The Great Potato Caper .... Revisited

For area baseball fans, there is an event that transpired at Bowman Field in August 1987 to add to that impressive list of memorable milestones. Granted, there were no dramatic home runs, the double-A Williamsport Bills were not fighting for the Easter League Championship, and there was no national media spotlight.

Most of all, there wasnít even a baseball.

But the night Dave Bresnahan fooled everyone on the field and in the stands by throwing a potato instead of a ball has forever put the former catcher and the city of Williamsport in the annals of baseball history.

"Itís never going to happen again," exclaims Rick Muntean, who at the time was the assistant general manager for the Bills. "It was a fluke that the whole thing worked out. It was a great moment for minor league baseball. Iím thrilled that I was a part of the deal."

The dealer for the improbable stunt is now a successful stock broker living in Tempe, Arizona with his wife of six years, Julie, and two young boys, Colin, 4, and Ryan, 2. "I still get bored easily," Bresnahan, now 34, laughs. "But with a wife, a new house, and two young boys, Iím more conservative than I was."

A little more conservative, but definitely not boring. "I look forward to coming to work each day because there is always something new and exciting in this business," he explains. "It can be very stressful but very rewarding. With my own money, I take big risks on the (stock) market. Itís normal for me to make or lose $20,000 to $30,000 in one week. So far, the risks have paid off. Hopefully, I can retire in a few years."

Following his "forced retirement" from the game he fell in love with as a six-year-old visiting Wrigley Field with his father, Bresnahan sold real estate. But he quickly realized the potential of the stock brokerage business. I became a stockbroker (in 1990) to be in a position for the bull market, which I anticipated," he says. "In 1990 the market bounced back and started the bull run that is continuing now. My timing was right."

His timing was also right in late August 1987 as he pulled the stunt of a lifetime in front of a season-high 3,258 fans gathered to watch the Cleveland Indiansí affiliate battle the Reading Phillies and to be entertained by the visiting Philly Phanatic.

"If you believe everybody who now says they were at that game, they must have had a crowd of 50,000 that night," laughs Gabe Sinicropi, the current Williamsport Crosscutters Director of Marketing and Public Relations.

For Bresnahan, a former 18th round draft pick of the Seattle Mariners, the amount of people in the stands wasnít a concern. "I didnít care how many people would be there," he emphasizes. "Actually, I was surprised to see a large crowd. Typically, we had a small crowd late in the yearÖthe stunt was a play to have fun and put some humor back into a horrible season. Guys couldnít wait to get the season over with. It was a drag to come to the park."

Two weeks earlier at the park, Bresnahan says he casually mentioned to his teammates the possibility of throwing "something other than a baseball" into the outfield to entice a runner on third to come home and be tagged out. "Everybody laughed and said "Why donít you do it?" Bresnahan recalls. "It started out as a dare, became a challenge, and I eventually did it."

But first the switch-hitting catcher had to prepare for the feat.

"I went to the local grocery store and bought a bunch of potatoes," Bresnahan says. "I went back to my house and peeled one to two-thirds the size of a baseball. I even tried to draw laces on the potato with a red pen, but the ink wouldnít stay on."

Bresnahan, who hit .149 in 52 games with the Bills, knew he would get a chance to parlay his potato on the playing field against Reading because it was a doubleheader and he always caught game one of a twin bill.

The perfect opportunity presented itself in the fifth inning of game one. With a Reading runner on third, Bresnahan called timeout, told the home plate umpire something was wrong with this catchers mitt, and ambled over to the dugout to retrieve another mitt. Only this mitt contained the infamous potato.

"When I picked up the potato glove that was the cue for everybody on the Bills that it was going to happen," Bresnahan says. "I called for a slider away, so the batter wouldnít hit the ball. During the pitch, I had to move the potato from my glove to my bare hand. After catching the ball, I rifled the potato over the head of the third baseman in to the left field."

The runner on third jogged home thinking he was going to score an easy run. But Bresnahan had a surprise as the rest of his teammates put their snickering faces in their gloves. "I tagged the guy out, "Bresnahan laughs.

"It (the potato) looked like a ball," confirms Williamsport Sun-Gazette Sports Editor Jim Carpenter, who was sitting along the third base line that night with his son Keith. "It had a good likeness to a baseball. Things just happened so fast. I was not thinking potato."

Neither was Scott Potter, the home plate umpire.

"The home plate umpire didnít know what to do," Bresnahan maintains. "He (Potter) asked me, ĎWhat did you throw into the outfield?í I said, it doesnít matter because I have the ball and tagged the runner."

As you can probably guess, that answer wasnít accepted.

"They figured it out when the third base umpire retrieved the potato, which, by that time, was in three pieces in the outfield, "Bresnahan chuckles. "He (the third base umpire) thought it was funny, but he didnít have to make the call."

Potter eventually decided to call the runner safe and the inning continued.

However, confusion continued throughout the stands, "We knew there was some kind of fake play, but we had no idea a potato was involved," Carpenter explains.

Muntean agrees. "I was cooking hamburgers by the bleachers," he says. "I do recall a flap at home plate and the umpire stomping around and not knowing what to do. But I didnít find out until after the game. Bres told us the whole story. It was unbelievable!"

According to Bresnahan, even the Reading Phillies "ended up laughing about it. Everybody thought it was funny," he says.

Everybody, that is, except Williamsport manager Orlando Gomez.

Gomez removed Bresnahan from the game and fined him $50. The next day, the Cleveland Indians released the potato-throwing catcher and his four-year pro career was over.

"Gomez felt that I did it to make him look bad," says Bresnahan, who at the time had his college degree and sold real estate in the off-season. "I was surprised they released me, but not too upset. I wasnít playing well, and there were just a few games left. It wasnít like they were taking my livelihood away. I was a 25 year-old switch-hitting catcher with a potato."

And soon, he would also have a lot of notoriety.

Ray Keyes, the late editor of the Williamsport Sun-Gazette, revealed in his game story, which appeared on the Associated Press wire service, that Bresnahan tossed a potato during the contest. "If Ray hadnít mentioned it in his story, people might still be scratching their heads wondering what happened," Carpenter says. Once the word was out, the floodgates opened.

"After being released, I got home at 10:30 (a.m.) and the phone was ringing," Bresnahan says. "It was a writer in Arizona who said he saw the story on the AP wire, and he told me that everyone wanted a piece of me because of the potato thing. When I told him I just got released, he said that just added more spice to the story."

Bresnahanís actions after getting fired certainly contributed to the story.

"I saw him come to the clubhouse with a sack of potatoes," Muntean fondly recalls. "Bres put one in every playerís locker. He then put a sack of 50 on Orlando Gomezís desk with a note attached that saidÖíOrlando, surely you donít expect me to pay the $50 fine since I got released. Instead, hereís 50 potatoes. This spudís for you.í"

By the next week, Bresnahan was a national celebrity as he appeared on NBC Television with Marv Albert before the "Game of the Week." Numerous interview requests continued as his story was featured in several national publications such as Time, The Sporting News, Sports Illustrated, and USA Today. Bresnahan even got to return to his native Chicago to go on the air with Harry Caray.

"Literally, the story became international," Carpenter says. "I even had to fax Japan details on the incident for a book or encyclopedia being put together on the history of baseball."

To top off the publicity, Bob Verdi, of the Chicago Tribune, named Bresnahan the "1987 Sports Person of the Year."

"The story caught my fancy," Verdi remembers. "I called David to see what he was all about. After talking to him, I realized he is the kind of guy who would throw a potatoÖhe had the ability to not take himself so seriously and to have a little fun. Thatís a good lesson for people in sports now and forever."

In all, Bresnahan says heís appeared on over 100 radio shows and has been interviewed by about 150 sportswriters through the years. Even now, 10 years after the stunt, he occasionally receives interview requests.

"I never thought word of it (the stunt) would leave the ballpark, "Bresnahan says in amazement. "I had no idea this would all happen. Iím sorry if I upset the baseball purists, but I wasnít trying to make fun of the game. I donít regret it at all. If I made somebody laugh, great!"

Carpenter is one of many individuals who has received a good laugh about the stunt over the years. "It didnít do the game any damage," the sports editor explains. "Baseball has gotten good mileage out of this story. It was a good trickÖas I recall, just being around him in the clubhouse throughout that year, Dave always seemed to be a real friendly, good-natured guy. He always seemed like a guy whose repertoire would include pulling pranks."

And what a memorable prank Dave Bresnahan pulled.

Note: Nearly a year later, more than 4,000 fans showed up when Williamsport held a Dave Bresnahan Day" and retired his number 59. Admission that day was one dollar and one potato. Bresnahan told the crowd "Lou Gehrig had to play in 2,130 consecutive games and hit .340 for his number to be retired, all I had to do was bat .140 and throw a potato."