There is an old story about an altercation which took place during a wedding ceremony in the backwoods of the Virginia mountains. The discussion started over the propriety of the best man holding the ring, and by the time that it had been finally settled the bride gazed around on a dead bridegroom, a dead father, and a dead best man, not to mention three or four very dead ushers and a clergyman.
“Them new fangled self-cockin’ automatic guns has sure raised hell with my prospects,” she sighed.
That’s the way I felt when John Franklin Baker popped that home run into the right-field stand in the ninth inning of the third game of the 1911 world’s series with one man already out. For eight and one-third innings the Giants had played “inside” ball, and I had carefully nursed along every batter who came to the plate, studying his weakness and pitching at it. It looked as if we were going to win the game, and then zing! And also zowie! The ball went into the stand on a line and I looked around at my fielders who had had the game almost within their grasp a minute before. Instantly, I realized that I had been pitching myself out, expecting the end to come in nine innings. My arm felt like so much lead hanging to my side after that hit. I wanted to go and get some crape and hang it on my salary whip. Then that old story about the wedding popped into my head, and I said to myself:
“He has sure raised hell with your prospects.”
“Sam” Strang, the official pinch hitter of the Giants a few seasons ago, was one of the best in the business. McGraw sent him to the bat in the ninth inning of a game the Giants were playing in Brooklyn. We were two runs behind and two were already out, with one runner on the bases, and he was only as far as second. “Doc” Scanlon was pitching for Brooklyn, and, evidently intimidated by Sam’s pinch-hitting reputation or something, suddenly became wild and gave the Giant batter three balls. With the count three and nothing, McGraw shouted from the bench:
“Wait it out, Sam!”
But Sam did not hear him, and he took a nice masculine, virile, full-armed swing at the ball and fouled it out of the reach of all the local guardians of the soil.
“Are you deaf?” barked McGraw. “Wait it out, I tell you.”
As a matter of fact, Strang was a little deaf and did not hear the shouted instructions the second time. But “Doc” Scanlon was sensitive as to hearing and, feeling sure Strang would obey the orders of McGraw, thought he would be taking no chances in putting the next ball over the centre of the plate. It came up the “groove,” and Strang admired it as it approached. Then he took his swing, and the next place the ball touched was in the Italian district just over the right field fence. The hit tied the score.
McGraw met Strang at the plate, and instead of greeting him with shouts of approbation, exclaimed: