The players on the Charles Comiskey's 1919 Chicago White Sox team were a fractious lot with plenty to complain about. The club was divided into two "gangs" of players， each with practically nothing to say to the other. Together they formed the best team in baseball——perhaps one of the best teams that ever played the game——， yet they were paid a fraction of what many players on other teams received. Comiskey's contributions to baseball were beyond question， but he was both a tightwad and a tyrant. The White Sox owner paid two of his greatest stars， outfielder "Shoeless" Joe Jackson and third baseman Buck Weaver $6000 a year， despite the fact that players on other teams with half their talent were getting $10，000 or more. On road trips， Sox players received a $3 a day allowance， even though almost all other teams gave their players $4. For Sox pitcher Eddie Cicotte， there was another source of irritation： in the fall of 1917， when Cicotte approached a 30-win season that would win him a promised $10，000 bonus， Comiskey had his star pitcher benched rather than be forced to come up with the extra cash. The players had few options in dealing with their penurious owner. Because of baseball's famous reserve clause， any player who refused to accept a contract was prohibited from playing baseball on any other professional team.

　　The bitterness Sox players felt for their owner led eight members of the team to enter into a conspiracy that would forever change the game of baseball and be remembered as the greatest scandal in the history of professional sports. They would agree to throw the World Series.

　　The Fix

　　According to Eliot Asinof， author of Eight Men Out （the best of the books about the 1919 scandal）， the idea of fixing the Series sprang into the mind of a tough thirty-one-year-old Sox first baseman named Chick Gandil. Asinof's places the beginning of the fix in Boston， about three weeks before the end of the 1919 season. Gandil asked an acquaintance and professional gambler named "Sport" Sullivan to stop by his hotel room. After a few minutes of small talk， Gandil told Sullivan， "I think we can put it [the Series] in the bag." He demanded $80，000 in cash for himself and whatever other players he might recruit. （In 1950， Gandil would offer his own——somewhat different——account， crediting Sullivan and not himself for the idea. Gandil claims he initially told Sullivan a fix involving seven or eight players was impossible. Sullivan replied， "Don't be silly. It's been pulled before and it can be again."）

　　Gandil knew that the Chicago's ace pitcher， Eddie Cicotte， had no love for Charles Comiskey. Moreover， Cicotte had money troubles， having bought a farm in Michigan that came with high mortgage payments. Cicotte at first resisted Gandil's suggestion that he join in a fix of the Series， but eventually his scruples gave way. He told Gandil， "I'll do it for $10，000——before the Series begins."

　　With Cicotte on board， Gandil's efforts to recruit additional Sox players took off. Shortstop "Swede" Risberg and utility infielder Fred McMullin said that they were in. Starting pitchers would be critical in any successful fix， so Gandil went after——and soon convinced——Claude "Lefty" Williams. To round out the fix， Gandil approached three of the teams best hitters， Buck Weaver， Joe Jackson， and and outfielder Oscar "Happy" Felsch. The three agreed to meet with the other five players the next night， September 21， at Gandil's room at the Ansonia Hotel in New York. It was a meeting that would eventually shatter the careers of each ballplayer in attendance.

　　In his 1956 article in Sport Magazine， Gandil offers this account of the September 21 meeting：

　　They all were interested and thought we should reconnoiter to see if the dough would really be put on the line. Weaver suggested we get paid in advance； then if things got too hot， we could double-cross the gambler， keep the cash and take the big end of the Series by beating the [Cincinnati] Reds. We agreed this was a hell of a brainy plan.

　　Gandil met with Sport Sullivan the next morning to tell him the fix was on， provided that he could come up with $80，000 for the players before the Series began. Sullivan indicated that he might be difficult to raise that much cash so quickly， but promised to meet with Gandil when the team got back to Chicago for the final games of the regular season.

　　Then things started to get complicated. Another gambler， "Sleepy" Bill Burns， having heard talk of a possible fix， approached Cicotte and offered to top any offer Sullivan might make. Gandil， meeting with Cicotte and Burns， announced that they would work a fix with Burns for an upfront $100，000. Burns and an associate， Billy Maharg， set off for New York to meet with the most prominent gambler-sportsman in America， Arnold "Big Bankroll" Rothstein.

　　On September 23， Burns and Maharg approached Rothstein as he watched horses at Jamaica Race Track. Rothstein told the two men that he was busy， and that they should wait in the track restaurant， where he might get to them later. Instead， Rothstein dispatched his right-hand man， Abe Attell， to meet with Burns and Maharg and find out what they had in mind. When Attell reported back that night about the plan to fix the Series， Rothstein was skeptical. He didn't think it could work. Attell relayed the news to a disappointed Burns. Undeterred， Burns and Maharg cornered Rothstein later that night in the lobby of the Astor Hotel in Times Square and pressed their plan to fix the Series. Rothstein told the two men， for "whatever my opinion is worth，" to forget it， and Burns and Maharg did——for awhile.

　　Abe Attell， or the "Little Champ" as ex-prize fighter was called， saw an opportunity to make some big bucks， and he decided to take it. Unbeknownst to Rothstein， Attell contacted Burns and told him that Rothstein had reconsidered their proposition and had now agreed to put up the $100，000 to fund the fix. Burns whirled into motion， calling Cicotte and wiring Maharg to tell them the fix was on.

　　Sport Sullivan， meanwhile， continued independently to pursue his own fix plans. He also contacted Rothstein. Sullivan， unlike Burns and Maharg， was known and respected by Rothstein. When Sullivan laid out his plans for the fix， Rothstein expressed an interest in the scheme he had previously withheld. Rothstein saw the widespread talk of a fix as a blessing， not a problem： "If nine guys go to bed with a girl， she'll have a tough time proving the tenth is the father！" He decided to sent a partner of his， Nat Evans， to Chicago with Sullivan to meet with the players.

　　On September 29， the day before the Sox were to leave for Cincinnati to begin the Series， Sullivan and Evans （introduced as "Brown"） met with the players. Evans listened to the players' demand for $80，000 in advance， then told them he would talk to his "associates" and get back to them. When Evans reported back， Rothstein agreed to give him $40，000 to pass on to Sullivan， who would presumably distribute the cash to the players. The other $40，000， Rothstein said， would be held in a safe in Chicago， to be paid to the players if the Series went as planned. Rothstein then got busy， quickly laying at least $270，000 on the Reds to win the Series.

　　With forty $1，000 bills in his pocket， Sullivan decided to bet nearly $30，000 on the Reds instead of giving it to the players as planned. They could get the money later， he thought. Odds were dropping quickly on the once heavy underdog Reds team——the best Sullivan could do was get even money. Sullivan passed the other $10，000 to Gandil， who put the money under the pillow of the starting pitcher for game one of the Series， Eddie Cicotte. Cicotte sewed the money into the lining of his jacket.

　　Frustrated and angry at getting only $10，000 from Sullivan， seven of the players （only Joe Jackson was absent） met on the day before the Series opener at the Sinton Hotel in Cincinnati with Abe Attell. Attell refused to pay the players any cash in advance， offering instead $20，000 for each loss in the best-of-nine Series. The players complained， but decided to throw the first two games with Cicotte and Williams as the scheduled starting pitchers.

　　The Series

　　October 1， 1919， Opening Day， was sunny and warm. The game was a sell-out， with scalpers getting the unheard of price of $50 a ticket. At the Ansonia Hotel in New York， Arnold Rothstein strode into the lobby just before the scheduled opening pitch. For Rothstein and the several hundred other persons gathered in the lobby， a reporter would read telegraphed play-by-play accounts of the game as baseball figures would be moved around a large diamond-shaped chart on the wall. Rothstein had sent word that Eddie Cicotte was to hit the first Reds batter with a pitch， as a sign that the fix was on. The first pitch to lead-off batter Maurice Rath was a called strike. Cicotte's second pitch hit Rath in the back. Arnold Rothstein walked out of the Ansonia into a New York rain.

　　The game stood 1 to 1 with one out in the fourth when the Red's Pat Duncan lined a hanging curve to right for a single. The next batter， Larry Kopf， hit an easy doubleplay ball to Cicotte， but the Sox pitcher hesitated， then threw high to second. The runner at second was out， but no doubleplay was possible. Greasy Neale and Ivy Wingo followed with singles， scoring the Reds' second run. Then the Reds' pitcher， Dutch Reuther， drove a triple to left， scoring