Walter Babish was a timid kid, rare for a Polack and new to the neighborhood. He was an outsider, unathletic, short and shaped like two fire hydrants joined at the hip. Walter was quiet, and kept to himself. When he spoke, which was rarely, it was usually to spout his favorite word, “sorry.”
Eddie Ledwich was also late to the neighborhood, but not as late as Walter. Lean, tough and looking for trouble, Ledwich thought nothing of beating a guy up in the morning and then again in the afternoon as part of his victory tour. We got into it one day in Jackie Fournier’s back yard and there was a gallon of blood involved. Jackie’s grandmother, who could beat up both of us, came out with her broom and broke it up, calling it a draw. “Next time, I’ll cut your ears off…both of you!” she swore. Knowing Nana Severance as we did, we didn’t discount the possibility.
It was impossible to conceive of a situation where Walter Babish would take on Eddie Ledwich, but there they were one fine Friday morning, duking it out on the corner of Exeter and Garfield streets. No one seemed to know what started the fracas, but everyone was delighted that Walter, tears slowly rolling out the sides of his eyes, was standing his ground. Ledwich got in a head shot now and then, but blows to the body just bounced off the keg-like Babish.
Eddie’s modus operandi was always to keep advancing, usually avoiding his opponent’s blows, but sometimes fighting through them. His normal adversaries lacked the meaty arms and general heft of Walter, however, who would not back up a step. Babish, of course, had the rapidly-gathering crowd (if not God) on his side and he felt the weighty responsibility of carrying the dusty banner of the have-nots. “Kick his German ass, Walter,” chirped little Jimmy Lavery, Walter’s next-door neighbor. Several seconded that emotion.
If you have a distinct weight advantage and you hang around long enough, good things will sometimes happen. Ledwich missed a careless jab and Walter caught him on the chin with a heavy shot, buckling his Nazi knees. Now there was moisture escaping from the bully’s eyes as his foe, bolstered by the haymaker, advanced to the roar of the crowd. The home-field advantage is not a made-up thing, it lives in little crazed college football towns and high-school basketball gyms every night of the week. It’s not just you out there taking on the enemy, it’s your band of merry men bringing the power.
Ledwich was backing up now, floundering, people laughing at him, cursing his soul and his heritage. Babish peppered him with body blows and Eddie was on the ground, sobbing and cussing a blue streak. He screamed that he would kill Walter “next time,” but even Eddie knew better. There would be no next time. The underdog had risen and having done so, suddenly realized his own possibilities. It was perhaps the best day of Walter Babish’s life. And it was even a learning day for Eddie Ledwich, who picked up one inarguable truth. On a given day, despite all odds, beware the mystic powers of the underdog.
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Root, Root, Root For The Home Team, But Otherwise….
Growing up in loyal Massachusetts in the 1950s, you rooted for the Red Sox, even though they always finished second in their division to the hated Yankees. If you grew up in Chicago, chances are you led cheers for the Cubs, even though they never beat anybody. Someone in Chi-town coined the term “lovable losers,” as apt a description as ever emerged from The City of The Big Shoulders. Thing is, though, that Fenway Park and Wrigley Field were always filled to the brim with zealous fans cheering on their beloved underdogs. When the Sox finally ended their 86-year World Series drought in 2004 by sweeping the St. Louis Cardinals, the descendants of lifetime Boston fans took newspapers to the cemeteries to show their deceased forebears the miracle had finally arrived. When the Cubs ended their even longer 108-year hiatus in 2016 after a thrilling seven-game series with the Cleveland Indians, Chicago fans descended on the Wrigleyville area of town in monster celebrations which went on through the night. One ancient fan went over to his refrigerator and took out a can of beer he’d placed there 32 years before, reserving it for the Big Day. Even fans of most of the other teams in Major League Baseball were happy for the two longtime losers and their zealous fan bases. Everybody loves an underdog, right?
On Autumn Saturdays, football fans pile into their home stadiums to watch the local gladiators dispel some arrogant invaders, then go home and root for every underdog they can find on television. Not everybody, but most of them. Academic studies all seem to agree that more than two-thirds of the populace prefer the underdog to the favorite and many backers of the favorite will change allegiances if they learn the underdog is winning.
The Underdog Effect is a psychological phenomenon where people are more inclined to support those who are perceived as disadvantaged or less likely to succeed. This doesn’t just happen with sports or competitions, it’s a deep-seated response that influences our behavior in many areas of life. At its core, the UE is about rooting for those who face overwhelming odds. Think David & Goliath, where a pitiful shepherd knocks off Haystacks Calhoun with nothing but a slingshot and a positive attitude. The story has endured for centuries, not just because of its dramatic narrative but because it taps into a universal human instinct—the desire to see the seemingly powerless individual or group overcome the all-powerful. Hopeless characters like Rocky Balboa resonate with us because they embody the ultimate underdog spirit. We’re drawn to these stories because they reflect a struggle against adversity, a struggle we can all relate to on some level.
Alas, supporters of the underdog often fall on hard times, which is why we Remember The Alamo, the Battle of Thermopylae and the Super Bowl collapse of the 2016 Atlanta Falcons. But those with little hope wouldn’t be proper underdogs if they started winning all the time now, would they?
Great Moments In Underdog History
Did a small band of underdogs once save Western civilization? Many historians think so. In 1566, Sultan Suleiman the Magnificent (not to be confused with Foudini the Magnificent of early TV fame) led his Ottoman Empire army of 150 thousand (count ‘em, 150,000) surly soldiers on a march to take Vienna. As they marched through Croatia, Suleiman’s boys ran across a small nuisance army that had recently attacked a Turkish encampment, and the Sultan decided to obliterate them just for kicks.
The army in question was a meager force of 2300-3000 Croats and Hungarians under the command of Ban Nikola Subic Zrinski, a Croatian-Hungarian noble and general. Fearing an attack from Suleiman’s gigantic army, Subic asked for reinforcements from Vienna, but received zero. Las Vegas posted 1-10 odds on the Sultan, which is about the same as they gave Secretariat in the 1973 Belmont. You know what happened that time.
The underdogs decided to hold up in the town of Szigetvar in Hungary. On August 6, 1566, the Ottoman army approached snickering, certain of a quick siege after a minimal battle. Didn’t happen. For the next month, the small force fended off the massive army and held the town. Unimaginably, the Sultan died of old age on September 6th, never seeing Szigetvar taken. After his death, the Ottomans went nuts, beginning an all out attack. As they madly charged toward the gates of the town, however, the portals suddenly swung open and a large mortar filled with broken iron responded, instantly killing hundreds of shocked invaders.
The 600 or so remaining defenders then charged out into the town in a suicide attack, taking tons of Ottoman soldiers with them. Subic was killed by an arrow to the head and most of his army fell with him, but even in death he was still killing enemy troops. His forces set a trap in the town’s castle as the battle was ending, lighting a fuse to the powder magazine. As the Ottoman troops checked out the town for survivors and loot, the castle suddenly exploded, killing at least 3000 of the enemy. The Ottoman casualties from the battle were huge. They lost 30,000 troops, one-fifth of their army, and with winter coming abandoned their attempt to take Vienna, returning to Constantinople. The defeat was so significant that many in Europe called it the battle that saved western civilization. The Ottomans would not attempt to take Vienna for another 120 years. Still, as usual, Vegas didn’t have to pay off.
2004
The score stood three to four with but one inning left to play.
The leadoff hitter soon flew out, the second did the same.
A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
A straggling few got up to go in miserable despair.
The rest clung to the hope all underdogs declare.
He whacked one to the outfield and wound up on first base.
Now Millar was no whippet, and his run might save the day,
The Red Sox called in Roberts for the penultimate play.
Roberts soon stole second and then scored on Mueller’s hit.
Then stands were in a frenzy, the fatal fire was lit.
In the 12th inning, David (Big Papi) Ortiz knocked one out of the park for an unlikely Sox victory. Next day, the Red Sox got two in the eighth to tie the game and won it on Ortiz’s RBI single in the 14th inning on his tenth pitch off Loaiza. The game went on for 5 hours and 49 minutes. a new record for postseason play.
This was all fine and dandy, but none of the 25 teams that tried had ever come back from a 3-0 playoff deficit, and the final two games of the series were in New York.
Game 6 was the famous “bloody sock” game, in which Boston hurler Curt Schilling pitched with a torn tendon sheath in his right ankle; it had been sutured in place in an unprecedented procedure by Red Sox doctors. Schilling went seven strong innings, allowing only one run as the Bosox prevailed 4-2.
Game 7 was finished almost before it started, with the Sox clubbing Yankee pitching for six runs in the first two innings and two more in the fourth. It was all over but the shouting, with Boston winning 10-3 in a laugher. The Red Sox had done the heretofore impossible, beating the alleged best team in baseball in four straight games after climbing out of the gutter. It was merely the cherry on the cake when they swept the St. Louis Cardinals in the 2004 World Series.
Underdogs everywhere rejoiced at this inconceivable coup in Boston, but nowhere so much as in the old home town where a record 3.2 million people showed up for the massive victory parade. The fans lined up over 100 deep in some areas, forcing the city to adjust the route to accommodate the swarm. Next day, Patrick Thomas, a lifetime fan, went to his grandfather’s grave, placed a Red Sox hat on top of his stone and shared a glass of champagne with Gramps, a Sox fan from 1919 to his death in 1993. Cemeteries all over New England had stories of similar visits.
Another fan, Jim Gavaghan, got in his car and raced across town to share the joy with his dyed-in-the-wool Sox fan father, a man very old in the tooth. Perhaps a little too stoked, Jim shook his dad’s hand and shouted, “You can drop dead now!” His father, only slightly taken aback, replied “Are you kidding? We’re just getting started. I’m going to make it to the next one!” He did, too, despite every prognosis, only succumbing days after the Red Sox dispensed the Colorado Rockies in 2007. Be a doubter all you like, the power of the underdog is mighty.
That’s three strikes, folks….
