Horseshoes | Page 8

to Connie:
"What do you think o' that Parker bird now?"
"He's lucky, all right," says Connie smilin'; "but we won't hold it
against him if he don't beat us with it."
"It ain't too late," I says. "He ain't pulled his real stuff yet."
The whole bunch was talkin' about him and his luck, and sayin' it was
about time for things to break against him. I warned 'em that they
wasn't no chance--that it was permanent with him.
Bush and Tesreau hooked up next day and neither o' them had much
stuff. Everybody was hittin' and it looked like anybody's game right up
to the ninth. Speed had got on every time he come up--the wind blowin'
his fly balls away from the outfielders and the infielders bootin' when
he hit 'em on the ground.

When the ninth started the score was seven apiece. Connie and
McGraw both had their whole pitchin' staffs warmin' up. The crowd
was wild, because they'd been all kinds of action. They wasn't no
danger of anybody's leavin' their seats before this game was over.
Well, Bescher is walked to start with and Connie's about ready to give
Bush one hook; but Doyle pops out tryin' to bunt. Then Speed gets two
strikes and two balls, and it looked to me like the next one was right
over the heart; but Connolly calls it a ball and gives him another chance.
He whales the groove ball to the fence in left center and gets round to
third on it, while Bescher scores. Right then Bush comes out and the
Chief goes in. He whiffs Murray and has two strikes on Merkle when
Speed makes a break for home--and, o' course, that was the one ball
Schang dropped in the whole serious!
They had a two-run lead on us then and it looked like a cinch for them
to hold it, because the minute Tesreau showed a sign o' weakenin'
McGraw was sure to holler for Matty or the Rube. But you know how
quick that bunch of ourn can make a two-run lead look sick. Before
McGraw could get Jeff out o' there we had two on the bases.
Then Rube comes in and fills 'em up by walkin' Joyce. It was Eddie's
turn to wallop and if he didn't do nothin' we had Baker comin' up next.
This time Collins saved Baker the trouble and whanged one clear to the
woods. Everybody scored but him--and he could of, too, if it'd been
necessary.
In the clubhouse the boys naturally felt pretty good. We'd copped three
in a row and it looked like we'd make it four straight, because we had
the Chief to send back at 'em the followin' day.
"Your friend Parker is lucky," the boys says to me, "but it don't look
like he could stop us now."
I felt the same way and was consultin' the time-tables to see whether I
could get a train out o' New York for the West next evenin'. But do you
think Speed's luck was ready to quit? Not yet! And it's a wonder we
didn't all go nuts durin' the next few days. If words could kill, Speed

would of died a thousand times. And I wish he had!
They wasn't no record-breakin' crowd out when we got to the Polo
Grounds. I guess the New York bugs was pretty well discouraged and
the bettin' was eight to five that we'd cop that battle and finish it. The
Chief was the only guy that warmed up for us and McGraw didn't have
no choice but to use Matty, with the whole thing dependin' on this
game.
They went along like the two swell pitchers they was till Speed's innin',
which in this battle was the eighth. Nobody scored, and it didn't look
like they was ever goin' to till Murphy starts off that round with a
perfect bunt and Joyce sacrifices him to second. All Matty had to do
then was to get rid o' Collins and Baker--and that's about as easy as
sellin' silk socks to an Eskimo.
He didn't give Eddie nothin' he wanted to hit, though; and finally he
slaps one on the ground to Doyle. Larry made the play to first base and
Murphy moved to third. We all figured Matty'd walk Baker then, and
he done it. Connie sends Baker down to second on the first pitch to
McInnes, but Meyers don't pay no attention to him--they was playin'
for McInnes and wasn't takin' no chances o' throwin' the ball away.
Well, the count goes to three and two on McInnes and Matty comes
with a curve--he's got some curve too; but Jack happened to meet it
and--Blooie! Down the left foul line where he always hits! I never