“Because-so,” say Ticketer, “Baseballing is National Sport. Therefore each patriot must pay them 50c for Campaign Fund to Hon. Cortelyou.”
I admit myself to gate.
In seats around gallery all-American persons is settled in state of very hoarse condition. Downstairs on ground is 10 to 11 Baseballers engaged in doing so. I am scientifick about this Game which is finished by following rules:
One strong-arm gentleman called a Pitch is hired to throw. Another gentleman called a Stop is responsible for whatever that Hon. Pitch throw to him, so he protect himself from wounding by sofa-pillows which he wear on hands. Another gentleman called a Striker stand in front to that Stop and hold up club to fright off that Hon. Pitch from angry rage of throwing things. But it is useless. Hon. Pitch in hand hold one baseball of an unripe condition of hardness. He raise that arm lofty—then twist—O sudden! He shoot them bullet-ball straight to breast of Hon. Stop. Hon. Striker swing club for vain effort. It is a miss & them deathly ball shoot Hon. Stop in gloves. “Struck once!” decry Hon. Umperor, a person which is there to gossip about it in loud voice.
“Why do Hon. Umperor demand Hon. Striker to struck when he have already did so?” I demand to know from one large German intelligence what set next by me.
“He is fanning himself outside,” make that courteous foreigner for reply, so I prefer to understand.
Once more-time that Hon. Pitch prepare to enjoy some deathly agony. He hold that ball outside of twisted forearm, turn ½ beside himself, throw elbows away, give whirling salute of head, caress ankle with calf of leg, then up-air—quickly shoot! Ball journey to Hon. Stop with whizz, but before arriving there Hon. Striker see it with club. There is considerable knock-sound as club collide to ball which stops continuing in that direction and bounds uply to air. Great excitement for all America! All spectacles in grand-stand decry, “O make sliding, Hon. Sir!” and many voices is seriously spoiled as Hon. Striker run with rapid heels from each base to next & all other Baseballers present endeavour to pull down that ball which is still in very high sky. But soonly that ball return down and is bounded into hands of second basso sportsman who shoot it to Hon. Stop just as Hon. Striker is sliding to fourth base by the seat of his stummick.
“Out!” decry Hon. Umperor, so Hon. Striker go set himself on back bench, which is deserving place for all heroes.
So many Strikers is brought up to do them clubbing acts during game that it become a monotony to Japanese Boy in a very soon time. But not-so it was to Americans who was fuller of Indiana yalls. Occasionally that large German intelligence what set next to me would say with voice, “Kill that Umperor!”
“Why should Hon. Umperor be executed?” I require for answer.