The story behind the original Most Valuable Player Award
This is the second part (of three) of Gene Kessler’s story for The Sporting News in November 1930. White’s reminiscences commenced here: https://bit.ly/4jAf18E
Jim White sat with a look of smug complacency when he finished his story about pitching [see last week’s entry at Our Game: bitly hyperlink here]; how the hurlers of his day got their name “pitcher” from the beginners on the mound who were required to toss underhanded with a stiff arm; how the curve was established as a part of the game.
Deacon Jim was content to end his yarn there.
“You ought to see Mr. White’s silver pitcher,” invited his wife in her soft, pleasing voice. “He’s got the largest and most handsome silver water pitcher you ever saw. And, he won it in baseball, too; Jim, tell him about it.”
With this command, the Old Timer cleared his throat. “I don’t like to talk about that. People might think I’m egotistical.”
But we gazed upon an old fashioned loving cup, a large silver water pitcher and round silver tray, all engraved. Across It was scrolled, “Won by Jim White as most valuable player to Boston team, 1875.”
There was a story for baseball fans in one sentence. The game’s first most valuable player was living, to tell the story.
“I’ll never forget about that, though,” spoke the Old Timer. “You can’t exactly call that a most valuable player award because it was presented by an individual. During the season of 1875 a certain young man from a prominent New York family went to Boston on a visit. While there he became a baseball fan and took a fancy to our nine. Upon his return to New York, he told his family and friends about the ‘great team’ down at Boston.
“So — when we went to Brooklyn to play the Atlantics, this young man insisted that his entire family and friends drive over to see us play. On the way he continually told how the Boston team was invincible.
“Our nearest rival for the pennant that year was the Atlantics. They had the same Tom Bond, who later went to Boston, as pitcher and Bond had developed a drop. His pitches seemed to sink under our bats and that was different in those days. Well, sir, Bond was too good for us that day and we lost the game. So the young New Yorker was jeered aplenty by his folks. ‘You just wait,’ he told them, ‘this Boston team was off its stride today.’ So, he induced his family and friends to go out for the next game. Again we lost, not being able to hit Bond’s pitching. [White’s recall may be off: Bond pitched for the Atlantics in 1874 but for pennant-contending Hartfords in 1875, while the Brooklyn club had a miserable record of 2–42. ]
“Our faithful admirer begged his folks to give the Boston team one more chance. Whether they went out more to tease him more than to see his Boston team, I can’t say, but the third game found the New York party in their usual choice seats.
This time the admirer made special plans to have his Boston team play up to itself. He came onto the field before play started carrying that silver trophy and made a speech, announcing he would give the cup and tray to the player who did the most to help Boston beat the Atlantics.
“There was some argument as to how the award would be made and finally it was agreed to leave it up to our manager, Harry Wright.
“This award made every player on our team play hard in that game. Spalding pitched a magnificent game, bearing down on every batter. He was smart and had control and could outguess the hitters. I did my best and was fortunate enough to get in some timely hits. Finally, all the players on the field decided the contest was between Spalding and myself. It was a close game, too, but we won, and I believe you will find that it was my hit that drove over the winning runs.
“Harry Wright had a job on his hands. He didn’t want to hurt anybody’s feelings. Finally he decided I had won the trophy.
“That sort of hurt Spalding, and he went to Harry and said he didn’t think the decision was just. So I offered to let Spalding have the trophy. Then Harry Wright proposed that the competition should be judged a tie and the next game would decide the winner. That suited both of us.
“The donor of the trophy was glad, too, because he wanted us to even the series with the Atlantics [i.e., the Hartfords].
“This fourth game was much like the third. We played hard and Spalding pitched another masterpiece. Again all agreed the pitcher and myself were running neck and neck for the honors. It was a close game this time and Boston tied the score in the eighth. We entered the last round at bat needing a run to win. As I stepped up to the plate the last time, Harry Wright announced, ‘My decision will depend upon what Jim does at bat, this time.’ Spalding agreed that was fair.
“Well, you know, I just happened to catch one of those drop pitches before it sank and knocked the ball for a home run. And that lucky hit is the reason I have this trophy today.”
Jim White didn’t even smile. He’s a serious man and it’s easy to understand why a Chicago scribe tagged the sobriquet Deacon to him when Jim was catching and Spalding pitching as the Windy City won the National League’s first pennant in 1876.
[More next time, when Deacon White compares players of today — i.e., 1930 — with those of his day.]
Deacon White Remembers, Part Two was originally published in Our Game on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.