Within 24 hours, an enraged Will Harridge, president of the American League, tossed Gaedel out of the league and adopted a new rule that, henceforth, required approval of all contracts by the league president before a player took the field. Unperturbed, Veeck issued his own statement claiming that Harridge had been "unfair to the little man." Tongue firmly planted in cheek, Veeck alleged that by Harridge's logic, particularly tall athletes, including the great Ted Williams (who stood a full 6 feet 3 inches), ought also be penalized for using their height to advantage when hitting. (Gutman, pp. 193-196)

The Yankees were leading the Toronto Blue Jays by two runs in an eventual 10-5 victory when Jorge Posada lifted a lazy fly ball to third base with two outs in the top of the ninth inning. Third baseman Howie Clark camped under it, but he backed off just after (Yankee third baseman Alex) Rodriguez ran slowly past him. Rodriguez said he shouted "Ha" as he passed Clark, who was fooled into thinking that the shortstop, John McDonald, had called for the ball. When Clark backed away, the ball dropped safely into the turf for a run-scoring single.

After catching his pitcher's next offering, Bresnahan chucked the potato far over the third baseman's head out into left field, in what appeared to be a wild pickoff attempt. Lundblade scampered home, only to be tagged out with the game ball by Bresnahan. When the umpiring crew finally figured out what had happened, they ruled that Lundblade had, in fact, scored. They tossed Bresnahan out of the game and fined him $50. Bresnahan was then let go by the Williamsport club, which nonetheless held a special promotion on the last day of the season, admitting any fan with a potato for $1. It seemed all had been forgotten; Bresnahan was brought back to the park by the Williamsport team for the special day and assigned the task of autographing the potatoes. (Gutman, pp. 192-193)

In a humorous aside, note the time that Louisville's Pete Browning, aware of McGraw's tricks, was on third when a sacrifice fly was lofted into the outfield. Browning quickly unbuckled his belt. McGraw, who didn't know it was unbuckled, grabbed the back of the belt. After tagging up, Browning scored easily. McGraw was left at third, alone and embarrassed, gripping the belt. There are many other examples of foul play on the base paths from baseball's early years. (Zumsteg, pp. 7-9; Scheinin, pp. 71-74; McGraw)

In his insightful 1912 book, Christy Mathewson, one of baseball's true gentleman and a pitching legend, explained, "All's fair in love and war, except stealing signs dishonestly." There are many other examples in which technology was used to steal the catcher's signals and then to relay the pitch type to the batter before the next pitch. It was not until 1961 that the use of electronics to steal signs was banned in Major League baseball. (Dickson, pp. 91-92; Cook)

Lajoie's St. Louis Browns, meanwhile, were matched up against the Cleveland Indians in a double-header on the final day of their season. The Indians stuck in a rookie at third for those games. Tribe manager, Jack O'Connor, told this rookie, Red Corriden, to play out in short leftfield whenever Lajoie stepped to the plate. In effect, Corriden was inviting Lajoie to bunt in front of him for easy singles. No surprise, Lajoie laid down a lot of bunts. He went an amazing eight-for-nine to win both the batting title, and the splashy Chalmers automobile that was given to the league's top batsman.

Among the many folks who sent Lajoie congratulations on his batting title (via telegram) were Cobb's own teammates. There are other examples in which it appeared that a player, or entire team, abetted an opponent who was locked in a one-on-one battle for some individual honor with an unpopular player. (Scheinin, p. 150)

There are many more examples in which the home team's grounds crews altered the field in some fashion to try to help their own players. The Bossard family of groundskeepers had a particular reputation for expertise in this area; in fact, feature-length articles have been written about the Bossards' craftiness with field management. But the Bossards were hardly alone. The possibilities were practically limitless.

When the Orioles had infielders Mark Belanger, Brooks Robinson and Dave Johnson in 1968, the Baltimore crew kept their infield hard as pavement. The logic behind the hard field was that these quick, slick-fielding infielders could get to balls that slower defenders could not reach. By contrast, Cleveland groundskeepers also slowed up the third base area in the 1950s by growing the grass long, and by watering down the dirt. They did so for third-sacker Al Rosen, after the less-than-nimble slugger broke his nose for the ninth time. (Zumsteg, p. 18; Gary Smith; Piersall; Schlossberg)

A related scheme: The Giants once dumped mounds of sand between first and second to try to slow Wills down. The ploy was exposed and the sand removed. There are many other such documented examples from baseball history in which grounds crews altered the base paths in some fashion to favor the home team. (Zumsteg, pp. 24-25)

Of course, some pitchers "tip" their pitches and a clever opponent can figure out this "tell" and benefit from it. Some players and coaches are quite skillful at stealing signs relayed by the coaches or manager. It can be very useful to know if a steal is coming, or the hit-and-run is on, or a suicide squeeze is planned. It is up to the team to use signs that cannot be decoded by eagle-eyed opponents. Explains Hall of Famer Ralph Kiner, "The fault is not with the people stealing the signs, but the people giving them." Among players and coaches with well-deserved reputations for being able to decode other teams' signs or reading pitchers: Paul Molitor, Charlie Dressen, Joe Nossek, Bob Turley and Joe Amalfitano. (Dickson, pp. 21-22, 85, 131; Collier; Wulf)

Other teams suspected as much. One time, visiting Rangers manager Bobby Valentine tried his own science experiment at the Metrodome. He hung a strip of white tape right in front of an air conditioning duct, but a Twins coach quickly ripped it off. It is unclear whether Ericson's machinations were effective. (Zumsteg, pp. 25-26; Furst)

There are many such examples over the years. These schemes involved, variously, hunting rifles, binoculars, wooden slats, and hand-operated scoreboards. The schemes generally worked along these lines: A team would secretly station a spotter somewhere beyond the outfield. The spotter would peer in at the catcher's signals with the aid of field glasses or something similar. The spotter would then subtly relay the next pitch type to the batter through discreet means. One example: In Detroit, a large Indian head was mounted on an advertisement. The Tigers stole the signs by use of a spotter in the scoreboard, and then moved the Indian's eyes to indicate what type of pitch was coming. If the Indian's eyes went down, a change-up was coming. Sideways meant a curveball, and no eye movement at all, a fastball. (Zumsteg, p. 35; Stone; Clever Murphy)

There are many such examples of teams trying to delay (or speed up) a game with a watchful eye towards the weather. Games become official after the fifth inning has been played (or after 4 1/2 innings if the home team is ahead); otherwise, a rained-out game is erased and must be replayed another day with the score, once again, 0-0. (Zumsteg, p. 59)

To be sure, vicious name-calling was far more commonplace in the U.S. in the early days of baseball, and has been greatly tamped down in the current politically correct era. Still, consider that Reds owner Marge Schott once called Eric Davis, an all-star outfielder on her payroll, a "million-dollar nig#*@r." Schott's offensive comments took place in 1993. (Zumsteg, p. 88; Scheinin, p. 371; James, pp. 157-158)

With his eyes on home plate and his back to the seats, Tom Gamboa never saw them coming. One second, the Kansas City coach was standing near first base. The next he was slammed to the ground, a bare-chested father and his teenage son pummeling him. "I felt like a football team had hit me from behind. Next thing I knew, I am on the ground trying to defend myself," Gamboa said. "It just happened so fast." In a scene athletes have feared for years, Gamboa was attacked without warning by two fans who came out of the seats.

The Royals rushed to his aid and the 54-year-old Gamboa escaped with a few cuts and a bruised cheek. He walked off the field to a standing ovation from the crowd at Comiskey Park, where the Royals beat the Chicago White Sox 2-1. A folded-up pocket knife was found on the ground near the scene, and White Sox outfielder Aaron Rowand said he saw it slip out of one of the fan's pockets.

Their logic was that the freezing process would deaden the cork and rubber inside the hard balls, causing the batted balls not to travel as far or fast. This subterfuge would offset the other teams' better hitting, or so the Sox hoped. This was hardly a new development. Hall of Fame manager Connie Mack reportedly used to freeze baseballs and sneak them out to his pitchers in the 1890s. There are many other examples of storing game balls in unusual environments to try to gain an edge. (Zumsteg, p. 144; Scheinin, p. 66, Falls.)

Just a few years later, they were back competing again. Similarly, in 1869, a team known as the Troy Haymakers conspired with gamblers to throw a game against their nemesis, the Red Stockings. That game triggered a riot. There are many other examples from the early era of baseball. Baseball analyst Bill James found that 38 different players were involved in scandals, often fixing games, in the time period between 1917-1927 alone. (Zumsteg, pp. 171-172, James, p. 136)

According to Klem's account of the incident, the disreputable physician had this to say, "It's yours if you'll give the close decisions to the Giants and see that they win for sure. You know who is behind me and needn't be afraid of anything. You will have a good job for the rest of your life." Creamer, heretofore, had been the confidante of legendary Giants' skipper John McGraw.

Creamer later denied the incident ever happened; he was nonetheless thrown out of baseball for life. It remained unclear what role, if any, McGraw played in the episode. McGraw is also in the Baseball Hall of Fame today. There are many other examples in which attempts were made to bribe umps to affect the outcome of games. In 1960, for example, gamblers offering hefty bribes approached American League umps Bill McKinley and Ed Runge; they were rebuffed. (Zumsteg, p. 180-181; Murphy, pp. 284-287)

The old-time Cubs, as well, were known to be extremely adept at bunting for hits. When these Cubs used to visit Forbes Field in Pittsburgh, they found that all their bunts rolled foul, down a subtle slope. The Pittsburgh grounds crews had built up the incline along the foul lines in expectation of the Cubs' visit. There are many other examples in which grounds crews adapted a field to suit the home team's strengths or weaknesses. (Piersall; Burr)

Then there was the supposedly gentlemanly Connie Mack, who used to have his crews build up the mound higher than regulations allowed. This aided his pitching staff, whose members tended to throw lots of fastballs. The higher the mound, the more zip on their pitches. There are many other examples in which the home team groomed the mound to favor their own pitchers or to hinder the opposition's. (Zumsteg, p. 5, 22; Schlossberg)

Why didn't I throw at, say, batters' chests, instead of their heads? I threw at the head because I knew that a batter could see a pitch up around his face better than he could see a pitch to any other spot. It's no trick to hit a batter in the ribs. Any pitcher with decent control can do it. It's a bigger target than the head and, besides, it's a lot tougher for a batter to move his head than his body. So I aimed at the head. The pitch served my purpose.

It happened when Brett pounded a dramatic homerun with a runner on and two outs in the ninth inning, to put the Royals up 5-4. Martin protested, the bat was checked and Brett was called out. Game over. Furious, and out of control with veins bulging, Brett rushed the umps, and had be forcibly restrained. The Royals protested to League president Lee MacPhail, who--much to the surprise of many baseball observers--ruled in Brett's favor. The game was later replayed from that moment with Brett's homerun ruled legal. Said an outraged Martin, "What Lee MacPhail has done is tell every kid in the country that they should go ahead and use illegal bats and cheat, and they can get away with it." (Gutman, pp. 197-201)

To be sure, Perry liked to gain a psychological advantage over batters; whether his balls were doctored or not, he wanted opposing batters to worry about whether an illegal pitch just might be coming down the pike. Perry's book was published in 1974. He retired in 1983. Perry is in the Hall of Fame today. (Gaylord Perry's confession)

While on the mound during a game in which the skies became very dark, Clarkson sought to have the game called on account of darkness. When the umpires refused, Clarkson was miffed, but he had a plan. He had one of the other players bring him a lemon from the dugout and on a subsequent pitch, he tossed the lemon instead of the baseball. When the umpire called it a strike, the catcher turned and showed the lemon to the ump, who promptly called the game.

Dodgers skipper Charlie Dressen used to don a fake moustache and glasses and sit with his groundskeepers. Others have worn disguises and returned incognito to the dugout. Take the case of Mets Manager Bobby Valentine, who was tossed from a game in June of 1999 and returned to the dugout with a face mustache and sunglasses. He had fashioned the goofy mustache out of eyeblack strips. (Gutman, pp. 107-108, Sports of the Times)

What actually had happened while Rice disappeared into the bleachers? Did he actually catch the ball? Who knows? In any event, Smith was called out. The game was in Pittsburgh. Pirates' fans who were in that section of the ballpark signed sworn statements that Rice had not caught the ball and that the umpire's call had been flat wrong. Rice sent a letter to the National Baseball Hall of Fame in 1965, indicating that his missive ought be opened upon his death and that the matter would then be decided once and for all. In 1974, Rice died at age 84, and the letter was dutifully opened. Rice wrote that he had, in fact, caught the ball. "At no time did I lose possession of the ball," the letter stated unequivocally. End of controversy? Not for Pirates fans. (Gutman, p. 197; Reidenbaugh)

Note this wonderful anecdote from the classic baseball book, The Glory of Their Times: In the days before the rule was enacted, Cincinnati first baseman Jake Beckley scored from second on a hit to the outfield, although it was unclear if he had stopped at third en route. Umpire Timothy Hurst, a rough-and-tumble brawler himself, ruled that Beckley was out. This was a surprising call, since there had been no play at the plate. Basically, Hurst made the call on general principles. "What do you mean, I'm out?" queried the surprised Beckley. "You big S.O.B. You got here too quick," responded Hurst. (Gutman, p. 3)

Shortly thereafter, the Reds pitcher, George Culver, suddenly announced that he had found both a tube of Vaseline and some slippery elm tablets near home. Regan claimed these items had secretly planted there by the Reds to embarrass him. Slippery elm tablets (similar to a throat lozenge in that they thicken the saliva) were hardly a new concept to baseball. More than 100 years earlier, in 1863, Alphonse "Phonnie" Martin was accused of doctoring a ball with slippery elm when pitching for the Eckford nine in Brooklyn. There are many other examples of the illegal use of slippery elm tablets to doctor a baseball. (Zumsteg, p. 151; Robert Smith, p. 111.)

In 1877, the Grays were doing fine, when suddenly their play turned sour, and the talented team ended up finishing out of first place. It later came out that some team members had secretly worked with a gambling syndicate out of New York to throw the games. Four Louisville players were thrown out of baseball for good. There are scores of other examples of fixed games from baseball's early era. Salaries were much lower in those days, and every dollar made a difference to most of the players. (Murphy, pp. 278-284; Scheinin, p. 10, 34; Ray J. Smith)

Take the case of Shoeless Joe Jackson, an illiterate who admitted to taking $5,000 from the gamblers but batted .375 in the World Series with 6 RBIs, and played flawlessly in the field.

Then there was White Sox third-sacker Buck Weaver, who heard about the conspiracy and refused to participate, but nonetheless was banned because he did not rat out his teammates. There are dozens of other examples in which ballplayers conspired with gamblers to throw games, but none has achieved anywhere near the notoriety of the 1919 scandal. (Scheinin, pp. 175-177)

Or take the case of Hack Wilson, a Hall of Famer with a reputation for boozing. In the late 1920s, he played for the Cubs. It was in Chicago that manager Joe McCarthy tried a little science experiment to demonstrate the dangers of alcohol to Wilson. "If I drop a worm in a glass of water it just swims around," said McCarthy, who then dropped a worm in such a glass. "But if I drop it in a glass of whiskey, the worm dies." And so he did. "What does that prove?" the manager asked Wilson. "It proves that if you drink whiskey, you'll never get worms!" replied the indefatigable slugger. (Scheinin, p. 37; Reidenbaugh)

In a biting indictment of Major League Baseball, the report used informant testimony to provide a richly detailed portrait of what Mr. Mitchell described as "baseball's steroids era."

I've been mobbed, cussed, booed, kicked in the ass, punched in the face, hit with mud balls and whiskey bottles, and had everything from shoes to fruits and vegetables thrown at me. I've been hospitalized with a concussion and broken ribs. I've been spit on with lime and water.

Take the case of Dick Bartell, a scrappy, mean little shortstop whose 18-year career ended in 1941. Bartell had a well-earned reputation of trying to spike opposing player's hands around second base. One man whose hands Bartell stomped on was Harry Walker, who stood a full 6 feet 2 inches tall. Recalled Bartell, "I was kinda' sorry 'cause the groundskeeper had just sharpened my spikes that day but, boy, he never came close to me again."

Some were less obvious. Said speedster Maury Wills, "I think I spiked more guys than Ty Cobb. I did it in a way that appeared accidental. It wasn't." (Zumsteg, p. 5; Scheinin, p. 71-72, 206, 294; Shannon)

By the same token, talented control pitchers also seem to "get" the close calls from the umpires. Catfish Hunter and Greg Maddux are two examples of control pitchers who seemed to have been awarded a lot of called strikes on pitches that could have gone either way. Publicly, most umpires strongly deny that they favor talented, veteran players when making ball/strike calls. Is it fair to exhibit such favoritism? Of course not. Does it happen? Of course it does.

Consider the actions of Twins first baseman Kent Hrbek in the second game of the 1991 World Series. According to one published report, Hrbek "used an elegant maneuver involving his hip, thigh and glove to get sufficient leverage to pull (Ron) Gant off, making it appear to the ump behind him that Gant's momentum carried him off but making his intentions obvious to the viewers who got a perfect angle from the third base camera line." The umpire in question, Vic McMahon, called Gant out. There are many other examples in which a fielder attempted to manhandle a runner off the safety of the base. (Zumsteg, p. 8; Fuller, Page 2; Scheinin, p. 63)

First, the Giants' Marichal knocked down Dodgers speedster Maury Wills with a threatening, inside pitch. As luck would have it, Marichal came to bat in the very next inning. Koufax kicked and delivered low. Dodgers catcher John Roseboro dug the inside fastball out of the dirt. When Roseboro flung the ball back to Koufax, the ball nicked the nose of Marichal, who went ballistic.

Marichal smashed Roseboro over the head three times in quick succession with his bat before being tackled by the home plate umpire. Roseboro left in a bloody mess. Black-and-white photographs of the assault are gruesome. Marichal was suspended for nine days and fined $1,750. There are other examples of assaults with bats. There have also been reported incidents of assaults with a catcher's mask. (Schenin, pp. 299-301.)

He instructed one of his pitchers to go out to the mound with a massive file, of the type a burly carpenter would use. The pitcher--again acting on Tinker's instructions--then proceeded to file away at the ball, quite openly, before each pitch. This demonstration caused quite a stir, and at the end of the season, the management of the American Association finally made the spitball illegal. The Major Leagues followed suit, banning the spitball in 1920. (Purdy, p. 207)

Essentially, Cash cut off the top of the bat, used a hand-held drill to hollow out top few inches of the bat, shoved cork down inside, and finally glued the top back on. This illegal tampering with the bat serves to increase the hitter's bat speed. There are dozens more examples of illegal corking. In an anonymous poll of major leagues conducted by the Cleveland Plain Dealer newspaper in 2003, more than 25% answered "yes" to this question: If you were told you could hit a game-winning homer in the World Series with a corked bat, with a guarantee never to be exposed, would you do it? (Zumsteg, pp. 120-121; Bat Inspection; Wulf; Baseball's winning edge,' Manoloff)

The sheer numbers of the attackers overwhelmed police. Both teams rushed on the field, wielding the largest bats they could find, in a quick counter-attack. Eventually order was established. A famous photograph from that scary night shows Indian reliever Tom Hilgendorf, hands crossed over his bloodied and cap-less head, being helped off the field by a security guard and a player from the opposing team. Clearly, the Indians were trying to make money with the beer promotion and bore at least some of the responsibility for this near-disaster. (Scheinin, pp. 331-333; Young)

Other letters began "Hey nig#@*r boy," "Dear jungle bunny," and the like. Threats were made against Aaron's life. The federal government sent FBI agents to Fisk University in Nashville when a kidnapping threat was made against Aaron's daughter. An armed security guard protected Aaron at all times. Even in his home park in Atlanta, Aaron heard screams of "nig#@*r" constantly. Baseballs observers noted that when Aaron finally smacked home run number 700, and later broke Ruth's record with number 715, baseball commissioner Bowie Kuhn, a white man, was inexplicably not present. (Scheinin, pp. 341-342)

In August of 1989, Rose was given a lifetime suspension from baseball, but admitted to no wrongdoing. He was given permission to reapply after one year but cannot enter the Hall of Fame, even today, unless and until he is readmitted. Rose later admitted that he is a compulsive gambler, and in 1990, pled guilty to failing to pay taxes on income earned during autograph sessions at baseball card shows. Rose, now a convicted felon, served five months in prison.

In 2004, in what was considered a none-too-subtle attempt to win admission to the Hall of Fame, Rose released a bizarre autobiography in which he finally admitted he had bet on baseball games but refused to apologize for his actions. Rose angered many by releasing the controversial book during the very same week in which the 2004 Baseball Hall of Fame members were officially being inducted into the hallowed shrine. The man known as "Charlie Hustle" is still not in the Hall of Fame today. (Scheinin, pp. 392-395; Zumsteg, pp. 206-213)

The pitcher picked up an inkwell and flung it at MacPhail, barely missing the man's head. MacPhail, reasonably, yelled out that Derringer might have killed him. Derringer responded that killing his owner had, in fact, been his intent. At this point, MacPhail whipped out a checkbook and wrote a check to his star pitcher for $750. Derringer was astonished. MacPhail explained, "That's a bonus for missing me!" (Purdy, p. 294)

Yankees catcher Muddy Ruel later said the pitch was clearly in the strike zone when it hit Mays. Many blamed Mays, who was unapologetic: "when any man, however ignorant, illiterate, or malicious, even hints that a white man in his normal mind would stand out there on the field of sport and try to kill another, the man making the assertion is inhuman, uncivilized, bestial." Baseball players did not wear helmets at the time. The only change made after Chapman's death was that umpires began, with much greater frequency, to replace dirty or torn-up balls with cleaner, fresher ones. (Purdy, p. 343; Scheinin, pp. 188-191)

Over the years, I've had fruit thrown at me, beer dumped in my face and been hit in the back by a baseball fired from the bleachers. In Yankee Stadium, I was in the outfield just minding my own business when suddenly an arrow pierced the ground next to me. Metal tip and everything. Inches into the ground. No way it could have gotten there without a bow. A bow? How did someone get a bow into Yankee Stadium?

There are many similar examples of using foreign objects to illegally scuff balls. Some catchers--notably Elston Howard--have been known to scuff the ball on their (sharpened) shin guards when the umpire is not looking. (Zumsteg, p. 153)

Many years later, another Hall of Famer, slugger Reggie Jackson, used the same trick when with the Yankees. Jackson was barely safe on a very close play at first base. He fell over the bag, and came up hobbling. The game was stopped. The Yankee trainer was called out to administer first aid. It was eventually decided that Jackson would try to play, despite his apparent leg injury. On the very next pitch, a smiling Jackson easily stole second base, with no sign of a limp. (Gutman, p. XX)

One of the most high profile examples took place in the second game of the 2006 World Series. Tigers starting pitcher Kenny Rogers came out to pitch the first inning, with an unknown, brownish substance on the palm of his left hand. He's a lefty. The opposing manager, Tony La Russa of the Cards, complained quietly to the umpiring crew, and the smudge was gone before the second inning got underway. LaRussa raised eyebrows by not insisting that Rogers be tossed, raising speculation that his own pitchers might also be cheating.

After the game, Rodgers gamely told sportswriters that, "It was dirt and rosin put together." Nonetheless, television producers rolled out footage of Rodgers from earlier in the season with a similar smudge in the same location that looked suspiciously like pine tar. Rogers was 41 at the time. Some pitchers begin experimenting with illegal pitches as they age, and lose some zip off their fastball. (Zumsteg, pp. 158-160)

Umpire Bill Dineen quickly ruled that Fothergill was, in fact, the correct batsman. The devilish Durocher then screamed across the diamond, "It's only Fothergill! From where I was standing, it looked like there were two men up there." In short order, a thoroughly embarrassed Fothergill struck out and then ambled off across the field in an effort to attack Durocher. There are many other examples of name calling in baseball, encompassing the nastiest slurs of racial, religious and ethnic varieties. (Scheinin, p. 371)

There was a runner at first and he started to steal second. As he left the bag he spiked Dan Brouthers, our first baseman, on the foot. Brouthers retaliated by trying to trip him. He got away, but when he got to second, Heinie Reitz tried to block him off while Hughey Jennings covered the bag to take the throw and tag him out. The runner managed to evade Ritz and jumped at Jennings feet first in an attempt to drive him away from the bag. Jennings dodged the flying spikes and threw himself bodily at the runner, knocking the breath out of him.

In the meantime the batter hit Wilbert Robinson, our catcher, over the hands with his bat so he couldn't throw, and "Robbie" trampled on (umpire) Tim Hurst's feet with his spikes and shoved his big mitt into the umpire's face so he couldn't see the play. But the funniest part of it all was the decision Tim Hurst madehe punched Robinson in the ribs, called it a foul, and sent the runner back to first base."

Many pitchers, Perry included, gave interviews intimating that they might not be playing by the rules. It was George Frazier, a relief specialist, who once remarked, "I don't put any foreign substance on the baseball. Everything I use is from good old U.S.A."

Perry, himself, was quoted as saying, "I once called the president of Vaseline and told him he should use me in a commercial since I used his product all the time." Perry even wrote a book, "Me and The Spitter," and allowed Sport magazine to print an excerpt from the book in 1973. In that excerpt, Perry happily acknowledged that he had unleashed his first spitball in his rookie year. Perry retired in 1983 with 314 career victories and is in the Baseball Hall of Fame today. (Gutman, p. 42; Suspected Spitter; Perry with Sudyk; Does Gaylord Load?; Gallo)

With two outs in the bottom of the ninth inning in the last game of the winner-take-all playoff, Thomson lined the 3-run shot off the Dodgers' Ralph Branca, and propelled the Giants to a 5-4 victory. With that single homer, Thomson secured his own place in the annals of baseball history.

Then, five decades later, Wall Street Journal reporter Joshua Harris Prager revealed in a shocking front-page story that Thomson knew which pitch was coming. It turns out that the Giants had been stealing the Dodgers' signs all game, and relaying the pitch type to the batter before each offering. They used a spyglass to read the catcher's signs, and a complex bell-and-buzzer system to alert both the dugout and the bullpen. And, the 2001 story revealed, the Giants had been stealing signs in this underhanded manner for the final two-and-a-half months of the remarkable 1951 season. Such sign stealing had been going on in baseball for many decades, but never before had the subterfuge figured in such an historic at-bat. (Prager; Daniel)

Earlier, Bonds and his alleged use of steroids was the subject of an exhaustive investigative book, "Game of Shadows," written by two San Francisco Chronicle reporters. In that book, authors Mark Fainaru-Wada and Lance Williams lay out a richly detailed account of how Bonds began using steroids after the 1998 season and continued to use a wide-array of illegal, performance-enhancing drugs over the next few years. On Aug. 7, 2007, Bonds broke Hank Aaron's all-time home run record of 755; this was one of, if not the most respected records in baseball's storied history. (Black Sox; Williams and Ven Derbeken; Kroichick)

During his appearance before Congress, Palmeiro was unequivocal in stating that Canseco had it all wrong. Said Palmeiro in his now-famous testimony, "I have never intentionally used steroids. Never. Ever. Period." As he read his statement, Palmeiro wagged his finger at the congressmen for emphasis.

Just months later, Palmeiro was suspended by Baseball Commissioner Bud Selig for failing a drug test administered by Major League Baseball. It later came out that Palmeiro had tested positive for an illegal steroid. So much for his finger wagging. In July of 2005, Palmeiro had become just the fourth baseball player in history to collect 3,000 hits and 500 homeruns; The other three are Willie Mays, Hank Aaron and Eddie Murray. The 2005 campaign would be his last season. (Bodley)

Clemens maintained, under oath, that the trainer had only given him a painkiller and Vitamin B-12. McNamee--Clemens' primary accuser--said he had injected Clemens on as many as 20 different occasions with steroids and HGH. The congressmen requested that Clemens be investigated for perjury, but, interestingly, did not request a similar FBI investigation of McNamee. It remains unclear how this ugly episode will affect Clemens' chances of being inducted into the Hall of Fame. (Baumbach and Kessler)

Jackson, meanwhile, was caught between first and second, in no-man's land. As Russell's throw sailed by him, Jackson suddenly stuck out his hip, and deflected the ball into right field. Munson scored. Dodger manager Tommy Lasorda argued—correctly, according to the video replays—that Jackson had intentionally stuck out his hip. In that case, the batter, Lou Piniella, should also have been ruled out and the inning over.

The umpires flat missed this call as well. Call it ump mistake #2. The Yankees, who went on to win the game, were richly rewarded for Jackson's apparently illegal move. Ironically, the Dodgers ended up paying a heavy price for the non-call on Russell's equally questionable move. (baseballreference.com; Black Biography)

White Sox pitcher Al Worthington, a born-again Christian, thought the little operation was immoral, and told his manager that it had to stop or he would quit the team. (Worthington, along with his wife, had found religion after attending a Billy Graham meeting in 1958). Worthington eventually left the team. It turned out that a year earlier, when Worthington had been a Giant, he had a similar experience. Worthington apparently had told Giants manager Bill Rigney that players had no need "to lie or cheat in the world if they trust Jesus Christ."

There was no language in baseball's official rulebook at the time that forbade stealing signs with binoculars or telescopes, though no teams advertised taking part in this sleazy practice. Worthington's major league career ended soon thereafter. Explained White Sox executive Hank Greenberg, "We tried to sell him (Worthington), but the word was out that he was some sort of cuckoo." The use of electronic equipment to steal signs was banned in 1961. (Dickson, p. 104; Zumsteg, p. 37; Devaney; Cook)

Sosa later claimed that he always kept one corked bat for batting practice, to try to put on a dramatic show before the game for his legions of admiring fans. He said he had accidentally used the wrong bat in the Devil Rays game. All his other bats were inspected; none was corked. There are many other examples in which players have been caught with, or admitted to using, a corked bat. (Zumsteg, pp. 128-129)

Still, hundreds of pitchers have been accused of throwing illegal spitballs since 1920. That list includes many of baseball's finest pitchers, including Gaylord Perry, Jim Bunning, Vida Blue, Whitey Ford, Ferguson Jenkins, Tommy John, Phil Niekro and Don Drysdale. In 1963, Phillies manager Gene Mauch estimated that at least 25% of National League pitchers employed the spitball.

"I never threw the spitter," claimed Whitey Ford, who then added, "well, maybe once or twice when I needed to get a guy out really bad." Another Hall of Famer, Ted Williams, said that "Mike Garcia threw one at me one time, and the spit came up and hit me in the eye." Absent proof, which is hard to come by on the baseball diamond, umpires have had a hard time clamping down on spitballers. (Gutman, pp. 16-45; Leggett; Durso)

The umpires took Belle's bat and carefully locked it up in the umpire's dressing room. The bat was corked, a fact known not just to Belle but also his teammates. Belle, the Indians best hitter, was in for a certain suspension. That is when Indians pitcher Jason Grimsley stepped in. He disappeared into the Indians locker room, took out a removable tile from the ceiling, and then crawled some 100 feet atop the cinder block walls to the umpires' locker room. All the while, Grimsley was toting a small yellow flashlight and a cork-free bat that belonged to another Indian player, Paul Sorrento.

Grimsley managed to avoid the piping and wires en route, and switched the two bats before the game was over. But he made one mistake; the new bat had Sorrento's name on it in big letters. Police were called in and the Sox threatened to press charges. It wasn't until five years later that Grimsley, who by then was pitching for the Yankees, confessed to his role in the caper. Grimsley stands 6 feet 3 inches, and weighs 180 pounds. (Olney)

During the first game, many of the vinyl discs were "frisbee'd" onto the field. After that game ended, the promotion got underway. A local DJ came out onto the field with a large green dumpster full of disco records. The crate was lit on fire and then exploded.

The fans went wild. Thousands poured onto the field. Chaos ensued. The fans got a raging fire going in the outfield. Other fans dragged the batting cage onto the infield, where it was quickly destroyed. The field was torn to shreds. For 37 minutes, the mob ruled. Finally, riot police were called in and order was restored. Tigers manager Sparky Anderson refused to allow his team on the field to play the second game. The White Sox eventually forfeited the second game. (Wright)

No surprise, the players were often exploited by owners who colluded to keep salaries low. Baseball star Curt Flood attempted to battle the reserve clause in the late 1960s. He was traded from St. Louis to Philadelphia but refused to report to the Phillies. Instead he demanded that he be made a free agent. In a 1969 letter to Commissioner Bowie Kuhn, Flood wrote, "After twelve years in the major leagues, I do not feel I'm a piece of property to be bought and sold irrespective of my wishes."

Flood took Kuhn to court, eventually losing in a 5-3 Supreme Court decision. Flood never played baseball again but he paved the way for others. The reserve clause was finally over-ruled in 1975.

But Randle is best remembered for his quick thinking as a Seattle Mariner infielder in a game versus the Royals on May 27, 1981. Kansas City's Amos Otis tapped a slow roller down the third base line. With no chance to throw out the speedy runner, Randle got down on all fours in an apparent attempt to blow the ball foul. Sure enough, the ball rolled foul. Home plate umpire Larry McCoy initially ruled the ball foul. But after the Royals argued the play, McCoy reversed himself. Otis was awarded first base. McCoy's logic was that Randle had "interfered" with the ball, even though he hadn't actually touched the ball. Responded an irate Randle: "I didn't blow it. I used the power of suggestion. I yelled, 'Go foul, go foul.' How can they call it a hit? It was a foul ball." (A Foul Wind)

• A hitter admires his homerun too long
• A hitter runs the bases too slowly after a homerun
• A hitter hits a home run
• A fielder is hit too hard by a sliding runner
• The batter is crowding the plate
• A teammate has been hit by the other team's pitcher
• A team tries to run up the score in a lopsided game

One of the most famous of these incidents took place in a game between the Rangers and the White Sox on Aug. 4, 1993. Baseball author Ross Bernstein explains that White Sox infielder Robin Ventura...

had been having success against legendary Rangers pitcher Nolan Ryan at the plate, and when Ryan decided to drill him with one of his patented 100-mph fastballs, Ventura decided to charge out after him. What made the situation so unique, however, was the fact that the then-46-year-old Ryan cleaned Ventura's clock. Nolan stood his ground, tossed his glove, and then put Ventura into a perfectly executed headlock, at which time he proceeded to pummel Ventura in the head with a barrage of uppercuts. Incredibly, when the dust cleared, it was Ventura, and not Ryan, who got a two-game suspension and fine.