Even the knowledge that Matson was to pitch for the Giants, which had been featured in the morning papers, was not sufficient to daunt them. They felt that luck was with the Red Sox, as had already been shown in the accident to Hughson and the rain that had snatched the second game from the New Yorks. And that luck, they felt sure, would persist. The wish may have been father to the thought, but there was no doubt as to the optimism that existed in the home town of the Red Sox.
The Giants faced the test with quiet confidence. The odd game was against them, but they looked forward serenely to evening up the score that afternoon with Baseball Joe in the box.
McRae had a little talk with his team in the clubhouse before they went out for practice.
“Go right in, boys, and eat them up,” he exhorted them. “Those fellows never saw the day they could beat you if you were doing your best.
“They’ll probably put in Roth against you. He’s a good southpaw, but southpaws are just your meat. Look out for that ‘bean’ ball of his. He’s sure to use it in trying to drive you away from the plate. But don’t let it rattle you for a minute. Be quick to dodge, though, for I don’t want to have any of you hurt at this stage of the Series.
“And don’t let Matson do it all. He can’t carry the whole team on his shoulders. No matter how well he pitches, he can’t win unless you bat in some runs. Hand him a few right from the start.
“Little old New York is rooting for you to win, boys. Don’t fall down on the job. You’ll own the city if you come back with a row of Boston scalps at your belt. And I know you can do it if you try. Go in and wallop the life out of ’em.”
There was a cheer which told McRae that his words had gotten “under the skin,” and the Giants dashed briskly out on the field.