“Sure,” replied Davis. “They ‘doped’ the grounds for you. But never mind. When we are entertaining, the box at the Polo Grounds will be built up the days you are going to pitch against Brooklyn, and you can burn them over and at their heads if you like.”
The thing that worried the Athletics most before the last world’s series was the reputation of the Giants as base stealers. When we went to Philadelphia for the first game, I was surprised at the heavy condition of the base lines.
“Did it rain here last night?” I inquired from a native.
“No,” he answered.
Then I knew that the lines had been wet down to slow up our fast runners and make it harder for them to steal. As things developed, this precaution was unnecessary, but it was an effort to break up what was known to be our strongest “inside” play.
Baseball men maintain that the acme of doctoring grounds was the work of the old Baltimore Orioles. The team was composed of fast men who were brilliant bunters and hard base runners. The soil of the infield was mixed with a form of clay which, when wet and then rolled, was almost as hard as concrete. The ground outside the first and third base lines was built up slightly to keep well placed bunts from rolling foul, while toward first base there was a distinct down grade to aid the runner in reaching that station with all possible expedition. Toward second there was a gentle slope, and it was down hill to third. But coming home from third was up-hill work. A player had to be a mountain climber to make it. This all benefited fast men like Keeler, McGraw, Kelley and Jennings whose most dangerous form of attack was the bunt.
The Orioles did not stop at doctoring the infield. The grass in the outfield was permitted to grow long and was unkempt. Centre and left fields were kept level, but in right field there was a sharp down grade to aid the fast Keeler. He had made an exhaustive study of all the possible angles at which the ball might bound and had certain paths that he followed, but which were not marked out by sign posts for visiting right-fielders. He was sure death on hits to his territory, while usually wallops got past visiting right-fielders. And so great was the grade that “Wee Willie” was barely visible from the batter’s box. A hitting team coming to Baltimore would be forced to fall into the bunting game or be entirely outclassed. And the Orioles did not furnish their guests with topographical maps of the grounds either.
The habit of doctoring grounds is not so much in vogue now as it once was. For a long time it was considered fair to arrange the home field to the best advantage of the team which owned it, for otherwise what was the use in being home? It was on the same principle that a general builds his breastworks to best suit the fighting style of his army, for they are his breastworks.
But lately among the profession, sentiment and baseball legislation have prevailed against the doctoring of grounds, and it is done very little. Occasionally a pitching box is raised or lowered to meet the requirements of a certain man, but they are not altered every day to fit the pitcher, as they once were. Such tactics often hopelessly upset the plan of battle of the visiting club unless this exactly coincided with the habits of the home team. Many strategic plans have been wasted on carefully arranged grounds, and many “inside” plays have gone by the boards when the field was fixed so that a bunt was bound to roll foul if the ball followed the laws of gravitation, as it usually does, because the visiting team was known to have the bunting habit.
A good story of doctored grounds gone wrong is told of the Philadelphia Athletics. The eccentric “Rube” Waddell had bundles of speed in his early days, and from a slightly elevated pitcher’s box the batter could scarcely identify “Rube’s” delivery from that of a cannon. He was scheduled to pitch one day and showed around at morning practice looking unusually fit for George.