Baseball men at that time gathered in large groups twice a year. They met at the World Series in October. They met again at the annual minor and major league meetings every December. Quinn decided to see if he could find a good buyer, a baseball fan and a Midas, at the World Series.
The 1932 World Series opened in New York, where the Yankees and the Chicago Cubs were clashing. As usual, Quinn attended the games, hoping that he would find someone who would steer him in the right direction.
In spite of the fact that Quinn had not broadcast his desire to sell the team, the word had gone around that he would be interested in turning it over to someone else. Even before the World Series, he was approached by a group of Boston business men, who were forming a syndicate. Their proposal had not gone beyond the talking stage, however, and Quinn did not care to consider them seriously until they could prove that they were prepared to lose money over a long period in order to pull the Red Sox out of the mire.
So, when he went to New York, he went with an open mind. He joined happily in the World Series ceremonies, met his legion of old friends and associates and waited for an opportunity to do something more concrete than simply think about selling his ball club.
What Quinn really wanted was for someone else to bring up the subject. Sometime during the series, he knew that one of his friends would ask him about it, and he was in no hurry to open the subject himself. He knew, too, that if no one approached him then someone would sooner or later. With the selling seed planted, the buying bloom would flower eventually.
During the course of his peregrinations around the World Series headquarters in New York, Quinn bumped into a good many people he knew. Few of them were prospective buyers, but almost any of them might know of someone else who was.
One night, he ran into Eddie Collins, who, in his day, had been one of the greatest second basemen of all time. Collins, after more than two decade in the majors, had reached the end of his playing career. The best years of his baseball life had been spent with the Philadelphia Athletics, where he had become an integral part of Connie Mack's million-dollar infield, consisted of Stuffy McInnis, himself, Jack Berry and Frank (Home Run) Baker. When Mack broke up that team, Collins was sent to the Chicago White Sox, where Eddie had been part of a magnificent ball club which was smashed by the Black Sox scandal of 1919, when eight members of the team helped to throw the World Series of that year to the Cincinnati Reds.
Collins was one of the few regulars on the club whose hands had remained clean. He had nothing to do with the scandal and, after finishing his playing career in Chicago, he had returned to Philadelphia as a coach under his old boss, Mack.
In 1932, Collins was, presumably, being groomed by the old gentleman to take over the managerial reins of the Athletics when, as and if Mack decided to relinquish them. Collins was happy in Philadelphia, and, to all intents and purposes, had no intention of leaving there.
When he and Quinn met, they shook hands and then Collins asked, “Say, Bob, is it true that you want to sell the Red Sox?”
“It all depends,” replied Quinn.
“On what?”
“On my finding the right party.”
“I see. Well I know a young fellow who might be interested.”
“Think so?” asked Quinn.
“I don't know. Would you like to meet him?”
“What's his name?”
“Tom Yawkey,” Collins answered.
No comments:
Post a Comment