined what appeared to be a single to left center. As Slaughter tore for third, the relay came in to Pesky. He began running back to the infield with the ball, holding it, thinking Slaughter would stop at third. Slaughter didn’t. He tore for home, and was safe with what proved to be the winning run.

Conventional wisdom would make Pesky the goat. But how about another Red Sox player, fellow by the name of Ted Williams? The Thumper. The Splendid Splinter. Teddy Ballgame. Hit .342 that year with 38 home runs.

He hit .200 in that Series. Five measly singles. Stubbornly insisted on challenging the “Williams Shift,” where the Cardinals had three infielders and two outfielders to the right of second base, by pulling the ball into the massed defense. Sound like a guy who would nibble on tin cans to you?

The goats of antiquity leap off the printed page. In 1925, shortstop Roger Peckinpaugh of the Washington Senators made eight errors. Now, that would be a bad season for, say, Ozzie Smith, but Peckinpaugh did it in seven games. Two of his errors victimized the great Walter Johnson in the seventh game at Pittsburgh.

Speaking of victimizing great pitchers, Game 2 of the 1966 World Series between Baltimore and the Dodgers comes to mind. The game was scoreless in the fifth when the great outfielder, Willie Davis, dropped consecutive fly balls, then threw wildly past third base for a three-error inning that helped the Orioles to a 6-0 victory. The sad sidebar to all this is that this was the last game Sandy Koufax would pitch, retiring at the end of the year at 30.

On the other hand, the entire Dodger lineup could be fitted for goat horns that year. They scored only two runs in the Series, both in the first game, and went the last 33 innings without a run.

The horns are sometimes affixed to the wrong head. Baseball lore has it the Giants’ Fred Snodgrass dropped a bottom-of-the-10th-inning fly ball in the deciding Game 8 of the 1912 World Series and the Red Sox capitalized to score twice and snatch victory from defeat. Further analysis shows that, one batter later, catcher Chief Meyers and first baseman Fred Merkle let a catchable pop foul drop between them untouched. Co-goats?

Again, it was a question of an immortal pitcher being the victim, in this case the great Christy Mathewson.

Goats come in all sizes and positions. In 1917, a good third baseman, Heinie Zimmerman of the New York Giants, chased a run across the plate. The runner was Eddie Collins of the Chicago White Sox, one of the fastest in baseball. Heinie spurned the goat horns. “Who was I going to throw the ball to--Klem?” he asked. Bill Klem was the home plate umpire.

In 1941, Brooklyn Dodger pitcher Hugh Casey recorded what he thought was the final out in the ninth inning of Game 4 against the Yankees when Tommy Henrich struck out swinging. But the ball found its way past catcher Mickey Owen. Brooklyn was leading, 4-3, at the time and had apparently tied up the World Series at two games apiece.

But Henrich reached first safely. And the next Yankee batters were Joe DiMaggio, Charlie Keller, Joe Gordon and Bill Dickey. When the dust had cleared, the Yankees won, 7-4. “You can’t even beat the Yankees when you get the third out in the ninth inning,” mourned Casey.

Tony Fernandez is in good company. Put the goats of the series in one lineup--and let the pitchers they victimized take the mound--and you would have a lineup that makes the 1927 Yankees look like a triple-A team.