While Lamar County produced any number of early Texas baseball stars, the same wasn’t true for our friends on the south side of Sulphur River. In fact, Delta County has only a few old ballplayers to its claim, so when we run across one seemingly lost to history, we want to take the time to make sure he gets his due. Such is the case with Ben Whittenburg (or “Whittenberg,” depending on the source).

Joseph Benjamin Whittenburg, Jr., was born June 29, 1885, to his Joseph, Sr., and his wife Lucy Amanda Yeager. A Missouri native, the elder Whittenburg arrived in the area in his youth, first settling in Delta County before moving north of Sulphur, to a farm near Dial. It had been a long trek across the southern U.S. for the Whittenburg family, natives of Germany who arrived in the colonies about 1713. After a few years in North Carolina, members of the family moved to Tennessee then Missoui and eventually Texas. It was at his home in Lamar County that Joseph, Sr., met his future wife, a Lamar County native born in the area in 1866.

Joseph, Jr., or “Ben” as he was known, was the second of three Whittenburg sons who joined two sisters. Aside from the farm, their father was a Methodist minister, accepted into the North Texas Conference in early 1891. His membership did not last long, however, as in the fall of 1891, Joseph, Sr., died of typhoid fever. Lucy and her five children moved across Sulphur River, settling in Pecan Gap.  The records do not indicate that Lucy ever held a job; however, the family did appear to live in Pecan Gap proper, and Lucy owned her home outright. Perhaps the Rev. Whittenburg had made sure he took care of his family.

Ben Whittenburg completed three years of high school, recorded as living in Delta County with his mother, two sisters, and brother-in-law on a farm. Presumably, he was finished with high school by 1902 and worked on the farm and did odd jobs in Pecan Gap in his spare time when he wasn’t pursuing what became his true passion, baseball.

Whittenburg’s first professional appearance came in the North Texas League in 1905, first with the Paris Parasites and then with Hope, Arkansas, after the Paris franchise relocated. Ben was primarily a pitcher, although he did play second base as well. No statistics from his first professional season are recorded.

In 1906, Ben moved to the Texas League, a circuit divided North and South at the time. He played briefly for the Temple Boll Weevils in the North Texas League, managed by Lamar County’s Ben Shelton. After just a handful of games, Ben signed with the Galveston Sand Crabs of the South Texas League, landing on the Island for 29 games his first year. On a team that finished 22 games out of first place, Ben posted an 11-3 record as a pitcher and didn’t do badly at the plate, batting .241. The Galveston News noted that Whittenburg was a fan favorite and one of the best young stars in the Texas League with a great future ahead of him in baseball. All that suddenly changed on August 24, 1906, at precisely 5:00 pm.

As it wasn’t Ben’s day to pitch, he was playing second base for the Sand Crabs in what would turn out to be a ten-inning 3-2 loss to the Austin Senators. But while Whittenburg batted against Austin pitcher Bill Bailey, he leaned into a pitch that struck him at the base of his skull just behind his left ear. For a moment Ben stood silently, then without a sound slumped to the ground. He was immediately taken to an Austin hospital where he remained unconscious several hours. In fact, late on the evening of the 24^th, doctors were doubtful he would survive. If he had not, it would have indeed been a tragic weekend for baseball, as just a day early in Pennsylvania, Lehigh University student Caspar Musselman was killed by a pitched ball taken to his chest. Fortunately, Ben Whittenburg didn’t suffer the same fate; however, he was deemed out for the remainder of the season.

After recovering home in Pecan Gap, the Sand Crabs pronounced Whittenburg fit to return for 1907. The North and South Texas circuits had reunited into an eight-team league, and Ben returned, this time pitching and playing in the outfield. In spring training, Ben pitched well; in fact, he pitched two exhibition games against the Major League’s Washington Senators, losing both but by scores of only 2-1 and 5-3. When the regular season arrived, however, whatever effectiveness he had as a pitcher the previous year seemed lost. Ben posted just a 6-16 won-loss record. He also played 64 games in the field, but he seemed to have lost his somewhat limited hitting ability and batted just .206 on the year. Before the season was out, Whittenburg left Galveston for a stint with the Terrell Red Stockings of the North Texas League.

The impact of the previous season’s pitch to the head on Ben Whittenburg’s career will likely never be known. But it must be pointed out that during the 1907season, the young man may have been preoccupied with other thoughts, as on September 13 he married Lucy Vernor of Lampasas. He must have announced his retirement from baseball prior to the wedding, as the article notes the couple immediately headed for Pecan Gap where Ben intended to open a business. In 1910, Ben, Lucy, and their first son, Joseph Benjamin, III, are recorded as living in Pecan Gap at the home of Ben’s mother, with both Ben and Lucy performing “odd jobs.” Soon thereafter, the couple moved west to San Angelo where Ben took a job with Walker and Sons Wholesale Grocery. Over the ensuing years, three more children were born but little else changed in their lives. The Whittenburgs remained at the home they purchased prior to 1920 at 313 Spaulding Street, and Ben remained in the same job with the same company into the 1950s

On July 30, 1969, Ben Whittenburg died in Corpus Christi of unknown causes while visiting his son. His body was returned to his longtime home of San Angelo where he was buried in Fairmount Cemetery, joined just a year later by his wife of 62 years. The majority of his siblings, as well as Ben’s parents, are buried in Whittenburg Cemetery near Dial or across Sulphur River in Pecan Gap.

Ben Whittenburg: a potential baseball star hailing from Pecan Gap who was lost to an unlucky pitched ball and nearly lost to history.

When Shearn Moody, heir to one of Texas’ most wealthy families, went public in January 1931 with his intent to orchestrate the return of Texas League baseball to the “Treasure Island,” few familiar with the Moody name doubted he would succeed. Col. W.L Moody, Shearn’s grandfather, largely oversaw Galveston’s rise to the financial capital of Texas through the cotton exchange, arguably the world’s most important crop at the time.  In the late 1880s, the Colonel’s son, Will, expanded the family influence, pursuing increased profits by focusing on banking and credit to support cotton producers.  By the time Wall Street crashed in 1929, the Moody name and “success” were synonymous, regardless of the endeavor. Even the disastrous hurricane of 1900 couldn’t stop Will Moody’s financial genius. The idea that Wall Street’s difficulties could slow him down seemed almost laughable.

As Will Moody’s youngest son Shearn came of age, he displayed his father’s flair for finance and the future. Before he was 30 year old, Shearn took the reins of the family-owned insurance company, ANICO, and built it into one of the nation’s most notable insurers. He soon turned his attention to what he saw as the future of Galveston, tourism. Shearn oversaw the construction of numerous Island hotels as well as the purchase of others in Texas, including the famed Menger Hotel in San Antonio.  Shrewdly, he also purchased Galveston’s two daily newspapers and merged them into one; thus, Moody would control Galveston’s image across Texas.

Galveston had been a feature city of the early Texas League (TL), fielding a team nearly every year from 1898-1924 under the names “Sand Crabs” and “Pirates.” Despite the city’s longevity, its teams showed little success on the diamond with the exception of championships in 1890 and 1897, as well as 1904 when the TL was split North and South. After two straight seventh-place finishes in 1923-24, interest in the Galveston club was sold to Waco investors, and the TL left Galveston. Just four years later, Shearn Moody was working behind the scenes to convince TL leadership the Island could support a team. With the support of TL President J. Alvin Gardner, by February of 1931 Moody purchased the same franchise that had relocated to Waco and returned it to Galveston, this time under the name “Buccaneers.”

In the early 20^th century, minor league baseball parks could be constructed in the bat of an eye. The Beaumont Exporters had built a new stadium in 1929, and it became a prototype for its day.  Shearn Moody built a virtual carbon-copy of the Beaumont facility, although it had a larger playing field. “Moody Stadium,” as it would be known, was scheduled to open to a gala celebration on April 29, 1931, with a game against the Exporters.

When Moody secured a baseball franchise, Judge Kennesaw Mountain Landis was beginning his second decade as the Commissioner of Baseball. Landis had already exercised his ability to rule baseball with unimpeachable authority, earning him the title “Baseball Czar” in many of the nation’s newspapers. Landis did not only rule Major League Baseball; he also had authority over the minor leagues, and he took a great deal of interest in their relationship to the majors. When Landis’ schedule allowed, he enjoyed visiting minor league stadiums and helped christen new franchises when he was able. He had missed opening the Beaumont stadium in 1929, so with Galveston set for Moody Stadium’s unveiling, he planned to visit both cities on consecutive days, April 28-29, 1931. To accommodate Landis’ schedule, the TL adjusted, and the Bucs and Exporters would play a home-and-home series, the first game in Beaumont. Landis belatedly dedicated Beaumont’s Stuart Stadium then watched the Exporters edge out the Buccaneers 3-2 before traveling south and boarding the ferry to Galveston.

Shearn Moody’s first endeavor upon gaining a baseball franchise was to assemble a “Knothole Gang.” Intended for children under the age of twelve who gained special admission to games provided they abided by a Code of Ethics, the Knothole Gang virtually guaranteed a sizable crowd at home games. As usual, Moody succeeded, and the better part of the 2,000 Knothole Gang members were on-hand for the opener.

On April 29, the festivities in Galveston began early with a parade of both teams and many dignitaries through the Island’s business district along the Strand. Most businesses closed for the afternoon so employees could attend the game, and TL officials and Landis soon arrived at Moody Stadium. Even before he was inside, Landis began gushing at the facility. He commented that most people judge the quality of a ballpark based on the grandstands, but in his mind, it was the field that mattered. And he specifically pointed out the spacious outfield Shearn Moody had planned, noting that few baseballs would be hit over the outfield fence, but fans could expect inside-the-park home runs, a version of the home run he considered far more exciting.

As game time approached, the group assembled for photos and to hand out and accept praise for what Shearn Moody had accomplished in such a short time. Owners or executives from every TL franchise, J. Alvin Gardner, Kennesaw Mountain Landis, and Shearn Moody stood front and center along with ten-year-old Anne Sproule. Miss Sproule, daughter of Galveston shipping magnate Benjamin “Benno” Sproule and his wife, president of the Galveston Civic League, was well-known on the Island for her song and dance performances at a variety of events, and she was on-hand to break the bottle of champagne christening the stadium. Anne was photographed in numerous shots with the dignitaries, and the framed originals have been displayed in various TL presidents’ offices almost constantly for the past 87 years.

Baseball was played that afternoon, and Beaumont again came out on top, scoring two ninth-inning runs to pull out a 2-1 win. Moody’s newspaper, the Galveston Daily News, took the loss in stride, posting a small headline above the box score in its April 30 edition, “Too Many Innings.”

For Bucs fans, “Too Many Innings” became a battle cry over the next two seasons, or perhaps, “Not Enough” would have been just as appropriate. After poor 1931 and 1932 campaigns, Moody replaced manager Del Pratt with Billy Webb, and the Bucs qualified for the playoffs in 1933. Just a season later, the Bucs won the TL Championship.

Shearn Moody had succeeded. Baseball was popular in Galveston, and Moody had trophies to prove it. Unfortunately for both the Moody family, Galveston baseball, and the Island, Shearn Moody died of pneumonia at age 40 on February 28, 1936. With Shearn out of the picture, no one else in the Moody circle cared to champion the cause of baseball on the Island, and the TL permanently left Galveston at the end of the 1937 season.

Well-known Texas sportswriter Bill Van Fleet, who began his career covering the Buccaneers, wrote in his column the morning after Moody’s death, “There will never be another Shearn Moody backing a ball club. He lent that sport the same zeal, the same engaging energy and the same attention to detail that characterized his every other venture. He made it go.”

Undoubtedly, Judge Kennesaw Mountain Landis offered similar praise of Moody.  After all, for a man not known to smile in photographs, on April 29, 1931, he couldn’t help himself as he stood with Shearn,  J. Alvin Gardner, and Anne Sproules. On the other hand, maybe Landis was taken in by Miss Sproule’s charm. By 1940, Anne lived in Beverly Hills, California, where she became a professional dancer.

Fascinating article on one of North Texas’ earliest ball players. Even more notable, though, is the author’s indisputable proof that the photo often identified by baseball historians (including me) as the Indians is, in fact, the 1896 Denison Maroons, an amateur ball club. The photo is included in the linked article. Anyway, read this article for an extremely detailed biography of a ballplayer long passed.

http://txgenwebcounties.org/grayson/HomeTownHeroes/Athletes/William%20Cleggett%20Bridendolph.pdf

The 2017 Texas League Championship Series. After taking the first two games on the road in Midland, the Tulsa Drillers returned home needing just one win in three games to capture their first title in 19 years. As a Drillers fan, I sensed something magical might happen. As a fan of Texas League baseball, I suspected something magical was bound to happen. As a Texas League historian, I knew historic, if not magical, had to happen. And I intended to be in Tulsa when it did.

Minor league baseball fans are a unique breed, and the 130 year history of the Texas League (TL) offers plenty of proof of what “kranks” will do to support their teams. In fact, fans particularly interested in Double-A baseball face the most gut-wrenching tests of loyalty in all sports. But thanks to the foresight of the TL’s founding fathers, fan loyalty less trying than in some leagues. The split-season format gives even first half tail-enders hope for redemption and a new beginning as the summer heats up. Still, in other ways TL fans face the same challenges found in the Southern and Eastern Leagues.

Double-A rosters change and players come and go faster than pre-school best friends. The first baseman you watch slam 30 home runs over the first 60 games is a distant memory when the playoffs approach. If your team runs away with the first half, expect it to plunge in the second as promotions to Triple-A and an unhealthy dose of complacency take their tolls.

Roster instability is one challenge Double-A baseball fans must learn to live with, but another creates greater difficulties. Even though a city may host a team continuously, few remain affiliated with the same major league club for eternity. Changing operating agreements often make as little sense geographically as they do in terms of building fan loyalty. The TL is no exception.

For years, the Arkansas Travelers were linked to the St. Louis Cardinals. The fit was natural; after all, Arkansas is filled with Cardinals fans. But in 2002, what Travelers fans saw as the perfect arrangement came to an end when St. Louis split ties and eventually affiliated with a new Texas League franchise in Springfield. In the meantime, Anaheim Angels hopefuls arrived in Little Rock each springs. I can attest that Arkansas holds a limited supply of Angels supporters. I can also attest that when the Travelers affiliation changed to the Seattle Mariners before the 2017 season, it meant that with the exception of a few immigrants, not a single Arkansas resident had emotional attachment with the Travelers major league club.

Yes, it takes a special breed of fan to follow minor league baseball on more than a casual basis. The ups and downs are not just season to season; they occur hour to hour. The minors test loyalties, complacency leads to indifference, and fan frustration is noted in the one spot a franchise can least afford it—at the turnstiles. It all makes for a wary existence. Then there are fans of the Tulsa Drillers.

Tulsa’s baseball tradition is as rich as any of the 43 cities to have hosted a TL franchise. Tulsa has fielded TL teams, either as the Drillers or Oilers, for 71 seasons since the 1930s. About 14.5 million fans have attended games over those 7 decades, and Tulsa has seen 53 playoff series for a total of 243 combined home and road contests. For perspective, San Antonio, an original TL member in 1888, has played a total of 118 seasons and appeared in 52 playoff series totaling 229 games. While San Antonio has played about 4,500 more TL contests and has a population nearly quadruple that of Tulsa, its teams have drawn just a half-million more spectators. Tulsa’s TL roots run deep, and aside from San Antonio, it is the longest–tenured city in the circuit.

Even though I hail from Texas and somehow endured growing up in New England, I connected with the Tulsa Drillers rather early in life. The Texas Rangers affiliated with the Drillers in 1977, and for 25 years the route to Arlington passed through Tulsa. My Ranger favorites like Pete O’Brien, Steve Buechele, George Wright, Curtis Wilkerson, Juan Gonzalez, and Ivan Rodriguez all arrived in the big leagues by way of the Drillers. When I moved from New England to Arkansas in 1986, I was in the next best thing to minor league heaven as I could see my Drillers play whenever they visited Little Rock.

When I had kids in the 1990s, we attended many Arkansas-Tulsa games, and my youngsters became ball-gathering magnets. We seldom left the ballpark without at least one ball tossed to us by the likes of Brad Arnsberg and Bobby Jones. The fact we were the only family wearing Drillers caps probably had something to do with it. But the ever-present cloud minor league fans burst in 2002 when the Rangers moved their Double-A team to Frisco and the Colorado Rockies adopted Tulsa. The Rockies? Did Colorado even exist when Tulsa first entered the TL? Nonetheless, I find it immoral to change sporting allegiances, and I stuck with Tulsa.

 

***

 

While minor league baseball fans are unique, overall, my youngest son, Kolton, is probably the most unique sports fan I have met. He follows all sports from English Premier League Soccer to the National Hockey League with equal ferocity. By the time he was 8-years old, Kolton could (and I’m not exaggerating) recite on cue the name, number, and position of any NFL player from the Cowboys starting quarterback to the Jaguars backup placeholder. I guess one acquires such skills when sleeping to the sounds of the NFL Network and measuring Madden PlayStation game time in months rather than hours. If only he had slept to voices of the Algebra Channel commentators. At 19, Kolton’s lifelong fascination with sports is beginning to pay off. The kid who can speak with authority on the disparity of salaries between members of the U.S. Men’s and Women’s Soccer teams as knowledgably as he can defend every ad-lib error of Tony Romo’s career was named sports editor of his college newspaper—as a freshman.

When it comes to sports, I trust Kolton far more than any network pundit. But when he was born in late 1997, something sinister arrived with him. I call it the “Kurse of Kolton.” In tabulating the four major U.S. team sports and tossing-in the Texas League, English Premier League, and Major League Soccer, Kolton has lived through 142 sporting season. His success rate in terms of championships is 0.007%. That right; seven-tenths of one percent. Kolton has enjoyed just one championship season, coincidentally that of the 1998 Tulsa Drillers who claimed the TL championship when Kolton was 9 months old. Still, he was already a Drillers fan, and he has the bruises to prove it. Kolton is one of the relative few who can honestly claim to have seen the tragic Mike Coolbaugh incident in-person in 2007.  And he was behind home plate in 2014 when the Drillers clinched a trip to the TL Championship in a classic game of shifting momentum against the Travelers

A couple of weeks ago, it appeared the Kurse would be lifted, if only briefly. After winning the second half of the TL’s North Division in the regular season’s final weekend, the Drillers outlasted NW Arkansas in the playoffs’ opening round. In the meantime, the three-time defending champion Midland RockHounds qualified for the playoffs through a tie-breaker, earning the right to take on San Antonio, a rare winner of both the first and second half South Division title. Like Tulsa, Midland took five games to knock the Missions out of contention and earn the right to play for a fourth straight TL title. It would be a rematch of the 2014 championship series when the RockHounds began their spectacular run, besting the Drillers 3 games to 2. Regardless of what happened in 2017, one thing was certain. The final game would be played, and the Bobby Bragan Trophy awarded, at ONE OK Field in downtown Tulsa. Local fans had not seen their team clinch a championship on home turf since 1962, and when Tulsa defeated the RockHounds in Midland in Games 1 and 2, all signs pointed to something magical about to happen in Tulsa.

The Drillers fan in me sensed the magic about to take place; yet, my senses as a TL historian were hardly convinced of the direction the magic wand was pointed. Tulsa winning a championship on its home field and its first in nearly two decades would be historic, but if Midland rallied from three games down on the road to claim its fourth consecutive title, it would be an unprecedented feat, placing the RockHounds just two championship shy of Fort Worth’s six straight championships from 1920-1925. Regardless, when LA Dodgers pitcher Brandon McCarthy was named the Game 3 starter for Tulsa in a rehab assignment, all signs suggested the magic finally rested with the Drillers. I purchased tickets directly behind home plate for the final games of the series, and Kolton and I made the four hour drive from Little Rock to Tulsa. If one of his teams was going to finally win a championship, he deserved to see it in person. I fully-expected a one-night stay.

Game 3 went as expected for Tulsa pitching. Brandon McCarthy threw six solid innings and allowed just two runs. Unfortunately, Tulsa’s powerful bats went silent. The team wrapping 26 hits in 2 games in Midland only managed to scatter 5 against the RockHounds Heath Fillmyer and three relievers. Likewise, the Midland defense, particularly the infield, was outstanding. Second baseman Max Schrock, all five feet, eight-inches of him, robbed Drillers hitters of line drive base hits in every possible scoring situation, and when he didn’t, shortstop Jorge Mateo did. Of course, Tulsa batters Peter O’Brien and Garrett Kennedy helped Midland’s cause when both left the bases loaded in the second and fourth innings. The result was a 2-0 Midland win that sent over 6,000 Tulsa fans home in disappointment. Even the two middle-aged ladies sitting a few rows behind us were silenced after their impressive nine-inning chorus of incessant baseball chants I hadn’t heard since Little League. “Nothing over; nothing through“ and “Home run, single; we don’t care. Hit it! Hit it, anywhere!” will echo in my ears the entire off-season.

The crowd for Game 4 dropped by about half, college football underway and the Oklahoma Sooners competing for fans’ attention. Still, the 3,000+ Drillers fans turning out remained enthusiastic, and the ladies of Section 109 could be heard throughout the ballpark. Unfortunately their efforts were often drowned by an increasingly raucous and frustrated group of Tulsa fans who took their angst out on home plate umpire Sean Allen with every pitch. But the true culprit, and the story of Game 4 from this fan’s point of view, was once again Max Schrock and Jorge Mateo. Schrock, displaying a vertical leap to rival Michael Jordan, again repeatedly robbed Tulsa hitters of line drive base hits. But in Game 4, it was Mateo who made the play of the night.

For the second straight game, Tulsa managed just five hits, but this time they manufactured three runs and entered the bottom of the ninth trailing 6-3.  Drew Jackson led off with a walk, and DJ Peters, in just his second game at the Double-A level, received a free pass on a catcher interference call mutually agreed upon after an umpires’ conference. The tying run came to the plate with no outs in catcher Keibert Ruiz. Ruiz was not only playing in his first game as a Driller and at the Double-A level, he was making just his second plate appearance. For a brief instant, Ruiz didn’t disappoint as he swatted a line drive with sights for the grass in left-center field.  But Jorge Mateo promptly plucked from Ruiz’ pending RBi single from the air and stepped on second base to double-up Drew Jackson who committed too early in his plans to cut the Midland lead to two runs. A batter later, Game 4 was in the books. For the second night in a row, Tulsa’s powerful offense was held to five hits. Through four games the team that hit 168 regular season home runs had not even come close to sending a pitch over the wall. The magician’s wand was at work, and no one leaving ONE OK Field had a clue how matters would be settled Sunday evening in the fifth and deciding game. As for me, I had my suspicions. After all, I couldn’t ignore my roommate and the Kurse he had carried from Little Rock.

With both first round playoff series going five games and the Championship Series set for a Game 5 of its own, it was only natural that rain would interrupt the agony of Drillers fans. After over an hour delay, the game got underway with Drillers pitcher Dennis Santana facing off against Midland’s James Naile. What set up for a fascinating finish to a fascinating series from the historian’s perspective, and a heart-thumping experience from that of a Drillers fan, was about to collapse in a heap of misplays and great memories never created.

Jorge Mateo led off the game for Midland, and he once again made his mark, this time with a ground ball to Tulsa third baseman Erick Mejia. What should probably have been an out ended with Mateo standing beside Mejia on third base after Matt Beaty couldn’t handle the wild throw. With two outs, Viosergy Rosa sent Mateo home with a single, and Midland was on the board with an unearned run. It looked like Tulsa might manufacture one of its own in the bottom of the inning when the leadoff batter was hit by a pitch. But for just the third time in the series, Tulsa attempted to steal a base, and the play at second wasn’t close. After a walk, a single, and a fielder’s choice, Tulsa had runners at the corners with two outs. Just like the previous two games, the runners were left stranded. Tulsa managed a couple of base runners in the second inning, but with the fourth attempted stolen base of the series, Drew Jackson was cut down.

While Santana held the RockHounds bats in check and scattered six hits, Tulsa desperately tried to pull out of a hitting slump that had struck the team at the worst possible moment in its 71-year history.  In the fourth, the Drillers led off the bottom half of the inning with two singles, but a double play silenced the momentum. It was lights out until the bottom of the ninth as Midland clung to its 1-0 lead.  Scott Finnegan came on to close out the game and for the first three batters he did just that, cutting Tulsa with a fly out, a soft line drive to third, and a strikeout to seemingly close the game. But strike three bounce away from catcher Sean Murphy, and Tulsa’s Mejia easily strolled to first base.

Could the magic I had expected really come in the form of a wild third strike followed with a series winning home run? Had any championship ever ended with such an odd twist of fate? I pondered the thought and felt my heart leap ever so slightly as the two middle-aged ladies behind us briefly began another of their incessant chants. Three pitches later Keibert Ruiz bounced a soft ground ball to my new nemesis Max Schrock at second base. The toss to first ended it. The Drillers had dropped 3 consecutive home games after losing just 3 of 23 to end the season. In the process, they managed a total of fifteen hits and three runs while being shut out twice.

The magic that had to happen did. Not only did the Midland RockHounds win their fourth consecutive Texas League title, they did so under almost impossible circumstances, dropping two home games before winning three straight elimination contests against the hard-hitting Drillers in Tulsa.

You may have heard the joke about the West Texas old man sitting on the porch with his 70-year-old son. A passerby mentions rain to be in the forecast. “I sure hope so,” the old man answers. “Not so much for me, but for my son here. After all, he’s never seen rain before.”

I glanced at Kolton who silently chewed his fingernails as we drove back to Little Rock in the wee hours of Monday morning.

He’ll be okay, I thought. After all, it’s his lot in life.

When Dallas Giants manager Charlie Moran signed outfielder Billy Doyle of Portsmouth, Ohio, prior to the 1903 season, he thought he’d found a diamond in the rough. And when owner J.W. Gardner heard St. Louis Cardinals manager Patsy Donovan and baseball magnate Ted Sullivan sing Doyle’s praises after a pre-season matchup between the two teams, he likely saw dollar signs in expectation of quickly selling Billy Doyle’s rights to a big-league franchise. On the other hand, perhaps he didn’t realize that Donovan and Sullivan, both Irishmen, had a natural inclination to support their fellow countrymen, of which Doyle was one.

William Thomas Doyle was born November 3, 1881, to James and Emma Doyle. James, a native of Ireland, and Emma, whose parents had travelled from Ireland to the United States before her birth, raised eleven children in Portsmouth, Ohio, following their marriage in 1862 with James employed as a cooper. Located on the Ohio River, Portsmouth was the ideal city for a cooper as its growing industrial economy relied on shipping containers. Eventually, Portsmouth became established as one of the top shoemaking cities in the country, and the Doyles relied on the shoe industry for income. Every child of the family was either employed in a shoe factory or in the selling of footwear by 1900.

In 1900, Billy Doyle held his first job as a laborer in a shoe factory.  But three years earlier he had chosen what would become his true career when he joined the Portsmouth Victors baseball team. By 1902, Doyle had drawn the attention of several professional teams and was recruited to play in cities including Charleston, Knoxville, and Vicksburg. But Charlie Moran won out when he convinced the young ballplayer to make the move to the Texas League. He immediately made an impact in spring training.

Ted Sullivan, said to have invented the art of scouting ball players, told the Dallas Morning News, “There’s plenty of big league timber in (Dallas). And that fellow Doyle! Oh what would the game be without us Irish!” The same afternoon that Sullivan sang Doyle’s praises, so did Cardinals manager Patsy Donovan. He noted that Doyle had the reputation for smashing the ball whenever it approached home plate, and when he connected it meant either a hard put out for the defenders or Doyle standing safely on base. Although Dallas went on to win the Texas League crown in 1903, Billy Doyle contributed little to the cause, batting just .165 during a season when he was hampered by a nagging “charley horse” injury. A year later, Doyle better met expectations when he appeared in 102 games for the second place Giants, raising his batting average to .255, a respectable number for the dead ball era. But in 1905, he regressed. Despite playing full time in the Giants outfield, Doyle batted just .175. The big league clubs were no longer expressing interest in Doyle, and J.W. Gardner likely wondered just how long he should hold on to what was once his prized ballplayer. The answer arrived in 1906 when Doyle played with the Greenville Hunters. But just how far Gardner actually distanced himself from Billy is debatable.

When the Texas League owners sat down to choose the slate of 1906 teams, Dallas’ J.W. Gardner insisted that he be able to own two franchises, one in Dallas and another in Greenville. The other owners staunchly opposed Gardner’s proposal and rightly so. It was obvious to anyone that Greenville would essentially be a “farm club” to supply Dallas with talent in case of injuries and keep the Giants profitable. Gardner lost the vote on paper but not necessarily in reality. Most agreed that the Greenville “stock ownership” arrangement was financed by Gardner. And Billy Doyle’s signing with Greenville made the franchise’s very existence all the more suspicious, as did his sudden conversion from a fielder to a pitcher.

What Doyle lacked in the field and at bat, he made up for on the pitcher’s mound.  In fact, he pitched phenomenally for Greenville then for Waco after the Greenville franchise folded at mid-season. At season’s end, he had posted a 19-13 won-loss record, and teams like Little Rock and Milwaukee were calling for his services in 1907. Instead, Temple manager Ben Shelton, who accepted ownership of the club with the caveat that he received his choice of players from the other teams, selected Doyle to be the ace of his pitching staff. It was an unmitigated disaster.  While Temple didn’t field a particularly competitive offense in 1907, pitcher Roy McFarland posted a 21-15 record, while William Jarvis managed to win 15 games despite 19 losses. Billy Doyle, however, set a Texas League mark for futility. He won just 8 of 37 starts, and his 28 losses still ranks as the worst of any pitcher in league history 111 years later. At season’s end, Doyle returned to Ohio where he finished out his playing career in 1908 with a 7-11 pitching record and .176 batting average for his hometown franchise. While Doyle’s most notable contribution on the baseball field may be his 1907 Texas League debacle, he was far more successful off the field as a scout.

From 1910 through 1938, Doyle scouted for four major league clubs, most notably a 20-year stint with the Detroit Tigers. He’s credited with discovering dozens of players including Dickie Kerr, George Sisler, Hank Greenberg, Tommy Bridges, and the memorable yet still forgettable Boots Poffenberger.

The end for Billy Doyle came in 1939 when at age 57 he suffered a stroke and passed away in Washington, Pennsylvania. Despite a life that appeared destined for the shoe factories of Ohio 40 years earlier, Doyle went on to spend an entire lifetime in baseball. And in reality, it was not his on-field contribution or even his 28 loss season for which Billy is best remembered. Rather, it is the 50 plus significant major league players he discovered that remain his greatest legacy to the game.