At the Old Ballgame by Jeff Silverman Page B

hard work for me to master it, but I kept on pegging away until I had fairly good control.
    In those days the pitcher’s box was 6 feet by 4, and the ball could be thrown from any part of it; one foot could be at the forward edge of the box, while the other could be stretched back as far as the pitcher liked; but both feet had to be on the ground until the ball was delivered. It is surprising how much speed could be generated under those rules.
    It was customary to swing the arm perpendicularly and to deliver the ball at the height of the knee. I still threw this way but brought in wrist action.
    I found that the wind had a whole lot to do with the ball curving. With a wind against me I could get all kinds of a curve, but the trouble lay in the fact that the ball was apt not to break until it was past the batter. This was a sore trouble; but I learned not to try to curve a ball very much when the wind was unfavorable.
    I have often been asked to give my theory of why a ball curves. Here it is: I give the ball a sharp twist with the middle finger, which causes it to revolve with a swift rotary motion. The air also, for a limited space around it begins to revolve, making a great swirl, until there is enough pressure to force the ball out of true line. When I first began practicing this new legerdemain, the pitchers were not the only ones who were fooled by the ball. The umpire also suffered. I would throw the ball straight at the batter; he would jump back, and then the umpire would call a ball. On this I lost, but when I started the spheroid toward the center of the plate, he would call it a strike. When it got to the batter, it was too far out, and the batter would not even swing. Then there would be a clash between the umpire and the batter.
    But my idlest dreams of what a curved ball would do as I dreamed of them that afternoon while throwing clam shells have been filled more than a hundred times. At that time I thought of it only as a good way to fool the boys, its real practical significance never entering my mind.
    I get a great deal of pleasure now in my old age out of going to games and watching the curves, thinking that it was through my blind efforts that all this was made possible.

Discovering Cy Young
    Alfred H. Spink
    Cy Young, the veteran pitcher, began his career in Cleveland, and Stanley Robison late president of the St. Louis National League Club, was the man who discovered Young. At the time Robison was owner of the Cleveland franchise, and the Spiders, under Pat Tebeau, were large grapes in the major league vineyard.
    It happened that Patsy Tebeau was short on pitchers way back in 1893. In those day they did not have scouts combing the country for talent, and the “tipsters” on blooming talent were usually commercial travelers.
    Robison was at the time looking over some of his railroad property at Fort Wayne, Ind., and he was lapping up a few “elixirs of mirth,” when he happened to open up his vocal chords on baseball. There was a commercial traveler at the bar, who liked baseball, to say nothing of having a fondness for the “elixir” stuff.
    Stanley invited him to have a jolt, and also to discuss baseball. “Rather odd,” remarked Robison, “that it is so hard to get a good baseball pitcher nowadays. I’m looking for a man for my Cleveland club. I’ve offered enough real money to choke a manhole to get a fellow from one of the other clubs; but, say, I can’t make the deal.”
    â€œHave another, and I’ll give you the best little three-star special you’ve ever heard tell of since they named you after Matt Quay,” returned the commercial traveler.
    After the commercial traveler and M. Stanley had inhaled their mirth water the man of satchels and grips opened the conversation.
    â€œSay, old sport,” said the commercial traveler, “you’re looking for a pitcher. As I understand the vernacular, you are in quest of someone who