It was a wonderful April day in Philadelphia, the kind that made you believe in fresh starts. The sun bathed the cobblestone streets in a golden hue, and a light breeze carried the mingling scents of blooming flowers and freshly poured beer from the German Corner Pub’s brand-new Biergarten. The first week of warmth and sunshine had finally allowed the pub to unveil this long-anticipated addition, a cozy outdoor space sponsored by Boeselager Brewery, whose famous pilsner flowed freely from freshly tapped barrels.
Under the budding trees, patrons filled the wooden tables, their laughter mingling with the clink of mugs and the occasional shout from a game of Skat. The sound of a lively accordion drifted through the air, adding a cheerful note to the festive atmosphere.
Karl Boeselager, the man behind the Boeselager Brewery, leaned back in his chair, feeling the creak of the wood beneath him. He was a man who preferred the taste of action over words, but today was about words—important ones. After the usual handshakes and small talk with the locals, Karl sat down with the general manager of his baseball club, Pitsch. Spring training had just ended, and the regular season loomed large on the horizon.
“So,” Karl began, setting two stoneware cups brimming with foam-topped pilsner on the table, “Looking forward to the new season?”
Pitsch ran a hand through his hair, a shadow of last season’s disappointment flickering across his face. “After how last season ended? Definitely. We were so close…”
The team had started the 1913 season with such promise. Troy Duerden, their star pitcher, had been having a solid year with a 9-5 record and a 2.49 ERA in 16 games. But when Troy tore his flexor tendon, the momentum faltered. In the final two months, a slump followed, and they let a promising second-place finish slip away to the New York Bakers. In the end, the Brewers were seven games short of a postseason spot.
“We had it in our grasp,” Pitsch murmured, more to himself than Karl. “If only Troy hadn’t gone down when he did. Seven games… It felt like we were chasing shadows by the end.”
Karl nodded, his thoughts briefly drifting to his own career, which had been cut short by injury. “Tough break. I know how that feels. But Troy’s a fighter; he’ll come back strong.”
Duerden’s injury had occurred shortly after Bujak, the team manager, switched to a three-man rotation. This change had put extra strain on the pitchers. Reinhold Rogers, who had been struggling, was moved to the bullpen, leaving Henry Averill, Troy Duerden, and Winfield Clark to form the rotation. Rogers had the best record among the original starters (15-10), though Averill had the lowest ERA at 2.13. Winfield Clark, however, ended the season with a losing record (14-16) and the rotation’s worst ERA (3.30).
“At least you discovered Mawdesley,” Karl remarked, taking a sip of his beer.
“I’m pleasantly surprised,” Pitsch replied. Mawdesley had spent most of his career as a reliever for the Doves before Pitsch signed him in 1912 following the Rollie Watson disaster. The signing had turned out to be a lucky shot; Mawdesley ended the 1913 season with an 8-1 record and a 2.85 ERA in 13 starts. After Mawdesley’s promotion, Rogers returned to the rotation to avoid another injury, leaving Arthur Haddow alone in the bullpen.
“Arthur didn’t look good at all, don’t you think?” Karl asked, concern creeping into his voice.
“Correct, and we’ll have to keep an eye on him this year. His spring training was excellent, though. I told Troy to make sure we have a second arm in the pen.” Pitsch rarely told Bujak what to do, but on this matter, he had been insistent, and Bujak eventually agreed. “Our options are limited, though. Arthur’s got a nasty sinker that can get us the ground balls we want.”
“You’re still following this strategy? I thought Scott’s retirement ended the groundball way?”
For years, the Brewers’ pitching staff had been built around groundball pitchers, who could direct hits to the infielders’ gloves and away from the outfielders, who weren’t the best fielders. This arrangement was perfect for strong fielders like Caesar Scott and Alfred Gilling, who protected the mediocre to bad gloves of Rusty Hall and Leo McKenzie.
When Caesar Scott reported back in horrible shape at the beginning of 1913, the front office had made the tough decision to release him. In dire need of defensive qualities, the Brewers turned a fourth-round draft pick in for Herminio Cook from Boston and signed Smith Evered as a free agent. It wasn’t the perfect solution, but it was the best they could do. The rest of the infield remained largely intact: Milan Feather started 115 games at first base, Salvador Pallister 111 games at second, and Cletus Stanbridge covered 102 games at third. Pallister had earned the Eastern League Golden Bat at second base for his stellar performance, hitting .314 with 3 home runs and 70 RBIs.
Chester Walker remained the primary catcher. Although he didn’t match his hit and walk numbers from the previous season, he still managed to hit eight home runs and bring in 54 runs.
The outfield, meanwhile, had returned to its old glory. Ten years earlier, the Brewers had fielded what might have been the most explosive outfield in League Baseball League history, with Rusty Hall, Enrique Johnson, and Leo McKenzie. In 1913, their names were Harry Anderson, Ray Faulkner, and Leo McKenzie.
“It was fun to see our outfielders hit,” Karl said enthusiastically. “We’ll have a lot of fun with Anderson. Twelve home runs in his second season? 68 RBIs? The crowd will love seeing him and Leo in the lineup.”
“About that…” Pitsch hesitated, noticing how Karl’s right eyebrow raised and his forehead wrinkled. “It looks like Leo will play fewer games this year.”
The lively conversations in the Biergarten seemed to dull as a silence fell over their table, heavy and expectant. “Will Troy bench him?” Karl asked, his voice steady but with an edge.
“It looks that way. Troy said he’d start Buntine in right field.” The Brewers had drafted Alfonso Buntine in the second round of the 1912 draft. Unlike McKenzie, Buntine brought average defense along with an incredible bat. He played in AA for the 1912 season and the first 28 games of 1913 before moving to Langhorn. Pitsch had preferred to give him more time in AAA, as Buntine was only 24 years old, but Bujak had insisted on keeping him with the Brewers after spring training.
At 43, McKenzie’s seemingly immortal body was finally showing signs of age. Leo hadn’t announced his retirement yet, but everyone, including McKenzie himself, knew the clock was ticking.
The two men lingered over a few more beers, ordered food, and discussed the past—the titles, the many hours in the pub, playing Skat, arguing with their British co-owner, and the infamous Christmas Clash with the Temperance Movement.
“You do realize it’s the 20th season,” Pitsch said, looking down at the bottom of his cup, surprised at how fast he had drunk that last beer.
“Yeah,” Karl replied, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “And it would be nice to win it this year.”