CHAPTER XXIV

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.