Immediately after lunch, we walked over to the ball grounds, which were situated close to the college. We were very early, for the game was not to be called until two o’clock, so we spent the next half hour in preliminary practice while the crowd of spectators slowly assembled. Each man stood in his position while I batted balls about in various directions. Everything went smoothly. The fellows played in excellent form, with the exception of Fred Harrison, the first baseman, who seemed a little flurried.
“It is quite natural,” I said to Tony Larcom, who stood beside me, and had remarked on the matter. “This is Fred Harrison’s first game, and he may be a trifle nervous. It will soon wear off.”
At about quarter before two o’clock, the gong on the grand stand sounded, and we left the field to make way for the Dean men. We watched their practice with interest, and noted that they were playing no better than usual. We felt no cause to fear for the result of the game, and accordingly, when time was called, we began with confident assurance of victory.
Dean won the toss, and, therefore, took the field, while Dick Palmer picked out his bat and stepped to the home plate. The second ball pitched he struck far out and past left field, and reached second base in safety. Ray came next to the bat, and made a single base hit, thus bringing Dick home, and scoring the first run.
A chorus of cheers sounded from the two omnibuses at the side of the field, where our friends were gathered, and Dick took his seat with a smile. I was next at the bat, and secured a base hit, which sent Ray to second base. Then Harold Pratt knocked a high fly, which was captured. He was succeeded by George Ives, who had the exceedingly bad taste to strike out. Frank Holland, however, made a safe hit, and gave Ray his third base, while I reached second base.
The bases were now full—a glorious opportunity for the next batter, Alfred Burnett, who had the chance of bringing in three more runs with a safe hit. And yet, in the face of this opportunity, Burnett struck up in the air, and the ball was caught, thus closing out our side with three of us on bases.
I mention this as an instance of the miserable luck that pursued us throughout this game. Certainly the fickle goddess of fortune that presides over baseball fields had determined to place every possible difficulty in our path. She manifested her evil influence in three ways. In the first place, in situations such as described above, and which occurred again and again during the game until we were fairly exasperated. Secondly, in the weather. The clouds, which had been threatening from the start, began to drop rain at occasional brief periods; and these small showers invariably occurred when most disadvantageous to us. Thirdly, the umpire—that old time bone of contention—without intending in the least to be partial, decided in several successive and important instances against us.
To add to all this, the nervousness which I had noticed in Fred Harrison grew steadily worse as the game advanced. He seemed to lose his head almost entirely at the bat and struck out three out of the four times he came up, while he showed himself sadly demoralized while playing in the field. It was surprising, for Harrison had played well during our days of practice, and of course this change had a bad influence on the rest of the nine.
Notwithstanding these disadvantages, we maintained a lead throughout the game until the eighth inning. The score then stood 6 to 4 in our favor, and it looked as if we would finish at those figures. All things considered, we would have been glad to get away with such a record. In the last half of the eighth inning the Dean men succeeded in getting two single base hits. Then came a long hit to right field, which Lewis Page captured in fine style, but which enabled the two runners to gain a base, so that they now stood on third and second respectively. I succeeded in striking the next man out, so we had but to dispose of one more batter to close the inning.
We all bent ourselves eagerly to the work. I used all possible care and judgment in pitching, and confidently hoped to win the point, for the man at the bat was a weak striker. At the third ball pitched he struck wildly, and tipped the ball high in the air for a pop fly, straight over Fred Harrison’s head. Of course the two men on the bases risked the chance of the ball landing safe, and ran around toward home. It all depended on Fred Harrison, who moved backward, and stood waiting for the descent of the ball.