How Cobb Got Along With Others

Part 2: Ty and Other Players

In legend, I am a sadistic, slashing, swashbuckling despot, a Draco of the diamond, who waged war in the guise of sport. The men I went against didn't call me a "dirty" player. That charge has come from those anointed with the critical powers developed through carrying a press card. The truth is that I believe, and always have believed, that no man, in any walk of life, can attain success who holds in his heart malice, spite, or littleness toward his opponents. The competitor who comes armed with right in his heart and mind has nothing whatever to fear. The honorable way is the only way (Cobb, 113-114).

Self-serving tripe, right? Of course, it is his autobiography. If anyone expected Cobb in his autobiography to go on and on about what a terrible person he was and how he played sometimes violently, that person would be mistaken. Cobb redeems himself, somewhat, in his next paragraph:

But I did retaliate. That I freely admit. If any player took unfair advantage of me, my one thought was to strike back as quickly and effectively as I could and put the fear of God into him. Let the other fellow fire the first shot, and he needed to be on the qui vive from then on. For I went looking for him. And when I found him, he usually regretted his act—and rarely repeated it. I commend this procedure to all young players who are of the aggressive type. The results are most satisfactory.
Along with the counsel of my father, I fell back on Polonius, when in Hamlet he advises Laertes: "Beware of entrance to a quarrel; but being in, bear't, that the opposed may beware of thee." No better guide for a ballplayer ever was written (Cobb, 114).

That's more like the legendary evil Cobb that everyone has become familiar with. It's fascinating the way that there are piles and piles of stories about him and his mean streak, and here he is, in his amazingly self-aggrandizing autobiography, justifying his sometimes brutal retaliations. He knows what he did, he knows why he did it, and he wants to justify his retaliations, spikings, beatings, brawls and general shenannigans using Polonius? That being said, let's examine some anecdotes.

The people in the baseball world who hated Cobb the most were those on opposing teams, as demonstrated by the Lajoie batting title affair in 1910. More serious than that debacle, and a direct assault on Cobb's character, was an incident in 1926 concerning Dutch Leonard formerly of the Boston Red Sox. Leonard accused Cobb of gambling on his own team, charges which forced Cobb to retire in 1926, only to return in 1927 after being cleared by Commissioner Kennesaw Mountain Landis. Leonard made these charges public seemingly on account of bitterness he harbored against Cobb for what he perceived was was the conscious effort of Cobb to drive Leonard out of baseball. The two had had their run-ins on the diamond (as Cobb had had with nearly everyone) and when there was an opportunity for Cobb to sign Leonard, he passed on him, which Leonard took personally.

In another incident involving the Red Sox on 16 September 1915 at Fenway Park, after being thrown at several times, Cobb responded by flinging his bat at pitcher Carl Mays. Mays responded by hitting Cobb with the next pitch, and as Cobb walked to first, fans threw bottles and other garbage at him. After the game, fans rushed onto the field, throwing things at Cobb. He refused to be intimidated, however, and walked straight through the crowd to the clubhouse. Instead of attacking him, the crowd parted and let him through, yelling at him, but afraid to escalate the situation, perhaps fearing his reaction.

Nor were Cobb's brawls and incidents limited to the regular season. During spring training in 1917, he scuffled with most of the New York Giants, who were training in Dallas with the Tigers. Buck Herzog and Art Fletcher, the second baseman and shortstop, traded insults with Cobb from the very beginning of an exhibition game. When Cobb got on first, he planned to go for second and start a little brannigan with Herzog. He took off for second, and Herzog was waiting with the ball. But instead of simply applying the tag, Herzog jabbed Cobb in the head with the ball, and they both went down. They exchanged blows and were joined by Fletcher. When the fight was broken up, both Herzog and Cobb were ejected, much to the dismay of the local fans who had come to see Cobb play. But the fighting was not over. That night, Herzog and Cobb fought again in Cobb's room, with Cobb whipping Herzog easily, and some accounts (but not Cobb's autobiography) say that the fight was broken up when Cobb began beating the bed's footboard with Herzog's head. The next day John McGraw confronted Cobb in the hotel lobby, and Cobb left town to avoid any further confrontations.

Ruth and
Cobb

The most famous of Cobb's conflicts with other ballplayers was his relationship with Babe Ruth. The polar opposition of their playing and living styles led to near-violent exchanges between the two. In June 1924, the two came very close to blows, when the Tigers' pitcher threw at Ruth. Ruth then warned the next batter, Bob Meusal, that Cobb had ordered him to be thrown at as well. When he was indeed hit by a pitch, Meusal charged the mound and both benches emptied. Ruth and Cobb charged straight at each other, but Miller Huggins and an umpire came between them.

Despite all the animosity between Cobb and Ruth, they were eventually able to become friends with Ruth and even enjoyed each other's company after retiring. After their elections to the Hall of Fame, the two even held a best-of-three golf tournament, with all proceeds to benefit their favorite charities.

I've spent most of this page relating stories of the fisticuffs in which Cobb found himself embroiled with other players throughout his career. Then I came across this one, which I had never heard before, about him and Joe DiMaggio. DiMaggio's oldest brother, Tom, apparently knew Cobb and so Cobb was a friend of the family. When Joe first broke into the big leagues, Cobb invited him over to his house; he was going to help Joe negotiate his contract with the Yankees. Here's the story, as written by Gary Brooks in a letter to the New York Times on 14 March 1999:

Cobb instructed Joe to sit down and write a letter to the Yankees exactly as he told him. In the letter, DiMaggio rejected the Yankees' initial offer of $3,500 per year. Joe sent the letter. A week later, the Yankees responded by upping the ante $500. Once again, Cobb dictated a letter that Joe wrote. After several rounds of ghost-written letters, Joe received the Yankees' final offer:
"Dear Joe. Our final offer is $5,000 per year. And you can tell Ty Cobb that he can stop writing those letters for you."

How much of this story is true is not something that I can say. However, it does point to the nicer side of Cobb that he could demonstrate when not in the heat of battle. He fought his entire career against Frank Navin and the Tigers' ownership, and it's quite plausible that he wanted to help DiMaggio through the same difficult period of contract negotiations, helping him get what he deserved.