New-York tribune., 1919-05-02
Huggins Men Raue, Rant,
Flourish Fists and Win
Umpire Tom Connolly
Stirs Up Real Hornets
Nest in Eighth Inning
By w. I. Macbeth

BOSTON, Mass, May 1.-This May
day of 1919 is not one that will arouse
the progeny of battling Kid Frazee
to lusty cheers when memory recalls
its somersaulting from in years to
come Not particularly that the world
champions blew their home opening
to the Yankees by score of 7 to 3,
but because so few people paid to see
the feat.
Beating the Red Sox never was so
particularly tough for any aggrega
tion that wore the livery of Gotham
Beating the Hub Americans, with
George Mogridge in the box was al
ways more or less of formality-
that painful 10 to fasco in New
York opening day was but the ex-
ception that proved the rule. But
beating Tom Connolly in his home town
is something else again.
The whole story of the game CEN
tres around this Tom Connolly, his
decision and its results. The king of
posers; the court jester of his nibs,
the Gar of the American League, who
has done so much in his blatant way
to discredit and who keeps lot of
msfits on the job when real umpires
like Bill Brennan are foot-lo loose; the
man who has little more than mask,
shin guards and chest protector to re-
commend him for the office day won
the brown derby hands down.
Old Nemesis George
George Mogridge, the Nemesis of the
Sox, took Carl Mays over the hurdles
for seven innings about as handily as
the manipulation of the submarine de-
livery can be taken. Whether or not he
weakened in the eighth is beside the
question. Anyhow, Barry singled and
Strunk doubled. Quinn was in the bull
pen warming up frantically, so Hug
gins ordered his southpaw to take no
chances with the mighty Babe Ruth.
preferring to wait till Babe got out of
the way before substituting a right
handler. Mogridge finally brushed Babes
SHIRT, filling the bases with none out.
Then came Jack Quinn He had
Stutfy Mclnnis in the hole before the
latter, in a wicked swing, scratched a
nttle roller down the first base line. 1t
was the easiest sort of an Offering for
the pitcher, who fielded the ball. But,
despite the fact that the fielder had the
rlght OF way IN such cases and though
Quinn might have had time to tag the
batter and then make a plav at the
plate, and though Stutfy had the whole
held to try to get around he went into
Quinn just like Jim Thorpe used to hit
the rival line when he was footballinp
at Carlisle.
McInnis didn't only knock Quinn
down and kick the ball out of his hand
he walked all over Quinn's face. He
iefc trade mark or two on Jacks
brawny pitching arm. If he had only
tnought of 1T he probably would have
kicked out an eye or two in passing.
h.. n
rooter dreamed that McInnis would be
allowed to get away with it. 1t was
PLAIN case of interference, if not
worse. They expected AN out to be
called and the runners sent back. But
connolly, dense as the Sphinx when an
pealed to, put it all up to poor Nallin.
who had waved all runners safe
huggIns trantlcally Y appealed to Nal
I'm. Nallin walked in, called Connolly
ASIDE and gave him an earful of the
"whispering-w willie" stuff, in which he
American League parliament abounds.
After which Connolly loudly proclaimed
himself. as usual-in favor of his own
good, home town.
Say, who said those Yankees didn't
have any fight? 1t would have been
worth the carfare here for any Polo
Grounds fan to see them the next fif-
! teen minutes. They raved, they ranted,
we! HOurlsned DraWny lists. Even
Wally Pipp, who seldom raises his
voice higher than that Of Sabbath
school teacher, made such a demon
stration that Connolly ordered him
from the game What he said couldn't
be heard in the stands. But a coroner's
jury couldn't have failed to exonerate
him had he gone so far as to get busy
IN earnest.
Only Two Tallies
Out of it all, after Lamar had gone
to first, Boston got only two tallies-
enough to tie the score-when every
body expected them to get as many as
they cared. That New York showed up
the Red Sox in the ninth much as they
themselves had been shown up back
home opening day is altogether out
side the argument. Connolly did his
best. but there is some limit even to
what home town boy can accomplish
George Mogridge was very, very
god. He was the old master of the Red
Sox His fast ball was breaking with a
snap; his curve a thing of beauty.
Until he weakened, Boston's hits were