Ball-players are always looking to steal some sign so that they may “cross” the enemy. In the language of the Big Leagues it is “signs,” never “signals.” And in conclusion I reiterate my former sentiments that all is fair in love, war and baseball except stealing signs dishonestly.
VIII
Umpires and Close Decisions
Ball-players and Umpires are Regarded by the Fans as Natural Enemies, and the Fans Are about Right—Types of Arbiters and how the Players Treat them—“Silk” O’Loughlin, “Hank” O’Day, “Tim” Hurst, “Bob”” Emslie, and Others, and Close Ones they have Called—Also Some Narrow Escapes which have Followed.
When the Giants were swinging through the West in 1911 on the final trip, the club played three games in Pittsburg, with the pennant at that time only a possibility more or less remote. The Pirates still had a chance, and they were fighting hard for every game, especially as they were playing on their home grounds.
The first contest of the series was on Saturday afternoon before a crowd that packed the gigantic stands which surrounded Forbes Field. The throng wanted to see the Pirates win because they were the Pirates, and the Giants beaten because they were the Giants, and were sticking their heads up above the other clubs in the race. I always think of the horse show when I play in Pittsburg, for they have the diamond horse-shoe of boxes there, you know. No; I’m wrong—it’s at the Metropolitan Opera House they have the diamond horse-shoe. Any way, the diamond horse-shoe of boxes was doing business at Forbes Field that Saturday afternoon.
This story is going to be about umpires, but the reader who has never seen the Forbes Field folks must get the atmosphere before I let the yarn into the block. Once, on a bright, sunny day there, I muffed fly after fly because the glint of Sol’s rays on the diamonds blinded me. Always now I wear smoked glasses. “Josh” Devore is so afraid that he will lose social caste when he goes to Pittsburg that he gets his finger-nails manicured before he will appear on the field. And the lady who treated him one day polished them to such an ultimate glossiness that the sun flashed on them, and he dropped two flies in left field.
“Look here, Josh,” warned McGraw after the game, “I hire you to play ball and not to lead cotillions. Get some pumice stone and rub it on your finger-nails and cut out those John Drew manicures after this.”