STAGING A COMEBACK
Miles, the kingpin pitcher of the Pirates, was in the box, and that he
was at the top of his form was evident by the way he whipped the ball
over the plate, setting down the heavy hitters at the head of the Giant
batting order in jig time.
A murmur went through the crowd as Joe pulled on his glove and walked
out to the box. All knew the indifferent way in which he had been going
of late, and they had not expected to see him pitch in the first game
of the series.
Perhaps a new thrill was in store for them, the novelty of seeing the
greatest pitcher of the national game knocked out of the box. Was the
superman of baseball at last to be dethroned?
The majority of them thought so. The Pirates themselves were of the
same opinion. Many a time they had suffered at Baseball Joe’s hands. He
had put them through the hoops, made them roll over and play dead. He
had been the one invincible obstacle to their winning of the coveted
pennant. Now that they had caught him at a supposed disadvantage, they
promised themselves sweet revenge.
“Send him to the showers, boys,” adjured Elwood. “Now’s your chance.
Give it to him good and plenty.”
Platz, the heavy-hitting left fielder of the Pirates, swaggered to the
plate and set himself to begin the slaughter.
“Trot out your stock and let me look it over,” he said, with a grin.
“That is,” he added, “if you’re able to get the ball up to the plate.”
The next instant the ball fairly whistled past him as it cut the plate.
Platz was so startled at the swift response to his gibe that he did not
even offer at it.
“Strike one!” cried the umpire.
“Did it get up there?” asked Joe mockingly as the ball was returned to
him.
“It won’t get past me again,” retorted Platz.
He set himself for another fast one, but this time the ball just
drifted up, looking as big as a balloon when it left Joe’s hand but
as small as a pea as it neared the plate. Platz nearly broke his back
reaching for it.
“Hope you didn’t strain yourself,” said Joe solicitously.
Platz flushed and took a firmer foothold. This time the ball sped in
a line until it was within three feet of the rubber. Then it took a
sudden hop and Platz struck four inches under it.
“You’re out!” barked the umpire.
“Yes,” laughed Joe, “we have no base hits to-day.”
Platz went back raging to the bench.
“Thought you said that fellow was all in,” he growled to his manager.
“Just a flash in the pan,” declared Elwood. “We’ll have him hollering
for help before long.”
But Joe was not just then displaying any SOS signals. The next two
men whiffed the air, as had their predecessor, and the hearts of the
Pirates and their supporters sank into their boots as the third man in
succession went out on strikes.
Robbie’s face was like a full moon and McRae was jubilant as Joe came
in to the bench.
“Glory hallelujah!” exulted Robbie. “’Tis the same old Joe once more.”
“You can’t keep a squirrel on the ground!” exclaimed McRae. “That was
demon pitching, Joe. But for the love of Pete, old boy, don’t throw
your arm out.”
“No fear,” laughed Joe happily. “I feel as though I could pitch all
day. I just wanted to throw a scare into them at the start.”
“You did that all right,” grinned Robbie. “Now throw another one into
them by cracking out a homer.”
“I’ll do my best,” promised Joe, as he picked up his bat and started
for the plate.
“Got any curves you want straightened out?” Joe asked of Miles as he
faced him.
“Try to straighten out this one,” challenged Miles, as he put over a
fast incurve between knee and waist.
Joe caught it full and square and the ball sailed out between right and
center. The fielders took one look at it and threw up their hands. It
soared into the center field bleachers, where one of the fans pocketed
it as a souvenir of one of the longest and cleanest home run clouts
ever made on Forbes Field.
Joe slackened up as soon as he rounded first and just jogged around
the bases while the Pittsburgh players looked at each other in
consternation. Was this the man who rumor had said was ready for the
toboggan?
Joe dented the rubber and came in flushed and smiling to the Giants’
dugout, to be mauled and pounded by his rejoicing mates.
“Joe, old boy, you’re a wonder!” exclaimed Jim as he threw his arms
about him. “Those birds are standing on their heads. They don’t know
where they’re at.”
“I hope they’ll feel that way all through the nine innings,” laughed
Joe.
“They will,” predicted Jim confidently. “It’s your day, old boy, and
you won’t be denied. I watched you while you were in the box. You’ve
got the same easy swing, the same perfect control, the same mastery of
the batsman that you had in the early part of the season.”
That Jim was right was demonstrated as the game progressed. Never did
Joe justify more fully his great reputation. He had his opponents
swinging like a gate. In vain did they resort to bunting, to kicking at
the umpire’s decisions, to trying to get hit by the ball. They were one
of the heaviest hitting teams in the league, but in that game Joe made
them look like bushers.
Inning after inning went by while the spectators watched breathlessly.
Man after man of the Pirates went up to the bat, only to be turned back
by Joe’s wizardry of arm and brain. He outpitched them and outguessed
them. They were as helpless as babes.
Elwood stormed and raged at his men, but all to no purpose. He put in
pinch hitters until his batting order looked like a crazy quilt. Joe
did the pinching. They did no hitting.
Miles was doing excellent work, but compared with Joe’s it was like
a tallow candle to an electric light. He kept his hits fairly well
scattered, but every now and then a run came over the plate until the
Giants had accumulated four tallies while the Pittsburghs’ column
showed nothing but goose eggs.
Joe’s batting eye ran a close race with his pitching arm. Three times
he came to the bat, and three times he knocked out homers. After that,
Miles kept the ball out of his reach, to the disappointment even of
the Pittsburgh crowd, who were rooting by this time for him to knock
out another and equal the record of Delehanty’s that had stood for
years――four homers in a single game.
When at last Joe called it a day and put out the last man on strikes
that hostile crowd surrendered and there was a tempest of tumultuous
cheers that could not have been surpassed on the Polo Grounds.
As for the Giants, they were simply in delirium.
Their pitching ace was still supreme, still the king of twirlers, the
master of all the famous boxmen that had illuminated the history of the
game.
Baseball Joe had come back!