In the 1910s, there was this team that was just
so utterly dominant they weren't even named after
their city. or their mascot. They were actually
named after a cold, hard cash. Which is just
wild. It really is. I mean, welcome to the deep
dive, everyone. Today, you are looking at a group
of four men who were so incredibly valuable,
so completely light years ahead of their competition
that the press literally dubbed them the $100
,000 infield. It's just a phenomenal piece of
history. It's not just some obscure sports footnote,
you know? Yeah, definitely not. It is a literal
master class in market economics, just completely
colliding with athletic perfection. It says so
much about not just the game they were playing,
but the rabid industrialization of the world
they were living in at the time. Exactly. So
for this deep dive, we've got a massive stack
of notes, plus a highly detailed Wikipedia breakdown
of the early 1910s Philadelphia athletics. Lots
of ground to cover. For sure. We're tracking
the rise, the just mind -boggling individual
stats of these four guys, the way they literally
reinvented defensive geometry on the field, and,
well, the brutal financial reality that ultimately
blew the whole thing up right at their absolute
peak. Yeah, it's a dramatic arc. It really is.
OK, let's unpack this, because to understand
why baseball historian Bill James calls them
the greatest infield of all time, you first have
to look at how they were actually built. And,
you know, it didn't happen overnight. Oh, far
from it. Manager Connie Mack essentially engineered
this group piece by piece. Right. You don't just
like buy a championship roster of this magnitude.
Right. You cultivated over a span of several
years. He was looking for a very specific type
of player, which completely went against the
grain of how baseball was operating at the turn
of the century. Which brings up their timeline.
And this is where I see a massive parallel to,
like, a modern tech startup. Oh, interesting.
How so? Well, think about Connie Mack as a visionary
founder in the early 1900s, right? Baseball back
then was largely a really gritty working class
game. Very much so. But Mac, he is actively recruiting
highly educated elite talent from top tier universities.
Right. The first piece of the puzzle is Eddie
Collins. He debuts way back on September 17th,
1906, coming straight out of Columbia University.
Yeah, bringing an actual Ivy League intellect
to the middle of the diamond. Exactly. Then two
years later in 1908, Mac pulls Jack Barry out
of the College of the Holy Cross. Another highly
educated guy. Right. And that exact same year,
he brings in Frank Baker. And then finally, to
just complete this whole laboratory experiment,
he adds this absolute wild card stuffy McInnis.
Right, the teenager. Yeah, an 18 -year -old teenage
prodigy who joins the team in 1909 as a backup.
So Mack is essentially mixing elite collegiate
intellect with raw, unfiltered teenage talent
to just disrupt the entire American League. What's
fascinating here is the sheer intentionality
of that strategy. Right. I mean, Mack had these
incredible young assets, but he forced them to
marinate. He didn't rush the process at all.
Which is so rare today. Exactly. Like, McGinnis,
for example, spent his first couple of years
strictly on the bench backing up Barry at shortstop.
Wow. Two years just waiting. Yep. Mack was slowly
phasing out older veterans, just waiting for
the exact right moment. And that moment finally
hit in 1911, when Mack made the decisive move
to insert McInnis as the regular first baseman.
Replacing Harry Davis, right? Right, who was
a very popular veteran. But Mack knew it was
time. The circuit was finally closed. So the
circuit is closed, the machine is turned on,
and the output is just terrifying for the rest
of the league. Absolutely terrifying. We really
need to look at the mechanics of this ecosystem,
because you have four highly distinct skill sets
interlocking flawlessly. Let's do it. Let's start
with the anchor, Eddie Collins at second base.
So between 1910 and 1914, he plays 738 games
and hits .344. We really have to pause on that
number to appreciate the content. Yeah, please.
Because it sounds high, but... A .344 batting
average over a five -year span is staggering
in any era. But you have to remember, this is
the dead ball era. The baseball itself was essentially
a soft, scuffed up lump of yarn. Pitchers were
actively spitting on it, rubbing it with dirt.
It was practically invisible by the late innings,
and it just didn't travel. Runs were at an absolute
premium. So hitting .344 in that environment.
It means Collins was diagnosing pitches and placing
the ball with surgical precision. It's unbelievable.
And he was a menace on the base paths, too. He
racked up 922 hits in that five -year span. Wow.
He led the American League in stolen bases in
1910, runs in 1912, 1913, and 1914, singles in
1913, and times on base in 1914. It's truly leadless.
It's truly. He finished in the top 10. an MVP
voting every single year from 1911 through 1914,
and actually took home the actual MVP award in
1914. He's the ultimate table setter. Exactly.
And hitting right behind him, you have the heavy
artillery Frank Baker at third base. The premier
power hitter of the dead ball era. Baker batted
.324 in that same five year window, but his true
differentiator was just raw power. He led the
American League in home runs every single year
from 1911 through 1914. And he led the league
in RBI's in 1912 and 1913. Which earns him literally
the most literal nickname in sports history,
Frank Home Run Baker. Right, Home Run Baker.
Because he hits two home runs in the 1911 World
Series to become the hero, and the press just
calls him Home Run forever. Which is so funny.
It perfectly encapsulates how the game was played
back then, right? Like hitting two homers in
a whole series was so mind -blowing, they just
named you after the concept itself. It was unheard
of. So you've got Collins creating chaos on the
bases, Baker driving them in, and over at first
base, Stuffy McInnis is hitting an incredible
.321. Also a huge average. But defensively, the
source material notes, McInnis was a geometric
nightmare for hitters because of his reach. That's
the perfect way to describe it. He wasn't just
throws, you know? Right. His flexibility allowed
the other infielders to play deeper. If you know
your first baseman can stretch out like a gymnast
to dig a ball out of the dirt, you can position
yourself an extra step or two backward. Ah, okay.
And that expands your defensive range exponentially.
Which leads me to a major question I had reading
through these stats. I really need to push back
on the fourth guy in this group, Jack Barry.
OK, let's hear it. We've established Collins
hitting 0 .344, Baker at 0 .324, McGuinness at
0 .321. They are offensive tight ends. But then
you have Jack Barry, the shortstop. He's hitting
0 .260. Right. Yet the source material explicitly
notes that Barry still finished in the top 20
in MVP voting. every single year from 1911 to
1914 even finishing ninth in 1913. Yes he did.
How I mean how does a guy hitting point two six
zero in a lineup of point three two zero plus
hitters command that kind of MVP respect. Was
defensive synergy really valued that highly over
batting averages back then. It absolutely was
because of how Barry played the position. The
value wasn't in his values in his processing
speed and his arm. OK. Barry was defensive innovator.
We mentioned earlier that mocked. drafted these
guys from Columbia and Holland Cross, right?
The Ivy League intellect. Exactly. That intellect
translated directly to the dirt. Barry and Collins
actually invented defensive plays together. Like
what? Like a highly specific trap. to kill the
double steal. The double steal defense? Yes.
Let's actually walk through the mechanics of
that because it's brilliant. It really is. Normally,
if the offense has runners on first and third
and the guy on first breaks for second, it puts
the defense in a terrible bind. Because you have
to make a choice. Right. If the catcher throws
to second base to get the out, the guy on third
instantly sprints home to score. Exactly. It
forces the defense to choose between giving up
a base or giving up a run. Which is the Leeslews.
It is. So what Barry and Collins designed was
a calibrated funnel to weaponize the offense's
aggression. Okay, how did that work? They choreographed
a play where the second baseman Collins would
sprint toward the bag to look like he was taking
the throw. Drawing the runner off third base?
Precisely. But Barry... the shortstop, would
deliberately cut across the throwing lane, intercept
the catcher's thrower before it ever reached
second base, and instantly fire it back home
to gun down the lead runner. It's a total bait
and switch. Completely. They created an illusion.
That is exactly why Barry was getting MVP votes.
You combine his massive range and his baseball
IQ with McGuinness's exceptional reach at first
base, and you have this impenetrable defensive
trap. Exactly. Barry didn't need to hit .340
because his defensive innovations were suffocating
the other team's run production. Right. He was
the structural integrity of the entire operation.
And the ultimate proof of that system is the
hardware they collected. I mean, when you zoom
out and look at the collective success of this
ecosystem, it is just staggering. The numbers
speak for themselves. Between 1910 and 1914,
the Philadelphia Athletics won four American
League pennants, 1910, 1911, 1913 and 1914. Dumb.
And they won three World Series titles in 1910,
1911, and 1913. Complete and utter domination.
Yeah. Bill James, the legendary baseball historian,
he actually ranks the 1914 edition of this group
as the number one greatest infield of all time.
The best ever. And he ranks the 1912 and 1913
editions in the top five. Like, they weren't
just the best in their era, they are statistically
considered the absolute pinnacle of baseball
history. They were a perfectly calibrated machine.
Here's where it gets really interesting though.
Okay. We have to talk about the money. Ah, yes.
The name. Right. According to the Encyclopedia
Britannica, that famous $100 ,000 infield nickname
reflected the purported combined market value
of these four guys. $100 ,000. Which was a massive
sum. Huge. But when you adjust that for inflation
to $2024, it equates to about $2 .44 million.
Wow. Think about the irony there for a modern
sports fan. Today, $2 .44 million is what a team
might pay, like a middle -ending relief pitcher
or a backup utility guy to sit on the bench.
Barely enough for backup these days. Right. But
back in the early 1910s, that was the awe -inspiring
astronomical valuation for the four best players
on the planet combined. The contrast is striking,
for sure, but if we connect this to the bigger
picture, that nickname was entirely double -edged.
How so? Yes. It was a testament to their unparalleled
skill, but it was also a massive glowing price
tag. When you define a group of men by their
monetary value in the press and the public eye,
economics will inevitably override athletics.
Oh, that makes sense. The public was marveling
at this hundred thousand dollar valuation, but
the players themselves were listening, too. They
weren't dumb. Exactly. Remember. Ivy League intellects.
They realized they were generating massive revenue
for the franchise, but they weren't seeing it
reflected in their paychecks. Which leads us
directly into the tragedy of this story. A fall.
The sudden brutal collapse of the whole thing
because the hundred thousand dollar infield Wasn't
beaten by a better team and they didn't just
age out of their prime. They were destroyed by
the harsh realities of sports economics Yeah,
and the Braving Point really kicks off with them
shockingly losing the 1914 World Series It was
a grueling sweep by the Boston Braves which completely
shattered their aura of invincibility that loss
shook the foundation certainly Yeah, but the
real earthquake was happening in the front offices
with the emergence of the Federal League This
was a newly formed third major league that decided
the fastest way to compete with the established
American and national leagues was to just outbid
them for top -tier talent. And suddenly, Connie
Mack's perfectly balanced ecosystem is under
siege. You have this rival federal league offering
enormous, unprecedented contracts. Money they
had never seen before. For the first time in
baseball history, these players have massive
leverage. If Mack won't pay them what the newly
disrupted market dictates, they can simply threaten
to jump ship. And Mack found himself in an impossible
position financially. Because he couldn't match
it. Right. In the 1910s, baseball owners didn't
have multi -billion dollar television broadcasting
deals or massive corporate sponsorships to fall
back on. It was all ticket sales. Almost entirely
tied to gate receipts, daily ticket sales. Mack
couldn't simply absorb a massive spike in his
payroll to match these federal league offers
because his stadium only held a finite number
of people. He could only charge so much for a
ticket. Exactly. He was completely financially
squeezed. So rather than bleed money trying to
keep them, Mack initiates one of the most infamous
fire sales in sports history. It was brutal.
And the speed of it is just dizzying. Right after
that 1914 World Series loss, Mack sells Eddie
Collins, the reigning league MVP, mind you, to
the Chicago White Sox. Just gone. Then, right
in the middle of the 1915 season, he sells his
defensive maestro, Jack Barry, to the Boston
Red Sox. Which brings us to Frank Baker, whose
response to this situation is perhaps the most
defining moment of player agency in this entire
saga. Oh, I love this part. Baker. didn't get
sold off immediately. Instead, he demanded a
salary increase that Connie Mack flatly refused
to pay. And Baper doesn't just complain to the
press. He literally packs up and goes home. Yeah,
he does. He holds out for the entire 1915 season.
Think about what that meant if you were a player
back then. You are the premier power hitter of
your generation at the absolute physical peak
of your career, and you voluntarily sit out a
full year. He just stayed at his farm in Maryland.
Just farming. The fans were completely stunned.
It's a staggering display of leverage and sheer
stubbornness. Baker inherently understood his
worth. He knew the athletics needed his bat far
more than he needed Connie Mack's lowball contract
offer. This wasn't just a minor contract dispute.
It was a standoff that threatened the competitive
integrity of the entire American League. It got
so bad and the standoff lasted so long that Ben
Johnson, the powerful president of the American
League, personally had to step in and mediate
the situation. It literally takes the president
of the league to end the standoff. Yep. Johnson
finally brokers a deal in 1916 and Baker is sold
to the New York Yankees, which leaves Stuffy
McInnis as the lone survivor of the original
four in Philadelphia. The last man standing.
He sticks around until 1918 before he's eventually
traded to the Red Sox, too. The dynasty is officially
dismantled, piece by piece. This raises an important
question regarding how we view sports history
as fans. OK, what's that? We love to romanticize
team loyalty. Fans want to believe that athletes
play purely for the love of the city or the logo
on the front of the jersey. Right, the romance
of the game. But the saga of the $100 ,000 infield
teaches us that underneath the romance, these
are labor disputes. Yeah. The nickname they were
given was meant to marvel at how expensive they
were. But it actually taught the players that
they were being drastically undervalued by their
owner. When the Federal League provided the competition
necessary to expose that wage suppression, the
players realized they didn't have to settle.
That is a brilliant way to look at it. They became
acutely aware of the price tag hanging around
their necks. Exactly. And what proves that this
was purely about money and not about a decline
in skill is what happened next. It's not like
Connie Mack traded them. because they were washed
up. Oh no, the talent was absolutely still there.
Eddie Collins goes on to win more championships
with the White Sox and eventually returns to
the athletics years later to win even more rings
in 1929 and 1930. And it's the Hall of Fame.
Right. In 1939, Frank Baker goes to the Yankees,
wins pennants, and hits the Hall of Fame in 1955.
Incredible. And Jack Barry and Stuffy McInnis.
They actually reunite in Boston and win a World
Series together with the Red Sox. They were champions
before, during, and after their time together.
Exactly. The athletics management simply couldn't
afford to keep all that championship DNA under
one roof once the free market intervened. It's
true. So what does this all mean? We look back
at the early 1910s and we see a five year window
that was essentially lightning in a bottle. For
five fleeting years, four men Collins, Baker,
Berry, and McInnis formed a perfectly interlocking
baseball machine. A literal machine. They dominated
the sport, they literally invented new geometric
ways to play the infield, and they captured three
World Series titles. Only to be ripped apart
by the exact same market forces that made them
so famous to begin with. It is a beautiful, brutal
chapter of sports history. An era -defining collision
of elite athletic talent and cold, hard economics
that we may never see replicated in quite the
same way. I want to leave you with a final thought
to mull over today. Imagine an alternate history.
Think about the New York Yankees of the 1920s
with Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig, or the 1990s Chicago
Bulls. The Great Dynasties. Dynasties that were
largely allowed to stay together and build compounding
historic legacies. If the Federal League hadn't
emerged in 1914 to artificially spike the market,
if Connie Mack had somehow found the money to
pay his guys what they were actually worth, how
many more consecutive championships could Collins,
Baker, Berry, and McGuinness have won together?
It's a fascinating what if. Would we look back
at them today and consider them not just the
greatest infield of all time, but the undisputed
core of the greatest single team in the entire
history of sports? Thank you for joining us on
this deep dive. Keep asking questions, keep exploring,
and we'll see you next time.