“The Shot Heard ’Round the World” and “The Miracle of Coogan’s Bluff.” Those are the two most famous names given to the game-winning home run Bobby Thomson hit off Ralph Branca on October 3, 1951. Thomson played for the New York Giants and Branca the Brooklyn Dodgers, so you see this was a New York story all the way. Had it been between the Detroit Tigers and Cleveland Indians, or the Pittsburgh Pirates and Boston Braves, the events would not have resonated so deeply or had such a lasting impact on baseball fans. American historians and anthropologists claim it ranks with the end of the Civil War, Pearl Harbor, the Cuban missile crisis, the Kennedy assassination and the mass murder committed by 19 Mohammedans on September 11, 2001. Including it or any sports event in such a list seems a bit specious to me, but that is beside the point.
Thomson’s three-run, 320-foot smash into the left-field stands at the Polo Grounds came in the bottom of the ninth (with his Giants behind, 4-2) at the close of a three-game playoff—the winner moving on to face the cross-town Yankees in the World Series. Further context is needed, however. In mid-summer, Leo Durocher’s Giants had been far behind the Dodgers—13 1/2 games, to be exact. But they got hot, winning 16 straight between August 12 and August 27, and suddenly there was a pennant race. Maybe Brooklyn—the fabled team of Jackie Robinson, Roy Campanella, Pee Wee Reese, Duke Snider, Don Newcombe, et al.—had grown complacent. Yankees-Dodgers World Series tickets and programs had already been printed up. At any rate, the two teams finished in a dead heat, and a playoff was necessitated. Thomson went deep on Branca, and announcer Russ Hodges screamed, “The Giants won the pennant!” five times.
The achievement of the ’51 Giants (defeated in the World Series by the Yanks, 4 games to 2) was proclaimed throughout the land—helped along by the advent of television. Thomson was lionized for having hit that jimmy-jack and Branca demonized for having given it up. But the athletic event at hand was less than pure. Starting in July, the Giants had engaged in some big-time trickery. Now before going any further, it has to be admitted that in professional baseball (and no less so than in football and basketball), teams and players do all they can to gain a competitive advantage. This has been going on for many years, and it has not changed. What the New York Giants did in that seemingly incredible 52-18 run to the pennant has been tried in one form or another by such teams as the 1908 Highlanders (precursors to the Yankees), the 1940 Tigers, the 1946 Cubs and the 2007 Phillies. At issue is the stealing of the signs given by the catcher to the pitcher, which are then relayed to the batter. If he knows what the man on the mound is about to deliver, he is apt to give the ball a better whack.
So what did the 1951 Giants do? A utility infielder named Henry Schenz had brought a high-powered Wollensak telescope back from service in World War II. He informed Durocher, a man for whom ethics was never a concern. (What follows could only have taken place at home games, at the Polo Grounds.) Durocher stationed assistant coach Herman Franks in the team’s clubhouse in center field. Franks looked through the telescope and discerned the opposing catcher’s sign—which at that time was essentially limited to curve or fastball—and touched an electronic buzzer which went to second-string catcher Sal Yvars, sitting in the bullpen. One beep indicated curve, two beeps fastball. For a curve, Yvars nonchalantly tossed a ball up and down. For a fastball, he sat still. New York batters peered at Yvars and got the signal just in time for the pitcher to wind up and throw.
Again, stealing of signs has always been part of the game. But the understanding is that it should only involve players on the field. In other words, a teammate on second base is expected to stare at the catcher’s fingers and relay what he sees to his buddy at the plate. This practice is universally accepted. But the Giants’ elaborate system, involving a telescope, a buzzer and two men who were not playing in the game, was beyond the pale. The Giants secured for themselves an enormous advantage, as may be seen in their amazing second-half comeback; interestingly enough, the player whose numbers improved the most was Thomson. One may fairly ask how they won such a high percentage of road games, for which I have no ready answer. Momentum and emotion are difficult to quantify, and the Giants had them during those three heady months.
There was a virtual omerta about the story in the Giants organization; it was not to be spoken of. But almost as soon as the 1951 World Series was over, the rumors started to percolate. How was it possible to keep such a thing secret? For example, a player traded to any other major league team would obviously tell what he knew. Why protect the Giants if you are now playing for the Cardinals or the Reds? Word got around, but Durocher, Thomson, et al. denied and stonewalled. Finally, in 2001—fifty years after the events—a Wall Street Journal reporter named Joshua Prager put the facts together and conducted enough in-depth interviews that the gig was up. The world knew the Giants had cheated. Not just cheated, but stolen a pennant. All the joy, the rapture felt by baseball fans had been rendered hollow by this story. The two men at the center of it, Thomson and Branca, were seen in a new light. Thomson’s home run appeared no less than fraudulent, and people felt compassion for Branca, whose career fell off a cliff starting in 1952.
Oh, no one has seriously claimed that an asterisk should be appended to the Giants’ 1951 National League pennant. But far better it would have been for the games (not just the dramatic one at the Polo Grounds) to be decided on a fair basis. I hope that does not sound trite or naive because nothing in baseball is more elemental than the contest between pitcher and batter. Instead, Thomson gazed out into center field and saw that Yvars was not tossing a ball in the bullpen. He knew to look for a fastball from Branca, and he got it.
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