Pepper Martin hit
a moderate hopper toward second base, and the way Pepper could run there was no
chance at all of doubling him at first. As I'm about to cross the plate I look
toward second and see that Billy Rogell, the Detroit shortstop, is throwing the
ball anyway. Instead of ducking, Diz straightens up and the ball hits him flush
on the forehead.
They carried him
off the field with his head out to here, and the first thing he said when he
came to in the clubhouse was, "They didn't get Pepper, did they?"
Get him? Pepper
had been across the bag when Rogell threw.
Diz pitched the
next day anyway and although he pitched well enough, he wasn't the same Dizzy
Dean. We lost, 3-1. And that sent us back to Detroit needing to sweep the final
Paul won the first
one. The whole World Series was coming down to the final game.
The question was
whether Diz could come back on one day's rest despite whatever ill effects
there might still be from the beaning, or whether to go with Wild Bill
Hallahan, who had pitched a fine eight innings in the second game. Hallahan was
supposed to be a great World Series pitcher because he had beaten the
Philadelphia A's twice in 1931, and the consensus of opinion in the newspapers
was that Hallahan would start. Frank ran down the eight regular positions, and
when he got to the pitcher's spot he said, "Let's have a meeting."
The first thing he
did was to look at Diz. "How do you feel?"
Diz was indignant.
"You wouldn't think of pitching anybody else with the greatest pitcher in
the world sitting here?"
Great. As far as
I'm concerned, that's all I have to hear.
Frank gives him a
sour look and snaps, "Pay attention. We'll go over the hitters."