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Vintage baseball


Steubenhoosier
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The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the Mudville nine that day;
The score stood four to two with but one inning more to play.
And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
 
A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought if only Casey could but get a whack at that—
We’d put up even money now with Casey at the bat.
 
But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,
And the former was a lulu and the latter was a cake;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Casey’s getting to the bat.
 
But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Blake, the much despised, tore the cover off the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and men saw what had occurred,
There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.
 
Then from 5,000 throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.
 
There was ease in Casey’s manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Casey’s bearing and a smile on Casey’s face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt ’twas Casey at the bat.
 
Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance gleamed in Casey’s eye, a sneer curled Casey’s lip.
 
And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped—
“That ain’t my style,” said Casey. “Strike one,” the umpire said.
 
From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore.
“Kill him! Kill the umpire!” shouted some one on the stand;
And it’s likely they’d have killed him had not Casey raised his hand.
 
With a smile of Christian charity great Casey’s visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the spheroid flew;
But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, “Strike two.”
 
“Fraud!” cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered fraud;
But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Casey wouldn’t let that ball go by again.
 
The sneer is gone from Casey’s lip, his teeth are clinched in hate;
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey’s blow.
 
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville—mighty Casey has struck out.
 
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These are the saddest of possible words:
      “Tinker to Evers to Chance.”
Trio of bear cubs, and fleeter than birds,
      Tinker and Evers and Chance.
Ruthlessly pricking our gonfalon bubble,
      Making a Giant hit into a double—
Words that are heavy with nothing but trouble:
      “Tinker to Evers to Chance.”
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8 hours ago, 5fouls said:
These are the saddest of possible words:
      “Tinker to Evers to Chance.”
Trio of bear cubs, and fleeter than birds,
      Tinker and Evers and Chance.
Ruthlessly pricking our gonfalon bubble,
      Making a Giant hit into a double—
Words that are heavy with nothing but trouble:
      “Tinker to Evers to Chance.”

I wrote a paper in college about "Baseball's Sad Lexicon." 

Seems the Tinker to Evers to Chance combination was more a product of Franklin Adams imagination than a reality. If I remember right, that exact combination (6-4-3) only accounted for about 11 double plays per year total between 1906 and 1910...in Adams mind it seemed like they were all against their arch rivals the Giants...

But thanks to the poem, it made the trio go down in baseball lore as the yardstick by which all others are measured...

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To expand on the first great baseball rivalry, how would you have liked to wake up to this headline about you?

 

Screenshot_20210825-070305.png

I believe that's Johnny Evers pictured who had the foresight to see that Merkle hadn't ran all the way to second before peeling off and heading for the dugout after Al Bridwell's apparent game winning single...Evers got the ball and stepped on second, negating the run and forcing a make-up game that the Cubs won...and they finished 1st, one game ahead of the Giants...

Edited by IUFLA
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9 hours ago, 5fouls said:

Polo Grounds Dimensions.  This had to be a very unique watching experience.

Left Field Line - 279 feet

Left Center- 450 feet

Center Field - 483 feet

Right Center - 449 feet

Right Field Line - 258

 

See the source image

 

3 iconic moments those dimensions played a role in...

Thomson_19511003.jpeg.5692fafc29742864d2f7cc732b8a735c.jpegScreenshot_20210825-073425.thumb.png.fb0669145204f6cc2594813b6693f2aa.png1954_World_Series_game_two.jpeg.jpeg.48960c6b8db7be78fb2307c644166085.jpeg

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1 hour ago, IUFLA said:

I wrote a paper in college about "Baseball's Sad Lexicon." 

Seems the Tinker to Evers to Chance combination was more a product of Franklin Adams imagination than a reality. If I remember right, that exact combination (6-4-3) only accounted for about 11 double plays per year total between 1906 and 1910...in Adams mind it seemed like they were all against their arch rivals the Giants...

But thanks to the poem, it made the trio go down in baseball lore as the yardstick by which all others are measured...

Tinker and Evans hated each other.  One of the two didn't speak to the other for something like two years.   LOL

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5 minutes ago, IUFLA said:

3 iconic moments those dimensions played a role in...

Thomson_19511003.jpeg.5692fafc29742864d2f7cc732b8a735c.jpegScreenshot_20210825-073425.thumb.png.fb0669145204f6cc2594813b6693f2aa.png1954_World_Series_game_two.jpeg.jpeg.48960c6b8db7be78fb2307c644166085.jpeg

Bobby Thompson's pennant winning HR.  Willie's catch of Vic Wertz long fly in the World Series.  Dusty Rhodes pinch hit HR in the same game as Willie's great catch.

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I truly believe if the Dodgers had stayed in Brooklyn, today I'd be a Dodger fan...I consider the 50s baseball's "Golden Age" even though it was dominated by New York teams...love "The Boys of Summer."

Anyway, HBO did a great documentary on the Dodgers a few years ago...found it on YouTube in its entirety...any baseball fan will enjoy it...

 

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