Worcester Democrat and the ledger-enterprise. (Pocomoke City, Md.) 1921-1953, 1935-07-26
~
from the
Democrats Pen

Well. Sir. went out last Sunday to
look at a game of base ball. Reckon
/ should not have done it, SEEM as
how it was the Sabbath day. When
was kid, used to sing little song:
"You must not play on Sunday, on
Sunday, on Sunday; and the rest OF
it. And yca know it's pretty hard for
an old man to forget entirely his child
hood rearing. Why, the only pastime
I used to get was an afternoon walk,
maybe, after I had gone to Sunday
School and stayed for the 1890
preaching.
And, then, in the short walking ex-
ercise of the afternoon, if I should
happen to see convenient stone ly-
ing around, and also dog conven-
iently passing by; and if the stone ac-
cidentally got into my hand, and in
some way was SHE'D at the unsuspect-
ing dog, I was Immediately reproved
for not having respect for the First
Day of the week.
But these times is not them times
faint bit O. use my telling you peo-
pie, because I know you know, more
than l know. These are fast days,
and blest if I don't believe Sunday is
about the fastest of them all. Used
to be Old Dobbin worked hard all the
week and was given rest on Sunday,
or else was driven no further than the
nearby church where neighbors met
to talk over the weeks happenings.
Now, I amt saying they did not 60
to hear the sermon. No, Sir, because
they all went in when the choir and
the little reed organ started up the
music. Ten, in about fifteen minutes,
some, more or less, were taking a lit
tie snooze.
But, nowadays, people don't know
what "Old Dobbin" means. There's
a substitute for him in the form of
a tireless motor car, that takes one
so fast, one doesn't see the church as
one goes flying dosit the n;cr (Re
careful about that word stireless"; it's
got two meanings.) People can get
SO far away from home, now, and see
things they could, formerly, only think
about, that churches see more empty
than occupied pews. Sunday amt
what it used to be.
But I started out to say something
about the base ball game. I used to
play ball-several years ago, ask
Harry Whyte and Billy Stevens, if I
didn't. And, you know, that game,
last Sunday, carried me in memory
back to days when it was considered
sorta sissy to use glove; hare hands,
even for the catcher, was the style;
and, today, the ball palyer of Eye old
en- tyme," can show many a gnarled
finger joint as the result. The boys
now wear pillows and then nnilff 'em.
But, in another way, / was also
taken rearward a few decades prev
ious. I can remember when a nice,
sociable, little scrap, was just as reg
ular an accompaniment of the base
ball game, as was the umpire himself;
and, apparently, just as necessary to
round out the days program. Some
spectator would sing out: "He's out!"
Another would deny the allegation,
and then they would proceed to settle
the argument in the old time way.
can recall two giant fans who were
never absent from a game in which
their home teams were the principal
actors. And they invariably furnish
ed the side-show for the rest of us.
AS the years have passed into the
never-to-be recalled history, / some
times wonder if these two were as
mad at each other as we all thought.
Blest if I don't believe they did what
they did do because it was sort OF ex-
pected.
So, last Sunday, I saw the little
scene of yore, enacted all over again.
There was the little scrap; the usual
excitement of the crowd to see the
fisticuff; the air blue with cussin';
the apparent eagerness of many to
mix UP with somebody else; and the
usual outcome nobody hurt! Game
delayed few minutes, and everything
quiets down, no harm done; just an
opportunity for somebody to get rid
of surplus energy. Who says history
does not repeat itself?