But nothing is certain in baseball, as soon became evident. Perhaps it was overconfidence or a sense of already being on easy street that caused the Giants to lose the first game. That, however, could not be said of the second, when the Giants “played their heads off,” Jim said, and yet could not win against the classy pitching and stonewall defense put up by the Smoky City team. Things were beginning to look serious for the Giants, and some of their confidence was vanishing.
Still more serious did they become when the third game went into the Pirates’ basket. Jim pitched in that game and twirled wonderful ball, but his support was ragged, and several Pirate blows that ought to have been outs were registered ultimately as runs. They were unearned runs, but they counted in the final score as much as though they had been due to the team’s hitting. The Giants were long-faced and gloomy.
McRae was clearly worried. If the next game were lost, the leaders would be tied, and the Pirates would still have a chance to win. It would be a bitter pill to swallow if the Giants lost the flag just when it had seemed that all was over except the shouting.
Moreover, the manager was in a quandary. All his first string pitchers had been beaten. His best one in active service at the present time, Jim, had pitched that day and it would not do to ask him to go into the box again to-morrow. In his desperation he turned to Joe.
“Joe,” he said, “we’re up against it unless you can help us out. How is your hand feeling? Would you dare to take a chance with it?”
“I think it’s all right now, or nearly so,” replied Joe. “I’ve been trying it out in practice right along, and it seems to me it’s about as good as ever. I was putting them over to Mylert yesterday, and he told me he couldn’t see any difference between them and those I threw before I was hurt. The only thing I’m a little skittish about is my fadeaway. That gives me a little twinge when I try it. But I guess I can leave that out and still pull through.”
“That’s good!” ejaculated McRae, with great relief. “Go in then, old boy, and show these pesky Pirates where they get off. We simply must win this game.”
There was a startled murmur among the spectators who thronged Forbes Field that afternoon when they saw Joe go into the box. They had been gloating over the supposition that McRae would have to use again one of the pitchers whom the Pirates had already beaten in that series, and the way their pets were going, they looked for a sure victory. Now they saw the man who had always baffled the Pittsburghs again take up the pitcher’s burden, and their faces took on a look of apprehension.
The Pirate players too shared in that apprehension. They had a profound respect for Joe’s ability, and had always had a sinking of the heart when they saw him draw on his glove. Still, they comforted themselves with the hope that his long layoff had hurt his effectiveness, and they braced to give him the battle of his life.
Joe himself felt a thrill of exultation when he stepped on the mound. That was his throne. There he had won the laurels that crowned him as the greatest pitcher of his League. Now he was back again, back to buoy up the spirit of his team, back to justify the confidence of his manager, back to uphold his fame, back to bring the championship of the National League once more to New York.