by Mark Harris
Fielding rounded the bag and went over for his glove. “Say boy,” said he to me, “I hear that they have got you rooming with a n—r.”
“That is right,” said I to him, and I dropped my glove along the line, and the kid run up with my jacket and held it while I slipped it on, and I went in towards the dugout. I got a good hand on the way, and I touched my cap.
Then the running begun. George was on first quicker then you could tell it. He bunted down third on the second pitch, and Nance went over and fielded it and never even bothered to make the throw.
They figured Lucky for the sacrifice. Lucky swung around for the bunt and Blodgett tore in from third, but Lucky chopped at it, the swinging bunt, and it popped down the third base line where Blodgett was but wasn’t no more, and Granby chased over from short and Blodgett turned and started out after it, too. That was where he put the knife in his own back, for George rounded second never busting his stride and come barreling down for third. Nance come over to cover as soon as he seen what was happening, and Joe Jaros give George the slide sign, and George hit the dirt. Nance took the throw from Granby from short left, and George brung him to earth with the slide, and Nance was still trying to get up off his back while Lucky went streaking to second.
Vince Carucci worked the count to 3-and-2 and then lifted 1 about 410 feet into left center that Black took, and now we was running again, George tagging up and scoring easy enough from third, which was what everybody expected. The only thing they did not expect was what Lucky done. Lucky tagged, too, and he broke for third on the catch, which neither Black nor all of Boston expected, and he made it in a very close play with a neat slide. That is how ball games are won, doing the unexpected.
We wasn’t through yet. Dutch ordered the squeeze, shoving his right foot up on the dugout step. That’s the bunt sign, not bunt and run but run and bunt. The suicide squeeze. It means get moving and not worry about getting doubled up or trapped. All or nothing. It means the batter has got to bunt no matter what.
Thinking back on it it all sounds simple. But Dutch figured it all in a flash. They would be throwing low to keep Sid from hitting in the air where Lucky could score after the catch. The infield would lay in a little close for the possible play at the plate, though not too close. It would never expect the bunt from Sid, for his specialty is the long drive. Joe Jaros flashed the sign to Sid and Lucky, shouting, “Okay, Sid, leave us drive 1 about 650 feet.” You will notice that the name “Sid” is the second word. So between the bunt sign from Dutch and the word from Joe both Lucky and Sid knowed that Sid was to bunt the second pitch.
The second pitch was low, the best kind to bunt, and Sid pushed it along first, neat enough for a man that don’t do it much. Fielding took it, but he seen he had no chance in the world to make the play at the plate, for by now Lucky was across. Chickering covered first, and Sid was out. But we had 2.
That was how it stood when we batted in the last of the third. I come up first. I got a good hand, partly because I done well up to then and partly because I was a rookie and folks always like to see a rookie make good. I touched my hat.
“Well, well, well,” said Toomy Richardson, the Boston catcher, “if it ain’t Henry Wiggen that rooms with the n—r.” He crouched and give his sign.
“That is me,” said I, “and it will not be many weeks before you will be dizzy trying to throw that n—r out stealing.”
Nance sailed 1 past me for a called strike.
“Is that so?” said Toomy. “Well, n—rs was always fast runners. They ain’t honest so they got to know how to run.”
“That is so,” said I.
Nance breezed another by, and Zinke bawled out, “Stee-rike!”
All of a sudden I got a notion maybe I could get on base. I figured Nance would waste 1 and then fog 1 through. He figured I would never take the bat off my shoulder. He throwed wide. “What in the world is the sense in wasting pitches on me?” said I to Toomy. “I wish you would throw it through good so I can go back and sit down.”
“Oh,” said Toomy, “we always play around a little bit with punks before we strike them out.”
“Well, hurry it up,” said I, “for I would like to get back and put my jacket on and keep my flipper warm,” and Nance reared and throwed. I swang. When I have a mind to do it I can cut pretty good at a ball. I caught that 1 nice, with the fat of the bat, and I drove it down the line in right, and Casey Sharpe loped over. I seen him waiting to play it off the wall, and I thought, “Well, Casey old boy, how is your arm this fine day?” and I rounded first, and I dug, and I churned down the line and got them legs moving about as fast as they ever went before, and I went on down towards second like there was the flag itself resting on the outcome, and Granby come over to cover, and I hit the dirt about the instant he took the throw, and I went under him, and my foot hooked the bag just as snug as could be, and Neininger called me safe.
I think this must of upset Fred Nance’s ideas of what was proper. He walked George. Lucky moved us along with the sacrifice. Vince Carucci popped out, but then they walked Sid to load the bases and have a play at every bag, figuring they had a little better chance with Pasquale then with Sid. But Pasquale lined 1 into right center that was still on the rise when it left the infield. We was all running, of course, with 2 down, and the drive hit the Gem sign about 10 feet off the ground. I jogged in, and George was right behind, and Sid was rounding third when Heinz begun his throw. Nance cut the throw off, seeing there was no chance on Sid, and that kept Pasquale from taking third. It did not matter, for Ugly singled him home anyways, and that was all for Nance. Nippy Lewis come on to relieve. Gene almost kept the rally going with a smash down third, but Blodgett took it backhand on the bag, and that was the end of the inning. 6–0.
That was how things stood through 6. In the top of the seventh Dutch lifted Sid Goldman and sent Canada in at first. Sid is a fair enough fielding first baseman, but he tends to weight, and the weight slows him down. He says if he lived in the hotel with the boys he might keep his weight down better, but he lives with his mother on Riverside Drive when the club is home and she feeds him too much. I ate up there 1 Friday night and must of put on 2 pounds betwixt the time we sat down and the time we tried to get up. So Dutch lifted Sid and played Canada at first so as to bolst the defense. It was a good hunch, like all Dutch’s hunches that day, like pitching me in the first place and then again jumping off to a fast lead by bunting. Everything was working. I do believe if we sent the batboy up to hit he would of rapped a triple.
I been going good up to the seventh. I was really enjoying myself. The boys was singing behind me and threatening at bat almost every inning, and the sun come out bright and strong about the fifth, and the crowd was with us all the way, for next to beating Brooklyn they love best to beat Boston.
I felt a little sorry for Squarehead. I guess when Dutch sent Canada in poor Squarehead knowed for sure what was in the cards. Yet he kept booming out from the dugout like he never thought a thing about it. Soon I was too busy to worry about Squarehead. I was up to my eyeballs in trouble.
Fielding opened the inning with a single. Canada sung to me over from first, “It does not mean a thing, Hank, does not mean a thing,” and I throwed down to first a couple times, not half so much trying to pick Fielding off as give Canada a chance to loosen and get over being nervous. I knowed he was nervous. Casey Sharpe followed with a Texas League single that Lucky and Ugly and Gene all raced for, yet it fell between them in short center. Canada went down to cover second, and I shot over to first. Fielding took third.
Heinz was up. We had got him out twice before, mixing curves and the fast 1. Red give me the sign for the curve, and I shook him off. Okay, he signals, throw the screw, which was what I wanted to throw. Red don’t like me to, though. He says I’m too young and will ruin my arm. I throwed it, and Heinz popped it foul down by the Mayor of New York’s box, and Canada streaked over. Sid would of never made it. I did not think Canada would neither, but over he
went, and about 5 feet from the barrier he left this earth and took off. I caught a glimpse of Kellogg racing over to call it. Then I lost sight of Canada, for down he went behind the rail, and Kellogg jerked back his thumb, meaning that Canada made the catch, and the next thing I seen the ball was flying back out of there. It was a pretty good throw, considering that the poor boy was laying on his back all tangled up with the seats and the spectators, and I took the throw about halfway between the line and the stands, and I wheeled and whipped it to Red, figuring that Fielding would of tagged by now and been headed for home. That was what he done, never expecting Canada to get the ball back in play like that, and now he was trapped betwixt third and home. Red run him back towards third and flipped to George. George run him back towards home and flipped to me, for I was backing up Red by now. I run Fielding back towards third and flipped to Ugly, for Ugly come over from short to back up George. Ugly run Fielding down towards home. Red was waiting, and he stuck up his hands like he was expecting the throw, and Fielding seen the hands go up and naturally reversed again and started back towards third. Only Ugly never throwed a-tall, and Fielding tried to reverse still again, but Ugly was roaring fast down the line, and he tagged Fielding and turned and wheeled and fired back to George at third and damn near caught Casey Sharpe besides.
I was out of it now. Chickering drove Casey home with a single, but I got Blodgett on strikes.
In the top of the ninth, with 2 gone and none on and the crowd moving towards the exits, Casey Sharpe hammered a homer into the upper stands in right. Then Heinz rolled to Ugly, and that was it. That was my first.
We had dinner together that night in the hotel, me and Holly and Pop and Perry and Aaron and Red and Rosemary Traphagen and George. I suppose I might of hogged the conversation somewhat, hashing over the afternoon about 5 times. Nobody else got much of a word in edgewise until towards the end I noticed I was talking and nobody was listening. Pop and Perry was gassing together, and Aaron and Red was discussing I do not know what and now and then turning it in Spanish for George, and Rosemary was telling Holly about some of the problems of a ballplayer’s wife. It used to be that when I won a game I spent hours and hours jawing it over again for the benefit of anybody that cared to listen, though I got over the habit as time wore on. When I lost I never considered it worth discussing and still don’t.
Finally we broke it up, and me and Holly went walking, and after a time I said, “Well, Holly, I hope Rosemary has filled you in on some of the fine points of marrying a ballplayer.”
“She told me of the problems,” said Holly.
“You are putting me off again,” said I, for I could tell she was stalling like she done that night in February just before I shoved off south. “What problems? There is 20,000 girls that would give their right arm to be married to such problems.”
“I am not of the 20,000,” she said. “It takes thought.”
“To hell with thought,” said I. “I must have the answer, yes or no.”
“Now is not the time for big decisions,” she said. “You are sitting on top of the world, and it is too easy to be in love when you are sitting on top of the world. How about on afternoons when the chips are flying all wrong? How about on afternoons when all does not go so smooth as it went today? Will you then be in love with me and all the world? Rosemary Traphagen has told me about such afternoons.”
“Why so gloomy?” said I, but she went on being gloomy nonetheless, and after about 6 blocks we turned around and went back, hardly saying a word the whole time. Later her and Pop and Aaron grabbed the 11 o’clock. I seen them off, and I walked clear back to the hotel. I felt sore.
But walking cooled me off some, and I kept thinking about the dinner that night and what a fool I probably was. At least that’s what I think I was thinking. Yet maybe it wasn’t until some time later in the summer that I begun to wise up to myself, for I soon seen where it is easy enough to be in love with all the world on a fine spring night after you have just throwed a 6-hit win but maybe not so easy come steaming August and the September stretch. A lot of things Holly ever said begun to sink in, and I learned a lot about such things as love, and actually, when you think about it, it is a wonder that she didn’t cut me loose then and there, for I was so stupid, and so green, that it makes me sick to mention it.
The box score:
BOSTON
ab. r. h. po. a
Black cf 4 0 0 1 0
Granby ss 4 0 1 2 1
Fielding 1b 4 0 1 7 2
Sharpe rf 4 2 2 2 0
HeinzIf 4 0 0 2 0
Chickering 2b 3 0 2 2 3
Blodgett 3b 2 0 0 3 1
Richardson c 3 0 0 5 2
Nance p 1 0 0 0 1
Lewis p 1 0 0 0 2
aHampden 1 0 0 0 0
Tawney p 0 0 0 0 0
Total 31 2 6 24 12
NEW YORK
ab. r. h. po. a
Gonzalez 3b 4 2 1 1 2
Judkins cf 3 1 1 2 0
V. Carucci lf 4 0 1 2 0
Goldman 1b 1 1 1 7 0
Smith 1b 1 0 0 3 1
P. Carucci rf 4 1 2 1 0
Jones ss 4 0 2 2 3
Park 2b 3 0 0 3 3
Traphagen c 4 0 1 5 1
Wiggen p 4 1 1 1 2
Total 32 6 10 27 12
aHit into force play for Lewis in eighth.
Boston 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 1 — 2
New York 2 0 4 0 0 0 0 0 - — 6
Error—Chickering.
Runs batted in—V. Carucci, Goldman, P. Carucci 3, Jones, Chickering, Sharpe.
Two-base hits—Wiggen, P. Carucci, Goldman, Granby.
Home run—Sharpe.
Double plays—Jones, Park and Goldman; Chickering, Granby and Fielding; Smith, Wiggen, Traphagen, Gonzalez and Jones; Gonzalez, Park and Smith.
Left on bases—Boston 3, New York 7.
Bases on balls—Off Wiggen 2, Nance 2, Lewis 2.
Struck out—By Wiggen 5, Nance 1, Lewis 2.
Hits—Off Nance 5 in 2 2/3 innings, Lewis 4 in 4 1/3 innings, Tawney 1 in 1 inning.
Winning pitcher—Wiggen. Losing pitcher—Nance.
Umpires—Zinke, Kellogg, Neininger and Bowron.
Time of game—2:32.
Attendance—29,812.
Chapter 25
ANY kind of a race, whether dogs or ponies or boats or cars or men or baseball clubs, begin the same. All are bunched at the start. Then the gun goes off or the flag goes down or, when it is baseball clubs, the first ball is throwed out, the openers played, and they are off.
At the beginning, for a week or 2 weeks, or maybe a month, they run neck and neck, and the eastern clubs meet the eastern clubs and west meets west, and then the east goes west or the west goes east, depending on the schedule, and soon each club has played the circuit round. You have got a look at the new hitters that come up in the spring, and your own hitters have saw the new enemy pitchers, and some of the kids that come up with all the fanfare finds out they cannot hit the big-time stuff, and some of the new young pitchers finds out they was pretty flashy down in AA or AAA, but now they cannot get a man out, and down they go, out of remembrance.
Now, after the first swing west and the first swing east, after the first turn of the course you might say, the field straightens away. Them that have it sticks, and them that don’t begin to fade. Quality begins to show, for it is a long pull, and over the long pull your day-in-day-out clubs move out ahead of the field, maybe only 2 clubs, maybe 3 or 4, and on the other clubs the weaknesses begin to shine through, and a second-rate bench begins to hurt because fellows get injured aplenty in this game called “Baseball.” And the club that might look good over a week or 10 days begins to look poorly and weakly over the longer haul.
It ain’t the short series that means a thing. It is how are you fixed when July comes round. Is your bench strong? Have you got the kind of ballplayers that when the pressure is on, when the heavy cash rides on every pitch in every ball game will they still have their nerve? Will you
hustle in August like you hustled in May?
Things started last spring according to form. We got away fast. Sam Yale beat Boston the second day, though Knuckles lost on the third, and we split 2 with Brooklyn and went down to Washington and took 2 out of 3. The rotation was working nice, Hams and Piss rounding out the staff and the relief coming on when needed, mostly Horse Byrd, sometimes Lindon, Dutch juggling once and skipping my turn so as to throw righthanders against Washington and keep me and Sam ready for the series up in Boston. I beat Boston the first day there and Sam done the same the second, and the third day it snowed, and we moved out on the noon train and back to New York for 3 with Brooklyn in Brooklyn before the first trip west. We was in second place then, with Cleveland leading by a game. If anybody was worried it never showed.
1 thing I begun to notice, and that was this. When you are a top-flight ballplayer you do not go around collaring everybody you lay your eyes on and tell them so. We was doing our ballplaying on the ball field and our jawing amongst ourselves. If there was anybody we give a riding to it was the opposition, or umpires. As for cabbies and bellhops and such we done our business with them and give them the time of day and a good tip and thank you, and that was that.
I do not mean that you could of confused us with a squad of chess players. Show me a ball club with nothing to say to nobody and I will tell you where they are in their league, for they are probably in seventh place with the cellar door open. I only mean that we was tending to business and tending it good. Off the field there was no water bags dropped out of windows, no nailing nobody’s shoes to the floor nor shortsheeting the bed nor any of the things that you read about in books.
We got back from the first trip to Boston early in the evening. Me and Coker and Canada and Perry and Lindon and Squarehead went down in the Manhattan Drugs for a late evening bite, and we lazed around and played the juke and read the comic books off the stand. It was a cold night out. It looked more like the middle of December then the last of April, and we ended up just sitting there looking out the window at the people rushing by, not talking much, and finally Coker piped up, saying, “Sgurd Nattahnam.”