The Kennedy Men_ 1901-1963 - Laurence Leamer [15]
At the beginning of the season the entire Harvard varsity team had been given Harvard H sweaters. Joe could wear the black sweater with its crimson H as he walked through Harvard Yard. He knew, however, that unless he played in one of the two games against Yale, he would have to return his sweater with its emblem of honor. As the season went by the prospect of winning his letter grew dimmer and dimmer. Sexton’s team was winning, and even when Harvard was far ahead, the new coach rarely substituted, and when he did, he usually would not reach far enough down on his roster to put Joe in the game.
Sexton was so dismissive of Joe’s abilities that he did not even choose him to travel to New Haven for the first Harvard-Yale game. The Crimson team decimated the Yalies eight to two, led in part by Joe’s friend Bob Potter, who hit a home run and slid home after another hit. Despite Harvard’s insurmountable lead, Coach Sexton did not make a single substitution.
Three days later the Yalies traveled up to Cambridge for the second game of the series. It was Class Day at Harvard, a sparkling June afternoon and a splendid setting for the twelve thousand spectators who jammed into Harvard Stadium, even perching on the edges of the field and standing up on the roof of the stadium. Joe’s friend and social mentor, Bob Fisher, was one of the two cheerleaders, directing shouts from enthusiastic ranks of alumni and students. When N. P. Hallowell marched in behind the band with his white bearded face held high, carrying his class banner bearing the numerals 1861, he received a thunderous ovation. The honored classes of 1901 and 1908 marched in too and took their seats behind home plate. So did the captains of many previous Crimson baseball teams.
These alumni were not here in their suits and ties and bowler hats to watch a mere baseball game. These Harvard gentlemen had come to celebrate the Harvard ideal of sportsmanship. They had also come to watch Harvard win, and they were the driving force pushing Harvard to do what it had to do to be competitive, while paradoxically enough staying true to the sentimental myths of their sweetly remembered college years. They could be merciless toward a losing team—indeed, in the Harvard Alumni Bulletin they had called this year’s successful contingent “rather crude material”—while threatening to boycott games if the players did not stop the incessant, vulgar, ungentlemanly chattering on the field.
Rose had come too, with Mayor Fitzgerald, to watch her beau perform manly feats. For Joe it was an exquisite setting in which to display his athletic heroism in front of these thousands of Bostonians and others, his sweetheart, and her father, an avid baseball fan. He sat there in the dugout, however, as the Harvard nine fulfilled its mandate on this glorious afternoon, taking an early lead. It was unthinkable that he would play even a moment of this contest.
The game stayed close, and if Coach Sexton had made no substitutions in the first match, he surely was not about to make them now. The score was four to one when Yale came to bat in the ninth inning, and the coach sent the starting team out on the field for the last time. The first batter grounded out, but the next Yalie stroked a single into left field. A pinch hitter attempted to move the batter on, but he hit into an easy out.
Two outs. One more out. The Yalies were a scrappy bunch who had not been defeated twice by Harvard in eight years. The Harvard fans knew that it might not be over yet. Then, as the fans waited for Charles McLaughlin to pitch to what they hoped would be the final batter, the coach called time and put Joe in at first base. Only then did McLaughlin pitch. The batter hit to the shortstop, who threw the ball to Joe for the final out.
While the rest of the team converged on the pitcher’s mound, where they enveloped McLaughlin in their hugs, Joe walked silently off the field, clutching the winning ball. McLaughlin finally separated himself from his teammates and ran over to Joe to