Weatherby's Inning: A Story of College Life and Baseball

by Ralph Henry Barbour

Half his audience turned to look, and the rest laughed.

“Anyhow,” Anthony continued, “he kept his part of the agreement, and so I’ll have to keep mine. I’ve said frankly that I know nothing about baseball, and I hope that you will all pardon any mistakes I may make in discussing the subject. I never saw but one game, and after it was over I knew less about it than I did before. A fellow I knew played—well, I don’t know just what he did play; most of the time he danced around a bag of salt or something that some one had left out on the grass. There were three of those bags, and his was the one on the southeast corner. When the game was over he asked me how I liked it. I said, ‘It looks to me like a good game for a lunatic asylum.’ He said I showed ignorance; that it was the best game in the world, and just full up and slopping over with science. I didn’t argue with him. But I’ve always thought that if I had to play baseball I’d choose to be the fellow that wears a black alpaca coat and does the talking. Seems to me he’s the only one that remains sane. I asked my friend if he was the keeper; he said no, he was the umpire.”

By this time the laughter was almost continuous, but Anthony’s expression of calm gravity remained unbroken. At times he appeared surprised and disturbed by the bursts of laughter; and a small freshman in the front row toppled out of his seat and had to be thumped on the back. Even the dean was chuckling.

“Well, science has always been a weak point with me, and I guess that’s why I’m not able to understand the science of hitting a ball with a wagon-spoke and running over salt-bags. But I’m not so narrow-minded as to affirm that because I can’t see the science it isn’t there. You’ve all heard about Abraham Lincoln and the book-agent, I guess. The book-agent wanted him to write a testimonial for his book. Lincoln wrote it. It ran something like this: ‘Any person who likes this kind of a book will find this just the kind of a book he likes.’ Well, that’s about my idea of baseball; anybody who likes that kind of a game will find baseball just the kind of a game he likes.

“Now, they tell me that down at Robinson they’ve found an old wagon-wheel, cut the fingers off a pair of kid gloves, bought a wire bird-cage, and started a baseball club. All right. Let ’em. There are other wheels and more gloves and another bird-cage, I guess. Captain Perkins says he has a club, too. I’ve never seen it, but I don’t doubt his word; any man with Titian hair tells the truth. He says he keeps it out at the field. From what I’ve seen of baseball clubs I think that’s a good, safe place. I hope, however, that he locks the gates when he leaves ’em. But Captain Perkins tells me that he has the finest kind of a baseball club that ever gibbered, and he offers to bet me a suspender buckle against a pants button that his club can knock the spots off of any other club, and especially the Robinson club. I’m not a betting man, and so I let him boast.

“And after he’d boasted until he’d tired himself out he went on to say that baseball clubs were like any other aggregation of mortals; that they have to be clothed and fed, and, moreover, when they go away to mingle with other clubs they have to have their railway fare paid. Captain Perkins, as I’ve said once already, is a truthful man, and so I don’t see but that we’ve got to believe him. He says that his club hasn’t any money; that if it doesn’t get some money it will grow pale and thin and emaciated, and won’t be able to run around the salt-bags as violently as the Robinson club; in which case the keeper—I mean the umpire—will give the game to Robinson. Well, now, what’s to be done? Are we to stand idly by with our hands in our pockets and see Robinson walk off with a game that is really our property? Or are we to take our hands out of our pockets, with the fingers closed, and jingle some coins into the collection-box?

“I’m not a baseball enthusiast, as I’ve acknowledged, but I am an Erskine enthusiast, fellows. Perkins says we ought to beat Robinson at baseball. I say let’s do it! I say let’s beat Robinson at everything. If anybody will start a parchesi club I’ll go along and stand by and yell while they down the Robinson parchesi club. That’s what Providence made Robinson for—to be beaten. Providence looked over the situation and said: ‘There’s Erskine, with nothing to beat.’ Then Providence made Robinson. And we started in and beat her. And we’ve been beating her ever since—when she hasn’t beaten us.

“I’ve done a whole lot of talking here this evening, and I guess you’re all tired of it.” (There was loud and continued dissent at this point, interspersed with cries of “Good old Tidball!”) “But I promised to talk, and I like to give good measure. But the time for talking is about up. Mr. Hanson has something to say to you, and as he knows what he’s going to talk about, whereas I don’t know what I’m talking about, I guess I’d better stop and give him a show. But before I stop I want to point out a self-evident fact, fellows. You can’t win from Robinson without a baseball team, and you can’t have a baseball team unless you dig down in your pockets and pay up. Manager Patterson says the Baseball Association needs the sum of six hundred dollars. Well, let’s give it to ’em. Any fellow here to-night who thinks a victory over Robinson isn’t worth six hundred dollars is invited to stand up and walk out; we’ll unlock the door for him. Six hundred dollars means only about one dollar for each fellow. I am requested to state that after Mr. Hanson has spoken his piece a few of the best-looking men among us will pass through the audience with small cards upon which every man is asked to write his name and the amount he is willing to contribute to secure a victory over Robinson that will make last year’s score look like an infinitesimal fraction. If some one will go through the motions, I’d like to propose three long Erskines, three times three and three long Erskines for the nine.”

Anthony bowed and sat down. The senior class president sprang to his feet, and the next moment the hall was thunderous with the mighty cheers that followed his “One, two, three!” Then came calls of “Tidball! Tidball!” and again the slogan was taken up. It was fully five minutes ere the head coach arose. And when he in turn stood at the platform’s edge the cheers began once more, for enthusiasm reigned at last.