CHAPTER XX

Some baseball laughs—The “battles” with the umpire—Tommy Connolly puts over a fast one on Bob Veach—Joe Dugan’s comeback at Jack Scott in the world series—Bozeman Bulger’s colored umpire story—Charley O’Leary weighs in with one—Sam Jones tops it—A laugh on Rube Lutzke.

Baseball is full of laughs.

And full of good stories too—stories that go the rounds of the camps, through the long seasons until finally they become a part of the game itself.

A good many of our best baseball stories center around the umpires, and the arguments over close decisions. Fans, being quick to jeer, very frequently think an argument is going on, when there’s nothing of the sort really happening. Five times out of ten when a player engages an umpire in conversation at the plate or on the bases, it isn’t an argument at all.

I remember an incident at the Stadium a couple of seasons ago. Clarence Rowland was working back of the plate, and early in the game he had called a couple of “close ones” against the Yankees. As a matter of fact his decision had been right both times—but that didn’t make any difference to the fans. They were on him plenty.

Finally in the eighth inning I came up with two men on base. Earl Whitehill was pitching. Whitehill threw the first one.

“Strike one,” Clarence yelled.

“Oh you robber,” came the echo from the stands.

Again he pitched. “Strike two,” Clarence shouted.

“Robber. Bum. Thief!” These and other choice bits of comment came down from the stands and bleachers.

I stepped out of the batter’s box and turned to speak to Clarence.

“That’s right, Babe,” the fans yelled, “tell him a thing or two. Give it to him.” And the jeering doubled as we talked.

Finally the game ended and as I trotted across the field some big bruiser came bustling out of the stands and patted me on the shoulder.

“At ’a boy, Babe,” he howled. “I guess you told that blind umpire a thing or two, eh? He’s just a bum anyhow! Keep after him!”

Which was all right except for two things. In the first place Clarence had been right. Both balls were strikes. And in the second place I hadn’t questioned his decision for an instant. What I had said was simply this:

“Did you see that one curve? I wonder where he got it. That guy never showed me a hook like that before!”

* * * * *

Half the laughs in baseball come from quick repartee, and the umpires are about as quick as anyone.

One of the funniest lines I ever heard, or one of the best come-backs, was pulled by Tommy Connolly, the veteran American League umpire. Bob Veach of the Tigers was the goat.

The Tigers were engaged in a tight game and Tommy had had more close ones than usual that day. It was hot too—and the boys were a bit crochety, and they were on Tommy plenty.

Finally Veach was at bat and got hold of one, sending it on a line over third base to the wall. Bob didn’t stop to wait for the decision—just hit out down the baseline and he was on second base before the outfielder reached the ball.

Tommy called him back. “Foul ball,” he said. “You’ll have to do that one over.”

Bob kicked plenty—but Tommy stood his ground.

At the end of the inning Veach went out to left field, took a look at the foul-line and came racing back to the plate.

“Say, Tommy, that ball was fair,” he howled. “It landed right on the foul line. There’s a mark in the lime where it landed. I can show it to you!”

Tommy dusted off the plate, then straightened with a grin.

“Well, well,” he said, “is that so? Now I tell you what to do. You run right out there and bring that foul line in to me. I’ll take a look at it!”

Bob was stopped plenty. After that he never again tried to rag Tommy.

* * * * *

The players themselves pull many a good line too. Some of them are particularly expert—and there are few men in the league who have anything on Joe Dugan.

I’ll never forget one he pulled in the 1923 world series between the Giants and Yankees. It so happened that in one of the games, Joe came to bat with two men on and a run needed to tie.

Big Jack Scott was pitching for the Giants.

At such a crucial moment as that ball players are supposed to be nervous and excited. Maybe some of them are. But not Joe.

With the crowd howling and yelling he selected his bat and walked slowly to the plate. He dusted his hands deliberately and then stepped into the batter’s box.

Scotty was all ready to pitch, but just as he started his windup, Dugan stepped out of the batter’s box, held up his hand for time. The umpire motioned Scott not to pitch.

Then Dugan made a megaphone of his hands, and turning toward Scotty shouted out a line that I’ll never forget:

“Hey, Scotty,” he said, “pull in your ears. You look like a loving cup!”

And Joe got his base hit too!

* * * * *

As I said before the umpires figure in a lot of baseball’s funny stories, true and untrue.

One of the best laughs I ever heard was the story told by my friend Bozeman Bulger, the baseball writer, concerning the colored umpire down in Alabama.

It seems that two darky teams were such bitter rivals that when they met for the championship it was decided to send to Baltimore and get the fanciest umpire known to their circles—a cocky colored official of considerable reputation.

One of the teams had a gigantic first baseman who was also a terrific hitter. On the day of the battle this giant—Bam Sparks, they called him—eyed the little dried-up umpire from head to foot. Bam was not at all impressed by the Baltimore reputation.

The little umpire must also have had some doubts in his own mind.

Finally Bam Sparks came to bat. The first ball pitched split the plate and he didn’t swing at it.

“Strike one!” screamed the little umpire with a wave of the hand that impressed the colored rooters if not the hitter.

Bam turned and quietly looked the imported umpire over, but said nothing. His grunt, though, was full of meaning.

A few moments later another strike came over.

“Two,” screamed the umpire with the same trick swing of the arm, and his voice raised to a wail.

Bam Sparks quietly dropped his bat to the ground, spat tobacco juice in the dust and slowly turned around, giving the little ump a dirty dirty look.

“Two whut?” he demanded.

That one look did the trick.

“Too High,” came the ready response, and Bam resumed his position at the bat.

* * * * *

Perhaps it was the same colored umpire who figured in that other game now so well known to the story tellers.

At least this one was a little fellow, colored and weazened, and he was umpiring the championship game between two colored contending teams.

It was a troublesome day. All through the game he had been in hot water, and as the ninth inning came around he was being threatened with everything from hanging to boiling in oil.

Nor could he expect help from the fans, for they were about evenly divided. The game was played on neutral ground and there was no home club to favor. He was on his own.

Came the last of the ninth inning as the movie people put it. The team in the field had a one run lead, the bases were full, two were out, and the count was three and two on the hitter.

The pitcher wound up and let the ball fly.

The batter didn’t swing.

Instead he turned in his tracks and eyed the umpire. “That’s a ball suah,” he said with pretended certainty.

“Right through the plate,” the catcher retorted, and there was murder in his eye as he turned to the umpire.

The ump was dumb for an instant, and his eyes were looking for the nearest exit.

The teams came clustering around.

“Well,” they demanded, “say something. What was it?”

Again the little ump eyed the exit. His knees shook. His hands trembled.

“D-d-d-doubtful!” he howled finally, and broke for the gate. According to the story he’s still traveling.

* * * * *

There’s nothing ball players like better than to sit around the hotel lobbies in the evening swapping yarns. And at times like that they’re not hampered by truth either. Two of the greatest storytellers I ever heard are Charley O’Leary and Sam (Sad Sam) Jones. Why anyone should ever call Sam “Sad Sam,” is more than I can figure. He’s one of the most cheerful, happy, even dispositioned fellows I ever knew. But that’s beside the story.

I had the pleasure of sitting in on a confab in Washington one night when Sam and Charley were exchanging yarns. They had been going along for some time when Charley weighed in with this one.

“Two colored teams,” he said, “were playing for the city championship of Chicago—a tough, tough game that finally went into extra innings. The game was played late in the fall, and darkness came along toward the last. Finally in the twelfth inning it was so dark that you could hardly see the ball.

“One team scored a run in the first of the twelfth, giving them a two to one lead. In the last half of the twelfth the other team filled the bases, with two down. There were two strikes and three balls on the batter. It was a fine time for strategy.”

The big colored pitcher beckoned to his catcher who strolled out to the pitcher’s box.

“Listen,” the pitcher told him. “You take that ball. Now you go back of that plate and when I wind up and make my pitching motion you smack that ball hard into your glove!”

He wound up—and pretended to let fly.

Bam! went the ball into the catcher’s glove.

“Strike three, you’re out!” the umpire shrieked.

And at the sound the batter whirled in his place and confronted the ump.

“Oh you thief,” he howled. “You call that a strike. Why that ball was two feet outside!”

* * * * *

Most of the boys were willing to give Charley the leather medal on that one. But not Sam. He had a counter-yarn that he sprung, and this was it.

“We used to have a pitcher out in Ohio who was a wonder at that trick motion stuff in catching men off base,” Sam said. “He was one of those fellows who could throw equally well with his right hand or his left. Well sir, this fellow got quite a reputation around his part of the state, and finally got a job pitching for a semi-pro club that was playing for the championship.

“It was a tough battle. Neither side scored the first eight innings. Finally in the first of the ninth this pitcher’s club put over a run. In the last of the ninth the thing got tougher. The opponents filled the bases with nobody out and the gang was shouting for the pitcher’s blood. It was a tough spot.

“But did it bother this farmer kid? It did not. Know what he did?

“He strolled over to the bench as though he was getting a drink of water, and quietly picked up another baseball. Then he went back to the mound.

“Well sir, that fellow took a little windup and with his right hand he threw to first base, catching the runner there asleep. With his left hand he tossed to third base and caught that runner flat-footed too. And I’ll be durned if his motion wasn’t so deceptive that the hitter swung too, and struck out. Completed a triple play, right there, that pitcher did—and won the ball game.

“We grow our pitchers that way down in Ohio,” Sam added and walked away. Charley was whipped. He had nothing more to say. That was once when Sam Jones had him stopped cold.

* * * * *

Getting back to truth again the boys tell a story on Rube Lutzke, the Cleveland third baseman, that gets many a laugh. I won’t vouch for its truth, except to say that the Cleveland boys all tell it as fact.

You know a ball player loves his base hits more than anything in the world. When the official scorer gives him an error he takes it as part of the game. But let the scorer fail to give him a hit when he thinks he has it coming and there’s a howl that you can hear all over the park. But I’m getting away from my story.

Rube, the boys say, had been going great at the bat for some time and finally he went into a game and came out with four hits in four times up. Naturally he was pretty happy, and he went home that night whistling and singing and laughing at everybody.

Mrs. Lutzke met him at the door and Rube was still whistling.

“Well,” he says, “four for four today. Guess that’s smacking the old pill, eh?”

A few days later hard luck busted Rube right in the eye. Seemed as though he couldn’t get the ball safe to save his life, and in a double header one afternoon he went to bat nine times without anything that even looked like a hit.

Not so good! Rube scowled and muttered under his breath as he took his shower and got dressed.

Mrs. Lutzke met him at the door when he got home.

“Well, Rube,” she said, “how many hits today?”

Rube was speechless for a minute, but finally he found his tongue.

“Listen,” he said, “you attend to the cooking for this family and I’ll do the hitting.”

* * * * *

Most of the laughs in baseball come from wisecracks pulled on the bench. Players rag each other a lot. “Jockeying” we call it in baseball. And some of the boys are expert.

Joe Bush was one of the best jockeys I ever heard. Freddy Hoffman, the old Yankee catcher, was another good one. Art Fletcher is no slouch either. And there are fellows on each big league ball club who make jockeying a real art.

Whitey Witt used to pull a lot of funny lines—not wise cracks particularly but just observations that had a lot of humor along with their common sense. Whitey’s best one was pulled one day when we were playing Washington, and at Walter Johnsons’ expense.

It was a tough game, and Walter had walked me intentionally when I came up with two men on and two out.

Whitey was on him in a minute.

“That’s right, Barney,” Whitey howled, “better four balls for one base than one ball for four bases anytime.”

That’s one line that has gone around the league and back again. You still hear it dozens of times a season—a sort of unconscious tribute to Whitey Witt who finished his baseball career some seasons ago.

* * * * *

Yes, there are laughs in baseball—lots of them.

That’s another thing that helps to make it a great game.

GLOSSARY OF BASEBALL TERMS

Barber—A ready conversationalist. Name applied to person who talks a great deal.

Jockey—a rider. Player who “rides” opposing players from the bench.

Taking him for a ride—ridicule and kidding of an opposing player in effort to disconcert him.

Horse collar—a zero in the box score hit column.

Cousin—a pitcher who is easy to hit.

Hook—a curve ball of any variety.

“Dusting off”—Making the hitter drop to the ground by pitching at him.

“Wasting one”—pitching outside and wide of the plate in an effort to head off a steal or prevent a hit and run.

“Leaning”—taking an exceptional long lead, preparatory to a steal.

“Breeze”—an easy chance.

“Texas Leaguer”—a fly ball just out of reach of the infielders, but too close in for an outfielder to handle.

“Doing a Sammy Vick”—overeating. Sammy Vick was noted for possessing one of the most voracious appetites in the big leagues.

“The Syracuse Car”—the Pullman in which the rookies and substitutes ride. Originated with the Giants who used to play an exhibition game in Syracuse each year. Usually the second string men would play the game and their car would be shunted off at Syracuse while the others went on to the next big league town to enjoy a day off.

“Boot”—an error.

“A blow”—a base hit.

“In the groove”—a ball through the center of the plate, easy to hit.

“A sinker”—a fly ball that has a back spin which causes it to sink to the ground quickly.

“Rookie”—a first year man or a player who has not won his spurs as a regular.

“Whittling”—term applied to pitchers who attempt to fool hitters with balls just off the corner of the plate. A whittler is a pitcher who mixes up balls with strikes and carries a batter along to a two-two or three-two count before making him hit.

“Bean ball”—a pitched ball thrown at a batters’ head.

“Giving it the old college try”—playing to the grandstand or making strenuous effort to field a ball that obviously cannot be handled.

Scribes—the newspaper men who accompany a big league ball club on the road.

Four for four; three for two, etc—the ball player’s way of saying four hits in four times up; two hits in three times up, etc. An abbreviation of “three times up for two hits.”

“Fungo”—fly balls hit to the outfield during fielding practice.

Transcriber’s Notes

1. Italicised words are indicated by _underscores_.

2. Misspelled words have been corrected (see below). Archaic, inconsistent and alternative spellings have been left unchanged. Hyphenation has not been standardised.

3. Punctuation has been silently corrected.

4. Thought breaks (larger gaps between paragraphs) are indicated by a row of asterisks.

5. “Edit Distance” in Corrections table below refers to the Levenshtein Distance.

Corrections:

Page Source Correction Edit distance

iv Hinkey Haines, Hinkey Haines’ 68 Eddie Rommell Eddie Rommel 110 Pittsburg Pirates Pittsburgh Pirates 123 mechancal mechanical 140 Urban Schocker Urban Shocker 153 not saying hat not saying that 161 a little beter a little better 189 the pitchings coming the pitches coming 192 drag hunters drag bunters 195 phases that the phrases that the 222 therefort therefore 229 appearence appearance 236 accidently accidentally 266 pasttime past time