# America's National Game/Chapter 3

CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER III.
HOWEVER views of individuals may differ as to the origin of the American national game, all must agree that the sport had as its foundation—a Ball. Without that as its basis, the superstructure of the grandest pastime ever devised by man could never have been erected.
Josh Billings, in writing upon the general subject of Dogs, once said that, in order to realize on the different kinds of dogs, one must have environments calculated to develop the inherent traits of the varied breeds. Thus, in order to "realize" on a coach dog, one must be the owner of a carriage and team, that the canine might run along beneath the vehicle; in order to "realize" on a Newfoundland dog, he said its owner must have a pond of water and children, playing around, carelessly, that they might fall in and be rescued by "Faithful Nero," and so on.
Just so in this case, in order to "realize" on the Ball it is necessary to have someone to put it in motion. Happily, that one is not difficult to find. Placing the Ball in the hands of the first lad who happens along, we may be assured that he will do the rest. And he does. In ​less time than it takes in the telling, he is bounding the sphere upon the ground. Down it goes; up it flies. Leaving the boy's hand, it strikes the ground, and, returning, is caught. In this completed act we have the first crude and elementary step in our National Game—with just a Boy and a Ball.
But the Boy, like other members of the human family, is a social creature. It is quite conceivable that the average boy, upon being presented with a Ball, would find immediate and pleasurable entertainment throwing it to the ground and catching it upon the rebound; but such pastime would be of temporary duration. The lad would soon tire of the monotony of the sport. Unselfish, he would want someone to share his fun—moreover, everybody recognizes that thing in human nature, in youth as well as maturity, which delights in the exploitation of ownership, possession. Given the boy's mother or sister in possession of a new gown, and it is immediately donned for exhibition before her less favored neighbor. The arrival of his new "Red Devil" sets the boy's dad rushing around town before he knows the first principles of the machine's construction, to the imminent danger all resident mankind and incidentally that of any animal that may happen to come in his way. He simply must show Jones the new flyer, even though it decimates the population.
"Like father, like son." Tom wants his schoolmate, Dick, to see the new ball. In a very few minutes they are together, playing throw and catch, in an interesting elementary game of ball. Tom throws; Dick catches. Dick ​throws; Tom catches. Back and forth flies the ball till the school bell rings, and in this simple little form of exercise we have "Throw and Catch" as the second stage in the evolution of our game—with Two Boys and a Ball.
Now, human nature is not only social in its demands; it is also enterprising—and fickle. Bounding a ball on the ground is well enough if a lad is alone and can't get company. Throw and Catch beats no game at all; but it becomes tiresome after a while. And so, when school is over, or on Saturdays, when there is no school, we find Tom and Dick out behind the barn, inventing a new and different phase of the game of ball.
"I'll tell you what we'll do," says Tom. "I'll throw the ball against the barn. You get that old axe-handle over there and strike at it as it comes back. If you miss the ball and I catch it, you're out; or, if you hit the ball and can run and touch the barn and return before I can get the ball and hit you with it, you count one. If I hit you with the ball before you get back to your place, you're out. See.?"
They try it; find it works well, and the third stage of the game is developed in "Barn-Ball"—with Two Boys, a Bat and a Ball.
"Why can't we have a game of barn-ball, now?" asks the unsophisticated Harry.
"Oh, don't you know nuthin'?' There isn't any barn," answers Dick.
"I'll tell you what we can do," says the inventive Tom. "Come on, Dick; you and I will throw and catch, just as we did the other day, and Harry can stand between us with the club. Now, Dick, when I throw to you, Harry can face me and try to hit the ball, and when you throw to me he can turn your way and strike at it. If Harry misses the ball, and either of us catches it before it hits the ground or on the first bound, he's out and the fellow who catches him out takes the club. If he hits the ball far enough to get to that rock over there and back before one of us gets the ball and hits him with it, he counts one tally; but if one of us hits him with the ball, he's out. See?" And thus the game of "One Old Cat" was born, and the fourth step has been evolved, with Three Boys, a Bat, a Ball and a Base.
The evolution of the next step in the game of Base Ball was natural and easy. It was a very simple sequence of One Old Cat. It grew out of the fact that Jim came along and wanted to play with the others.
By this time the game of Base Ball is becoming popular. Next Saturday, when Tom, Dick, Harry and Jim go out on the commons to have a game of Two Old Cat, Frank and Ned join them with hopes of getting into the game.
"No use," says the pessimistic Dick; "only four can play at this game. You see, we've got two catchers and two hitters now, and that's all we can have."
"Oh, I don't know," says Tom. "What's the matter with having a three-cornered game? then we all can play."
The game is tried three-cornered. It works all right, and Three Old Cat, with Six Boys, Three Bats, Three Bases and a Ball has added another step in the evolution of our American game.
In Two, Three and Four Old Cat games, each individual player had his own score, and the players did not engage collectively as teams. Each tally was credited to the striker only. Every base gained by the striker was counted as a tally for himself alone. At the close of the game, if any record was kept, the player who was found to have the greatest number of tallies was declared the victor. Thus, in the days when a game which would accommodate no more than eight players would suffice, the "Old Cat," or "Individual Score," system of ball-playing answered the purpose; but as the pastime became more popular, and more boys wanted to play, it became necessary to devise a new form of the game which would admit a greater number of participants and at the same time introduce the competitive spirit that prevails in teamwork.
In this game were present many of the elements of the game of Base Ball as we know it to-day—and then some. It accommodated thirty or more players and was played on town-meeting days, when everybody in the township took a hand. Sometimes there were so many playing that the grounds were full of fielders, and but for the large number and their indiscriminate selection, the sport might have developed more skill. The square field of Four Old Cat, but with the side lines lengthened to sixty instead of forty feet, obtained in Town Ball. Batsmen were out on balls caught on fly or first bound, and base runners were out by being "soaked" while running by a thrown ball. Town Ball was played quite generally throughout New England. It had, as before stated, fifteen or more players on a side, Catcher, Thrower, Four Bases, a Bat and a Ball.
The following, from the Memphis Appeal, of date unknown to the writer, is a fair and interesting description of the game as played in the days of long ago:
"Time will not turn backward in his flight, but the mind can travel back to the days before Base Ball, or at least to the days before Base Ball was so well known and before it had become so scientific. There were ball games in those days, in town and country, and the country ball game was an event. There were no clubs. The country boy of those days was not gregarious. He preferred flocking by himself and remaining independent. On Saturday afternoons the neighborhood boys met on some well cropped pasture, and whether ten or forty, every one was to take part in the game. Self-appointed leaders divided the boys into two companies by alternately picking one until the supply was exhausted. The bat, which was no round stick, such as is now used, but a stout paddle, with a blade two inches thick and four inches wide, with a convenient handle dressed onto it, was the chosen arbiter. One of the leaders spat on one side of the bat, which was honestly called 'the paddle,' and asked the leader of the opposition forces, 'Wet, or dry?' The paddle was then sent whirling up into the air, and when it came down, whichever side won went to the bat, while the others scattered over the field. The ball was not what would be called a National League ball, nowadays, but it served every purpose. It was usually made on the spot by some boy offering up his woolen socks as an oblation, and these were raveled and wound round a bullet, a handful of strips cut from a rubber overshoe, a piece of cork or almost anything, or nothing, when anything was not available. The winding of this ball was an art, and whoever could excel in this art was looked upon as a superior being. The ball must be a perfect sphere and the threads as regularly laid as the wire on a helix of a magnetic armature. When the winding was complete the surface of the ball was thoroughly sewed with a large needle and thread to prevent it from ​unwinding when a thread was cut. The diamond was not arbitrarily marked off as now. Sometimes there were four bases, and sometimes six or seven. They were not equidistant, but were marked by any fortuitous rock, or shrub, or depression in the ground where the steers were wont to bellow and paw up the earth. One of these tellural cavities was almost sure to be selected as 'the den,' now called the home-plate. There were no masks, or mitts, or protectors. There was no science or chicanery, now called 'head-work.' The strapping young oafs—embryonic preachers, presidents and premiers—were too honest for this. The pitcher was the one who could throw the ball over the 'den,' and few could do this. His object was to throw a ball that could be hit. The paddleman's object was to hit the ball, and if he struck at it—which he need not do unless he chose—and missed it, the catcher, standing well back, tried to catch it after it had lost its momentum by striking the earth once and bounding in the air—'on the first bounce' it was called—and if he succeeded the paddleman was dead and another took his place. If he struck it and it was not caught in the field or elsewhere, in the air or on the first bounce, he could strike twice more, but the third time he was compelled to run. There was no umpire, and very little wrangling. There was no effort to pounce upon a base runner and touch him with the ball. Anyone having the ball could throw it at him, and if it hit him he was 'dead'—almost literally sometimes. If he dodged the ball, he kept on running till the den was reached. Some of the players became proficient in ducking, dodging and side-stepping, and others learned to throw the ball with the accuracy of a rifle bullet. No matter how many players were on a side, each and every one had to be put out. And if the last one made three successive home runs, he 'brought in his side,' and the outfielders, pitcher and catcher had to do their work all over again. The boy who could bring in his side was a hero. No victorious general was ever prouder or more lauded. Horatius at the bridge was small: potatoes in comparison. He was the uncrowned king. There were no foul hits. If the ball touched the bat ever so lightly it was a 'tick,' and three ticks meant a compulsory run. The score was kept by some one cutting notches in a stick, and the runs in an afternoon ran up into the hundreds. If a ball was lost in the grass or rolled under a Scotch thistle, the cry 'lost ball' was raised and the game stopped until it was found.
"Only the older country ball players can remember those days and games. They did not last long. When the change came, it came suddenly. Technicalities and rules began to creep in. Tricks between the pitcher and catcher, designed to fool the batter, began. The argot or slang of the game intruded. The country boys who went to college found more than their new homespun suits, of which they were so proud on leaving home, out of date. The ball game was all changed. They had to use a round club instead of a paddle to hit ​the ball. They had to change their tactics all through the game. They found the pitcher not intent upon throwing a ball that could be hit, but so that it would be hit at and missed. The bases were laid off with mathematical accuracy. They could be put out in many unknown and surprising ways. They could not throw a ball at a base runner. They could not wander at will over the field, but must occupy a certain position. All was changed. All has been changed since. The expert of even twenty years ago would be lost to-day. The game of ball has been growing more scientific every year. It will continue to grow more scientific for years to come. The homespun-clad boys who returned home on vacation expecting to 'show off,' and teach their former companions the game of ball up to date, discovered the innovation had preceded them, and that those who had not left the old haunts knew all about the game excepting the very newest wrinkles. And they knew something which the college boys had not learned."