The Americans Are Champs!

Dinneen’s Masterful Twirling Shuts Out Pittsburgh, Three to Nothing, Before a Jubilant Crowd at the Huntington Grounds

Boston, Oct. 13—Before a throng of more than seven thousand shouting rooters, waving flags, and echoing “Hurrah for Boston!” to the very rafters of the Huntington Avenue Grounds, the Boston Americans today captured the honors of the first World’s Series by defeating the valiant Pittsburgh Pirates, three runs to none. The triumph gave Boston five victories to Pittsburgh’s three in the series and forever sealed this date as a proud one in the annals of the new game.

It was Bill Dinneen’s day. The tall right-hander stood on the mound as firm as a granite monument and hurled nine innings of flawless ball. He yielded but four scattered hits, sent seven men back to the bench on strikes, and never once let a Pirate runner cross the plate. His every motion drew cheers from the stands and the Royal Rooters, whose din was so mighty that even the steady Deacon Phillippe had to smile in resignation.

Phillippe, who bore the brunt of the Pirate pitching throughout this long contest of champions, fought gamely but wearily. His arm, that had carried the hopes of Pittsburgh since the first of October, showed signs of strain, and when Boston’s bats began to sing in the fourth inning, the end was written.

In that decisive fourth, after two were retired, Chick Stahl rapped a single that rolled just beyond the reach of Honus Wagner. Candy LaChance followed with a crisp blow to center, sending Stahl to third. Then came Hobe Ferris, steady as a church pillar, who lashed a sharp single between first and second. Both runners sped home, the crowd erupted in a sea of waving hats, and the Royal Rooters struck up “Tessie” with renewed gusto. Ferris advanced to second on the throw, and though the rally ended there, the damage was done. Boston had seized a lead that Dinneen would never relinquish.

In the fifth, the Americans added an insurance tally when Freddy Parent doubled to the left-field ropes and came home on Buck Freeman’s base hit. After that, the Boston defense turned the field into a fortress. Captain Jimmy Collins handled every chance with sure hands and iron calm, while Ferris and Parent worked the middle with clockwork precision. The Pirates, dangerous to the last, tried in vain to break through.

The mighty Wagner, who has terrorized National League pitchers all season, could not solve Dinneen’s puzzling delivery. He struck out to end the contest, dropping his bat and bowing his head as the Boston crowd surged forward, hats flying, cheers rolling like the surf at Nantasket. The final out set off a joyous tumult, and the spectators swarmed the field in celebration. Policemen smiled helplessly as hundreds of young men hoisted the Boston heroes upon their shoulders.

Cy Young, the grand old man of the staff, was among the first to congratulate Dinneen, embracing him at the mound amid deafening applause. Manager Jimmy Collins, modest as ever, tipped his cap and said simply, “The boys earned it.” Indeed, no truer words could be spoken. The Americans, after dropping three of the first four games, came roaring back with four straight victories, proving that steady nerves and stout hearts prevail when the stakes are highest.

The scene at the Grounds after the final out will long be remembered. The Royal Rooters, led by their brass band, paraded about the diamond in triumph, singing and waving banners that bore the legend “Boston, World’s Champions.” The Pirates accepted their defeat with good sportsmanship, and the crowd, to its credit, cheered them for their gallant play. Phillippe doffed his cap in acknowledgment, though he was plainly spent, a warrior who had given his all.

Throughout the series, the play has been of the finest order ever witnessed in the young history of the professional game. From the dazzling fielding of Parent to the timely blows of Freeman and Ferris, the Boston club displayed both courage and craft. The Pirates, led by their redoubtable captain Fred Clarke, fought to the last inning and gave the fans eight contests rich in excitement. This World’s Series has shown what can be done when the champions of the two great leagues meet in fair competition, and it is the hope of every true lover of baseball that such contests will become a yearly custom.

As the sun dipped behind the grandstand this afternoon, the Boston players trotted from the field to the cheers of their faithful. The brass band played “A Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight,” and indeed there shall be one in Boston. From Tremont to Charlestown the town will toast its champions. The talk in every tavern and streetcar tonight will be of Dinneen’s coolness, of Ferris’s clutch hit, of the grand new spirit of baseball.

Thus ends the World’s Series of 1903, and with it a chapter of sport that shall be told for generations. The Boston Americans have proven themselves champions of the nation. Their triumph is not only a victory for skill and pluck but for the game itself, which has captured the hearts of young and old. The Huntington Avenue Grounds may sleep tonight beneath a quiet autumn sky, but the echoes of the crowd and the cry of victory will linger long. Boston reigns supreme in the realm of baseball.