THE MAKING OF A FAN
Hiram Parker lived in the house with Hal and Hans. He it was who had
rented the third floor room at Mrs. Malcolm’s on the same day that Hans
had moved in. He had not arrived until the day following Hans and, as
said before, prepared his own meals in his rooms, and was such a quiet,
serious fellow that neither Hans nor Hal got very well acquainted with
him, or in fact saw him very often. Parker was a Senior. He was well
thought of in the university, especially among the members of the
Senior Class, who knew him for his earnestness.
Parker was a poor farmer’s son. He had to work harder than any other
fellow in the university, and he had to do the things the hardest way.
Not over bright naturally, he had to make his way by hard study and he
was able by the force of his will to overcome obstacles which one with
less determination would have balked at. When he entered the university
he was thirty-five years old. He was so poor and the little money he
earned in vacation time was really such a small amount that he had less
to spend than any other fellow in the school and he devoted all of his
time to his studies and paid no attention to the social features of
college life, and very little more to athletic affairs.
Shortly after the last holiday vacation he had found himself still more
cramped for funds, and finding that Mrs. Malcolm would let him have the
third floor front room for twenty-five cents per week less that he had
been paying, he had taken her room and moved in. His constant struggle
was to be able to live long enough to get through his course, and he
allowed himself no penny’s worth of spending money, nor any recreation
whatever. He had his mind on the main chance all the time and for him
it was to be graduated with honors from Lowell.
Parker was narrow-minded then, but he became a great preacher in later
years and broadened out a lot. His life was altogether serious, and
being much older than Hans and Hal and having undertaken to complete
the college course in three years instead of four he was too serious
even for a fellow of Hans’ disposition, who while earnest in all
things, managed to get the most out of life as he went along.
Occasionally the boys would meet Parker on the way home or on the
stairs. Being full of baseball all the time, they tried to talk about
it to Parker. He would listen attentively when they showed their
enthusiasm in this way and then he’d say, “I don’t know anything about
the game, boys. Never saw but one in my life and when it was over, I
knew less about it than before. It looks like a good game for a lot of
lunatics.”
“You wouldn’t think that way if you knew the game,” said Hal. “Nothing
like it for exercising all the muscles and keeping you strong and
healthy.”
“Clears your brain just to watch a game if you understand it,” said
Hans. “Rests your brain after the hard work of study.”
“I never had time to rest,” said Hiram. “College is a serious thing
with me.”
“It doesn’t pay to work all the time,” remarked Hans. “You know the old
saying ‘All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.’”
“Yes, I know that, but I’m strong yet and I have been rather dull all
my life,” replied Parker without noticing the humor of his remark.
“Why don’t you take a day off and come out and see one of the games
some day?” asked Hal.
“Maybe I will some day,” Parker would reply, and would then go on up to
his room.
But the drawing nearer of the big games of the season caused a lot of
excitement around the university, so much, in fact, that even fellows
like Parker began to be affected by it.
On the day of the game with Chadwick College which was the last game at
home before the first game with Jefferson now only a week off, Hal met
Parker coming in just as he was going out to the grounds. Hal was not
in the game that day. He had developed a bad boil on his left hand and
Hughie wasn’t taking any chances on having that hand out of commission
a week later, by having it further crippled.
So Hal was given a lay off from the team to give his hand a chance
to heal, and as he was very anxious not to miss those great games, he
made no kick against Hughie’s orders. At the same time it was tough
to think of sitting in the stand while Hans and the other boys were
enjoying themselves in the game with Chadwick which was generally an
easy game for Lowell to win. Chadwick College was not in the same grade
as Lowell, but sentiment for the founder, Father Chadwick, known as
the Father of Baseball, and the memory of what he had done for the
great sport served to keep the game on the regular schedule, and it had
always taken place just before the first great game with Jefferson.
“Come on along to the game,” said Hal as he met Parker.
“I have a good notion to. For once I haven’t much to do to-day. Been
thinking for some time I’d go out and see a game. I’ll go if you’ll
find some one to explain it to me,” answered Parker.
“I’ll explain it to you myself,” said Hal. “I’m not allowed to play
to-day on account of this boil on my hand.”
“All right, then, I’ll surely go.”
When they got out to the grounds Hal found a couple of seats in the
stand back of first which was his favorite place when watching a game,
as from there he could see all of it and watch all the plays. When play
started, though, he didn’t have much time to think of the game, he was
so busy answering Parker’s questions.
When Parker had told him he didn’t know anything about the game of
baseball, Hal thought of course, he didn’t mean that he knew nothing at
all about it. He supposed Parker would know what the idea of the game
was, but when Parker asked him what they had those big bean bags out
there for, Hal commenced to realize that here was a fellow who didn’t
know as much as a girl even about the great American game.
Once he had taken a girl cousin to see a game in California, and the
foolish questions she asked him made him vow never to take a girl to a
ball game again.
“What has that fellow got the cage on his face for?” was one of the
first questions Parker asked.
“That’s Gibbie, the catcher,” answered Hal. “He stands behind the plate
and he might get hit by a foul tip.”
“What’s a foul tip?” was the next question.
“A foul tip occurs when a batter strikes at a ball and almost misses
it. The ball just touches the rounded side of the bat, and of course
changes its direction. It does this so quickly that the catcher
sometimes can’t see it and it might hit him on the head,” replied Hal.
“I see,” said Parker. This was during practice before the game.
“What’s the idea of the game anyhow?” asked Parker next.
“Well,” began Hal, looking at Parker to see if he was serious or
joking. Parker was serious. “There are nine men on each side. One side
goes out in the field and the other side is at bat. When there are
three out they----”
“I thought you said nine were out,” broke in Parker.
“No, there are only three put out. I guess you were thinking about what
I said that one team of nine players takes position in the field to
catch the ball.”
“Does it take nine men to catch a ball?” asked Parker.
“No, only one,” said Hal, “but they have a man in each of the locations
where the ball is likely to be hit.”
The people in the seats in front turned around to look at Parker to see
who it might be. They wanted to see what a fellow looked like who was
as ignorant of the great American game as he seemed to be. Just then
the game began, the umpire said “play ball,” and after Hal had told him
that the umpire was the judge of play, Hal and Parker directed their
attention to the diamond. Presently the pitcher threw the ball. Ross
was at bat. It was a ball and Ross didn’t strike at it.
[Illustration: “The people in the stands turned around to see who it
might be.”]
“Why didn’t he hit it?” asked Parker.
“It wasn’t the right kind of a ball to strike at,” replied Hal.
“Do they use different kinds of balls?” asked Parker.
“No, they use the same ball all the time.” Hal saw that he would have
to explain about balls and strikes.
“You see, a batter can get four balls or three strikes. If he gets four
balls he runs to the base. If he gets three strikes he’s out.”
“Why don’t he always take the four balls?”
“Well, you see the pitcher fools him.”
“How?”
“The pitcher tries to make the batter think balls are strikes and
strikes are balls.”
“Doesn’t the batter know the difference?”
“Not until the umpire tells what it is. Sometimes even the pitcher
doesn’t know if it is a ball or strike until the umpire says what it
is,” explained Hal. He was thinking of the many times umpires have
called balls when the pitchers thought they were over the plate.
“Then what’s the use of having a batter?” asked Parker, bringing
his logic into play. “Why don’t the batters stand up in line behind
the umpire and let him tell each one in his turn if it’s a ball or a
strike?”
Before he could answer, however, Ross had hit the next ball. The umpire
called “foul ball” and the Chadwick shortstop, third baseman, and
catcher were all running to make the catch as it was a high foul over
toward the third base stands.
“What are they all running for?” asked Parker.
“To catch the ball,” answered Hal.
“I thought you said it only took one man to catch a ball.”
Again Hal tried to explain.
“You see, when a batter hits the ball the fielders try to stop it and
throw it to the base ahead of the runner. If the ball gets there before
the batter, he’s out. If he gets there first he is still in the game.
The player who throws to the base is credited with an assist, or a put
out if he catches the ball before it hits the ground.”
“But why doesn’t the batter run if he hit the ball?”
“Foul ball,” said Hal. “A foul ball, that is a ball which strikes
the ground outside of those white lines” (pointing to the foul lines
left and right) “doesn’t count as a hit. For a hit, a ball must be
fair, which means striking inside those lines. A foul ball counts as a
strike, but if it is caught it’s an out.”
“I see,” said Parker.
The game had meantime proceeded. Ross had three balls and two strikes.
The pitcher sent up the deciding one. “Four balls, take your base,”
called the umpire. Ross walked down to first.
“Why doesn’t he run?” asked Parker.
“He doesn’t have to run,” replied Hal.
“But you said if he got four balls he could run to first base.” This
showed Hal that Parker was absorbing the points and he took some
encouragement.
“They usually let them walk on four balls, as he can take his base on a
walk by the time the pitcher is ready again,” he replied. By this time
Ross had reached first and was standing there with one foot on the bag.
“Why doesn’t he take the base if it is his?” was the next question.
“He doesn’t really take the base,” explained Hal. “He is simply
entitled to go to it and be ready to run to second base.” He saw that
he would have to be very careful in his choice of words if he was to
teach Parker much of the game. Everson was next at bat. He hit the
first ball for a long fly to left and started on a slow trot toward
first, while Ross remained at the bag.
“Why doesn’t the fellow on first run?” asked Parker.
“He is waiting to see if the ball is caught,” said Hal.
“Can’t he run unless the ball is caught?” Parker went on.
“Not on a fly. He has to wait until the ball is caught. After a fly is
caught he can run to the next base.” The fielder muffed the ball and
Ross ran like the wind to second, Everson reaching first easily.
“I thought you said he couldn’t run until the ball was caught. That
fellow out there missed it,” came from Parker.
“I ought to have told you at first that if a fielder muffs a fly ball
everybody runs, except in the case of a foul,” explained Hal.
“Yes, but there are only two of them running,” Parker replied.
Hal laughed. Everybody near them was paying more attention to them than
to the game. They were calling Parker “the Rube.” One freshman said:
“Get a copy of the ‘Book of Rules,’ Rube, and learn it by heart before
the next game.”
The game proceeded for some time and Hal did the best he could to
answer the many questions Parker put to him. He had his own troubles
when it came to explaining the “hit and run play,” “the double steal,”
and the “squeeze play,” especially the latter. Some one in the stand
said when Ty was on third base and Tris at bat with one out, “They’re
going to work the squeeze.” They did work it, and successfully, as
sometimes happens, and the fans yelled, “Did you notice that squeeze?”
“I didn’t see anybody get squeezed,” said Parker, “who was it?”
“Why,” said Hal, “Ty was on third and Tris squeezed him in.”
“Did he hurt him?” asked Parker.
The crowd around them yelled. Hal knew it was almost as hard to
describe the squeeze play as to justify it, but he did his best and
Parker said finally he understood it all right, but it is doubtful if
he really did.
The game had developed into a really exciting one for an inning or two.
For the first few innings the pitchers had held the batters safe and
there were few hits made. In fact, up to the beginning of the seventh
inning Lowell had secured but three hits and Chadwick three. Lowell had
one run, worked out by a two bagger by Robb, a clean steal of third and
he had been brought home by Tris on the squeeze play already mentioned.
In the first half of the seventh, Chadwick knocked out three runs on a
couple of hits mixed with a bunch of errors on the part of Lowell.
In the meantime by repeated explanation of the different plays, Parker
had begun to understand some of the first principles of the game. He
had already gotten to the point where he didn’t ask as many questions.
He was watching the game. Six short innings of baseball had planted
the seed out of which would some day grow a “full fledged fan.” He
didn’t understand much of it, of course, but he had begun to feel the
alternate strain and relaxation which everyone feels when watching a
game. It has been the same for years with all of us.
When “our” side is at bat you are always hoping the batter will hit it
safe. You watch the pitcher wind up. Your muscles are tense. You see
the ball leave his hands. You see the batter prepare to strike at it.
He strikes and misses. The umpire calls “one strike.” You relax. Again
the pitcher delivers the ball. Again the muscles become tense. The
umpire says “one ball” and again you sink back in your seat in perfect
repose. By this time the pitcher is again ready. The third time the
ball is sent toward the batter like a white streak. Somehow you feel
he is going to hit it this time. As before, your muscles become tense.
You hear a crack of wood against leather. You raise yourself up in your
seat. It’s a foul fly back of the plate. You see the catcher throw off
his mask and run up for the ball. You are absolutely rigid. You see the
set and determined face of the catcher as he comes running toward you,
his mind on nothing but the catch he hopes to make, he sees nothing
but the ball. You, yourself, are thinking of nothing else. You hope he
misses it. Now it’s coming down close to the stand. He’s almost under
it. He’s going to get it. Just then he stubs his toe on a pebble and he
muffs it. You are glad. You relax. You cheer him for missing it. You
look round you. There are ten, twenty, forty thousand people, a moment
ago just as tense and rigid as you, thinking of nothing else but that
catch, who are now settling back in their seats, happy and content,
everyone of them, excepting of course the few “rooters” for the other
side.
The next ball pitched is a good one, fast and straight over the plate.
The batter sets himself to meet it fair and square. You do likewise,
as if you would help him. Now he pulls back his bat, he swings, he
meets it fair, you can tell by the sound it makes that it’s a long
hit. You see the center fielder, look once to get the direction, then
turn his back to the ball and run just as hard as he knows how. You
stand up, everybody stands up, not a word is spoken. It seems as though
minutes are passing until the play is decided. Soon you see the fielder
turn half way round to look and then he goes on running. He is still
too far away. You see him getting near the ball, but not near enough
to catch it. By this time the ball is going over his head. He has lost
it. No, he makes one try at the right moment. He takes a mighty leap
into the air, up goes one hand, the ball hits his glove and sticks, he
comes down to earth, he rolls over half a dozen times on the grass, but
he comes up finally with the ball in his hand and you begin to relax.
Then you start to jump up and down, you wave your hat, you throw it up
in the air, and wave your arms and you try to yell louder than your
neighbors. If you look around, you will see forty thousand people doing
the same. Yelling and cheering and waving arms, hats or anything that
comes within reach. You are cheering the other side, but you don’t
mind. It was a wonderful catch.
[Illustration: “He comes down to earth.”]
And so it goes, through nine whole awfully short innings always. Time
flies so quickly at a ball game. It’s over before you want it to be.
Our side wins! You go home happy. Our boys lose? Well, better luck
to-morrow.
In the second half of the seventh inning of the game with Chadwick,
this Lowell team just had to get at least three runs, so Hughie told
the boys and he would be obliged if they would get a half dozen.
Everson was the first man up and he got an infield hit to short which
he beat by inches. Then the Lowell boys on the bench commenced to get
busy, for they had sensed the “break.” There comes a time in almost
every game of ball, which has become known as the “break,” when the
game can be won for one team or the other. There is no definite period
of the game when this occurs, but the players seem to sense it. Let a
batter get to first and if you see the players on the bench commence
to reach for their bats, swing them a few times, laugh, get excited
and dance up and down like boys with a new toy, you will know that the
“break” has come then, and that the game will be won or lost right
there. So it was at this point in the game with Chadwick.
Delvin was the next man up. He got a single to right field. Next came
Hans. He hit a grounder over second base which couldn’t be stopped and
the bases were full. Ty came up with his little black bat and hit the
ball over third base for a two bagger and Everson and Delvin raced home
for runs. Hans got to third and Ty reached second. Tris knocked the
ball to shortstop, who was nervous by this time and made an error. Hans
got home and Robb reached third while Tris was on first. One more run.
The Larke hurried to the plate and after fouling off a couple, hit one
fair and square and the ball made a high flight straight for the left
field fence, and went over. A home run, and Robb and Tris scored ahead
of him. The “break” was over, the opposing players settled down. The
pitcher steadied himself, recovered his nerves, and the next three men
went out in order. The rest of the game went along without any further
excitement. The “break” in the seventh inning was the meat of the whole
game.
Parker and Hal went through the inning like all the rest. It got so
exciting for Hal that he forgot all about Parker and when he did
remember him he saw that Parker had forgotten him. Parker was standing
up on his seat with all the rest of them, bareheaded, for his hat had
been discarded many minutes before. His hair was disheveled, his coat
was in his left hand and he was whirling it above Hal’s head while with
his other hand he was slapping his neighbor on the right violently on
the back with a newspaper, while that party was hugging the fellow in
front of him.
“I see you have joined the ranks of the lunatics, you told me about the
other day,” said Hal.
“Me for the ball game after this,” replied Parker. “Think of it. Here
it’s my first game of ball since I came to college, nearly the last
game of the year, and me a Senior. I’ve been asleep. I’ve missed
things.”
“That’s the way it gets everybody,” said Hal. “It surely is the great
American game.”
Parker was sorry when the game was over. It was a great experience for
him, and during the remaining few days of the term he had many talks
with Hans and Hal about baseball and after he was graduated and became
a famous preacher he became and remained a faithful enthusiast. Thus
are “fans” made.
[Illustration: The Making of a Fan.]