Nobody can remember when there were five clubs so intertwined in a pennant race as they are in the National League. The race had no wilder week than the last one, when the quintet was so closely bunched that the Phillies, in first on Monday, were in fifth by Friday. The faces on the right portray the oscillating moods of exhilaration or despair or a mixture of both emotions which gripped the five managers as the week proceeded on its willful course. Only an occasional smile cracks the tense features of Fred Hutchinson. The usually chipper Birdie Tebbetts looks downcast much of the time. Taciturn Walt Alston's beaming face is topped only by the wide Irish grin of Fred Haney. The joy of soft-spoken Mayo Smith quickly fades as his Kids seem to falter. The pictures here suit the varying moods of these men at the end of each day's ups or downs. The various remarks attributed to them are no less revealing for being imaginary.
At last—we're in first place, gloats Smith. It's been such a long time.
That Pafko. Without his catch, maybe we win—but we are still ahead.
Win one. you're back in first. Sam Jones sure whiffed those Bums.
We climbed into first without four regulars. Wait till we're 100%.
Who needs regulars? Old Pafko fills in and he gets all of the runs.
The Dodgers aren't the only ones who can rally in the ninth. We do too.
Another late rally earned us a split and kept us up there in first place.
Three straight to the Phils, growls Hutch. It was nice to be up there.
We can't beat the Dodgers either. Oh, my poor baby bonus brothers.
Aaron's hurt, but we win easy. Only one percentage point out now.
Lane wanted Mizell out of there. Perhaps he could get Hodges out.
Those Snider home runs look pretty. Two games from the Cubs do, too.
Wouldn't it be fine to play the Cubs every day? They're nice fellas.
Cubs aren't as nice as I thought. Why. we could only win one from them.
What happened, Haney wonders. We can't be as bad as we've looked.
When Spahn is on, it's easy. This club showed me how it can rebound.
Robin Roberts gets thrown out of there—and we get into third.
What's seven against us in the ninth, the way we're hitting 'em now.
Those Pirates not only beat Von but shut us out. It's humiliating.
Eighteen hits today. Lane can't have any complaints this time.
Blasingame gets us one—without the curfew you'd see a bigger grin.
Wow! Twenty runs and nine in one inning. Walt Alston is a new man.
Five in a row since the All-Star Game—and Snider's hitting again.
Snider's the key to our club right now. Because he didn't hit, we lose.
Three in a row to the Braves. How low can we drop in this race?
We're only two games out after some tough luck. Now we can go.
Lopata pinch-hits a big homer in the ninth and so we finally win one.
Well, we got rid of the Phils. Now we're all set for a real big home stand.
A day off can't hurt us after losing seven out of nine—Birdie Tebbetts.
Robinson gets beaned. even the Giants are stifling my big sluggers.
Who misses Klu? Crowe knocked in four runs. That's more like it.
My boys are hitting home runs again. All's right with the world.
Now I know how low we can drop—fifth place. Where will it all end?
So this is how Hutch felt. Should've yanked Gross with Lopata up.
This is really the end. What could I have done to deserve such a week?