The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1916-04-29
NELL BRINKLEY AT THE BALL GAME


II I had been the small Irish boy
who did not know the capitals of the
countries of the world and got terri
Tying marks in "Algibbera," but who
could recite the records of four years
- baseball players "wid-out takin' a
breat'," how my eyes would have
snone when : was ordered to the base
bail game-the big. bran new game
that crooked a finger and piped with
a sweeter tune than Pan can think
OF. for all New York and New This
and New That and St So and So to
come out, was pretty glad-but 1
would have been gladder had I been
that little chapi on the way-under
a blue-painted sky as you see it in the
desert-so blue 1t becomes possessed
OF a voice and cries aloud high and
clear-On the way to the game where
the Yanks and the Senators We're to
battle. with a little white pellet and
tfylnkling legs and wizard arms and
hands for ammunition, I had a bit of
curtain raiser on the sidewalk of a
country towh-my country town, if
you please.
In the full blaze of the soft spring
sun, putting the eyes out. 1 expect of
the two intent scraps Of boyhood who
Gazed in at them, in a tiny window
that was polished and glistened, stood
a tent of three bats crowned with a
gloves-big, puffy things, like swollen
hlypads-pink and white and greyl
Verify, spring has come-and l was on
my way to a game. If there WASH
so much in the papers for me to re-
member-about kidnapers-Td have
snatched them along-thOse little
chaps-all for to see the glow in their
little ardent faces-and to get bit of
real information, For you see, all 1
know of the game is a few clinging
shreds of ''one-o'-cat'' in a prairie lot
IN the velvety-gray sage brush.
one small dot in the big gray
colosseum / sat-lost in the shuttle.
You wouldn't believe, if you knew how
the technique of base ball, and how
fascinating l found the jumbled and
multi-colored and faced crowd that
smothered me round, that 1 had any
fun. But I did
Overhead the big cottony clouds
moved slowly, making pictures and
casting big blue shadows. Under foot
in the diamond and the outfield, the
grass was summer green and the
earth summer dry, and the feminine
fan" was there. The girl with the
tiny hat without a brim that gave her
a sight of the world that a ball would
sail in; the girl with the high boots
and the hunched shoulders and the
speech of the game on the tip of her
ittle red tongue. There were little,
neutral ladies whose coloring was gray
just gray-the color or nothing at
all-with funny little hats that sad
colored ladies always wear, with cher
ries on them-that gay, flirtatious
fruitt And for perhaps just this sea-
son. lost in the delights of their pet
show. they smiled and forgot that they
were plain and drab. There is your
hit of thought. Losing oneself in
some game. any game that appeals
inhibition for choice - you forget
1leartaches and plain faces. It's the
only way to lose them.
There were jolly, fat ladies with
smart hats and tea frocks that 1 knew
they would dine in later and dance in,
perhaps Just now they were black
ching their waxen gloves with grip
ping the rails growing laugh
ing and worry wrinkles over the
Nanks. There were gran mammas,
perky little old people with shiny
cheeks as red as crab apples, with
gran papas beside them with the I'M
mistakable burn and lust of the fan. "