At the Old Ballgame (2 page)

The Model Base Ball Player

Henry Chadwick

This is an individual not often seen on a ball ground
, but he nevertheless exists, and as a description of his characteristics will prove advantageous, we give a pen photogram of him, in the hope that his example will be followed on all occasions, for if it were, an end would at once be put to many actions which now give rise to unpleasantness on our ball grounds.

His Moral Attributes

The principal rule of action of our model base ball player is to comport himself like a gentleman on all occasions, but especially on match days, and in doing so, he abstains from
profanity
and its twin and evil broth obscenity, leaving these vices to be alone cultivated by graduates of our penitentiaries.

He never takes an ungenerous advantage of his opponents, but acts towards them as he would wish them to act towards himself. Regarding the game as a healthful exercise, and a manly and exciting recreation, he plays it solely for the pleasure it affords him, and if victory crowns his efforts in a contest, well and good, but should defeat ensue he is equally ready to applaud the success obtained by his opponents; and by such action he robs defeat of half its sting, and greatly adds to the pleasure the game has afforded both himself and his adversaries.

He never permits himself to be pecuniarily involved in a match, for knowing the injurious tendency of such a course of action to the best interests of the game, he values its welfare too much to make money an object in view in playing ball.

His Playing Qualifications

The physical qualifications of our model player are as follows:

 

To be able to throw a ball with accuracy of aim a dozen or a hundred yards.

To be fearless in facing and stopping a swiftly batted or thrown ball.

To be able to catch a ball either on the “fly” or bound, either within an inch or two of the ground, or eight or ten feet from it, with either the right or left hand, or both.

To be able to hit a swiftly pitched ball or a bothering slow one, with equal skill, and also to command his bat so as to hit the ball either within six inches of the ground or as high as his shoulder, and either towards the right, centre or left fields, as occasion may require.

To be able to occupy any position on the field creditably, but to
excel in one position
only. To be familiar, practically and theoretically, with every rule of the game and “point” of play.

To conclude our description of a model base ball player, we have to say, that his conduct is as much marked by courtesy of demeanor and liberality of action as it is by excellence in a practical exemplification of the beauties of the game; and his highest aim is to characterize every contest in which he may be engaged, with conduct that will mark it as much as a trial as to which party excels in the moral attributes of the game, as it is one that decides any questions of physical superiority.

Casey at the Bat

Ernest Lawrence Thayer

The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville
nine that day;

The score stood four to two with but one inning more to play.

And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,

A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.

 

A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest

Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;

They thought if only Casey could but get a whack at that—

We'd put up even money now with Casey at the bat.

 

But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,

And the former was a lulu and the latter was a cake;

So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,

For there seemed but little chance of Casey's getting to the bat.

 

But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,

And Blake, the much despis-ed, tore the cover off the ball;

And when the dust had lifted, and the men saw what had occurred,

There was Johnnie safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third

 

Then from 5,000 throats and more there rose a lusty yell;

It rumbled through the valley, it rattles in the dell;

It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,

For Casey, might Casey, was advancing to the bat.

 

There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place;

There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile on Casey's face.

And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,

No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat.

 

Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;

Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.

Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,

Defiance gleamed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip.

 

And now, the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,

And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.

Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped—

“That ain't my style,” said Casey. “Strike one,” the umpire said.

 

From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar.

Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore.

“Kill him; Kill the umpire!” shouted some one on the stand;

And it's likely they'd have killed him had not Casey raised his hand.

 

With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone;

He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;

He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the spheroid flew;

But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, “Strike two.”

 

“Fraud!” cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered fraud;

But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.

They saw his face grown stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,

And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again.

 

The sneer is gone from Casey's lip, his teeth are clenched in hate;

He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.

And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,

And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.

 

Oh somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;

The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light.

And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;

But there is no joy in Mudville—mighty Casey has s truck out.

Casey's Revenge

Grantland Rice

There were saddened hearts in Mudville for a week
or even more;

There were muttered oaths and curses—every fan in town was sore.

“Just think,” said one, “How soft it looked with Casey at the bat,

And to think he'd go and spring a bush league trick like that.”

 

All his past fame was forgotten—he was now a hopeless “shine”—

They called him “Strike-out Casey” from the mayor down the line;

And as he came to bat each day his bosom heaved a sigh,

While a look of hopeless fury shone in mighty Casey's eye.

 

He pondered in the days gone by that he had been their king;

That when he strolled up to the plate they made the welkin ring;

But now his nerve had vanished—for when he heard them hoot,

He “fanned” or “popped out” daily, like some minor league recruit.

 

He soon began to sulk and loaf—his batting eye went lame;

No home runs on the score card now were chalked against his name;

The fans without exception gave the manager no peace,

For one and all kept clamoring for Casey's quick release.

 

The Mudville squad began to slump—the team was in the air;

Their playing went from bad to worse—nobody seemed to care;

“Back to the woods with Casey!” was the cry from Rooters' Row—

“Get some one who can hit the ball and let that big dub go!”

 

The lane is long, some one has said, that never turns again.

And fare, though fickle, often gives another chance to men;

And Casey smiled—his rugged face no longer wore a frown—

The pitcher who had started all the trouble came to town.

 

All Mudville had assembled—ten thousand fans had come

To see the twirler who had put big Casey on the bum;

And when he stepped into the box the multitude went wild;

He doffed his cap in proud disdain—but Casey only smiled.

“Play ball!” the umpire's voice range out—and then the game began;

But in that throng of thousands there was not a single fan

Who thought that Mudville had a chance, and with the setting sun

Their hopes sank low—the rival team was leading, “four to one.”

 

The last half of the ninth came round, with no change in the score,

But when the first man up hit safe the crowd began to roar;

The din increased—the echo of ten thousand shouts was heard

When the pitcher hit the second and gave “four balls” to the third.

 

Three men on base—nobody out—three runs to tie the game:

A triple meant the highest niche in Mudville's hall of fame;

But here the rally ended and the gloom was deep as night,

When the fourth one “fouled to catcher” and the fifth “flew out to right!”

 

A dismal groan in chorus came—a scowl was on each face—

When Casey walked up, bat in hand, and slowly took his place;

His bloodshot eyes in fury gleamed—his teeth were clinched in hate,

He gave his cap a vicious hook and pounded on the plate.

 

But fame is fleeting as the winds and glory fades away;

There were no wild and wooly cheers—no glad acclaim this day;

They hissed and groaned and hooted as they clamored, “Strike him out!”

But Casey gave no outward sign that he had heard this shout.

 

The pitcher smiled and cut one loose—across the plate it sped—

Another hiss—another groan—“Strike one!” the umpire said.

Zip! Like a shot the second curve broke just below his knee—

“Strike two!” the umpire roared aloud—but Casey made no plea.

 

No roasting for the umpire now—his was an easy lot;

But here the pitcher whirls again—was that a rifle shot?

A whack—a crack—and out through space the leather pellet flew—

A blow against the distant sky—a specie against the blue.

 

Above the fence in center field in rapid, whirling flight

The sphere sailed on—the blot grew dim and then was lost to sight,

Ten thousand hats were thrown in air—ten thousand threw a fit—

But no one ever found the ball that might Casey hit.

Oh, somewhere in this favored land dark clouds may hide the sun,

And somewhere bands no longer play and children have no fun,

And somewhere over blighted lives there hangs a heavy pall;

But Mudville hearts are happy now—for Casey hit the ball.

The Color Line

Sol White

In no other profession has the color line been drawn
more rigidly than in base ball. As far back as 1872 the first colored ball player of note playing on a white team was Bud Fowler, the celebrated promoter of colored ball clubs, and the sage of base ball. Bud played on a New Castle, Pennsylvania, team that year. Later the Walker Brothers, Fleet and Weldy, played on prominent college teams of the West. Fleet Walker has the distinction of being the only known colored player that ever played in one of the big leagues. In 1884 Walker caught for Toledo in the old American Association. At this time the Walker brothers and Bud Fowler were the only negroes in the profession.

In 1886 Frank Grant joined Buffalo, of the International League.

In 1887 no less than twenty colored ball players scattered among the different smaller leagues of the country.

With Walker, Grant, Stovy, Fowler, Higgins and Renfro in the International League, White, W. Walker, N. Higgins and R. Johnson in the Ohio League, and others in the West, made 1887 a banner year for colored talent in the white leagues. But this year marked the beginning of the elimination of colored players from white clubs. All the leagues, during the Winter of 1887 and 1888, drew the color line, or had a clause inserted in their constitutions limiting the number of colored players to be employed by each club.

This color line has been agitated by A. C. Anson, Captain of the Chicago National League team for years. As far back as 1883, Anson, with his team, landed in Toledo, O., to play an exhibition game with the American Association team. Walker, the colored catcher, was a member of the Toledos at the time. Anson at first absolutely refused to play his nine against Walker, the colored man, until he was told he could either play with Walker on this team or take his nine off the field. Anson in 1887 again refused to play the Newark Eastern League with Stovey, the colored pitcher, in the box. Were it not for this same man Anson, there would have been a colored player in the National League in 1887. John M. Ward, of the New York club, was anxious to secure Geo. Stovey and arrangements were about completed for his transfer from the Newark club, when a brawl was heard from Chicago to New York. The same Anson, with all the venom of hate which would be worthy of a Tillman or a Vardaman of the present day, made strenuous and fruitful opposition to any proposition looking to the admittance of a colored man into the National League. Just why Adrian C. Anson, manager and captain of the Chicago National League Club, was so strongly opposed to colored players on white teams cannot be explained. His repugnant feeling, shown at every opportunity, toward colored ball players, was a source of comment through every league in the country, and his opposition, with his great popularity and power in base ball circles, hastened the exclusion to the black man from the white leagues.

The colored players are not only barred from playing on white clubs, but at times games are canceled for no other reason than objections being raised by a Southern ball player, who refuses to play against a colored ball club. These men from the South who object to playing are, as a rule, fine ball players, and rather than lose their services, the managers will not book a colored team.

The colored ball player suffers great inconvenience, at times, while traveling. All hotels are generally filled from the cellar to the garret when they strike a town. It is a common occurrence for them to arrive in a city late at night and walk around for several hours before getting a place to lodge.

The situation is far different to-day in this respect than it was years ago. At one time the colored teams were accommodated in some of the best hotels in the country, as the entertainment in 1887 of the Cuban Giants at the McClure House in Wheeling, W. Va., will show.

The cause of this change is no doubt due to the condition of things from a racial standpoint. With the color question upper-most in the minds of the people at the present time, such proceedings on the part of hotel-keepers may be expected and will be difficult to remedy.

It is said on good authority that one of the leading players and a manager of the National League is advocating the entrance of colored players in the National League with a view of signing “Matthews,” the colored man, late of Harvard. It is not expected that he will succeed in this advocacy of such a move, but when such actions come to notice there are grounds for hoping that some day the bar will drop and some good man will be chosen from out of the colored profession that will be a credit to all, and pave the way for others to follow.

This article would not be complete did we not mention the effort of John McGraw, manager of the New York National League, to sign a colored man for his Baltimore American League team.

While Manager McGraw was in Hot Springs, Ark., preparing to enter the season of 1901, he was attracted toward Chas. Grant, second baseman of the Columbia Giants of Chicago, who was also at Hot Springs, playing on a colored team. McGraw, whose knowledge of and capacity for base ball is surpassed by none, thought he saw in Grant a ball player and a card. With the color line so rigidly enforced in the American League, McGraw was at a loss as to how he could get Grant for his Baltimore bunch. The little Napoleon of base ball with a brain for solving intricate circumstances in base ball transactions, conceived the idea of introducing Grant in the league as an Indian. Had it not been for friends of Grant being so eager to show their esteem while the Baltimores were playing in Chicago, McGraw's little scheme would have worked nicely. As it was the bouquet tendered to Grant, which was meant as a gift for the colored man, was really his undoing. McGraw was immediately notified to release Grant at once, as colored players would not be tolerated in the league. This shows what a base ball man will do to get a winner and also shows why McGraw has been called by many, the greatest of all base ball managers.

The following open letter was sent to President McDermit, of the Tri-State (formerly Ohio) League, by Weldy Walker, a member of the Akron, O., team of 1887, which speaks for itself.

The letter was dated March 5th, 1888. The law prohibiting the employment of colored players in the league was rescinded a few weeks later.

 

Steubenville, O.,

March 5—Mr. McDermit, President Tri-State League—Sir:

 

I take the liberty of addressing you because noticing in The Sporting Life that the “law,” permitting colored men to sign was repealed, etc., at the special meeting held at Columbus, February 22, of the above-named League of which you are the president. I ascertaining the reason of such an action I have grievances, it is a question with me whether individual loss subserves the public good in this case. This is the only question to be considered—both morally and financially—in this, as it is, or ought to be, in all cases that convinced beyond doubt that you all, as a body of men, have not been impartial and unprejudiced in your consideration of the great and important question—the success of the “National game.”

The reason I say this is because you have shown partiality by making an exception with a member of the Zanesville Club, and from this one would infer that he is the only one of the three colored players—Dick Johnson, alias Dick Neale, alias Dick Noyle, as the Sporting Life correspondent from Columbus has it; Sol White, of the Wheelings, whom I must compliment by saying was one, if not the surest hitter in the Ohio League last year, and your humble servant, who was unfortunate enough to join the Akron just ten days before they busted.

It is not because I was reserved and have been denied making my bread and butter with some clubs that I speak; but it is in hopes that the action taken at your last meeting will be called up for reconsideration at your next.

The law is a disgrace to the present age, and reflect very much upon the intelligence of your last meeting, and casts derision at the laws of Ohio—the voice of the people—that says all men are equal. I would suggest that your honorable body, in case that black law is not repealed, pass one making it criminal for a colored man or woman to be found in a ball ground.

There is now the same accommodation made for the colored patron of the game as the white, and the same provision and dispensation is made for the money of them both that finds its way into the coffers of the various clubs.

There should be some broader cause—such as lack of ability, behavior and intelligence—for barring a player, rather than his color. It is for these reasons and because I think ability and intelligence should be recognized first and last—at all times and by everyone—I ask the question again why was the “law permitting colored men to sign repealed, etc.?”

Yours truly,

Weldy W. Walker