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handeaux · 3 years
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17 Curious Facts About The Cincinnati Reds
The Original Cincinnati Baseball Team Now Plays In Atlanta
Everyone knows baseball’s first professional team was organized in Cincinnati in 1869. What’s forgotten is that team’s disappointing 1870 season, after which the franchise dissolved. Manager Harry Wright moved to Boston, where he organized, with some former Cincinnati teammates, the Boston Red Stockings in 1871. Renamed the Boston Braves in 1912, that team moved to Milwaukee in 1953, and to Atlanta in 1966.
Red Stockings Were Dangerous
The 1869 Cincinnati Red Stockings created a sensation by wearing knickerbocker trousers to show off their manly calves, clothed in lurid scarlet, to entice more women to the ball park. Other clubs adopted Cincinnati’s style, but players reported cases of blood poisoning when they were spiked, because the toxic dyes coloring their stockings seeped into the wounds. By the early 1900s, players started wearing white “sanitary socks” under brightly (and dangerously) dyed “stirrup socks” to avoid infection.
Today’s Reds Are Cincinnati’s Fifth Professional Baseball Team
1. The Cincinnati Red Stockings of 1869 dissolved after the 1870 season. 2. A revived Reds, formed in 1875, joined the new National League in 1876, but was expelled from the league and dissolved in 1880 because they refused to stop serving beer. 3. The current Cincinnati Reds team was organized in 1881 to join the rival American Association, then quit the AA in 1889 to rejoin the National League. 4. The American Association returned to town in 1891 with team known as Kelly's Killers, who played in the East End. 5. A short-lived professional league, the Union Association, recruited a Cincinnati franchise, the “Outlaw Reds,” who competed during that league’s only season in 1884.
Too Much Sunshine.
Baseball games have been called on account of rain, snow, earthquakes, darkness and all sorts of factors, but the Cincinnati Reds once had a game called on account of sunshine. The Reds and the Boston Braves squared off on 6 May 1892 in League Park. This ancestor of Crosley Field was built facing west and, after 14 innings of scoreless play, the catchers and hitters complained they couldn’t see the ball as the sun slowly settled behind Price Hill. Umpire Jack Sheridan agreed and called the tie game on account of sunshine. The next day’s Enquirer called the decision “just and sensible.”
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Cicadas Are Good Luck
Local maven Joe Hoffecker notes the Reds have played eight seasons during which Cincinnati endured an infestation of 17-year cicadas. During those eight seasons, the Reds won a World Series, two National League pennants and two second-place finishes. The combined won-lost record for those eight years is 633-553, for a cumulative .534 percentage. This bodes well for the 2021 season.
Build It And They Will Come
Before settling in at the corner of Western Avenue and Findlay Street, the Reds played ball at Union Grounds, located approximately where the Union Terminal Fountain is today (1867 to 1870), at  a park variously known as Cincinnati Baseball Park, Avenue Grounds, and Brighton Park, located in Camp Washington on Spring Grove Avenue north of the stockyards (1876 to 1880), and at the Bank Street Grounds in Brighton, near where Bank Street ends at I-75 today (1882 to 1883). The team settled at a former brickyard at the corner of Western Avenue and Findlay Street, named League Park (1884 to 1901), rebuilt as the Palace of the Fans in 1902, and as Redland Field in 1912. This venue was renamed Crosley field in 1934.
Ovine Groundskeepers
On the morning of 4 July 1894, somebody opened the gates at League Park and all the lawnmowers escaped. Groundskeeper John Schwab arrived at the ball grounds early to get the lines painted and stands swept for a double header only to discover that a flock of sheep he employed to trim the grass had wandered off. By nightfall, he hadn’t located his errant grounds crew.
Palms Of Seasoned Leather
Second baseman John Alexander “Bid” McPhee was the first major leaguer to play his entire professional career (1882-99) for the Cincinnati Reds. Many years later, Johnny Bench and Barry Larkin also achieved this feat. But there is another curious feat associated with Bid McPhee. He was certainly the last second baseman, and some sources claim he was the last player, to take the field without a glove. After 14 years of outstanding fielding without a mitt, McPhee donned a glove in 1896 and had a Hall of fame year.
Let’s Go Out To The Lobby
In 1913, the hottest concept in movie theaters was the airdome, an outdoor set-up under the stars with a piano player pounding away as silent films unspooled. The Reds organization hopped on that bandwagon by opening Cincinnati’s only roof-covered airdome at Redland Field. The nightly theater sat 3,000 viewers who got to see a feature and four shorts for a nickel. The Reds also leased their ballpark for dances, boxing, wrestling and track events.
Spring Training In A Cemetery
Although the 1919 Reds went on to claim the World Series crown, the year got off to an inauspicious start. Manager Pat Moran hauled the team to Waxahachie, Texas for spring training but found the weather anything but vernal. Constant rain and plunging temperatures prevented play on the field at Jungle Park, so the team practiced on the adjacent railroad tracks or crossed the road and found higher – and dryer – ground in the Waxahachie City Cemetery. It was the “dead ball” era, after all!
Ejected For Napping
Hall-of-Fame center-fielder Edd Roush has the distinction of being the only major leaguer ever ejected from a game for taking a nap on the field. The Reds opened an East Coast road trip on 8 June 1920, facing the New York Giants at the Polo Grounds. The defending world champions played miserably but vociferously challenged an eighth-inning call by umpire Barry McCormick. The ump allowed the debate to go on for a good 15 minutes, so Roush made a pillow of his cap and glove and reclined in the outfield. At length, McCormick ejected a couple of players and ordered play to resume, but Roush couldn’t be roused and was sent to the showers. New York won, 5 to 4.
Three Is Better Than Two
In all of major league history, there have been only three occasions in which two ball clubs played three games on a single day. The last of those rare triple headers involved the Cincinnati Reds. Fighting against Pittsburgh for third place in the National League, the Reds faced the Pirates at Forbes Field on 2 October 1920 for a marathon outing beginning at noon. The Reds took the first two games, clinching their third-place finish. The Pirates were ahead 6-0 when the third game was called on account of darkness.
Postponed On Account Of Lindbergh
In May 1927, Colonel Charles Lindbergh flew alone across the Atlantic Ocean. After returning stateside, Lindbergh embarked on a nationwide tour, arriving in Cincinnati on 6 August 1927. The Reds hastily erected a temporary platform at Redland Field and the gates opened for a standing-room-only crowd to hear their hero speak. So many aviation enthusiasts filled the stands that the Reds couldn’t clear them out to let the paying baseball crowd in. That day’s game was postponed and the Reds and Phillies turned the next day’s game into a double-header.
Up, Up And Away!
On 8 June 1934, the Cincinnati Reds became the first major league baseball team to travel to a game by airplane when they journeyed to Chicago. Manager Bob O’Farrell and 19 players flew to Chicago, some said, in a bid to distract attention from their last-place standing. The Reds beat the Cubs that day, 4 to 3.
No Commies Here!
Throughout the late 1940s and early 1950s, Americans suspected anyone with liberal leanings of supporting Communism. Nationally televised hearings led by Senator Joseph McCarthy raised anti-Communist feelings to a fever pitch, and no one wanted to be labelled a “Red.” Bowing to popular pressure, the Cincinnati Reds became the Cincinnati Redlegs from 1954 to 1959 to allay any concerns about their patriotism.
Fewer Trains Meant Parking For The Reds
In 1957, both the Brooklyn Dodgers and New York Giants departed for sunny California, and New York City was left holding the bag. That bag contained an unfulfilled offer to build what would become Shea Stadium as part of a futile effort to hold either of the National League teams in Gotham. Snubbed by both, New York determined to build that stadium anyway and attempted to lure the Reds to the Big Apple. Reds owner Powel Crosley Jr. hinted that he might consider such an offer, because he needed parking. Cincinnati rushed a plan to demolish Union Terminal’s maintenance facilities to create more parking spaces around Crosley Field.
Rosie Reds Kept The Team In Cincinnati
Despite winning the National League pennant in 1961, the Reds saw dwindling attendance over the following years. When owner Bill DeWitt let it be known in 1964 that he was entertaining an offer to sell the team to a San Diego syndicate, the Queen City panicked. Among the proposals to boost attendance was the successful formation of the Rosie Reds to encourage women to attend games. The Rosie Reds are still going strong after more than 50 years. “Rosie,” by the way, is an acronym. It stands for Rooters Organized to Stimulate Interest & Enthusiasm.
[A tip of the hat to Cincinnati Reds Historian Greg Rhodes whose research was invaluable in compiling this list.]
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noxaurumques · 6 years
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Five things you need to know today, and I was right about Apple
Good morning, Cincinnati! ... although I'm getting ready next week to kick 2018 squarely in the teeth, right this minute I'm coming down off of a 10-day alcohol and sugar binge, so I ask you to pardon any current sluggishness. ... Here's a look back at Courier cartoonist Joe Hoffecker's best work in 2017. from Google Alert - good morning http://ift.tt/2lbCa4Y
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handeaux · 3 years
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Beware The Squirrel Pie: Cincinnati’s Long History With Periodical Cicadas
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The song of the 17-Year Cicada will soon resound throughout the Cincinnati region just as it has since 1800, breeding, as always, myths, memories, rumors and a great deal of unsubstantiated folderol.
When Cincinnati was founded in 1788, the local periodical cicadas, known as Brood X, had been slumbering as subterranean grubs for half a decade. The first emergence to attract the settlers’ attention would have taken place in 1800, but was apparently unmentioned in the local newspapers. An anonymous correspondent known only as “M.C.” confirmed to the Cincinnati Gazette [23 June 1868] that cicadas were not unknown to the city’s first European colonizers:
“During the last of May, 1817, I first witnessed their appearance in this vicinity. Being then a boy, my father gave me facts connected with their appearance in 1800, which have now been confirmed four times.”
An early painting of Cincinnati in 1800 suggests that cicadas may have been a minor phenomenon in 1800 because the settlers had chopped down all the trees for miles around the Cincinnati riverfront, so there were few places for emerging grubs to metamorphose into flying, humming adults. A letter from Philadelphia that year, printed in one of Charles Cist’s collections, records that the City of Brotherly Love was inundated to the extent that conversation was impossible without shouting and church services were cancelled. No one had, as yet, surmised that Cincinnati and Philadelphia both host Brood X and endure the eruption simultaneously.
A big concern in 1868 involved the ability of cicadas to sting, which they do not. Although the female is equipped with an ovipositor sufficient to penetrate tree bark for the purpose of laying eggs, the insects do not confuse humans for trees, and do not sting. Still, the Cincinnati Gazette [12 June 1868] reported:
“The Dayton Empire, says that when the locusts visited that vicinity seventeen years ago, many persons were stung by them, and in some cases fatally.”
The Enquirer [16 June 1868] spread this tale as well:
“We learn that on Saturday last two children in Dayton were stung by them so severely that one died, and of the life of the other there is but little hope.”
Another concern raised that year involved the potentially poisonous effects upon squirrels fattened on cicadas. The Enquirer [17 June 1868] warned readers that cicada-fattened squirrels were to be avoided:
“Our readers should be cautious in eating squirrels during the locust season, as these rodents eat the locusts. Dr. Wright informs the Terre Haute Express that in 1851 he knew one family, and the inmates of a large boarding house, among them Col. R.W. Thompson, made quite sick, with every symptom of poisoning, traced to the eating of squirrel pie.”
By the appearance of 1885, the Cincinnati Post [2 June 1885] advised residents to look upon the rare infestations of this sonorous insect as a benefit because they prune weak tree branches:
“Fruit growers count on better apple crops for the half-dozen years after a ‘locust year’ than the half-dozen years before they come.”
Although the Enquirer in 1868 claimed locust-fed squirrels were a hazard, the newspaper changed its tune in 1885:
“The seventeen-year locust has been eaten in North America and is said to have been used in soap-making.”
The Cincinnati Post [12 June 1885] agreed, taking biblical inspiration from John the Baptist, who subsisted on locusts (of an entirely different species) and honey, suggested that the insects might be breaded and fried:
“Those who have eaten of him may be pardoned for saying, after acknowledging that the new dish was very good, that it had a flavor unlike anything else in their experience.”
C.H. Newton, librarian at the Mercantile Library, brought a couple of cicadas from his home in College Hill to cicada-less downtown that year, only to have them devoured instantly by the city’s abundant sparrows.
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By 1902, reporters deferred to scientists in all matters cicada, advising calm until the plague passed, but rumors of cicada stings persisted. The Cincinnati Post touted the nutritional value of our infrequent visitors, reporting [11 June 1902] on a man who served dinner consisting of cicada soup, cicada fritters, cicada pie, and cicadas on toast, noting that no one asked for a second helping. It would be another 85 years, until 1987, before the Snappy Tomato Pizza Company introduced their Snappy Cicada Pizza.
Cincinnati’s hillsides had returned to sylvan grandeur by 1919 as trees were permitted to grow rather than be chopped down for fuel and housing. Newly reforested hills hosted billions of cicadas in 1919 requiring, according to the Enquirer [2 June 1919], extraordinary measures:
“In College Hill the insects were reported to be so numerous yesterday that the residents in several sections of the hill scooped them up with shovels and, pouring coal oil on the insects, burned them in heaps.”
At the Cincinnati Zoo in 1936, cicadas competed with the orchestra during rehearsals for the Summer Opera. But the biggest cicada problem affected the Bavarian Brewery in Covington when several bushel baskets-full of dead cicadas clogged the cooling tower, halting production of the golden amber beverage until workmen could clear the blockage.
The 1953 emergence here in Cincinnati coincided with a significantly more harmful insect pest, the army worm. A caterpillar of insatiable appetite, the army worm devoured lawns, garden, trees – any foliage in its path. Compared to the relatively harmless – though loud – cicada, the army worm posed a real threat.
In recent years, Cincinnati has gained international renown through the research of Dr. Gene Kritsky of Mount St. Joseph University, who has made the study of this fly-by-night insect the hallmark of his esteemed career in entomological investigations.
Throughout Cincinnati’s love-hate relationship with the 17-year periodical cicada, the occasional insects have proved to be a good omen for baseball. As our good friend, Joe Hoffecker reports, the Reds have played eight seasons during which Cincinnati endured an infestation of 17-year cicadas. During those eight seasons, the Reds won a World Series, two National League pennants and two second-place finishes. The combined won-lost record for those eight years is 633-553, for a cumulative .534 percentage. This bodes well for the 2021 season.
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