Dodgers vs Braves 1920: Major League Baseball’s Longest Game

The story of Major League Baseball’s longest-ever game.

One of the exciting aspects of going to a ball game is the anticipation that you might see something you’ve never seen before or even something that nobody’s ever seen, like a batter hitting five home runs.

I was watching baseball for 65 years before I saw a no-hitter.

But one thing I guarantee you and future generations of baseball fans will never see is a game like the one witnessed by 3,500 shivering fans in Boston on a Saturday afternoon more than 100 years ago: a 26-inning game between the Boston Braves and Brooklyn Dodgers (sometimes called the Robins for their popular manager Wilbert Robinson) that ended in a tie, in which both starting pitchers pitched the complete game.

This account of baseball’s longest game and the pitchers who went the distance is based primarily on my interview with one of those pitchers, Joe Oeschger, at his home in Ferndale, California, in 1986. - Norman L. Macht

The background to baseball’s longest game

On Saturday morning, May I, I920, Joe Oeschger looked up from the newspaper and laughed. "The weather forecast says fair today," the 6' I", I95-pound Boston Braves pitcher said to his roommate, outfielder Les Mann.

They both glanced out the window. It was raining steadily, a cold, gray, wet and windy morning, not unusual for the first day of May in Boston.

They went down to the dining room of the Brunswick Hotel, where they shared a room when the team was home, ordered breakfast and divided the newspaper.

Oeschger read the Globe's account of the Friday game. Braves pitcher Hugh McQuillan had shut out the Brooklyn Dodgers, 3-0. The game had taken just over an hour and a half.

"Who's pitching for the Dodgers today, if we play?" Mann asked.

"It looks like Leon Cadore. Golly," Oeschger said, "I'd like to get even with him." Ten days earlier the two had hooked up in an 11-inning duel, Cadore winning it, I-0.

There was no mention of the Boston starting pitcher. Manager George Stallings liked to wait until just before game time to name his starter.

Oeschger checked the standings. Brooklyn, managed by Wilbert Robinson, was 8 and 4, in second place. They were fast, had some good hitters led by Zack Wheat, and a top-flight pitching staff.

They had won the pennant in 1916 and some experts predicted they would give the favored Giants a run for it in I920.

The Braves were 4 and 5. They had gotten great pitching so far, were strong defensively, but weak at the plate. Nobody was hitting over .250. Since their miracle finish and upset sweep of the Philadelphia Athletics in 1914, they had slid into the second division.

"Looks like a day off," Mann said. "What do you want to do?"

"Guess we'll go to a show."

The lead-up to the game

They finished a leisurely breakfast at noon and went out on the porch. The rain had stopped. The cold wind had not.

Stallings had a rule: all players had to report to the clubhouse even if it was pouring. So Oeschger and Mann went up to their room to put on sweaters, then walked up Commonwealth Avenue to Braves Field.

Oeschger watched the trainer, Jimmy Neery, put a clean bandage on shortstop Rabbit Maranville's left hand. Maranville had continued to play with a bruised, lacerated hand.

He'd had a few shots of whiskey already; it was never too early in the day for the Rabbit to down a few. Then Oeschger had a rubdown.

At 2:30 there was a brief heavy shower. Then the clouds scudded quickly out to sea. About 3,500 hardy fans had huddled in pockets scattered about the 38,000-seat stands.

Just 15 minutes before the 3:00 game time, they decided to play the game. It was just one Saturday afternoon early-season game, but it would put two sub-.500 pitchers into the record books forever.

A southern gentleman who had gone to Johns Hopkins University intending to be a doctor, George Stallings usually wore street clothes in the dugout.

He was very superstitious and given to playing hunches. Bats had to be placed in exact order and kept that way, especially during a rally. The drinking cup had to hang just so on the water cooler.

Before the game, a Brooklyn player casually walked past the Braves dugout and scattered some peanuts. A few damp pigeons swooped down.

"Get those birds out of here," Stallings roared. He hated pigeons, and the other teams knew it. He wore out his benchwarmers' arms throwing pebbles to chase the birds.

On the road – there was no Sunday baseball in Boston - he usually pitched Oeschger, a regular church goer, on Sundays. Today he decided to give Oeschger a Saturday start.

The game begins

In the visitors’ clubhouse, Brooklyn manager Wilbert Robinson was entertaining the writers with stories of the good old Baltimore Orioles days. The popular, easygoing Uncle Robbie wasn’t much for pregame meetings.

Both Joe Oeschger and Leon Cadore had been their teams' most effective hurlers in the early going. Oeschger, a power pitcher, had given up two earned runs in 35 innings.

Cadore, a curveball artist, had pitched 35 scoreless innings against the Yankees coming north from spring training. He had shut out Boston in that l I-inning game on April 20, but had lost his last start against the Giants.

The umpires were William McCormick, a second-year man, behind the plate, and Robert F. Hart.

The temperature was 49 when Oeschger threw the first pitch.

They ran off four fast, scoreless innings. In the top of the fifth, Oeschger dug a hole for himself He walked catcher Ernie Krueger.

Cadore then hit a sharp bounder to the mound, a perfect double-play ball. In his rush to get two, Oeschger juggled the ball and had to settle for the out at first.

With a two-strike count, Ivy Olson hit a broken-bat blooper over Maranville's head that scored Krueger. When the inning ended, Oeschger stalked off the mound muttering to himself for his clumsiness.

As if to make up for his misplay, he led off the bottom of the fifth with a long double, but was left stranded at second.

Outfielder Wally Cruise, first up in the bottom of the sixth, lined a triple off the scoreboard in left. Walt Holke blooped a Texas Leaguer back of shortstop.

Zack Wheat raced in and speared it off his shoe tops just beyond the infield dirt. Cruise, thinking it might drop in, was halfway to home plate.

The third baseman had gone out after the ball, so there was nobody on third to take a throw from Wheat and Cruise made it back safely. Tony Boeckel followed with a single to center, scoring Cruise with the tying run.

Maranville laced a double to right center. Wally Hood chased it down and threw home as Boeckel rounded third. Cadore cut off the throw and relayed it to the plate in time to nip Boeckel.

The Brooklyn catcher, Krueger, was spiked on the play Rowdy Elliott replaced him.

Joe Oeschger went out for the seventh inning even more angry with himself. But for his poor fielding in the fifth, he would have a 1-0 lead now, and the way he was going he was confident that would have been enough.

He bore down and retired the side on three pitches.

Cadore had been hit hard, but was saved by several fielding gems. In the eighth, Mann led off with a single. Cruise sacrificed him to second.

Holke lined one back through the box which Cadore instinctively knocked down and threw him out. Twice more he stopped line drives that would have scored a run.

Wheat and Neis were pulling off impossible catches. The Braves, too, were on their toes. Catcher Mickey O'Neil picked off two runners at first base.

Boston looked like they would win it in the ninth. Maranville led off with a base hit to left. Lloyd Christenbury pinch hit for O'Neil and bunted down the first base line.

Cadore fielded it, but the throw hit the runner in the back as he stepped on first. Oeschger sacrificed them to second and third. Ray Powell walked.

With the bases full and one out, the Brooklyn infield played in. Charlie Pick hit a sharp hopper toward right.

Second baseman Ivy Olson stabbed it, swiped at Powell coming down from first and threw to first for the double play. Powell had gone out of the baseline to avoid the tag and was called out.

So they went to the 10th, the 11th, the 12th, the 13th, the 14th. Three up, three down for the Robins, little more for the Braves. Hank Gowdy, one of the heroes of the 1914 world champion Braves, replaced O'Neil behind the plate in the tenth.

He had trouble holding on to Oeschger’s pitches, dropping them more often than catching them. Gowdy went to the mound. “What the hell are you throwing?” he asked.

“Just a fastball.

“God Almighty It’s breaking all different ways.”

“Well,” Oeschger replied. “I don’t know which way it’s going to move either.”

The 11th inning onwards

It began to drizzle in the 11th. The wind grew colder and began to blow in from center field. Necks, arms and shoulders were chilled by the cold and dampness. Muscles tightened.

Between innings, players on both benches put on heavy sweaters.

The Braves threatened in the 15th. Cruise walked. Holke hit a little dribbler toward third. Johnston’s throw to second was too late.

Two on, nobody out. Boeckel put down a bunt, but he ball stopped dead on the soggy third base line. Elliott picked it up and forced Cruise at third. Maranville hit a comebacker to Cadore, who threw out Holke at third. Gowdy flied out. Hi Norman

Oeschger led off the 16th determined to win his own game. He hit a shot that looked like it might clear the left field scoreboard.

Wheat, using the fence for a springboard, leaped up and caught it. Oeschger kicked at the dirt as he headed back to the dugout.

As they took the field for the 17th, Rabbit Maranville, never silent at shortstop, chirped, “Just one more inning, Joe. We’ll get a run for you. Hold ‘em.”

Oeschger was beginning to tire. Still, he thought, if Stallings asks me if I want to come out. I’ll say no.

Stallings never asked. All he said was, “Hold them one more inning, Joe. We’ll get ‘em.”

The Dodgers came close to winning it in the 17th. Zack Wheat opened with a single to right. Hood sacrificed him to second. Konetchy grounded sharply to Maranville who couldn’t hold it.

First and third, one out. Chuck Ward bounced one to Maranville, who threw to third hoping to catch Wheat off the base. But Zack scrambled back ahead of the throw. Bases loaded with one out.

Rowdy Elliott was up. The catcher tapped one back to the mound. This time Oeschger fielded it cleanly and threw home to force Wheat.

Gowdy’s throw to first was over Elliott’s head and to the right of the base. First baseman Holke dove to his left and knocked the ball down as Elliott crossed the bag. Konetchy rounded third and headed for home. Holke threw home while falling.

The throw was on the first base side of home plate. Gowdy reached out and caught it and lunged through the air across home plate, the ball in his bare hand, into the spikes of the sliding Konetchy.

Gowdy held on; Konetchy was out, ending the threat. It turned out to be the last threat by the Robins.

Ordinarily, most fans prefer to see plenty of hitting and scoring. This day they were getting more than their money’s worth of pitching and fielding thrills.

The 18th inning onwards

Despite the damp chill, nobody was leaving. After the 18th inning they cheered each pitcher as he left the mound or came up to bat.

In the Brooklyn dugout, veteran pitcher Rube Marquard, who had pitched plenty of long games himself, said to Cadore’s roommate, utility infielder Ray Schmandt, “I hope Leon won’t be affected by this strain. I hate to see him stay in this long.

“Caddy is pure grit,” Schmandt said. “He’ll win out.”

Uncle Robbie didn’t have the heart to take him out, and Cadore wouldn’t have come out if he had been asked. He had been hit hard and often, with at least one baserunner in each of the first nine innings.

Now he was aided by the enclosing twilight and the soiled, discolored ball that remained in play.

At this point Oeschger had allowed nine hits, all singles. He had been more fatigued in some nine-inning games when he had to pitch out of a lot of pinches. This was an easy outing.

He seemed to get stronger as the game went on. He figured he had the advantage in the deepening dusk and did not want the game to be halted.

He was a fastball pitcher; Cadore was a curver. The batters would have more trouble picking up his pitches.

He saved his strength by bearig down only when he had to, which wasn’t often. In fact, after the 17th, he pitched a nine-inning no-hitter, giving up a walk in the 22nd.

Neither pitcher was looking for strikeouts, which take a lot of pitches, And their control was good. Oeschger wound up walking three, striking out four.

Cadore walked five, struck out eight. They wasted little time or motion, routinely taking only three or four warm-up tosses. Every inning might be the last.

The feeling grew on both teams that it would be a shame for either pitcher to lose such an effort. Even the home plate umpire later admitted that after the 22nd inning he hoped the game would end in a tie.

The fielders never flagged. Holke took away extra base hits by snaring foul-line-hugging drives in the 21st and 24th.

At the start of the 26th, someone in the Braves’ dugout wondered aloud how much longer Oeschger could pitch.

“He could pitch 126 innings without running any risk,” said Dick Rudolph, the pitching hero of the 1914 sweep of the Athletics. “He’s in great shape.”

The longest game ever comes to an end

In the last of the 26th, with two men out, Holke beat out a bunt, but Boeckel flied out. It was 6:50 by the clock atop the scoreboard as the Dodgers came off the field.

Umpire McCormick took off his mask, stepped in front of home plate and looked up at the sky. It still looked light enough to play, but for how long? Another whole inning?

Cadore watched the umpire as he walked off the field. His teammate, Ivy Olson, ran toward McCormick, waving one finger in the air. “One more! One more!”

His shrill voice carried all the way to the press box atop the grandstand. Olsen wanted to be able to say he had played the equivalent of three nine-inning games in one afternoon.

Both pitchers were willing and able to go one more inning.

But McCormick said no. The game was over. The fans booed.

The other players had had enough. Zack Wheat said, “I carried up enough lumber to the plate today to build a house.” Everybody’s batting average suffered, Charlie Pick’s the most; he had gone 0 for 11.

Writing up baseball’s longest game

Darkness descended quickly at that point. Up in the press box there were no electric lights.

They knew they were in for hours of work writing the story. In addition to the Boston writers, only Eddie Murphy of the New York Sun and Tommy Rice of the Brooklyn Eagle covered the game.

As the innings had rolled by and other New York papers heard about it, the two writers were deluged with requests for special reports and stories. Somebody went out and bought a couple dozen candles.

The official scorer, the writers, and the Western Union telegraphers worked into the night by candlelight.

James C. O’Leary of the Boston Globe typed out his lead: “It was one of the greatest games ever played, but on account of the threatening weather, only about 4,000 turned out.

They stayed til the end. And saw the most wonderful pitching stunt ever performed, and some classy playing and thrilling situations.

It was a battle of giants until both were exhausted practically, but neither gave a sign of letting up. There was glory enough for both and it would have been a pity for either one to have been declared the loser.”

A record-breaking game

Cadore had pitched to 95 batters, an average of fewer than four per inning. Oeschger faced 90. Cadore had 13 assists, a one-game record for a pitcher. Oeschger had 11.

Oeschger had set a record for consecutive scoreless innings in one game: 21. Cadore had 20.Boston first baseman Walter Holke had 32 putouts and one assist.

They didn’t count pitches in those days. Cadore later estimated that he had thrown close to 300. Oeschger guessed about 250.

Game time was three hours and 50 minutes.

Post-game celebrations

That evening Joe Oeschger and Les Mann went to a favorite restaurant. Nothing fancy, just a neighborhood place with good food.

It was later than usual for them, and the staff had heard about the game. The waitresses brought out a special cake they had made for the occasion.

The Robins had to hurry back to Brooklyn for a Sunday game against the Phillies. They were due back in Boston for a game on Monday. Cadore stayed in Boston with Ray Schmandt, Sherry Smith and Rube Marquard.

On Sunday morning both pitchers received a telegram from National League president John A. Heydler.

He congratulated them, and said he was particularly gratified because the pitching was done under the new rules: this was the first year the spitball, emery ball, shine ball and other ‘doctored’ pitches were banned.

The Sunday Boston papers filled their front pages with headlines, photos and box scores. It was the talk of the city and the baseball world.

The short- and long-term effects of baseball’s longest game

It has been written that, when the Dodgers returned on Monday, Cadore was still in bed since Saturday.

But, in fact, he had kept pretty much to the hotel until Sunday afternoon, when he and his teammates went downtown to dinner, then a picture show.

“I was a bit tired,” Cadore later admitted, “and naturally my arm stiffened. I couldn’t raise it to comb my hair for three days.

After seven days of rest I was back taking my regular turn. I never had a sore arm before or after the game. I suppose the nervous energy of trying to win had given me the strength and kept me going.”

When Oeschger awoke Sunday morning, he was lame all over.  His arm ached no more than his other limbs. His leg and back muscles had worked as hard as his arm.

There was a little more soreness than usual around his elbow. He stayed in the Brunswick Hotel all day. He knew the cold damp wind would do more injury to his body than twice the innings he had worked Saturday.

There was much speculation at the time as to what effect the long game would have on the two pitchers.

Rube Marquard said, “I’ve been lucky. I’ve been in a lot of overtime games without being much affected. But the physical and mental makeup of pitchers is not all the same. Zi pitched a 21-inning game against Babe Adams in 1914. It didn’t bother me.

Three days later I shut out the Reds.

But Adams was out of the big leagues the next year.  He went to the American Association where he got his arm back, then came back with the Pirates and pitched until he was 43.

“It would be good judgment,” concluded Marquard, “to have both men sit on the bench for at least 10 days. They should work out a bit but not get into a game before then.”

Cadore felt he never had the same stuff again. He finished the year with a 15=14 record, then won 13, 6 and 4. At 33, he was finished.

It has been written that Oeschger, too, was never the same. But the immediate aftermath doesn’t support that.

The next day he said, “The 20-inning game against Brooklyn last year may have hurt my arm because I was not in the best of condition.

I had passed the winter in the east and had not been able to enjoy hunting and fishing and working on my dad’s ranch in California. But I’m in good condition this spring and do not expect any ill effects from yesterday’s game.”

Oeschger won 15 games that year and had his best season in 1921, winning 20 and losing 14 with a second division team. He pitched 299 innings each year.

He fell off to 6-21 and 5-15 the next two years, was traded to the Giants, then the Phillies and ended his career with a 1-2 record in – of all places – Brooklyn.

Both pitchers were remembered for that one afternoon’s work for the rest of their lives.

Ironically, but for his fielding error, Joe Oeschger would have gone home happy with a 9-inning, 1-0 win and never been heard of again when his playing days were over.

But for the rest of his life he continued to receive requests for autographs and interviews from all over the world. He had a box score of the game printed and signed them and mailed them out.

Leon Cadore experienced his fame in unusual ways. “I’m in a San Francisco bar one day in 1931,” he recalled, “and the guy next to me is chewing the fat with his pal about extra inning ball games.

“’Yeah,’ says the guy. ‘Once a bum in Brooklyn pitched 26 innings. Cuddle or Coodoo or something like that.’

“’You’re nuts,’ says he pal. ‘Nobody could pitch that long.’

“I nudged the guy sitting next to me. ‘You mean Cadore?’ I said.

“’Yeah, that was the bum. Cadore.’

“I took out my lifetime pass and let him look at it. ’I’m Cadore. I pitched that game.’ He almost toppled off his stool.”

When Cadore was in the hospital in 1958, the doctor told him they couldn’t locate a vein in his arm. “A man your age,” the doctor said, “should have a vein sticking right out, especially in that right arm that pitched those 26 innings.”

“Doc,” said Cadore, grinning, “I pitched that game with my head.”