After losing the contest after watching the opportunity thrown away, some fan called me on the telephone that night, when I was feeling in anything but a conversational mood, and asked me:
“Was that passed ball this afternoon part of the Athletics’ inside game? Did Lapp do it on purpose?”
In passing I want to put in a word for Snodgrass, not because he is a team-mate of mine, but on account of the criticism which he received for spiking Baker, and which was not deserved. And in that word I do not want to detract from Baker’s reputation a scintilla, if I could, for he is a great ball-player. But I want to say that if John Murray had ever been called upon to slide into that bag with Baker playing it as he did, Baker would probably have been found cut in halves, and only Murray’s own style of coasting would have been responsible for it. If Fred Clarke of Pittsburg had been the man coming in, Baker would probably have been neatly cut into thirds, one third with each foot.
Clarke is known as one of the most wicked sliders in the National League. He jumps into the air and spreads his feet apart, showing his spikes as he comes in. The Giants were playing in Pittsburg several years ago, before I was married, and there was a friend of mine at the ball park with whom I was particularly eager to make a hit. The game was close, as are all contests which lend themselves readily to an anecdote, and Clarke got as far as third base in the eighth inning, with the score tied and two out. Warner, the Giants’ catcher, let one get past him and I ran in to cover the plate. Clarke came digging for home and, as I turned to touch him, he slid and cut my trousers off, never touching my legs. It was small consolation to me that my stems were still whole and that the umpire had called Clarke out and that the game was yet saved. My love for my art is keen, but it stops at a certain point, and that point is where I have to send a hurry call for a barrel and the team’s tailor. The players made a sort of group around me while I did my Lady Godiva act from the plate to the bench.
Murray has the ideal slide for a base gatherer, but one which commands the respect of all the guardians of the sacks in the National League. When about eight feet from the bag, he jumps into the air, giving the fielder a vision of two sets of nicely honed spikes aimed for the base. As Murray hits the bag, he comes up on his feet and is in a position to start for the next station in case of any fumble or slip. He is a great man to use this slide to advantage against young players, who are inclined to be timid when they see those spikes. It’s all part of the game as it is played in the large leagues.
The Boston team was trying out a young player two years ago. Murray remarked to McGraw before the game:
“The first time I get on, I bet I can make that fellow fumble and pick up an extra base.”
“Theatre tickets for the crowd on Saturday night?” inquired McGraw.
“You’ve said it,” answered Murray.
Along about the second or third inning John walked, and started for second on the first ball pitched. The busher came in to cover the base, and Murray leaped clear of the ground and yelled: