It’s the best time ever in America. The booze is flowing, the flappers are frisky, and anybody can make a killing on the market. Things look bad for the Yankees though. Ahead by ten games with a month to go in ’26 they limped to the finish line and won by two. Their top four pitchers won just six of their last twenty-five starts. Most writers pick Connie Mack’s A’s to win it all. They have the best young pitcher and catcher in baseball and now they have Ty Cobb too.
Miller Huggins doesn’t have much faith in Horse Nose Collins or Nig Grabowski and his other catcher Googles Bengough has a sore arm. Biscuit Pants Gehrig is still clumsy at first, the second baseman has seizures, the shortstop leads the league in errors, and the third baseman’s so banged up he’ll be lucky to play. The centerfielder has a weak arm, the left fielder’s guilty of indifferent play, and the right fielder is 32 and the weakest hitter on the team as the season begins. The non-stop drinking and frolicking with flappers may have caught up with him. He could also have klieg eyes from the six-reeler he just made.
But Huggin’s biggest worry is his pitching staff. Herb Pennock’s threatening to stay home and raise silver foxes. Dutch Ruether gives up five runs a game. Schoolboy Hoyt might get arrested for what he has in his trunk. Sailor Bob Shawkey’s worried his wife might kill him. Mattie Pipgras desperately wants to stay in New York but her husband George can’t find the plate and no one knows, but Urban Shocker is dying. A lot of the players think they can stay up all night like Ruth. They can’t. Hug’s not sleeping. He’s a nervous wreck.
