The Washington times., 1913-04-24

CLEVELAND, Ohio, April A-Hark
back. oh, most high and esteemed fan,
to the days when the Tiger came forth
from his lair and prowled about the
land. with his tail switching in naughty
defiance and his chops still reeking with
the blood of his prey.
Hark back to the days, ye gods OF
the sun-kissed seats, to the time when
the Bengal crouched for his spring and
caused the goosefiesh to shudder Its
way up your spinal column.
Hark back, too. to the days when the
championship Of the league was the
hallmark that invariably stamped the
lived in those days and-then trip with
me to the ball park nov when the
Peachless Pilgrims are tarrying at their
daily tasks.
Glimpse back anon to those days
when doughty Detroit was a synonym
for push, persistence. power and pastim-
ing par excellence.
Then turn rapidly to the drab spec
tacie that confronts the eyewitness
when the once mighty Tigers essay their
feats of yore.
Remember in those days. We bugs Of
the varieties those who haunt the plush
lined pavilion and those who sit on the
Remember how you waited for the visit
Of The Tigers as the one spectacle to
arouse Your senses, to start your blood
tingling and to afford you one afternoon
redolent of the red-blooded pastime that
America deigns to recognize as her ma
tional pastime.
Remember how you took your neigh
for out to see the immortal Tyrus. the
troublesome. How You said in tones OF
pride. There's Cobb" And You spoke
those words as IL damned into tn" two
syllables was the compendium OF great
ness on this mundane sphere.
Remember how You watched the Geor-
Gia streak, as lie raced daredevil and
disa strously around the bases. Or as
he whacked the pitcher to all sections
Of the landscape. Or he made the beau
tiful catch that saved the game.
Rer ember too. how you turned to the
fellow on your right or your lett and
stuck out one finger. directing digit
that pointed to A red head, and said:
Hes there. that baby" And If the
fellow on your right or left happeLed TO
calculate: Who's that?'' you turned
upon him with a blaze of scOrn tnat
seemed to shrivel him up like the grass
swept by the prairie fire.
And remember how he-the red-haired
leader, Hugh Ambrose Jennings, to
give him the result of the paternal talk
with the prelate at the baptismal font
used to go through the motions.
Isn't il still familiar to you now? The
yankng of the whiskers from the face
of the sod The shrill whistle that blew
its clarion signal to the batter poised
for the punch, or the runner waiting for
his cue.
Remember too, that blast of yah"
that would bring laughter to your lips,
and the bugs to their feet. Remember,
too. that Jennings and peper; Jennings
nd s.Tfa a Ian
nings and jauntin-ss. were synonyms
and allied.
Certainly you recall all those vocal
feats and those acrobatics that cement
ed Jennings to the national pastime as
no manager and the American national
game were soldered You can see him
now. See that leg appraised. the other
planted on the ground to give him
firm foundation for his gymnatics. You
can picture the whistiing manager; you
can see the shrilling leader, the ear
splitting ''ee-yah" smites your tymap-
NUNS now.
Jennings of 1907. 'os and 'Oe. Baseball
never saw one like him before. and
never. perhaps. will another come to
embellish the national game. He was
the sensation OF the Tigers, who shared
with Ty in the attention of the populace
and whacked with the ratah of Royston
the plaudits of the people.
But turn from that sparkling spec
tacle-the Hugh Ambrose of those days
to the drab canvas that hangs on the
wall OF Jennings fame now. Detroit,
disabled by the loss of her star, has
been battered through the beatings that
Old Father Time has rained upon her.
has been passed in the procession as
the parade has gone by the veteran
and the youngster incapable OF the la
Dor that has been strapped across his
shoulders-a burden beneath which he
bends and yields.
The Jennings of today is as different
from the leader of old as the tornado
that sweeps through the South 10 differ