Freddie Fitzsimmons

Although it was early October, the weather felt more like July: a clear sky, high humidity, and a baking sun. Just as the first pitch was thrown at 1:30 p.m., the Brooklyn thermometer hit 85 degrees, a record for the date. Despite the previous day’s rain, the field was dry. Freddie Fitzsimmons, one of the oldest pitchers ever to start a World Series game up to that time, battled Marius Russo for seven scoreless innings. Bob Considine, of the International News Service, described Fred as “grunting on every pitch” and sweating in the hot afternoon while “jamming the tremendous Yankee dynamo with his moist old knuckle ball.” Fitzsimmons had a “waddling, cocksure walk” and pulled back his cap when walking to the dugout after each inning of work, noted Considine, who was impressed by the knuckleballer’s “undaunted air” and “brand of heart.” Frank O’Neill, covering the game for the Times-Herald, noted that while Fred pitched, a large bald eagle, “America’s national bird and symbol of victory,” was seen circling over Ebbets Field: “Its white feathers reflected back the glint of the brilliant afternoon sun as it wheeled on wide spread pinions in the clear blue sky.” As Fitzsimmons walked toward the dugout, the eagle flew east toward Sheepshead Bay. Those who believed birds were omens may have expressed concern at its departure. Considering what happened next, they may have had good reason to do so. In the top of the seventh, the game was still scoreless. Bill Dickey was a quick infield out. Gordon walked and advanced to second on Rizzuto's sacrifice. Two were out when Russo, known as a good-hitting pitcher, came up to bat. Russo took two balls before he fouled, bringing the count to 2-1. Russo then whacked a breaking knuckleball that hit so hard just above Fitzsimmons’s left knee cap that the ball shot high in the air-- accounts vary from 30 to 75 feet, as high as the upper deck-- before Reese, moving to the first-base side of second, caught it for the third out. The Ebbets Field crowd roared when Russo made contact, but, as reporter Vincent Flaherty described, “seemed to halt in mid-air as if turned off by the twist of a radio dial. A churchlike quiet settled over the stadium” while fans looked on anxiously as Fitz writhed in pain. The United Press’s Harry Ferguson noted the irony that Fitzsimmons, “considered the greatest fielding pitcher in baseball,” was hit by the line drive. The action was reminiscent of the July game against Pittsburgh in which Fitzsimmons was hit on the wrist and had to leave in the midst of a shutout. Fred explained afterward that the ball came at him so fast that he was still following through with his pitching motion and could not catch the ball or move out of the way in time. Sixty years later, Russo described it as “one of the hardest balls I ever hit. It would have scored a run if Fitzsimmons hadn’t got in the way.” The official scorer credited Fitzsimmons with an assist on the out. The bizarre play ended the Yankee scoring threat for the inning, stranding Gordon, but that was little consolation for the 33,100 Brooklyn fans, who watched as teammates assisted Fitzsimmons. Walking haltingly and cursing with each painful step, Fred fought the pain that surged through his injured leg. The Yankee players stood sympathetically nearby as the Dodger pitcher limped off the field, cheered loudly by the crowd. Nearby the Brooklyn dugout sat Mrs. Fitz and daughter Helen. When Fred fell to the ground in pain, his wife almost collapsed and then wept with her face in her hands. After Fitz reached the dugout, Durocher and other teammates attempted to console Mrs. Fitzsimmons, who eventually managed a smile through her tears. Fitzsimmons was done for the game. Fans mindful of recent World Series history thought back to October 3, 1936-- almost five years to the day-- and Frank Crosetti’s squibber that bounced off Fitzsimmons’s glove and allowed Jake Powell to score the go-ahead run for the Yankees. With the Series hanging in the balance, one of the best fielding pitchers in baseball had twice been done in by freak plays on or near the mound. Sitting in the Dodger clubhouse, Fred may have asked himself, “Can it really be happening to me again?” Manager Leo Durocher later scolded photographers who were attempting to take pictures of Fred’s injured knee: “The man is suffering! He may have a broken kneecap. And you want a picture!” The dejected Fitzsimmons, obliged them, though, lifting the icepacks and bandage to reveal his swollen, reddish-purple knee. Meanwhile, his teammates each came up to him, offering a pat on the back and an encouraging word. Fitzsimmons sat by his locker and reflected on the lost opportunity to win his first World Series game: “I’ve never beefed about losing in my life. But to have a shutout within easy grasp and then to have to go out of a game that way. That’s hell. Russo got the meat of the bat on a curve ball. I saw it coming, but I couldn’t get out of the way...Gosh darn it, if I wasn’t so old I’d start all over again and learn how to duck. When I was a young fellow, they always told me, ‘They can’t kill you; they only bruise you.’ I believed it, and now look what happened. A lot of pitchers will fall down or get out of the way of those kind, but I charge right into ‘em...That's what you get for being a good fielding pitcher. I've been hit everywhere. In the throat, on the wrist and all over.” Fitzsimmons’s lasting ache from the loss to the Yankees in Game 3 was not just physical. In a 1952 interview, he expressed, “Leaving that game was the disappointment of my career because I felt sure I could have won it...I wanted to win that one more than any game I pitched.”