Pitching in a Pinch; or, Baseball from the Inside

by Christy Mathewson

Offensive coaching, in my opinion, is the most important. For a man to be a good coacher he must be trained for the work. The best coachers are the seasoned players, the veterans of the game. A man must know the throwing ability of each outfielder on the opposing club, he must be familiar with the speed of the base runner whom he is handling, and he must be so closely acquainted with the game as a whole that he knows the stages at which to try a certain play and the circumstances under which the same attempt would be foolish. Above all things, he must be a quick thinker.

Watch McGraw on the coaching lines some day. As he crouches, he picks up a pebble and throws it out of his way, and two base runners start a double steal. “Hughie” Jennings emits his famous “Ee-Yaah!” and the third baseman creeps in, expecting Cobb to bunt with a man on first base and no one out. The hitter pushes the ball on a line past the third baseman. The next time Jennings shrieks his famous war-cry, it has a different intonation, and the batter bunts.

“Bill” Dahlen of the Brooklyn club shouts, “Watch his foot,” and the base runner starts while the batter smashes the ball on a hit and run play. Again the pitcher hears that “Watch his foot.” He “wastes one,” so that the batter will not get a chance at the ball and turns to first base. He is surprised to find the runner anchored there. Nothing has happened. So it will be seen that the offensive coacher controls the situation and directs the plays, usually taking his orders from the manager, if the boss himself is not on the lines.

In 1911 the Giants led the National League by a good margin in stealing bases, and to this speed many critics attributed the fact that the championship was won by the club. I can safely say that every base which was pilfered by a New York runner was stolen by the direct order of McGraw, except in the few games from which he was absent. Then his lieutenants followed his system as closely as any one can pursue the involved and intricate style that he alone understands. If it was the base running of the Giants that won the pennant for the club, then it was the coaching of McGraw, employing the speed of his men and his opportunities, which brought the championship to New York.

The first thing that every manager teaches his players now is to obey absolutely the orders of the coacher, and then he selects able men to give the advice. The brain of McGraw is behind each game the Giants play, and he plans every move, most of the hitters going to the plate with definite instructions from him as to what to try to do. In order to make this system efficient, absolute discipline must be assured. If a player has other ideas than McGraw as to what should be done, “Mac’s” invariable answer to him is:

“You do what I tell you, and I’ll take the responsibility if we lose.”

For two months at the end of 1911, McGraw would not let either “Josh” Devore or John Murray swing at a first ball pitched to them. Murray did this one day, after he had been ordered not to, and he was promptly fined $10 and sat down on the bench, while Becker played right field. Many fans doubtless recall the substitution of Becker, but could not understand the move.

Murray and Devore are what are known in baseball as “first-ball hitters.” That is, they invariably hit at the first one delivered. They watch a pitcher wind up and swing their bats involuntarily, as a man blinks his eyes when he sees a blow started. It is probably due to slight nervousness. The result was that the news of this weakness spread rapidly around the circuit by the underground routes of baseball, and every pitcher in the League was handing Devore and Murray a bad ball on the first one. Of course, each would miss it or else make a dinky little hit. They were always “in the hole,” which means that the pitcher had the advantage in the count. McGraw became exasperated after Devore had fanned out three times one day by getting bad starts, hitting at the first ball.

“After this,” said McGraw to both Murray and Devore in the clubhouse, “if either of you moves his bat off his shoulder at a first ball, even if it cuts the plate, you will be fined $10 and sat down.”

Murray forgot the next day, saw the pitcher wind up, and swung his bat at the first one. He spent the rest of the month on the bench. But Devore’s hitting improved at once because all the pitchers, expecting him to swing at the first one, were surprised to find him “taking it” and, as it was usually bad, he had the pitcher constantly “in the hole,” instead of being at a disadvantage himself. For this reason he was able to guess more accurately what the pitcher was going to throw, and his hitting consequently improved. So did Murray’s after he had served his term on the bench. The right-fielder hit well up to the world’s series and then he just struck a slump that any player is liable to encounter. But so dependent is McGraw’s system on absolute discipline for its success that he dispensed with the services of a good player for a month to preserve his style.