In the typical baseball brawl the team with the most runs wins, and the stray punches, bean balls and high-spike sliding are soon forgotten. In the typical feud, the least slight is vindictively treasured in memory. After the July 9 game, Joey Jay called Drysdale a busher for being so wild. At the All-Star Game in Boston on July 31 Drysdale's locker was next to those of Robinson and Jay. "He wouldn't even talk to us," said Jay. "Just walked away, like he was mad or something."
The prospect of a Cincy-LA brouhaha especially pleases the Pittsburgh Pirates, another National League club. "Give it to 'em good! You guys got the size," says Harvey Haddix, a shrewd little guy who may be thinking of picking up the pennant from a body-strewn Coliseum battlefield. "If we don't win it," says Dick Groat, "I hope the Reds do." Nobody likes the Dodgers.
Cincinnati hasn't won a pennant since 1940. Dreams of glory have transformed the city, whose downtown streets are festooned with placards and streamers urging the populace to "Rally round the Redlegs" and "Root the Reds home." Conversations on Fountain Square center on past victories and wishful thinking. At Crosley Field, in the stifling August heat and humidity, the dialogues among the players concern the Dodgers and go like this:
In the clubhouse:
"We play pretty good ball against them in the Coliseum, don't we?"
"Last time out there they looked pretty puny, I thought."
" 'Puny' is a good word."
"As a matter of fact, they looked kinda putrid."
"Excellent choice of language."
In right field during batting practice: