Mantilla up. Bats right. S1C. Line foul to left S2. B1 OS. Error. Mantilla safe at first when Hoak threw badly to Nelson. This is the first Brave to reach base. Mathews up. Mathews sacrificed, Haddix to Mazeroski covering first. Mantilla on second. Aaron up. B1 B2 B3 B4. Aaron purposely passed.
Adcock up. B1 OS. Hit and end of game.
Adcock's hit is actually a home run into the right center field bleachers, but when Aaron cuts across the diamond through the pitcher's box to home plate an immediate protest is made and the umpires force Aaron back to make the proper base run ahead of Adcock. Time called now for a definite ruling as to whether the home run will actually be that. The ruling is a two-base hit for Adcock, and Aaron is automatically out. Adcock's hit scores Mantilla with the winning run. One run. One hit. One error. One left.
[This article contains a table. Please see hardcopy of magazine or PDF.]
NOTHING BUT THE TOOTH
For several years now the University of Chicago has been long on brains and short on brawn. Today there is talk of a renascence of sport at the school (SI, June 1). But tradition at Chicago is not of the stuff that can be wiped out in a week. And if Al Jacobs (above, right) did not have the brawn to win a 100-yard dash in a college track meet last week, he did have the presence to use his brainy head to snap at the finish-line tape. The winner was John Moon of Tennessee A&I, who threw up his eyes in triumph as he won by the skin of Jacobs' teeth.
SMALL VISIT TO VEECK'S PLANET
The four midget spacemen advancing with ray guns drawn on the Chicago White Sox dugout are bearing malice toward no earthlings. Deposited in Comiskey Park by helicopter, they bear instead an invitation from Bill Veeck, the uncustomary boss of the White Sox, who was up to his customary ball game tricks last week. The little men were present, explained Veeck, never far from some rationale for his irrational stunts, to give aid and comfort to little Luis Aparicio and Nellie Fox. Then Veeck disclosed that one of the midgets had once been hired as a pinch hitter in 1951 when Veeck owned the old St. Louis Browns.
Next day 100 bearded men from Ford County, Illinois, celebrating their county's centennial, showed up, and Veeck was delighted. "And this wasn't my idea," said he. "I attract these things. The other night we had an uninvited one-man band in the bleachers. I think screwballs feel at home with me. We're kindred spirits."