Presidents and the American pastime

Herbert Hoover once said: "Next to religion, baseball has had a greater impact on our American way of life than any other American Institution." Hoover loved the game, enjoyed throwing out the first pitch of the season, and attended the World Series in 1929, 1930 and 1931. But at game 3 of the 1931 series he became the first president to get booed, and the prohibition-era crowd broke out into a sustained chant of "We want beer! We want beer!" Ever since Benjamin Harrison attended a Cincinnati Reds/Washington Senators tilt in 1892, attending baseball games has been a part of the presidential job description. William Howard Taft threw out the first pitch to start the 1910 season, and ever since only Jimmy Carter has shirked that duty. When George W. Bush threw a perfect strike despite being burdened by a bullet-proof vest in the wake of 9/11, a shaken nation rallied.

Franklin D. Roosevelt made his first run for office as a state senator not long after he was advised he was no longer fitting in at the firm of Carter, Ledyard and Milburn. Among other things, he had committed the sin of playing hooky after making a court appearance in New Jersey by stopping at the Polo Grounds to catch a few innings. He also downed more than a few beers, a fact partner Lewis Cass Ledyard sniffed out.

In 2013 the Washington Nationals decided to add a fifth "racing president" mascot to join the Mount Rushmore four and trolled through a stack of presidential baseball resumes. George Bush the elder was a nifty defensive first baseman at Yale, but he couldn't hit. Dwight Eisenhower played one summer in the Central Kansas League, but did so under the assumed name Wilson because had it been known he had played professionally he'd be ineligible to play in college. He later admitted this to hall-of-famer Mel Ott, among others. When it was discovered that his team had two Wilsons on its roster, Ike bragged "I was the Wilson who could hit." As president, he made it a point to write a gushy letter on White House stationery to his boyhood idol, Honus Wagner, on the second baseman's eightieth birthday.

The winner of the 2013 contest was Taft, whose role in baseball lore and law is unparalleled. In addition to throwing out the first pitch, tradition has it that he stood up in the middle of the seventh inning to stretch his frame, and out of respect for his office everyone else in the stadium stood too, and that is how the seventh-inning stretch was born. Though he topped the scales at 340 pounds and required the installation of a new super-sized White House bathtub, Taft was surprisingly athletic. He was a good golfer, tennis player and ice skater, and one of the few presidents who could dance well. He was an outfielder at Woodward High in Cincinnati and had strong and accurate arm.

As Governor General of the Philippine Islands Taft introduced baseball to the archipelago, not only to bring a taste of American culture, but also provide an alternative to cockfighting. His cohort as Military Governor was General Arthur MacArthur, whose son Douglas took note. In 1949, General Douglass MacArthur invited Lefty O'Doul to introduce organized baseball to Japan during the U.S. occupation. The game caught on.

But Taft's most lasting contribution to baseball history is his participation as chief justice in issuing Federal Baseball Club v. National League, 259 U.S. 200 (1922), a bone-headed decision that stands as a monument to the silliness of strict adherence to the doctrine of stare decisis. In that opinion Oliver Wendell Holmes reasoned that since baseball was only a game, it wasn't really a business, and therefore was exempt from the anti-trust laws. Taft joined in, despite the fact his brother Charlie, who'd married the heiress to a pig iron fortune, once owned a piece of both the Chicago Cubs and Philadelphia Phillies. The decision remains "good law" even though utility infielders make millions and a beer at the ballpark will set you back twelve bucks.

In 1970 Curt Flood sued when the St. Louis Cardinals traded him to Philadelphia against his wishes. Flood had settled roots in St. Louis, and had started a business there. He hired former Supreme Court Justice Arthur Goldberg to argue his cause and convince the court that economic reality warranted a reversal of the ruling in Federal Baseball Club. But in Flood v. Kuhn, 407 U.S.258 (1972), an embarrassingly sappy opinion penned by Justice Harry Blackmon, the court stuck by precedent on grounds that baseball is really, really, neat. Thurgood Marshall, joined in dissent by William O. Douglass and William J. Brennan, opined "the court should correct its error."

Benjamin Harrison was the most successful lawyer ever elected president, and argued more cases before the U.S. Supreme court than any other. In 1894, two years out of office, he was paid handsomely by the estate of Leland Stanford to deliver a series of lectures at the Stanford Law School. One day, he spotted a baseball game going on and took a seat. The student ticket manager respectfully informed the ex-president that tickets weren't free and he was crashing the gate. His name was Herbert Hoover.