From the "Boys will be Boys" Department:
Eusebio Miguel Lopez Gonzalez "Papo" played briefly in Major League Baseball during the 1918 season. He has the distinction of being the first Cuban player to play for the Boston Red Sox.
Papo's SABR biography includes a window into (the precarious) life lived by professional Cuban baseball players (and sports-writers) in the early 20th century:
How had Gonzalez been shot? González was playing for the Habana Leones (also known as the Rojos) in the Gran Premio of 1924. Come the aftermath of the March 9, 1924 game, in which Habana had beaten Santa Clara, and per David Skinner’s translation of the March 10 article in Diario de la Marina:
“As the fans were exiting Almendares Park following the game, three gunshots rang out behind the main grandstand. This attracted the reporters, and when they arrived on the scene they saw Habana third baseman Manuel Cueto and backup catcher Eugenio Morín trying unsuccessfully to protect a teammate with a wounded hand from apprehension by several policemen led by a Sgt. Ortega. That player turned out to be Rojo second baseman Papo González, who was taken into custody by the lawmen, to the dismay of [Marina reporter] Peter, who referred to him as one of the most admired players for his modesty and gentlemanliness.”
Conte was charged with the shooting and released on $200 bail.
W. A. Phelon’s column in the March 20, 1924 issue of The Sporting News provided a fuller description of the incident and its protagonists. It is worth reprinting here in its entirety:
Here in Cuba, they sure take their baseball seriously — and in the old-time way. If a sporting writer pans a player, good night! He has to whale the athlete, hand to hand, or be disqualified forever. A few days ago, Pepe Conte — well known to all American writers — penciled a paragraph that hurt the proud spirit of one Gonzales (not the noble Miguel) second baseman of the Almendares Club. Senor Gonzales sought out Senor Conte during the eighth inning, and smote him on the nose, proboscis, or snoot, so that Senor Conte fell extremely prone.
Senor Gonzales trumpeted in triumph, but not for long. Senor Conte up rose, and with him came a dark blue automatic, and, one instant later, Senor Gonzales lay upon the reddened soil. Then all Cuba went to war; and the strife between the partisans of Senor Conte and Senor Gonzales endured, with many casualties, until the police charged from several directions and bore everybody to the hoosegow. The doctors say that Senor Gonzales will recover. The judge says Senor Conte is out on bail. And, as might be expected, in the tumult and confusion, somebody took a darn good kick at the umpire. Isn’t it a wonderful world?
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