[CHAPTER IV]
LINING IT OUT
The Giants’ opponents that day were the St. Louis Cardinals, the last of the Western clubs to visit the Polo Grounds on the first round of the inter-sectional games.
Cincinnati, as has been said, had been able to make an even break of it with the Giants. The Pittsburghs had done even better, for the Smoky City boys had left the big town with three scalps hanging to their belts. The Giants had taken sweet revenge on the Chicagos, however, having made a clean sweep of the whole four games.
For several seasons, the best the Cardinals could do was to finish at the tail of the first division or the head of the second. They had an excellent pitching staff and some of the heaviest batters in either league. Their fielding was good and their shortstop was such a phenomenon that the St. Louis owners had refused an offer of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars for him.
But despite these advantages the team had not been able to win the championship. They did not work with the smoothness and perfection necessary for a champion team. Perhaps it was the failure of efficient management or a case of individual stars playing for their own records instead of for the good of the team. But whatever the reason, the record showed that while they had started out each season like a house afire they had failed at the end to take the coveted flag.
This year, however, things were different. A new manager had seemed to be able to put some of his own vim and determination into the team and they were playing like a machine. The first four men in the batting order had been dubbed the “Murderers’ Row” because of the way they were “killing” the ball, and the rest of the team were not very far behind. It was perfectly clear that this year the Cardinals were a team to be reckoned with.
Under ordinary circumstances, Joe would have pitched the first game of the St. Louis series so that the Giants might have a good chance to get the jump on their opponents by grabbing off the opening contest. But the day before had originally been an open date, and the Giants and Brooklyns had taken advantage of it to play off a postponed game; and as the Brooklyns had usually been a “Jonah” for the Giants, McRae had thought it advisable to put Joe in the box. The result had justified his judgment.
Markwith, the portside flinger of the Giants, had been chosen, therefore, to open the St. Louis series. He was one of the star pitchers of the league, and during the season could be counted on to turn in his fair share of victories. His speed was dazzling and he had a good assortment of curves and slants. The only trouble with him was that he was an “in and outer.” When he was good he was very good indeed, practically unbeatable. But if his support were bad or the opposing batters began to get to him, he was liable to lose his nerve and be batted out of the box.
This day, however, he showed up well in practice and seemed to be in fine fettle, so that it was with less misgiving than usual that McRae put on him the pitcher’s burden.
“Get right after them, Red,” the manager counseled, as the bell rang for the Giants to take the field. “I want you to show that Murderers’ Row that you’re some little murderer yourself.”