Grover Cleveland Alexander and Ernie Shore

Carrigan told me I was going to open the Series, which was just swell with me, and quite an honor considering the talent we had on our pitching staff. No, I was­n't a bit nervous. ... When I had my good stuff, I nearly always won. I was a fast­ball pitcher. I threw a ball that dropped, a natural sinker. And it dropped fast, too, real fast. When I had it going for me, they hit nearly everything to the infield, very seldom to the out­field.

I told you they didn't often hit me to the outfield. Well, in the eighth inning I gave up a couple of runs and not one ball left the infield the whole inning. With one out I walked Milt Stock. Then Dave Bancroft came up. He hit one right on the nose to Jack Barry, who made a terrific stop of it. But Everett Scott didn't cover sec­ond base. To this day I don't know why. Maybe he didn't think Barry would get it. When Barry wheeled to throw to the base, nobody was there, and he held the ball just long enough for Bancroft to beat it out.

L-R: Dave Bancroft, Jack Barry, Everett Scott, Gavvy Cravath

The next man walked and the bases were loaded. Then Gavvy Cravath stepped in. He was the great home run hitter of the day, you know. He had hit something like 24 home runs that year which was the new record for a single season. If I tell you that Cravath hit more home runs that year than most teams did, you'll get some idea of what a slugger he was. So you can bet I was careful with him. I got him to hit one on the ground, but the best we could do was get him at first, and a run scored.
Then a fellow named Fred Luderus came to bat. He hit a little nubber toward the mound. Well, it had rained the night before, and the grass was still wet and slip­pery. In fact they had burned hundreds and hundreds of gallons of gasoline on the field before the game to try and dry it. It helped some, but not eough. I went af­ter the ball, and my feet just flew out from under me, and down I fell. I still had a chance to throw him out, but the darndest thing happened. You see, in those days they had a path from home plate to the pitcher's box, a skin track without any grass on it. You don't see that anymore. With the ground so wet from the rain, there were spike marks in that path about an inch deep. Well, the ball hit one of those marks and curved right on away from me. All I could do was sit there and watch that little white ball roll away–so slowly I could see each stitch–while the run crossed the plate.
Talk about bad luck. I should have been out of that inning without a run scored. You put their hits end to end, and they still wouldn't reach the outfield grass.