“Isn’t he a wizard?” exclaimed McRae, as Joe mowed the enemy down as fast as they came to the plate. “They’re so much putty in his hands. That rise ball of his has a jump on it that’s got those fellows buffaloed. They miss it by six inches.”
“And his fadeaway,” put in Robson. “Do you see how he mixes it in with the fast ones? He’s outguessing them all the way.”
Joe’s heart was beating high with elation. The sense of mastery thrilled him. He was absolutely in control of all his curves. They broke just where he wanted them. The Chicagos knew that their only chance was to rattle him, and their coachers danced up and down on the side lines, hurling out jibes and jeers that they hoped would “get under his skin.” But they fell away from him like water from a duck’s back.
But in the fifth inning the Giants “cracked.”
Denton, at third, fumbled an easy roller and when at last he had stopped juggling the ball, he threw over the first baseman’s head and the batter got to third on the error. The fielders played close in to get him at the plate, but a “Texas leaguer” that Larry could easily have gobbled if he had been in his usual position, dropped behind him and the man on third came home for the first run of the game.
The next man up rapped a fly to right, that Curry lost in the sun, and made the round of the bases, driving his comrade in ahead of him. Three runs to the good for the Chicagos and not one of them earned!
Joe put on steam and fanned the rest of the side, but the damage had been done. In so close a game as that, three runs seemed like a winning lead.
McRae was raging, and stormed among his players like a cyclone as they came in to bat.
“Get after them!” he cried, furiously. “Give Matson something to go on. Your bats have holes in them. You’re hitting like a lot of old women. Knock the ball out of the lot. We’ve got to win.”