Some baseball laughs—The “battles” with the umpire—Tommy Connolly puts
over a fast one on Bob Veach—Joe Dugan’s comeback at Jack Scott in the
world series—Bozeman Bulger’s colored umpire story—Charley O’Leary
weighs in with one—Sam Jones tops it—A laugh on Rube Lutzke.
Baseball is full of laughs.
And full of good stories too—stories that go the rounds of the camps,
through the long seasons until finally they become a part of the game
itself.
A good many of our best baseball stories center around the umpires,
and the arguments over close decisions. Fans, being quick to jeer,
very frequently think an argument is going on, when there’s nothing of
the sort really happening. Five times out of ten when a player engages
an umpire in conversation at the plate or on the bases, it isn’t an
argument at all.
I remember an incident at the Stadium a couple of seasons ago. Clarence
Rowland was working back of the plate, and early in the game he had
called a couple of “close ones” against the Yankees. As a matter
of fact his decision had been right both times—but that didn’t make any
difference to the fans. They were on him plenty.
Finally in the eighth inning I came up with two men on base. Earl
Whitehill was pitching. Whitehill threw the first one.
“Strike one,” Clarence yelled.
“Oh you robber,” came the echo from the stands.
Again he pitched. “Strike two,” Clarence shouted.
“Robber. Bum. Thief!” These and other choice bits of comment came down
from the stands and bleachers.
I stepped out of the batter’s box and turned to speak to Clarence.
“That’s right, Babe,” the fans yelled, “tell him a thing or two. Give
it to him.” And the jeering doubled as we talked.
Finally the game ended and as I trotted across the field some big
bruiser came bustling out of the stands and patted me on the shoulder.
“At ’a boy, Babe,” he howled. “I guess you told that blind umpire a
thing or two, eh? He’s just a bum anyhow! Keep after him!”
Which was all right except for two things. In the first place Clarence
had been right. Both balls were strikes. And in the second place
I hadn’t questioned his decision for an instant. What I had said was
simply this:
“Did you see that one curve? I wonder where he got it. That guy never
showed me a hook like that before!”
* * * * *
Half the laughs in baseball come from quick repartee, and the umpires
are about as quick as anyone.
One of the funniest lines I ever heard, or one of the best come-backs,
was pulled by Tommy Connolly, the veteran American League umpire. Bob
Veach of the Tigers was the goat.
The Tigers were engaged in a tight game and Tommy had had more close
ones than usual that day. It was hot too—and the boys were a bit
crochety, and they were on Tommy plenty.
Finally Veach was at bat and got hold of one, sending it on a line over
third base to the wall. Bob didn’t stop to wait for the decision—just
hit out down the baseline and he was on second base before the
outfielder reached the ball.
Tommy called him back. “Foul ball,” he said. “You’ll have to do that
one over.”
Bob kicked plenty—but Tommy stood his ground.
At the end of the inning Veach went out to left field, took a look at
the foul-line and came racing back to the plate.
“Say, Tommy, that ball was fair,” he howled. “It landed right on the
foul line. There’s a mark in the lime where it landed. I can show it to
you!”
Tommy dusted off the plate, then straightened with a grin.
“Well, well,” he said, “is that so? Now I tell you what to do. You run
right out there and bring that foul line in to me. I’ll take a look at
it!”
Bob was stopped plenty. After that he never again tried to rag Tommy.
* * * * *
The players themselves pull many a good line too. Some of them are
particularly expert—and there are few men in the league who have
anything on Joe Dugan.
I’ll never forget one he pulled in the 1923 world series between the
Giants and Yankees. It so happened that in one of the games, Joe came
to bat with two men on and a run needed to tie.
Big Jack Scott was pitching for the Giants.
At such a crucial moment as that ball players are supposed to be
nervous and excited. Maybe some of them are. But not Joe.
With the crowd howling and yelling he selected his bat and walked
slowly to the plate. He dusted his hands deliberately and then stepped
into the batter’s box.
Scotty was all ready to pitch, but just as he started his windup, Dugan
stepped out of the batter’s box, held up his hand for time. The umpire
motioned Scott not to pitch.
Then Dugan made a megaphone of his hands, and turning toward Scotty
shouted out a line that I’ll never forget:
“Hey, Scotty,” he said, “pull in your ears. You look like a loving cup!”
And Joe got his base hit too!
* * * * *
As I said before the umpires figure in a lot of baseball’s funny
stories, true and untrue.
One of the best laughs I ever heard was the story told by my friend
Bozeman Bulger, the baseball writer, concerning the colored umpire down
in Alabama.
It seems that two darky teams were such bitter rivals that when they
met for the championship it was decided to send to Baltimore and
get the fanciest umpire known to their circles—a cocky colored official
of considerable reputation.
One of the teams had a gigantic first baseman who was also a terrific
hitter. On the day of the battle this giant—Bam Sparks, they called
him—eyed the little dried-up umpire from head to foot. Bam was not at
all impressed by the Baltimore reputation.
The little umpire must also have had some doubts in his own mind.
Finally Bam Sparks came to bat. The first ball pitched split the plate
and he didn’t swing at it.
“Strike one!” screamed the little umpire with a wave of the hand that
impressed the colored rooters if not the hitter.
Bam turned and quietly looked the imported umpire over, but said
nothing. His grunt, though, was full of meaning.
A few moments later another strike came over.
“Two,” screamed the umpire with the same trick swing of the arm, and
his voice raised to a wail.
Bam Sparks quietly dropped his bat to the ground, spat tobacco juice in
the dust and slowly turned around, giving the little ump a dirty dirty
look.
“Two whut?” he demanded.
That one look did the trick.
“Too High,” came the ready response, and Bam resumed his position at
the bat.
* * * * *
Perhaps it was the same colored umpire who figured in that other game
now so well known to the story tellers.
At least this one was a little fellow, colored and weazened, and he was
umpiring the championship game between two colored contending teams.
It was a troublesome day. All through the game he had been in hot
water, and as the ninth inning came around he was being threatened with
everything from hanging to boiling in oil.
Nor could he expect help from the fans, for they were about evenly
divided. The game was played on neutral ground and there was no home
club to favor. He was on his own.
Came the last of the ninth inning as the movie people put it. The team
in the field had a one run lead, the bases were full, two were out, and
the count was three and two on the hitter.
The pitcher wound up and let the ball fly.
The batter didn’t swing.
Instead he turned in his tracks and eyed the umpire. “That’s a
ball suah,” he said with pretended certainty.
“Right through the plate,” the catcher retorted, and there was murder
in his eye as he turned to the umpire.
The ump was dumb for an instant, and his eyes were looking for the
nearest exit.
The teams came clustering around.
“Well,” they demanded, “say something. What was it?”
Again the little ump eyed the exit. His knees shook. His hands trembled.
“D-d-d-doubtful!” he howled finally, and broke for the gate. According
to the story he’s still traveling.
* * * * *
There’s nothing ball players like better than to sit around the hotel
lobbies in the evening swapping yarns. And at times like that they’re
not hampered by truth either. Two of the greatest storytellers I
ever heard are Charley O’Leary and Sam (Sad Sam) Jones. Why anyone
should ever call Sam “Sad Sam,” is more than I can figure. He’s one of
the most cheerful, happy, even dispositioned fellows I ever knew.
But that’s beside the story.
I had the pleasure of sitting in on a confab in Washington one night
when Sam and Charley were exchanging yarns. They had been going along
for some time when Charley weighed in with this one.
“Two colored teams,” he said, “were playing for the city championship
of Chicago—a tough, tough game that finally went into extra innings.
The game was played late in the fall, and darkness came along toward
the last. Finally in the twelfth inning it was so dark that you could
hardly see the ball.
“One team scored a run in the first of the twelfth, giving them a two
to one lead. In the last half of the twelfth the other team filled the
bases, with two down. There were two strikes and three balls on the
batter. It was a fine time for strategy.”
The big colored pitcher beckoned to his catcher who strolled out to the
pitcher’s box.
“Listen,” the pitcher told him. “You take that ball. Now you go back
of that plate and when I wind up and make my pitching motion you smack
that ball hard into your glove!”
He wound up—and pretended to let fly.
Bam! went the ball into the catcher’s glove.
“Strike three, you’re out!” the umpire shrieked.
And at the sound the batter whirled in his place and confronted the ump.
“Oh you thief,” he howled. “You call that a strike. Why that ball was
two feet outside!”
* * * * *
Most of the boys were willing to give Charley the leather medal on that
one. But not Sam. He had a counter-yarn that he sprung, and this was it.
“We used to have a pitcher out in Ohio who was a wonder at that trick
motion stuff in catching men off base,” Sam said. “He was one of those
fellows who could throw equally well with his right hand or his left.
Well sir, this fellow got quite a reputation around his part of the
state, and finally got a job pitching for a semi-pro club that was
playing for the championship.
“It was a tough battle. Neither side scored the first eight innings.
Finally in the first of the ninth this pitcher’s club put over a run.
In the last of the ninth the thing got tougher. The opponents filled
the bases with nobody out and the gang was shouting for the pitcher’s
blood. It was a tough spot.
“But did it bother this farmer kid? It did not. Know what he did?
“He strolled over to the bench as though he was getting a drink of
water, and quietly picked up another baseball. Then he went back to the
mound.
“Well sir, that fellow took a little windup and with his right hand he
threw to first base, catching the runner there asleep. With his left
hand he tossed to third base and caught that runner flat-footed too.
And I’ll be durned if his motion wasn’t so deceptive that the hitter
swung too, and struck out. Completed a triple play, right there, that
pitcher did—and won the ball game.
“We grow our pitchers that way down in Ohio,” Sam added and walked
away. Charley was whipped. He had nothing more to say. That was once
when Sam Jones had him stopped cold.
* * * * *
Getting back to truth again the boys tell a story on Rube Lutzke, the
Cleveland third baseman, that gets many a laugh. I won’t vouch for its
truth, except to say that the Cleveland boys all tell it as fact.
You know a ball player loves his base hits more than anything in the
world. When the official scorer gives him an error he takes it as
part of the game. But let the scorer fail to give him a hit when he
thinks he has it coming and there’s a howl that you can hear all
over the park. But I’m getting away from my story.
Rube, the boys say, had been going great at the bat for some time
and finally he went into a game and came out with four hits in four
times up. Naturally he was pretty happy, and he went home that night
whistling and singing and laughing at everybody.
Mrs. Lutzke met him at the door and Rube was still whistling.
“Well,” he says, “four for four today. Guess that’s smacking the old
pill, eh?”
A few days later hard luck busted Rube right in the eye. Seemed as
though he couldn’t get the ball safe to save his life, and in a double
header one afternoon he went to bat nine times without anything that
even looked like a hit.
Not so good! Rube scowled and muttered under his breath as he took his
shower and got dressed.
Mrs. Lutzke met him at the door when he got home.
“Well, Rube,” she said, “how many hits today?”
Rube was speechless for a minute, but finally he found his tongue.
“Listen,” he said, “you attend to the cooking for this family and
I’ll do the hitting.”
* * * * *
Most of the laughs in baseball come from wisecracks pulled on the
bench. Players rag each other a lot. “Jockeying” we call it in
baseball. And some of the boys are expert.
Joe Bush was one of the best jockeys I ever heard. Freddy Hoffman, the
old Yankee catcher, was another good one. Art Fletcher is no slouch
either. And there are fellows on each big league ball club who make
jockeying a real art.
Whitey Witt used to pull a lot of funny lines—not wise cracks
particularly but just observations that had a lot of humor along with
their common sense. Whitey’s best one was pulled one day when we were
playing Washington, and at Walter Johnsons’ expense.
It was a tough game, and Walter had walked me intentionally when I came
up with two men on and two out.
Whitey was on him in a minute.
“That’s right, Barney,” Whitey howled, “better four balls for one base
than one ball for four bases anytime.”
That’s one line that has gone around the league and back again.
You still hear it dozens of times a season—a sort of unconscious
tribute to Whitey Witt who finished his baseball career some seasons
ago.
* * * * *
Yes, there are laughs in baseball—lots of them.
That’s another thing that helps to make it a great game.
GLOSSARY OF BASEBALL TERMS
Barber—A ready conversationalist. Name applied to person who talks a
great deal.
Jockey—a rider. Player who “rides” opposing players from the bench.
Taking him for a ride—ridicule and kidding of an opposing player in
effort to disconcert him.
Horse collar—a zero in the box score hit column.
Cousin—a pitcher who is easy to hit.
Hook—a curve ball of any variety.
“Dusting off”—Making the hitter drop to the ground by pitching at him.
“Wasting one”—pitching outside and wide of the plate in an effort to
head off a steal or prevent a hit and run.
“Leaning”—taking an exceptional long lead, preparatory to a steal.
“Breeze”—an easy chance.
“Texas Leaguer”—a fly ball just out of reach of the infielders,
but too close in for an outfielder to handle.
“Doing a Sammy Vick”—overeating. Sammy Vick was noted for possessing
one of the most voracious appetites in the big leagues.
“The Syracuse Car”—the Pullman in which the rookies and substitutes
ride. Originated with the Giants who used to play an exhibition game in
Syracuse each year. Usually the second string men would play the game
and their car would be shunted off at Syracuse while the others went on
to the next big league town to enjoy a day off.
“Boot”—an error.
“A blow”—a base hit.
“In the groove”—a ball through the center of the plate, easy to hit.
“A sinker”—a fly ball that has a back spin which causes it to sink to
the ground quickly.
“Rookie”—a first year man or a player who has not won his spurs as a
regular.
“Whittling”—term applied to pitchers who attempt to fool hitters with
balls just off the corner of the plate. A whittler is a pitcher who
mixes up balls with strikes and carries a batter along to a two-two or
three-two count before making him hit.
“Bean ball”—a pitched ball thrown at a batters’ head.
“Giving it the old college try”—playing to the grandstand or making
strenuous effort to field a ball that obviously cannot be handled.
Scribes—the newspaper men who accompany a big league ball club on the
road.
Four for four; three for two, etc—the ball player’s way of saying four
hits in four times up; two hits in three times up, etc. An abbreviation
of “three times up for two hits.”
“Fungo”—fly balls hit to the outfield during fielding practice.
Transcriber’s Notes
1. Italicised words are indicated by _underscores_.
2. Misspelled words have been corrected (see below). Archaic,
inconsistent and alternative spellings have been left unchanged.
Hyphenation has not been standardised.
3. Punctuation has been silently corrected.
4. Thought breaks (larger gaps between paragraphs) are indicated by
a row of asterisks.
5. “Edit Distance” in Corrections table below refers to the
Levenshtein Distance.
Corrections:
Page Source Correction Edit distance
iv Hinkey Haines, Hinkey Haines’
68 Eddie Rommell Eddie Rommel
110 Pittsburg Pirates Pittsburgh Pirates
123 mechancal mechanical
140 Urban Schocker Urban Shocker
153 not saying hat not saying that
161 a little beter a little better
189 the pitchings coming the pitches coming
192 drag hunters drag bunters
195 phases that the phrases that the
222 therefort therefore
229 appearence appearance
236 accidently accidentally
266 pasttime past time