“Gee! Look at those stands and bleachers,” remarked Jim, as he and his chum came out on the field. “Seems as though all New York and Brooklyn had turned out. And it’s nearly an hour before the game begins. They’ll be turning them away from the gates.”
“Almost like a World Series crowd,” agreed Joe, as they made their way across the green velvet turf of the outfield toward the Giants’ dugout.
It was a phenomenal throng for that stage of the playing season, and was accounted for by the traditional rivalry between the two teams, which, while hailing from different boroughs, were both included within the limits of Greater New York. They fought each other like Kilkenny cats whenever they came together. No matter how indifferently they might have been going with other teams, they always braced when they had each other as opponents. It was not an uncommon thing, even in the seasons when the Giants had taken the series from every other team in the League, to lose the majority of the games with the Brooklyns, even though the latter might be tagging along in the rear of the second division.
But this year the Brooklyns were going strong, and it was generally admitted that they had a look-in for the pennant. Several trades during the previous winter had strengthened the weak places in the line-up, and their pitching staff was recognized as one of the best in either League.
“Going to pick the feathers off those birds to-day, Joe?” asked McRae, as Joe came up to the Giants’ bench, where the manager was sitting.
“I sure am going to try,” replied Joe. “It’s about time we put a crimp in their winning streak.”
Joe beckoned to Mylert, and they went out to warm up. He was feeling in excellent fettle, and he soon found that he had all his “stuff” with him. His curve had a sharp break, his slow ball floated up so that it seemed to be drifting, and his fast ones whizzed over like a bullet.
“You’ve got the goods to-day, Joe,” pronounced Mylert, and he fairly winced at the way the ball shot into his hands. “You’ve got speed to burn. Those balls just smoke. With that control of yours you could hit a coin. They can’t touch you. They’ll be rolling over and playing dead.”
“That listens good,” laughed Joe. “At that, I’ll need all I’ve got to make those fellows be good.”
The preliminary practice gave evidence that the game would be for blood. Both teams were on their toes, and the dazzling plays that featured their work brought frequent roars of applause from the Giant and Brooklyn rooters. Then the bell rang, the umpire dusted off the plate and the vast throng settled down with delighted anticipation to watch the game.