The Post-Crescent/September 30, 1921
New York. Suppose you’re sitting on J. P. Morgan’s front stoop, at Broad and Wall, in just your swimming suit and old J. P. himself comes along and says: “Kid” (you know the way he talks) “Kid, come on into the thousand-dollar hill apartment, and fill all your pockets. Nothing’s too good for my friends. Help yourself to anything in stock; all you can carry away. How’s the little wife?”
Well, your swimming suit fits tight as an earl at a Mayfair wedding and you snap back at your luck for not giving you eight fingers on one of your hands anyway.
The Yankees and Giants are caught that way.
The Polo Grounds held once, a few weeks ago, a crowd of nearly 40,000 people, the largest ever compressed into Brush Stadium. People were stuffed into all the aisles and along the stairs. They hung on the upright girders and the steel pipe rails around the back of the grandstand. And they thought themselves lucky for nearly 60,000 other people were fighting their way into the subways and along the L platform at a trot home, having been turned back by the police lines a block from the park.
And now the world’s series is staggering toward the Polo Grounds. If both New York teams are in this series the owners will be in the thousand-dollar apartment with only their hands to carry the stuff away. The national commission will not permit “standees” at a world series. This will clip off a few thousand of the crowd capacity. It has been tradition to have no crowds infringing on the outfield at the Polo Grounds, though perhaps 5,000 people could be cramped in along the center field wall. Probably no crowd will exceed 38,000 at this world’s series. But if there was room the Giants and Yanks could play to 100,000 the first two days at least, and probably to an average of at least 75,000 on the other days.