One defining component of baseball lies in the characters, unsung heroes, and overall candidity of ballplayers over time. As illustrated by the premise of my first article, “Baseball’s Anecdotal Ambience,” the tapestry of the national pastime is sewn by the stories told by each generation of fans to the next. I wanted to take it one step further and retell some of these forgotten stories through the eyes of a 21st century fan who has way too much time on their hands to research basically everything about the sport, and highlight some of the unsung heroes that made these stories what they are. From Craig Lefferts to Babe Ruth (not a knock on Big Craig just to clarify), every player has a driving reason for why they want to step into these harrowed ballparks and represent the National Pastime, and some of these guys carry the eccentricities and characters that make for a great story around the dinner table.

I got this idea from two sources, mainly. When I was a kid, I read Gary Cieradkowski’s “The League of Outsider Baseball: An Illustrated History of Baseball's Forgotten Heroes,” and was instantly captivated. I’m not kidding, I could not put that book down. Reading about the Steve Dalkowskis and 1x All Star Frankie Zaks of the game consumed my time, and I strived to learn more and more about the interesting personalities of baseball. It’s sitting on my shelf at home right now, but I still reread it from time to time for the laughs, knowledge, and Cieradkowski’s creative writing style. It’s a book on a whole ‘nother level, and I suggest that any baseball fan should check it out. 

The other source was more personal - my dad, my uncle, my brother, and I have a knack for identifying obscure players and sharing stories about them - stemming from the back of Eddie Waitkus’s 1950 Bowman baseball card (no spoilers, check it out for yourself). However, nobody had more random ball knowledge than my grandfather Bob, who would connect any event to some random pine-rider from the early 1900’s that probably amounted to a small player profile on SABR. Translation - Bob could give SABR a run for their money. I remember distinctly at 9 years old, I lost a spelling bee on the word “quarrel.” Bob was the first one to greet me, and to no surprise, he called me “Jim Quarles” for the next month at least. Now none of us have any idea who this guy is, to clear it up. However, I did some digging, and this guy was a two-year minor league pitcher in the late 1800’s. How the hell would anyone know that? All that aside, I never questioned it, Bob’s ball knowledge was on a different plane. We lost him in 2022, but his legacy still lives on through the stories that we continue to tell. For example, I got caught stealing second during my middle school days, and he wouldn’t stop calling me the name of some player (wish I could remember) who had concrete feet and was notorious for his lack of speed. This led to us finding obscure players with stories to tell, and I would like to honor Bob and name a couple of these guys each week and the anecdotes tied to them, Bob-esque. Hope ya enjoy.

I couldn’t start this article without one of my earliest memories of talking baseball. My dad and I still crack up every time Gates Brown’s name comes up, and for good reason. Brace yourself.

To start, let’s highlight Brown’s playing career. A Tiger for his entire major league tenure, Brown played in over 1000 games from 1963-75, primarily starring as a pinch hitter and occasionally as an outfielder. However, Brown’s path to the league was quite unorthodox. He aspired to play football, harboring offers from major colleges as a running back. Unfortunately, he almost lost it all instantly, but things have a funny way of working out, don’t they?. Facing a prison sentence as a junior in high school, Gates felt that all hope was lost, having been barred from participating in his senior season. A breaking and entering charge a year later sent him to prison, where he excelled on the dingy diamonds in Mansfield. However, it was not a football field that he played on - Gates pivoted to baseball during his time locked up. In fact, he excelled so much that the prison facilities director wrote a letter to multiple major league teams to come and take a look - and the rest, as they say, was history.

Brown was a cornerstone of Detroit’s 1968 World Series championship, batting a whopping .370 in 104 plate appearances solely as a pinch-hitting juggernaut. In fact, he set multiple pinch hitting records that season and throughout his league tenure. Later on, he transitioned to a bench role, helping the Tigers win a World Series in 1984 as a revered hitting coach. On top of his hitting prowess, “Gator” was also a great baseball mind. He knew his role, how to play it, and how to help others achieve their full potential with a contact-based approach. Brown most likely drank for free in Detroit until his death in 2013 at the age of 74.

Aside from the playing field, the reason I look to Gates Brown as a prime antecedent for a good story is his ability to mow down hot dogs. I’m not joking, look it up. I remember when I was a kid, my dad and I were exchanging stories about the guys we found on the baseball cards that my Grandpa Joe generously gave me, and the one that stuck with me the most was my dad’s narration of Brown’s hot dog eating escapade. Sometime during the Tigers’ legendary 1968 season, Gates Brown was out of the starting lineup per usual, waiting for his chance to pinch hit. When it became evident that manager Mayo Smith (name is ironic for this story by the way) was going to stick with the lineup he had, Brown unwound in the dugout with two hot dogs. All hell broke loose (not really) when his name was called mid bite. Brown, not wanting to let the dog go to waste or risk one of his teammates stealing a bite (totally fair), did the only logical thing and stuffed the two hot dogs, mustard in all, into his shirt. Hilariously, Brown was quoted saying:

"I always wanted to get a hit every time I went to the plate. But this was one time I didn't want to get a hit." Unfortunately, the unthinkable happened and at the crack of the bat, Gates slid into second headfirst, prompting a reaction from the condiments in his jersey. Standing up, Brown’s jersey was stained red and yellow, leading manager Mayo Smith to come over and check on his star pinch hitter for injury. Brown would not lift his shirt up and continued to insist that he was fine, until he had no other choice but to come clean (no pun intended). 

"I said, 'I was hungry. Besides, where else can you eat a hot dog and have the best seat in the house?’”, claimed Brown, and he was fined $100 for his hunger-fueled escapade. A small price to pay for immortalization in the baseball story world and the amount of laughter from my dad and I over the event.

There’s bound to be some legendary stories about someone who called themselves “The Great.” Art Shires has proven to be of the most odd and obscure personalities in baseball, with a story more fitting for boxing, ironically. An alcoholic brute, Shires was bigger than baseball. He compared himself to the likes of Babe Ruth, and stopped fans to ask if they were coming to watch “the outstanding first baseman.” That’s pretty much all you need to know to get a framework of this guy, but I want to highlight the rise and fall of “Art the Great” in full. Bursting on the scene in 1928, Shires began his career with 4 hits right off the bat, leading to a sense of cockiness that surely would not fade. After the game “The Great” was quoted, saying

“So this is the great American League I’ve heard so much about? I’ll hit .400!”

Shires hit a star-level .341 in his first 33 games, leaving much hope for the White Sox and his 1929 season. A mysterious first baseman who popped off for a losing team was a headline generator for sure, and he was somehow named team captain ahead of the ‘29 season. He picked up where he left off, the captain hitting .312 in 100 games. However, there’s a chance that the arrogant slap hitter may not have played for Chicago or in the Major Leagues at all had he not balked at Chicago’s original offer. He called it a “liberal cut,” insisting that minor league teams were willing to pay him more (probably not true). In protest, he instead joined a semi-pro team until finally taking the White Sox offer during the ‘28 season. This was only the beginning of the alcohol-fueled problematic decisions that plagued Shires’s otherwise promising career. Off the field, Shires never did anything halfway. He needed to be seen, and seen he was for sure. This guy had a penchant for suits, horse racing, yachting, and glittered canes? Guess that was fashion back then, can’t hate. He took it a step further, and for some reason, to keep his ego intact, Shires threatened any teammate or player that dressed akin to him. He also couldn’t have anyone tell him that he didn’t chew the most tobacco, holding the self-proclaimed crown of dippers. My guy. 

Shires was also no stranger to the justice system - trouble arose after the 1928 season when a fan that Shires - surprise surprise - threw a baseball at during a minor league game died from injuries to the head seven months later. Unfortunately, the justice system was favorably skewed to white men back in the day, as we know, and Shires got off because the man killed was Black. On top of his legal troubles, Shires was just plain weird. He was described to have walked past his manager in a hotel without recognition, opened the door to the courtyard, and started howling at the moon. Whattaman (which is also his nickname given by sportswriters, contrary to “The Great”). 

After this event, Shires was sent home by famed owner Charles Comiskey, a controversial decision according to the press. When he came back, just like that, the former captain’s spot was taken at first base, prompting him to specialize in pinch hitting. I guess the bigger they come, the harder they fall.

Eventually, Shires spiraled into continued alcoholism, fights with players, and even his own manager over wearing a red felt hat during batting practice. After he was released, he announced that he was done playing baseball, instead claiming the prospect of going back to school to get his law degree. I think you know how that story ends. Two weeks later, he was back on the team and in the lineup, but that was short lived. During a drunken rage, Shires beat the crap out of his manager again, along with the team security. Why? Because the manager tried to stop Shires from using liquor bottles as Native American clubs and screaming in the hotel. Happens.

Like something out of a movie, Shires came back to baseball, but did not focus on baseball. Instead, he took his victories over the manager into actual boxing, impressively knocking out a legit established boxer in under 30 seconds for his first bout. Then it all came crashing down, as it does with this guy. The Great fought against Joe Trafton, Chicago Bears center, and lost in 5 rounds. The fight was considered a joke by sportswriters, and the only reason the fight ended was due to neither fighters having the energy to continue. Shires continued to descend when the public learned that an upcoming fight, and possibly his first fight, were fixed in order to favor Shires. This prompted the commissioner, Kenesaw Mountain Landis, to give Shires an ultimatum - it was either boxing or baseball. Shires picked the latter, and for while, things were looking up. Until they weren’t.

Hall of Famer Walter Johnson kept Shires in check, and instead of letting his ego do the talking, Shires humbly hit .369 in his 38 games in Washington after the White Sox traded him over. For the first time in a while, fans looked forward to what the “reformed” and reinstated Shires could do in the following season. However, Shires lost the starting job when Joe Kuhel’s arrival in Washington forced him out. Shires argued that he shouldn’t be on the bench, and his manager relented. However, instead of starting him, Clark Griffith sold the once “Great” shires to the Brewers, a minor league team at the time. This was Shires’s big break. Without the responsibility of playing for a Big League club, “Whattaman” was called to act in TV shows, feeding his ego more than ever. One night, when drunk, he walked into a police station and dared them to throw him out. They didn’t take the bait, and he was booked for public intoxication and possession of a concealed weapon (brass knuckles). Soon after, he was released, and after cutting up in the minor leagues, teams were knocking on his door again. However, no team took the chance as Shires was continuing to establish himself as an unstable liability.

Eventually, the Braves showed interest and the reinstated “Great” claimed that he preemptively signed a contract before even receiving it. The contract was then voided, or there was no contract. What a psychic. However, it was said that Shires had matured after the contract debacle. Reports stated that he was quite subdued, focusing on baseball rather than his larger-than-life image. Unfortunately for the Braves, Shires had the worst season of his life, and The Great was benched and promptly released. Upon retirement, Shires absolutely spit a soliloquy that illustrated the demise of The Great:

“Listen, I kidded others but I never kidded myself. I’m not the smartest fellow in the world but I know a few things in a small way.  Sure, I lost my job in the American league.  Shucks, that’s only an incident in my career.  I went to Hollywood once and made two movie shorts and got $7,500 for it.  Took $500 of it and spent it and put $7,000 in the bank.  The next day the bank shut up and never has opened since.  From vaudeville, baseball, and fighting in the ring and one thing and another, I had $30,000 in cash at one time.  Lost every nickel of it in a real estate venture…I had just $85 in the world left. Times are tough but it’s a pretty good world at that.  I have no regrets and no complaints.  I’ll just do the best I can and let it go at that.” 

After some failed attempts to return, Shires turned back to boxing, finishing with a respectable 5-2 pro record. He went on to manage some minor league ball clubs, and toiled around the lower levels of baseball for a while. But he just couldn’t stay out of trouble, even in his matured age. After his wife divorced him due to Shires committing domestic violence, he bottomed out. He was broke, injured, and out of baseball. When news came around that he was associated with Al Capone (WHAT?!), nobody even batted an eye. Eventually, The Great was booked for murder, which was somehow reduced to aggravated assault due to some Saul Goodman level lawyer work. Two men were killed at the hand of Shires over the course of his life, and it only resulted in a $25 fine. Out of all of his escapades, lung cancer proved to be the only thing that could end The Great in 1967 at 60 years old. What. A. Man.