some years, only one donned the red and white and only for a cup of coffee. Other years featured multiple local boys. Six played on the 1901 and 1986 teams. The World Champions of 1919 and 1940 were among the few teams that had none. The long careers in Cincinnati of such players as Long John Reilly, Joe Nuxhall, Pete Rose, and Barry Larkin certainly filled quite a few years, though often they weren’t the only local boy in the dugout. One of the main reasons for so many local Reds is that Cincinnati has produced so many major leaguers, and one of the main reasons for that production is the tradition of great local amateur baseball.
A BASEBALL TOWN
The tradition dates back to the 1800s, when the newspapers reported in detail the fortunes of the Mohawk Browns, Cumminsville Blue Licks, Norwood Muldoons, Covington Kentons, and other top teams. For many years the Cincinnati Shamrocks, run by Frank Behle at the turn of the 20th century, were the cream of the crop and a steady source of fill-in players when the Reds suffered injuries. The Shamrocks graduated quite a few alums to pro ball. In the early years, some of the teams weren’t, strictly speaking, amateur, in that certain players received guaranteed payment, and some of the games were played with a pot of money going to the winner.
The 1869 Red Stockings included local boy Charlie Gould, standing second from left.
Early in the 1900s, the best teams played in the Saturday Afternoon League, a fiercely competitive organization that fostered many a pro career. The tradition of great local amateur ball continued during the Roaring 20s, which saw a team from Cincinnati, sponsored by Comello Clothiers, win back-to-back National Amateur Baseball Federation championships.
By the 1940s, Joe Hawk’s Bentley Post American Legion squads reigned supreme, winning national championships in 1944, ’47, ’52, ’57, and ’58, while producing quite a few big league players, including a number of local Reds. When Hawk’s reign ended, “Papa” Joe Hayden and his Midland program took the lead, winning national championships with such future pro players as Ken Griffey Jr., Rich Dotson, Roger McDowell, and many others. Budde Post American Legion, the Storm Club, and others programs have also helped set the bar high, and high school baseball continues to thrive here, with state titles more the rule than the exception. The city prides itself on being a baseball town and on producing major league talent. When that talent suits up in a Reds uniform, the city gives them special attention, which isn’t always a blessing.
Local boy Admiral Schlei prevents Hall of Famer Honus Wagner from scoring, circa 1905.
Reading honors local boy Claude Osteen at Crosley Field.
THE PRESSURE
“There is a popular belief among ball-players that it is unlucky to play professional ball in a team representing their native cities. Nine of out ten of them prefer to play away from home, probably having an indefinite recollection of the Biblical adage, ‘That a prophet is not without reward, save in his own country.’”
This observation appeared in the November 21, 1891, edition of the Cincinnati Enquirer, in reference to local boy Jack Boyle’s hesitation to sign with the Reds. The article goes on to say, “These players argue that the spectator always expects more from the home player than any one else and criticizes them quicker and more severely than they do strangers.” While Boyle was still considering his options, he and Shorty Fuller, a local boy who played shortstop for the New York Giants, were drinking in Wheeler’s Saloon on Vine Street in Over-the-Rhine one autumn evening when an intoxicated patron began cursing at Boyle and calling him names. A former professional boxer who stood 6′4″, Boyle, for a while, ignored the drunk, who then started kicking at him. Boyle turned and laid him out with one punch that knocked the drunk so cold other patrons feared he was dead. Fuller looked at Boyle and said, “That’s what you’ll get right along, Jack, if you sign with the home club.”
Joe Nuxhall is honored during Hamilton Night at Crosley Field in 1960.
Pete Rose receives an award at Crosley Field in 1969.
Barry Larkin applies a tag during the 1990 run to the World Championship.
Playing for the Reds hasn’t put every local boy in a bar fight, but it creates an extra layer of pressure, especially for a young guy who’s just trying to figure things out. Even if a player doesn’t much care what people think, he worries about family and friends, who might have to hear more than they want about a ninth-inning error or a strike out with the bases loaded. As much as we as fans identify with a local player and root mightily for him to succeed, when he doesn’t, our disappointment and frustration is all the greater. After all, they’re representing us on the field.
The higher the player’s potential, of course, the higher the expectations—and demands. A hustling player who lacks great gifts will get a longer leash than a player who arrives packed with potential. Ken Griffey Jr. suffered this fate, as fans expected him to win the city a World Championship. Hampered by injuries during much of his time with the Reds, Junior didn’t deliver as expected and heard plenty of heckling from fans in the stands. With so much talent, if the player fails, he must not be trying hard enough.
In the 1950s, Western Hills High School grad Herm Wehmeier probably had it even worse than Junior. A big handsome fellow with enormous raw pitching talent, he often struggled to throw strikes. Fans howled and booed, which made him struggle all the more. Family and friends stopped coming to the ballpark when he pitched to avoid witnessing the abuse.
Even Joe Nuxhall, so beloved while in the radio booth, took plenty of heckling, which usually just made him mad. “The fans were unmerciful,” recalled Reds catcher Ed Bailey after Nuxhall was traded. “Seemed the Cincinnati fans were harder on their own—guys from that area—than they were on any of the rest of us.”
Local sportswriter Lonnie Wheeler believes that Cincinnatians are more willing to embrace a certain kind of player—one who embodies their view of themselves. “The kind of player the city gets behind is the overachiever,” Wheeler says. “Pete Rose is the classic example.” We like a player with a dirty uniform, a guy who hustles and will do anything to win, who plays better than he is. “Cincinnati likes to see grit,” Wheeler adds. “If a local produces that, he’s got it made.”
Despite the pressure and the unwanted extra attention, the hope of being part of that special fraternity has inspired local kids almost since Charlie Gould took the field on the first Reds team. As a teenager in 1882, Billy Clingman, who would later play for the Reds, climbed poles near the Bank Street Grounds to catch a glimpse of a game. In the early 1960s, Dave Parker hung around Crosley Field in hopes of talking to Frank Robinson, his idol, who one day gave him a glove. And legions of boys slid headfirst into second like Pete Rose or affected Barry Larkin’s cool composure at the plate in hopes of someday being like them.
If not all members of the fraternity brought glory to the hometown team, if more are forgotten than celebrated today, they all played a special role in Reds history, and their stories deserve to be told. They carried on a tradition and kept alive a dream that is etched on the wall of the team’s administration building, where we can see it every time we stroll up to Great American Ball Park for a game. The 50-foot-tall limestone bas relief titled “Spirit of Baseball” depicts a boy gripping a bat amid iconic