Before steroids, before amphetamines and before fentanyl, baseball’s first documented chemical dalliance came from monkey testicles. In August 1889, a worn-down pitcher for the Pittsburgh Alleghenys named James Francis “Pud” Galvin, so nicknamed for his once-devastating ability to reduce hitters to “pudding”, was in need of a spark. He was 32, his right arm a rubbery relic of nearly 5,000 innings pitched, his career on the fade. Then came salvation in a syringe. A French-Mauritian doctor by the name of Charles-Édouard Brown-Séquard published a paper – The Effects Produced on Man by the Subcutaneous Injections of a Liquid Obtained from the Testicles of Animals – in which he claimed that a few drops of an extract sourced from dogs and guinea pigs might well make ordinary men stronger and more virile. Galvin, a stocky power pitcher, wasted no time getting jabbed with the so-called Brown-Séquard elixir in a public demonstration at the Western Pennsylvania Medical College, only four miles east from the team’s home ground. The next day he pitched a five-hit shutout to turn back the Boston Beaneaters, adding a double and a triple at the plate off the great Old Hoss Radbourn for good measure. (Take that, Ohtani.)
“If there still be doubting Thomases who concede no virtue of the elixir, they are respectfully referred to Galvin’s record in yesterday’s Boston-Pittsburg game,” wrote the Washington Post, with proto-advertorial flourish. “It is the best proof yet furnished of the value of the discovery.” No one thought to call it cheating, even before Brown-Séquard’s colleagues called cap on the tonic’s efficacy in the weeks that followed. Why would they? Good old Pud wasn’t breaking the rules so much as pushing the boundaries of willpower and endurance. In baseball, those things have often been one and the same.
