Introduction

How a Cast of Cranks, Rogues, Boneheads, and Magnates Created the Greatest Year in Baseball History

In the dreary months when baseball is sleeping, an easy way to pick a fight with a fan is to ask: What was the best season in baseball history? The 1991 season has its partisans, when the Twins and Braves both went from worst to fi rst, then fought a seven-game World Series, won in classic fashion in the bottom of the tenth, 1-0. And 1986 had thrilling play-offs and a truly great World Series, which turned on a ball scooting between Bill Buckner’s hobbled legs. Or maybe 1978, when Bucky “##&!@$#” Dent hit a certain home run in a one-game play-off. Then there is 1964, when the Cardinals, led by the implacable Bob Gibson, ran down the pholding Phillies in the last weeks of the season. Or 1951, when Bobby Thomson hit the shot heard ’round the world. Or 1941, when the Yankee Clipper and the Splendid Splinter performed unmatchable feats (a fi fty-six-game hitting streak, and a .406 batting average) in the shadow of war. Or the strange doings of 1930, when hitting reached improbable heights. Or even 1919, the year that almost killed baseball, when gamblers stole a World Series.

They’re all wrong.

The best season in baseball history is 1908. Besides two agonizing pennant races, it features history’s finest pitching duel, hurled in the white heat of an October stretch drive, and the most controversial game ever played. The year is full of iconic performances by baseball’s first generation of iconic heroes. Tinker, Evers, and Chance are near their prime. Honus Wagner may have the best season of the century. Ty Cobb would kick, snarl, and manhandle the Tigers into contention; Christy Mathewson has his fi nest season, and his most sorrowful one; Napoleon Lajoie would never come closer to a pennant. Cy Young, the only man with more than five hundred wins, has his last good season, while Walter Johnson, the only other man with more than four hundred, has his first. Shoeless Joe Jackson would come up from South Carolina, sniff major-league cooking for fi ve games, and decide it wasn’t for him. Smokey Joe Wood and Tris Speaker have a few cups of coffee. In the dugouts are Connie Mack and John McGraw. The two managers, opposites in temperament, are united in their passion for the game; they rank first and second in games won.