Harrisburg telegraph. [volume] (Harrisburg, Pa.) 1879-1948, 1918-07-05
Standing of the Clubs

SiX-cylnder kingpin baseball was
presented to a multitude of Central
Pennsylvania sport lovers yesterday
at Cottage Hill where George Cock
ills Steel League team twice took the
measure of Harlan with it's galaxy of
famous veterans of the fastest COM
pany. The brace of victories en-
abled Steelton to tie for first place
with Lebanon and manifested that
Manager Cockill has gradually been
developing a perfect day" machine,
second to none. AS for Charlie
"Baseball", Schwab, he proved himself
an ace in the industrial world by
going to great expense to provide
athletic entertainment so brilliant
that working in a steel plant these
days is like browsing in Elysian
fields.
Some philosopher years ago, Socra-
tes or John L. Sullivan, told us that
of all habits that we may use in life
there is none easier to acquire than
the habit of enthusiasm, the habit of
being interested. You should have
seen those American citizens yester-
day! One dyspeptic-looking gent
when Catcher Edmundson whaled a
home run clean to right-field bulwark
got such a jolting of the solar pleXus
that he was cured forever Another
apathetic spectator was alleged to
have swallowed the butt of his ci-
gar, but minded it no more than
gulping chocolate sundae.
Action is life" the Greeks used to
say, and there was action yesterday
at both these superb. shows vivid as
an airplane battle. Inaction, it is
true, poked in it's nose, but only
once. This was the high note of
comedy as baseball fans understand
it, particularly because the victim
was Steve" Yerkes, celebrated for
years as crack infielder and a Boston
Red Sox star. Steve played like a
demon all day and afterwards made
up for his lapse of watchfulness, but
it will be many a day before the
rooters cease kidding him with
Watch the ball, Steve"
Casey at the bat never looked more
promising than big Steve" when he
trod to the marble and sopped up
some fresh earth with his monstrous
breadwinners. Give it a ride, Steve"
shrilled the thousands, and Steve did.
He rode the pill so far that he rest
ed on second base and Steelton set
tied down to relish the first run of
the game. Posted at third, in the
coacher's box, was that Nestor of the
diamond, that ancient buccaneer of
Brooklyn, Lew Ritter, whose face is
scanned with as many wrinkles as
there are canals on the planet Mars
and who always has one eye open,
for Cockill depends on him to be as
sistant manager. When "Steve" ad-
.vanced to third on Roxy" Roach's
out II looked sure for tally and the
racket OF the stadium suggested
Schwab's whole army at the steam
riveter. 1t must have ratified
"Steve," for he stepped off third base
diffidently. like boy trying out thin
ice, and clubhouse gossip tells that
he turned to Coach Ritter with:
where's the ball, Lew?"
Mr.. Ritter. perhaps was not en-
tirely certain, either. but he took no
chances and advised: You'd better
stick to the bag till you find out"
Alas, big Steve" failed to respond
and, waddling carelessly some feet
from the sawdust, what do you think?
Why, that artful Walter of Harlan,
plucked the horsehide pellet from
beneath his port arm. just as cutely
rabbit, and 10, was not big Steve"
Yerkes one boob? Tell it in Boston,
he was, and he looked it.
InlS put Il CTliHp III Ine CndnCeS
for scoring until the sixth, when
that very reliable, finished baseball
list, George Hunter. for years standby
of the Brooklyn outfield. started
something. Mr.. Hunter goes through
life with the muffler on, He rarely
talks. Action is life for George, and
his contribution this time was a
healthy two-base swat. which Jack
knight thoughtfully followed with a
bunt, which he beat out to first.
Some little pickering following Um-
pire Bowers decision, the silent
Hunter silently stole home, having
something on the Arab and his tent.
Steelton's second run was made.
lone hand, by another quiet but
mighty efficient hireling of Mr..
Schwab, namely. Catcher Edmundson,
who plays baseball with the steady
precision and unconcern of a man
shoveling coal into your cellar. When
play is to be made Mr.. Edmundson
is right there. In this instance he
picked out one of Pitcher Williams
slants that took his fancy and rode
1t half a mile or so to the dexter
fence, looping home without bit or
spur, as they say at the track. This