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  No ball came near him in the fourth. But leading off the top of the fifth, Ernie Whitt hit a high fly to right. Gibson didn’t drift over toward the ball; he staggered. Squeamish fans turned their heads away, not wanting to see how he’d butcher the play.

  “The ball was right dead in the middle of the sun, and I wasn’t real good at using my glasses at the time,” said Gibson. “But I had my glasses down and I saw it, and then I thought I saw it, and then I didn’t.” The next thing he knew the ball bounced off his right ear, and Whitt ended up on third for a three-base error on Gibson. “I got booed unmercifully by 51,000 people, and I felt so humiliated,” he said. “I’d never been booed like that in my whole life.” A sacrifice fly drove Whitt home for an unearned run, giving the Blue Jays a 2–1 lead.

  In the top of the sixth, Toronto’s Barry Bonnell lofted a fly to right. While fans held their breath, Gibson caught the ball to the mocking cheers of the unforgiving Detroit faithful.

  After the game, which the Tigers won 6–2, Gibson told reporters: “I had some tough times, but we won anyway. I’ll learn from my mistakes. I’ll improve. I fielded that last ball hit to me without any trouble. See? I’m getting better already.”

  POLO GROUNDS FANS

  New York, NL · April 11, 1907

  The fans in the Polo Grounds got the shame, but the weatherman got the blame for the New York Giants’ forfeit of their Opening Day game to the Philadelphia Phillies—because of a wild snowball fight.

  Despite an unusually heavy April snowfall, the field had been cleared to play ball on a day that was more suited for pigskin. The game was a bummer for Giants fans because Philadelphia grabbed an early 3–0 lead and held it through eight innings while New York could muster only one hit.

  The cold, uncomfortable fans grew progressively more restless. Given the conditions and the tempting piles of snow that had been scraped off the seats, the outcome was inevitable. The only surprise was that the game went into the ninth inning before the first snowball sailed through the air.

  Of course, one good snowball deserves another, and within minutes it looked like another blizzard had hit the Polo Grounds. The air turned white as the fans bombarded one another. Naturally, with such inviting and convenient targets down below, their attention soon turned to the Giants, the Phillies, and, with happy revenge in their hearts, to the umpires.

  Snowballs rained down on the field. The players couldn’t tell the snowballs from the baseballs and took refuge in the dugouts. When it was obvious that the man-made snowstorm was not going to let up, umpire Bill Klem ordered the game forfeited to the Phillies . . . and that’s snow joke.

  FRANKLIN D. ROOSEVELT

  President · United States of America · April 16, 1940

  One of the duties Franklin D. Roosevelt enjoyed most as President of the United States was throwing out the ceremonial first ball on Opening Day.

  After eight years as chief executive, he had plenty of experience doing the honors. Nevertheless, Roosevelt threw the wildest first ball in Major League history.

  On that fateful crisp April afternoon, the president stood up in the bunting-covered first row at Griffith Stadium in Washington, D.C., to carry out the happy springtime ritual initiated 30 years earlier by President William Howard Taft. (On Opening Day, 1910, umpire Billy Evans walked over to the president’s box and, on the spur of the moment, asked Taft if he would like to toss out the first ball. He gladly accepted, and a tradition was born.)

  Like the five presidents before him, Roosevelt was right-handed. Like the five presidents before him, he didn’t have much of a throwing arm. Unlike the five presidents before him, Roosevelt flung a mortifying first ball.

  As the players from the Washington Senators and Boston Red Sox gathered on the field in front of the president, FDR cocked his arm and threw such a wild ball that it smashed into Washington Post photographer Irving Schlossenberg’s camera, and broke it.

  In his letter of apology to the photographer, Roosevelt jokingly wrote that he declined to pay the damages because Schlossenberg had taken such poor photos while covering the White House.

  FDR flinging a wild pitchAssociated Press

  ALLIE REYNOLDS

  Pitcher · New York, AL · April 19, 1948

  After belting the first and only home run of his long career, New York Yankees pitcher Allie Reynolds had to be coaxed to circle the bases—because he refused to believe he had hit a round-tripper.

  The case of the bewildered batter unfolded on Opening Day 1948 at Griffith Stadium, the Washington Senators’ home park. What made the incident all the more mortifying was that Reynolds embarrassed himself in front of President Harry Truman, Commissioner A. B. “Happy” Chandler, and a TV network audience. (The game was one of Major League Baseball’s first telecasts.)

  In the first inning, the Yankees exploded for four quick runs and had two runners on base when Reynolds, the ninth man to bat in the frame, stepped to the plate. The New York pitching ace was hardly a threat with the lumber. All he had to show for 13 years in the bigs was a less than threatening .163 lifetime batting average.

  But on this day, Reynolds teed off on an Early Wynn fastball and sent it soaring. Running to first base with his head down, Reynolds never saw what everyone else in the stadium did—that the ball landed in the left field bleachers.

  “I hit it pretty hard, so I figured it was two bases for sure, and maybe three,” Reynolds recalled. “I was the last person in the ballpark who expected it to go over the fence. So when I rounded second base, I saw the third base coach with his arms up. It looked to me like he wanted me to stop.”

  Instead of going into the standard home run trot, Reynolds screeched to a halt, pivoted and slid back into second base in a cloud of dust. “I tore a hole out there getting stopped, and it was so big you could have buried a Mack truck in it,” Reynolds recalled.

  Not realizing he had whacked a homer, he remained on second and ignored the pleas from the Yankees dugout to circle the bases. Even Senators second baseman Al Kozar urged him to finish the trot. “Since television started, all you guys want to be actors,” Kozar told Reynolds. Pointing to the bleachers, he added, “The ball is outta here.”

  Reynolds shook his head. “I’m not leaving,” he told Kozar. “I’ve seen you guys talk people off bases before.”

  Neither Kozar nor shortstop Mark Christman could convince Reynolds to abandon his safe perch. Even when the umpire waved him on, Reynolds refused to budge. Finally, Yankees manager Bucky Harris convinced him that he had indeed hit a home run and that it was safe to leave second base.

  “After they talked me off second, I finally got to do my home run trot, even if it was only halfway,” Reynolds recalled. “Everyone in the place got a big laugh out of it—my teammates, the fans, even President Truman. He was laughing harder than anybody.

  “I’ll never forget that home run. First of all, it was the only one I ever hit in the big leagues. And second, after I hit it, I had to go and embarrass myself like that in front of the President of the United States.”

  KEVIN MILLAR

  Right Fielder · Florida, NL · April 2, 2002

  Hoping to get an edge on Opening Day, Florida Marlins right fielder Kevin Millar doused his bat with a secret elixir—doe urine.

  How the pee from a lady deer would help him hit better is anyone’s guess, and most anyone could have told him what he discovered after the season opener. It doesn’t work.

  During the offseason in Beaumont, Texas, where he made his home, Millar was hunting with friends who suggested he put some doe urine on himself to attract the bucks.

  But the Los Angeles–born Millar, who was an inexperienced hunter, didn’t know he was supposed to put only a drop on his shoes. Instead, he poured it all over himself.

  “I was putting it on like it was Calvin Klein cologne,” he l
ater told the Miami Herald.

  His hunting buddies roared with laughter, and Millar realized he wasn’t cut out to be much of a hunter. “If I shot a deer, I’d be down on the ground, telling him I was sorry,” Millar told the Sun-Sentinel.

  Millar figured that if doe urine could attract deer, then maybe it could attract hits. So he promised his Texas hunting pals that he would sprinkle it on his bat for the season opener. Sure enough, he brought a bottle of the doe pee with him to Montreal (no word on how he explained the urine to customs officials or got it past airport security workers) for the Opening Day game against the Expos.

  He told reporters that if he got some hits, he would continue to use the urine on his bat. If he went hitless, well, at least he would have kept his promise to his hunting buddies.

  Unfortunately for Millar, the idea of a bat aided by doe urine proved to be a pisser. He went 0-for-3, including a strikeout, in a 7–6 Marlins defeat.

  After the game, Millar told reporters that he might have applied too much deer pee to his bat. He admitted the odor got to him as the game went on because the urine had seeped into his batting gloves and made his hands smell.

  “You go up to wipe your nose, you know, and it smelled so bad,” he told the Miami Herald. “Maybe I put too much on.”

  GEORGE MYATT

  Third Baseman · Washington, AL · April 16, 1946

  Washington Senators third baseman George Myatt was so pumped about the 1946 Opening Day game that he never got the chance to play—because he was so pumped.

  After batting .296 in the previous season, Myatt was looking forward to another great year and couldn’t wait to get back on the field. When he was penciled in the starting lineup as the leadoff hitter, he could barely contain his enthusiasm. And that posed a problem.

  After President Harry Truman threw out the first ball at Griffith Stadium for the game against the Boston Red Sox, the spirited infielder was bursting with anticipation. To the roar of the crowd, Myatt led his teammates up the steps of the dugout. But Myatt was so excited that he didn’t watch where he was going and tripped over his own feet.

  As his teammates watched in shock, he sprawled backward down the steps, fracturing a bone in his ankle.

  The woebegone third sacker was put out of action and replaced by Sherry Robertson—the first substitute in an Opening Day game that hadn’t even started yet. Myatt never fully recovered and played in only 48 games over the next two years before calling it quits.

  NEW YORK GIANTS HITTERS

  April 15, 1909; April 14, 1910; April 12, 1911

  When it came to Opening Day, no team did a worse job of supporting its starting pitcher than the New York Giants.

  For three years in a row, Giants hurler Red Ames was given the honor of taking the mound for the club’s season opener. For three years in a row, he performed brilliantly. And for three years in a row, the rest of the Giants didn’t.

  On Opening Day in 1909, the right-handed curveball artist, who in the six previous years with New York had compiled a respectable 57-40 record, was masterful against the Brooklyn Dodgers (then known as the Superbas). In fact, Ames held his opponents hitless for nine innings at the Polo Grounds. Unfortunately for him, his teammates couldn’t muster a single run against Brooklyn’s Irvin “Kaiser” Wilhelm.

  So, although Ames pitched nine innings of no-hit ball, he had to keep on pitching thanks to his teammates’ cold bats. With one out in the 10th inning, he gave up his first hit, a single to Whitey Alperman. Still, Ames pitched with all his heart and shut out Brooklyn through 12 innings. And how did his teammates respond to his masterpiece? They failed to score. In the 13th inning, Ames finally petered out, surrendering three runs to lose the game, 3–0.

  In the 1910 opener, Ames once again twirled a sparkling gem, this time holding the Boston Braves (then known as the Doves) hitless for seven innings. He clung to a 2–1 lead with two outs in the ninth and the bases empty. But before he could get that final out, he gave up a walk and two singles that produced the tying run. For the second year in a row, Ames had to go into extra innings in the season opener. He eventually lost in the 11th inning on a Giants error.

  On Opening Day in 1911, the Giants gave Ames less support than a deadbeat dad. The hurler didn’t give up a hit through six innings against the Philadelphia Phillies and kept them scoreless through eight. But the New York batters had collected only two hits of their own against Philadelphia’s Earl Moore. With two out in the ninth, Ames surrendered a two-run double for the only runs of the game, losing his third straight Opening Day heartbreaker.

  It was a portent of things to come. By August of that year, Ames had a 5-9 record. In four of those losses, the Giants had scored two runs or less. After a 2–0 loss to the Phillies on August 12, an article in the New York Times said, “Ames stacks up against the toughest luck of any pitcher in the big show . . . Won’t someone please send Mr. Ames the left hind foot of a churchyard rabbit . . . and some old rusty horseshoes?”

  Ames never started another Opening Day game for the Giants.

  WELCOME TO

  THE BIGS!

  For the Most Inauspicious Major League Debuts

  of All Time, The Baseball Hall of Shame™ Inducts:

  BILLY HERMAN

  Second Baseman · Chicago, NL · August 29, 1931

  Billy Herman can’t remember a whole lot about his big league debut, even though it was a memorable one.

  Thrilled at getting a chance to break into the starting Chicago Cubs lineup, Herman was determined to show he belonged. In his first at-bat in the Majors, he singled off Cincinnati Reds hurler Si Johnson, much to the delight of the Wrigley Field crowd.

  In his next at-bat, Herman, his confidence growing, dug into the batter’s box. On Johnson’s first pitch, the rookie took a tremendous swing and fouled the ball straight down. It hit the ground in back of the plate and, with wicked reverse English, bounced straight up, smacking Herman in the back of the head.

  So a sterling career that spanned two decades highlighted by a .304 lifetime batting average started out in the most forgettable—for him, at least—way possible. Billy Herman was carried off the field on a stretcher—knocked out cold by his own foul ball.

  DOE BOYLAND

  Pinch Hitter · Pittsburgh, NL · September 4, 1978

  In his first Major League at-bat, Pittsburgh Pirates rookie Doe Boyland struck out—while sitting on the bench.

  In the seventh inning of a home game against the New York Mets, Pittsburgh manager Chuck Tanner sent Boyland in to pinch-hit for pitcher Ed Whitson. The count was 1-and-2 on Boyland when Mets right-handed pitcher Skip Lockwood had to leave the game because he hurt his arm.

  New York switched to southpaw Kevin Kobel, so Tanner, going by the book, lifted the left-handed-swinging Boyland and put in right-handed batter Rennie Stennett to pinch-hit for the pinch hitter.

  While Boyland watched helplessly from the bench, Stennett struck out on Kobel’s first pitch. Under the scoring rules, the strikeout was charged to Boyland for his inauspicious debut.

  DOC HAMANN

  Pitcher · Cleveland, AL · September 21, 1922

  Cleveland Indians rookie reliever Doc Hamann was so nervous when he was thrust into his first and only Major League game that he never got a single batter out.

  With the Indians trailing the visiting Boston Red Sox 9–5, Hamann entered the game in the top of the ninth inning. Unfortunately, he couldn’t find the strike zone with a road map.

  Shaking like a motherless pup, the 22-year-old hurler walked the first two batters he faced, Johnny Mitchell and Ed Chaplin. Then Hamann beaned the next batter, pitcher Jack Quinn, to load the bases.

  Hamann became more frazzled and walked Mike Menosky, forcing in a run. The young pitcher finally got the ball over the plate, only to watch Elmer Miller blast it for a bases-clearing
triple. After giving up a run-scoring­ single to George Burns, the rattled rookie uncorked a wild pitch and then yielded another RBI single to Del Pratt, which made the score 15–5.

  Cleveland manager Tris Speaker had seen more than enough. He mercifully yanked Hamann, who never played in the Majors again. The stats for his entire pitching career: three hits, three walks, six runs, one wild pitch, and one hit batsman . . . and an ERA of infinity.

  Although he pitched in only one game, Hamann left a dubious mark in Major League history: the most batters faced in a career without getting anyone out.

  THE WHITE SOX'S BERMUDA SHORTS

  August 8, 1976

  Chicago White Sox owner Bill Veeck, who was always dreaming up wacky schemes to attract fans, figured that if he couldn’t field a winning team he could at least present a fashionable one.

  So in the middle of the summer of 1976, he introduced Bermuda shorts to the Major Leagues. He helped create the bizarre outfits—navy blue shorts with white shirts, wide collars, and blue lettering—“to showcase our wares.” The only thing showcased were a lot of knobby knees and red faces.

  Before the Bermudas’ debut, the Chicago Tribune asked the players for their opinion on the fashion statement they would soon be making. The reaction was mixed. Second baseman Jack Brohamer claimed, “I’m not going to wear short pants unless they let me wear a halter top, too.” Third baseman Kevin Bell said, “I’ve got to go out and get a tan. I’m all white.” Designated hitter Lamar Johnson loved the idea because, “I got the nicest thighs you ever saw. I can’t wait.” But outfielder Buddy Bradford countered, “Not me. They’ll have to force me to get into them.” Pitcher Ken Brett wasn’t quite so adamant, saying, “I’ll get into them, but I may not get out of the dugout.” Fellow hurler Dave Hamilton saw the good and the bad in wearing shorts. “I don’t have nice legs—they’re bird legs,” he said. “I don’t think I’ll look too good in them. But maybe when the batters see me they’ll get all distracted.”