On the evening of July 12, 1938, a New York Giants fan named Frank Krug walked into a saloon at the corner of Ninth Street and Seventh Avenue in Brooklyn called Pat Diamond’s Bar & Grill. The Dodgers, struggling as usual, 10 games under .500, had put the wood to the Giants that day at nearby Ebbets Field, beating the first-place Giants, 13-5.
Krug was in a foul mood, but he was also thirsty. So he stepped up to the bar, ordered a drink from bartender Bill Diamond (son of the owner) and found himself in the middle of some Dodgers talk between Diamond, a big fan of the local nine, and another customer named Robert Joyce, who was something of a fanatical follower of the team.
Diamond decided to have a little fun with Joyce.
“The Dodgers,” Diamond said, shaking his head, trying to push Joyce’s buttons. “Whoever first called them Bums was right.”
He turned to Krug, the Giants fan.
“Don’t you think so, Frank?” he asked.
Krug had shaken off the afternoon’s loss, buoyed by both liquid courage and the arrival of the evening’s first editions of the newspapers and the reminder that the Giants, two-time defending National League champs, were still two games in first place ahead of the Pirates, still some 15 ½ games north of the Dodgers.
“Certainly!” he crowed. “It takes the Giants to show them up as bums, too!”
He laughed.
“Why don’t you get wise to yourself?” he continued. “Why don’t you root for a real team? Ha-HA!”
Diamond chuckled. He’d gotten what he wanted, which was a rise out of either side of the rivalry. Joyce? He was less delighted.
“Shut up!” he yelled. “You bastards lay off the Dodgers!”
They didn’t shut up. He left the bar. And when he returned, he had two guns with him. With one, he shot Diamond in the stomach, wounding him. With the other, he shot Krug in the head, killing him. Legend has it that when the cops caught up to Joyce a few blocks away, this was all he had to say for himself: “Posedel is a damn fine pitcher!”
Bill Posedel had been the winning pitcher for the Dodgers that day.
For years, this was the story often told when describing the intensity of sporting rivals, and the one that tended to inject a little sanity when describing how much Yankees fans hated Red Sox fans, how much Army Cadets detested Navy Midshipmen, how bitter the bad blood ran between Ohio State and Michigan. And since the passing decades take a little of the sting away, it was told with a bit of comedy around the edges, so it was with a laugh that you would learn of the time that a man was murdered over a baseball argument
Ha-HA indeed.
And the remarkable thing is this: Somehow, all these years later, there still is an ugly under-belly to that Dodgers-Giants rivalry that survives. It was revived in 2011, when a Giants fan named Bryan Stow was beaten to within an inch of his life outside Dodger Stadium — his crime, apparently, was wearing a Giants jersey in enemy territory. Then this week, a 24-year-old Dodgers fan named Jonathan Denver was stabbed to death two blocks away from San Francisco’s AT&T Park in front of his brother and father, a Dodger Stadium security guard. He was wearing Dodgers gear.
And we are left to wonder: How can this still happen? How is this still a possibility? And how does the fervor of sport ever translate to something this awful? We joke about soccer hooligans. We have long praised the faux courage of Yankees fans who wear Yankees caps at Fenway Park, Sox fans who carry signs into The Bronx. At least, it’s supposed to be faux.
How …
How?
VAC’S WHACKS
In my entire life as a television addict, I have never, not once, had the level of confidence that writers were going to get something right as I do with Vince Gilligan and his crew for Sunday’s “Breaking Bad” finale. I have no idea what’s to become of Walter, Jesse, Skylar and the rest, but I have no doubt we’re going to be taken to quite a remarkable place starting at 9 o’clock.
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You can say whatever you like about Joe Girardi as a manager (though after watching his work this year, I’m puzzled how there can be the usual army of critics) but it is hard to imagine anyone handling Mariano Rivera’s farewell any better. Excellent manager. Better man.
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I think the Giants are going to go into Arrowhead and win. How about that?
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I’m going to miss that Mets jingle on the FAN.
WHACK BACK AT VAC
Harry Powell: I’m confused: How was not signing Jeremy Lin to that crazy contract a mistake? Lin might be able to carve out a nice career as a solid backup player, but he’s not a starting NBA point guard, he’s a tweener, can’t handle the ball well enough, he’s a player who was a great story but the story outgrew his skills.
Vac: If it’s OK, I may outsource to you some of mail I still get from folks who disagree with us on what I think is a pretty obvious point about a pretty ordinary player.
Steven Schafler: I can count the number of all-time great Mets players on the prongs of a fork. So what genius came up with the idea to have Mike Piazza Day on what amounts to an exhibition game against the Brewers on a football Sunday?
Vac: The Mets strangle themselves in historical stupidity, and it never gets any better. This is a day for an August Sunday. The only way they redeem themselves is if they take the occasion to retire No. 31, too.
@NickyNewark58: It’s only a matter of time before Steiner Sports sells Yankee Stadium mound dirt and Mariano tears for $99.
@MikeVacc: Wait, you mean that hasn’t happened yet?
Steve Naclerio: John Sterling being “honored” by the Yankees is kind of like Ringling Brothers honoring a clown with 25 years of service. The only thing missing is thhhhhuuuuuhhhhhh red nose!
Vac: Let’s put it this way: I think I could write a column about the President and not draw the polarizing responses I got writing about John Sterling. Which, by the way, is the whole point.