HANS’ SECOND TRIP TO NEW YORK
For the second time in the history of the contests between the two big
schools each had won a game and it was necessary to play a third game
to decide the championship. To provide for such cases they had a rule
that where a third game was necessary it must be played on neutral
ground, the location to be agreed upon by the captains. This was
generally done by tossing a coin. The winner had the right to name the
place.
This was a very important matter to decide in such a simple way, as the
team securing the choice of location for this game also secured sixty
per cent of the gate receipts after the expenses were paid, the money
all going of course to the athletic fund. You would think that this
arrangement and the attractive feature of the gate money would cause
the boys to try to break even on the first two games every year, but
the fact that this was only the second time in twenty years that it
occurred goes to show how square the games were.
When they came to toss the coin this time Hughie called, “Heads,” and
heads it was. He promptly said, “We will play it at the Polo Grounds
in New York,” and Mr. Williams, the treasurer of the university,
immediately arranged the matter by telegraph.
This suited both teams very well. They would break training immediately
after the game and the long strain would be over, whichever team won
the final game. The game would be played on Thursday, and they could
take Friday, Saturday, and Sunday to have a look at the big city, and
victors and losers would be royally entertained by the alumni of both
colleges who lived there.
So they arranged for the reception of the team’s return to take place
on the following Monday evening and everybody hoped and believed they
would come back as champions again.
The Jefferson team meantime were hailed as friends and were given
morning practice privileges on Lowell field and treated right royally
so far as the training rules would permit. They got very well
acquainted during the four or five days they spent together, and the
old timers on both the teams regaled the youngsters with tales of the
thrilling plays that had occurred between Jefferson and Lowell teams
of the past. Most of them had been told many times at each school, but
repeated under such conditions were doubly interesting.
During one of these fanning bees the talk as usual turned to famous
fielding stunts, and many stories were again told of famous fielders
and the baseball instinct. “I think the greatest fielder who seemed to
have this instinct,” said La Joy, “was Hugh Duff. I have seen him a
score of times out in our sun field catch the ball by instinct after
losing it in the sun. Where another fielder would dodge and turn his
back, Duff would just stick his hands up and catch it. He himself said
often that he didn’t know how he did it.”
“Well, I think the fellow who had the highest development of playing
ball by instinct,” said Pop Anderson, who was staying around with the
boys, “was Walter Brodie. He seemed to know from the sound made by
the bat, when the ball was hit, exactly where it was going. Many a
time I have seen him start to run for a hard-hit fly ball without even
looking, run fifty or seventy-five feet even, and then turn around for
the first time in exactly the right spot to make the catch. He often
used to give exhibitions before the games of turning his back to the
ball almost as soon as it was hit, taking a run outward and making the
catch with his hands behind his back and his back to the ball. It may
have been practice, but how he knew where the ball would fall will
always be a great mystery to all who saw him do it.”
“I’ll tell you, Ty,” said Captain Larke, “of a fielder whose record
you can look up and when you get to be as good as he was, you will be
pretty near the top. I mean Tom McCarthy. It was he who introduced the
trapped ball on outfield flies. If you can learn to trap a ball as well
as he did you will have learned something which almost every outfielder
has tried but failed to do.
“To ‘trap’ a fly ball is to make a pick up out of it, as you know. In
one Lowell game years ago with Biltmore, Tom worked his ‘trap’ for two
double plays. Once there were men on first and second. The batter sent
a short fly to Tom. Of course the runners held to the bases. Instead
of making the catch which would have been easy, Tom scooped it off the
ground. The man on first was, of course, forced and the man on second
was caught on his way to third. Later in the same game on the same kind
of a fly ball, Tom made believe he was going to trap the ball again, so
the man on second took a big lead. Tom, however, made a fly catch out
of it and throwing to second made a double play once more.”
“You’ll never be able to catch a Jefferson player again like you did
last year,” said Frank Church to Everson.
“How’s that,” said Talkington.
“Well, I won’t mention the name of the boy he caught, because he is
present and he doesn’t like the story, but this same brilliant player
was on first in one of the games and had started to steal second. The
batter made a beautiful line hit to center on a line about fifteen feet
high. Everson, there, stood at second, looked up and pretended to be
getting ready to catch a nice little pop fly. Seeing this, our good Mr.
Player having failed to keep his eye on the ball hustled back to first,
but by the time he had got back and taken a second look he saw the
center fielder picking up the ball. Before he could get to second, the
ball had been thrown to Johnny, here, who touched the bag for a force
out. Johnny only laughed but our good player said to him then, ‘Grin,
you little shrimp, grin. You had me good, but I’ll get you some day for
it.’”
Everybody had a good laugh at this, even Martin, for by this time they
knew who it was by his sheepish expression, but they didn’t see how he
could get even with Everson.
So they played many of the games over again and got very well
acquainted with each other and the rivalry between the two schools was
laid aside for the time being. They left for New York on Wednesday
afternoon on the same train and acted like good friends together until
the next afternoon in New York when they entered the Polo Grounds with
its row after row of seats entirely surrounding the big park, when the
big crowd that had come to see the final game stirred up all the bitter
rivalry and they prepared for the big battle.
When they awoke in New York in the morning, the players, many of whom
had never been there, were somewhat surprised to find that the town was
apparently not excited about what was going to happen. People seemed
to be going about their business just the same as though the baseball
championship was not to be decided there that day. They didn’t realize,
of course, what a big city New York is nor the habits of its people.
By noon, however, the crowds on the trolley cars and elevated traveling
northward were enormous, and it soon developed that the town was headed
for the Polo Grounds. New York had simply hustled in the morning to
get its business out of the way, so it could do as it pleased in the
afternoon and it pleased New York to try to see the game.
When the teams got up to One hundred and Fifty-fifth Street they were
as much surprised as they had been in the morning. The whole town
seemed to be there. Enough to make a good-sized city inside and about
twice as many outside trying to get in.
The gates were locked at noon, three hours before the game. There was
room for no more. The players got through the crowd as best as they
could. With the help of the policemen, they managed to clear sufficient
space in front of the stands to engage in a little practice and to
warm up the pitchers. But there was little real practice done that day
outside of enough to limber up their muscles.
Their biggest effort was to keep their nerve in front of that immense
crowd. The familiar scenes of the other games were presented, but now
green mixed with maroon throughout the stands. One section of seats all
green, the next maroon, etc. The same noise clubs led the cheers and
songs. Most of the people in the stands knew the songs and cheers of
the rival schools. They gave them with a wealth of music. A yell and
then a chorus. The singing coaches started “Fair Lowell.” The stands
took it up. The wave of sound mounted and mounted as the crowd joined
in and rose on its feet until all the stands presented the thrilling
spectacle of a singing multitude, with a kaleidoscopic background of
color that changed from green and white to maroon and white and back
again, a grand glorious tumult of voices. They sang the “Alma Mater,”
too.
The umpires emerged from under the stands and walked out onto the
field. There was no consultation with managers. The batting orders had
been handed in early. The gong sounded. It was time for the game to
begin. Then came a sudden stop. Which team was to go to bat first? Of
course it was neutral ground and that question must be decided. Hughie
and Church tossed the coin. They looked at it as it landed on the turf.
Was it heads or tails? They both walked back to their benches. The
umpire made his usual announcement of the batteries.
The crowd did not yet know which team had won the advantage of first
in the field. The umpire said, “Batter up.” Then from the Lowell bench
you could see the team arise quickly and trot out on the field. The
Lowell “rooters” started a mighty cheer. The advantage of first field
was theirs. It was only a slight advantage but their team thought it an
advantage and that made it one.
A sudden hush falls over the vast multitude. You can almost hear a pin
drop. Laird at the plate, and Black in the box. Again that first ball
may be the all important one. On it may hang victory, or defeat for
either side. The crowd sits back silent, waiting. They are ready. So
are the players. Alert, waiting. Suddenly the ball shoots toward the
plate like a white streak. The big final battle is on.