Bonehead
Sean M. Shore
baseball built-in hints cover art sports Spring Thing 2011 Spring Thing Game Xyzzy Awards 2011
September 23, 1908. Win this game, and your Giants will have the National League pennant almost within reach. You've done your part. You've just made a base hit, putting McCormick on third with the winning run in the ninth inning. It's all up to Bridwell now. Or perhaps not. Your name is Fred Merkle. You're about to become famous.
%
Late morning, September 23, 1908. You're on your way to work, waiting in line to get on the Ninth Avenue Elevated. Play your cards right, Fred, and it will be the worst day of your life.

A Regrettable and Mostly True Tale by Sean M. Shore

It's a chilly September morning in lower Manhattan. You're on your way to the Polo Grounds for today's potentially decisive tilt against the Cubs, who are only one-half game behind your Giants in the race for the National League pennant.

You're just east of the platform for the Christopher Street stop of the Ninth Avenue Elevated train. A ticket-taker filters access to the platform itself. There's a short line ahead of you. Not many people are headed uptown at this hour, but then, not many people are in your line of work.

Some stairs lead down to the street below.

[Everyone, especially those not pretty familiar with baseball, should type ABOUT].

++
| Part I |
++
You check your inventory
You are carrying:
a ticket
a five-dollar bill
a short pencil
About yourself
You are Fred Merkle, nineteen-year-old occasional first baseman for the New York Giants. Very occasional first baseman. The Giants already have the veteran Fred Tenney at first, so you haven't started a game all year. Only the really dedicated fans know who you are.
You examine the pencil
It's a stubby, slightly dull little pencil. You picked it up earlier, stuffed it into a pocket, and promptly forgot about it.

The line shortens. You're getting close to the front.
You examine the ticket
It reads: "Interborough Rapid Transit. Good for one ride."
You look athe ticket-taker
A man wearing the uniform of the Interborough Rapid Transit company. He is taking tickets from the people in line, one by one.

"Hey mister." There's a tug on your coat. It's a young boy in line right behind you. "Hey, mister. You're Fred Merkle, ain'tcha? Hey, Mister Merkle, can I have your autograph?" He thrusts a scrap of notebook paper at you. Must be one of those really dedicated fans, I guess.
You piss off
The kid ignores you, and just presents the notebook paper to you expectantly.

"Mister Merkle, the other kids'll never believe I saw a real live ballplayer," says the kid. He rubs his nose.
Sign paper
You reach for your pencil and stoop down to address the kid at eye level. But as you do, you're jostled from behind. Your IRT ticket and five-dollar bill fall onto the floor and through a crack in the platform, presumably down to the street below. This is not what you needed.

"Aw gee, mister, I'm real sorry about that. I ain't got an extra ticket to give you, but I would if I had one, honest!" Embarrassed, the kid hurries up to the ticket-taker, across the platform, and onto a waiting train.
Look around
You're just east of the platform for the Christopher Street stop of the Ninth Avenue Elevated train. A ticket-taker filters access to the platform itself.

Some stairs lead down to the street below.
Go down
Waves of pedestrians, carriages, and pushcarts make their way through the noisy and crowded intersection of Christopher and Greenwich Streets. To the east, things are a little quieter. Some stairs lead up to the IRT station.

The area directly underneath the train platform is boarded up.

Standing on the corner is an officer of the New York Police Department. He twirls his billy club and whistles, watching the activity on the street, particularly any young ladies that happen by.

There's a rusted garbage can here, overflowing with trash.
You talk to the officer
You are already talking to the policeman.
You tell the officer about the ticket
(the lost ticket)
You ask the policeman for assistance in retrieving your lost ticket, or getting on the IRT some other way.

"That's not my concern, boyo. Move along now."
You look at the can
It's filled to the brim with the leavings of a great many New Yorkers. At least they managed to get the trash in the can.
You look at the boards
The space directly underneath the platform is closed off and inaccessible. There are a few holes in the boards, but nothing you could even fit a hand through.
You look through the hole
You peer through the holes. It's too dark to get much of a sense of what's down here. All you can see is some construction debris, and, oddly enough, what looks like an old teapot. Straining hard, you think you might also be able to see your ticket sticking out of the mud.
You check what you're carrying
You are carrying:
a scrap of notebook paper
a short pencil
You pull the board
Nothing obvious happens.
You examine the ticket
Is it even your ticket? You can barely see it in the gloom.
You search trash
The pack of cigarettes is the only highlight.
You take the cigarettes
You feel a tap on your shoulder. It's the policeman's billy club.
"No digging around the trash here, kid. That's vagrant behavior, and I don't have vagrants on my beat."
Examine pack
The pack is a little grimy, perhaps, but it appears intact. You note with interest that the top of the pack says "Base Ball Series -- 350 Subjects."
You help you or go away
"I mean it, lad. Beat it, or I'll run you in," he growls.
You ask the cop about the board
"I mean it. Beat it, lad, or I'll run you in," he growls.
You open the cigarettes
"I'm warning you, lad."
You go downward
Waves of pedestrians, carriages, and pushcarts make their way through the noisy and crowded intersection of Christopher and Greenwich Streets. To the east, things are a little quieter. Some stairs lead up to the IRT station.

The area directly underneath the train platform is boarded up.

Standing on the corner is an officer of the New York Police Department. He twirls his billy club and whistles, watching the activity on the street, particularly any young ladies that happen by.

There's a rusted garbage can here, overflowing with trash. An unopened pack of cigarettes sits within easy reach.
You go east
You're on Christopher Street in lower Manhattan, with myriad shops lining the thoroughfare on either side and pedestrians pushing in both directions. You can hear the traffic of a crowded intersection to the west.

In one of the shops -- a stationery store -- you spy a pretty young woman standing behind a counter.

Leashed to a lamppost is an adorable little dog.
You examine the woman
She's a shopgirl. A looker, for sure. Every so often, she glances out the shop window. She appears to be keeping an eye on the dog.
You untie the dog
As the shopgirl looks away to deal with a customer, you surreptitiously untie the dog from the lamppost. The dog seems content to remain where it is, until a pigeon lands nearby. Suddenly, the little dog lunges at it, barking madly. The pigeon flaps off to the west, with the dog in pursuit.

The pretty young woman hears the ruckus, and looks up just in time to see her dog headed down the street. She follows in a hurry.
You go to the west
Waves of pedestrians, carriages and pushcarts make their way through the intersection of Christopher and Greenwich streets.

The little dog jumps up and down, slobbering all over the policeman, who is not enjoying the experience. Then the pretty shopgirl comes by to claim her pet. The policeman suddenly becomes an animal lover, scratching the dog's ears and rubbing his belly. He blushes and begins chatting with the shopgirl.

The area directly underneath the train platform is boarded up.

There's a rusted garbage can here, overflowing with trash. An unopened pack of cigarettes sits within easy reach.
You take the cigarettes
Taken.
You open the pack
You open the package, revealing the expected cigarettes, along with several baseball cards, which you take.
You look at the cards
They're trading cards with illustrations of ballplayers on them to help sell the cigarettes, perhaps to a younger clientele. You thumb through them, one by one. Let's see. Bill Shipke, Sunny Jim Dygert, Ed Konetchy, Honus Wagner, and -- hey, would you look at that -- Fred Merkle!
You examine Merkle
(the Merkle card)
That's your fine visage on the card.
You look at sunny
They're just pieces of cardboard. Not worth anything.
Look around
The policeman continues to pet the dog and chat with the pretty young woman, ignoring your presence.

There's a rusted garbage can here, overflowing with trash.
You show the merkle card to the cop
The policeman is enthralled with the lovely young woman, who, it must be said, does not appear enthralled herself. No matter; the policeman impatiently waves you off.
You show the card to the taker
You clear your throat and get the ticket-taker's attention.

You show the baseball card with your picture on it to the IRT worker. He looks at it, examines you closely, and then says, "Hey, this is you! I'm not supposed to let anyone past here without a ticket, but I'm not going to be the one to hold up a member of the New York Giants!" He steps aside and waves you through.

You're on a wooden platform above Christopher Street, waiting alongside a few other commuters for the next uptown train.

A newspaper drifts down the platform in the chilly autumn wind.
You get the newspaper
Taken.

You hear a rumbling from the south. The train is approaching.
You read the newspaper
It's today's New York Times. "Cubs Check Giants In Race For Flag" is the sports headline. But you already knew that; you were there, after all. You dropped two games and let the Cubs right back into the pennant race. Are you mentioned? -- there you are. It's worse than you thought. Aulick is in rare form.

"Three men on bases. Come on Crandall, and bang your way into a million hearts. Three men on bases, and a single will tie the score. Come on Merkle, if they won't let Crandall bat. We trust in you, Merkle, darlin'. You'd never throw us down now, would you, Merkle, with three men on bases, a single to tie, and a chance to win, out on the inning? Of course, you wouldn't. Step up there, good man, and play baseball. Pshaw! Why did you hit at that first one? Why did you not wait? It wasn't worth your effort. Pick out a bonny one, Merkle, and then strike for the freedom of your sires, and a little bit more. Not that one, not that, Merkle. Didn't we give you waiting orders? Never mind, there is one chance left. Use it wisely. Get a firm hold on your bat, and slash away yonder along third-base line. If you are not in position, make it the right field, up as near the grandstand as you think you can get without fouling. Or, if you think you can pull it off, a Texas leaguer will demoralize them. Or you might -- Mr. Merkle has struck out, gentlemen. Donlin, Devlin, and Bridwell, what of them? Were you ever at a reception where the lion of the hour and day came over to your corner, shook hands with the neighbor on your right, and the neighbor on your left, and then -- looked coldly past you and walked on, leaving you with your dexter fork extended in the air and feeling foolish all over? That's how Messrs. Donlin, Devlin, and Bridwell felt when Mr. Merkle passed them up. Let's all go home."

Tomorrow's article is going to be much worse, I can assure you.
You get on the tracks
You might very well feel like doing that after today's game. But for now, let's not contemplate suicide.

The train pulls into the station, the doors open, and you step into the waiting car.

You're on a standard elevated train car belonging to the Interborough Rapid Transit company. There's a long bench on each side of the car, along with a few poles and straps for a standing-room only crowd, which this isn't.
You sit on bench
You take a seat on the bench.

You and the other passengers are whisked uptown. Rapid transit, indeed. In only a few minutes, you're already at 9th Avenue and 34th Street.

Nearby, a gentleman you hadn't previously noticed scribbles furiously on a notepad. "Blast!," he says to no one in particular, as the tip of his pencil breaks. He looks at it forlornly.
You look at the gentleman
He is a middle-aged man with a professional appearance and friendly demeanor. He's holding a notepad.
You examine the notepad
On the pad is the start of what looks like a song or a poem. It reads:

Katie Casey was baseball mad,
Had the fever and had it bad.
Just to root for the home town crew,
Ev'ry sou
Katie blew.
On a Saturday her young beau
Called to see if she'd like to go
To see a show, but Miss Kate said "No,
I'll tell you what you can do":

It then ends abruptly with a dark smudge.

The train passes its counterpart noisily heading back downtown.
You give the pencil to man
(the short pencil to a gentleman)
The gentleman tears himself away from his notepad and looks up at you.

"You read my mind!," he says, taking the pencil. "Thanks, mister!" He shakes your hand. "Jack Norworth. Pleased to meet you."
You tell Jack about yourself
You mention that you're a professional ballplayer on your way to a game today.

"Well, I'll be damned! Funny coincidence, that is," he says with a wide grin.

The train continues its journey northeast toward the Harlem River.

>You mention that you're a professional ballplayer on your way to a game today.

"Well, I'll be damned! Funny coincidence, that is," he says with a wide grin.

The car gently rocks from side to side as it heads uptown.
You ask Jack about the poem
"What are you writing, if you don't mind my asking?"

"No, not at all. It's the beginnings of a song I might be able to use in a musical revue. I was waiting at the train station a little while ago when I saw a sign that read Base Ball Today at the Polo Grounds." He waves his hands to illustrate the sign. "I thought to myself, that's something that might make for a popular number."

You could ask him about himself, the next bit of the song, musical revue or baseball; or tell him about yourself.
You ask Jack about himself
You ask him about himself.

"I'm in the theater business. I write songs for Tin Pan Alley, do a little singing and acting in vaudeville, that sort of thing."
You ask Jack about the the next bit of the the song
You ask Norworth about the rest of the song he's writing.

"Oh yes," he says. "Miss Casey will be telling her gentleman caller that she'll go out with him as long as he brings her to the park, not a show. I had a fleeting grasp of the phrasing I wanted a minute ago. It'll come back."
You ask Jack about the musical revue
You ask him about music.

"I've been working on material for a new show, and the sign about the ball game just inspired me. I figure the song might sell a few tickets, maybe draw some people in who might not otherwise go. If anyone still remembers the song in a year's time, so much the better."
You ask Jack about the baseball
(baseball)
You ask him how much he knows about the game.

He chuckles. "Not a lot, I must admit. I've never actually been to a game. But I do know what happens in one: three strikes and you're out!"

You could tell him about yourself.
You tell Jack about myself
You mention that you're a professional ballplayer on your way to a game today.

"Well, I'll be damned! Funny coincidence, that is," he says with a wide grin.

The car gently rocks from side to side as it heads uptown.
You tell Jack about the baseball
(the baseball cards)
"Hm?"

He seems oddly distant, then raises a finger. "If you'll excuse me for just one moment," he says. "I've got to get this down before I lose the wording." You watch as he appends to the notepad Katie Casey's request of her young beau:

Take me out to the ball game,
Take me out with the crowd;
Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack,
I don't care if I never get back.

"There! That's a good start, don't you think?" The train slows down, and Norworth glances out the window. "Anyway, this is my stop here. Very nice talking to you. Good luck today!"

With that, he departs.
You wait for a while
Time passes.

The 104th Street station recedes in the distance. As the train approaches 110th Street, it slows down. Looking out the window, you can see that you're perhaps 100 feet above the ground. The train lurches dramatically to the right, practically at a 90 degree angle. This is what they call Suicide Curve.
Look around
Aboard the IRT (on the bench)
You're on a standard elevated train car belonging to the Interborough Rapid Transit company. There's a long bench on each side of the car, along with a few poles and straps for a standing-room only crowd, which this isn't.
You examine the poles
You see nothing special about the poles.

The train travels along 110th Street, and then lurches again, this time to the left, as it turns onto 8th Avenue. Good thing you're seated.
You wait for a while
Time passes.

The train pulls into the 155th Street station, its final stop, and yours. You're at the far end of Manhattan, with the Harlem River before you, and the Bronx just across from it. Below, you see the glorious Polo Grounds. Beyond that, back the direction you came, is Coogan's Bluff, the great hill overlooking the park. Fans without tickets can sit atop the bluff and watch the game, albeit from very far above. They're affectionately known as hillbillies.

The wooden doors open. The remaining passengers start filing out onto the station platform.
You look around
September 23, 1908. After your commute on the IRT, you arrive at your workplace: the Polo Grounds. They don't actually play polo here; they did in the original Polo Grounds, where the Giants also played, but this is a new park in a different location.

It's a couple of hours before game time. You've put on your uniform and you're warming up with the other fellows in preparation for sitting on the bench as usual. The team is taking batting practice, and a small group is at the plate. Roger Bresnahan, the Giants' veteran catcher, is taking his swings right now. Turkey Mike Donlin and Christy Mathewson wait here for their turns. Joe McGinnity is throwing from the pitcher's mound sixty feet away, and Fred Snodgrass is acting as catcher.

The first baseman, Fred Tenney, comes limping up to you, clutching his back. "Merkle, McGraw wants a word with you," he says, pointing to the Giants' dugout to the south. Tenney slowly shuffles off the field.
You look at the Turkey
This is home plate in your home park. During the game, there will be fewer people loitering here, and somewhat less chit-chat. A temporary backstop has been wheeled in for batting practice.

The whole lovely ballpark stretches out before you, invitingly. Your dugout is to the south, first base is southeast, the pitcher's mound is to the east, third base is northeast, and the visiting dugout is to the north.

(You might be curious about these directions. In the Polo Grounds, as in many other parks, the left field foul pole is roughly due north. This means that a pitcher standing on the mound facing the plate has his left shoulder facing south. This is why lefties are called southpaws.)

Matty and Donlin lean up against the backstop, chatting, while Bresnahan takes batting practice and Snodgrass catches anything Bresnahan doesn't offer at.

McGinnity deals, and Bresnahan laces a solid line drive.

++
| Part II |
++
You examine the Turkey
Donlin's an interesting case. He's been around awhile; played with McGraw back in Baltimore. He's a terrific left-handed hitter, but what he really wants to do is become an actor. He married the actress Mabel Hite a couple of years ago, which is probably good, since it will help keep him out of trouble. He's gotten in more than a few bar fights in his day. Back in Baltimore, he once urinated on a palm tree in the lobby of the Academy of Music, and then punched a showgirl, ending up in jail for a stretch. He's called Turkey on account of how he sort of waddles around.
You examine McGinnity
The old man of the club, and another fellow who was in Baltimore with Mr. McGraw. He and Donlin both started their careers in '99, but Joe got a bit of a late start, debuting when he was already 28. Called the Iron Man because he can throw pretty much every day (and did so twice yesterday). Also, he works in an iron foundry in the off-season. Almost all ballplayers have to take a job over the winter to make ends meet.

You hear a shout coming from the Giants' dugout. "Merkle!" You recall with a start that Mr. McGraw is expecting you.
You look at Bresnahan
Roger's a fine catcher and a tough customer, to be sure. He had to be, to endure the mockery and assaults on his manhood that occasioned two of his innovations on the field: one, a helmet to be used while batting; and the other, shin guards, like an English cricketer might employ. He's one of McGraw's favorites.
You examine Matty
Christy Mathewson. He's the ace of the Giants, and the best pitcher in all of baseball right now. I don't think I'm giving too much away when I tell you that long after he has retired, he'll still be considered one of the all-time greats. On top of that, he's tall, very handsome, educated (one of the few ballplayers who went to college), and a natural at pretty much everything he does, including bridge.
He's one of the rare ballplayers who's accepted in polite society.
He'd be utterly detestable if he weren't such a decent fellow.

For many years, Christy and his brother Henry, who also pitched for the Giants, held the record for most career wins by a sibling tandem -- Christy with 373, and Henry with 0.

"Merkle, let's hustle!" That's Mr. McGraw's voice. Better get to the dugout.
Wait
Time passes.

Donlin gently mocks Bresnahan's weak ground ball.
Inventory
You are carrying:
a pair of brand-new spikes (tied) (being worn)
a cap (being worn)
a uniform (being worn)

Bresnahan's bat rings with solid contact.
You examine the spikes
Your new pair of baseball cleats: bright, shiny, and a little stiff. The laces they came with are oddly slick and perhaps a bit short as well, making them difficult to keep tied.

You hear a shout coming from the Giants' dugout. "Merkle!" You recall with a start that Mr. McGraw is expecting you.
You examine the cap
It's a plain black woolen baseball cap with a short brim.
You look at the uniform
Baggy white flannel, with a stylized "NY" on the sleeve.
You remove the uniform
This is probably not the best time to get undressed.

You hear Mr. McGraw yell to no one in particular, "Where the hell is Merkle?"
You remove the cap
Wait until you've made a great play before you tip your cap to the crowd.

Bresnahan curses as the pitch jams him and his hands sting.
You jump
You jump on the spot, fruitlessly.
You go to the south
This is the home team's dugout, and the place where you spend the majority of your time during actual games, since, well, you're not on the field. It is not luxurious -- just a plain wooden bench and a roof to keep out the rain. No amount of cleaning will ever remove the fragments of a million peanut shells or the tobacco stains from this place. Home plate is north, and first base is northeast.

You can see McGraw here.

"Nice of you to drop by. Next time when I call for you, rookie, you come over! Got it? Tenney's back is acting up, and he won't be able to go today. You're starting at first base, batting seventh. Go talk to Matty to make sure you two are coordinating on the field. Then when you're ready, take some batting practice."

You could ask him about Tenney, the Cubs, batting practice or yourself.
You ask him about the Cubs
You ask Mr. McGraw about playing the Cubs today.

"They've played us tough all year, and now they're only a half-game back. Whoever wins today is in first place. If we're going to win the pennant, we need to take charge and bounce back from yesterday's mess. Not going to be easy with Pfiester on the hill."

You could ask him about Tenney, batting practice, yourself or Pfiester.
You ask him about Pfiester
"Got any ideas for facing Pfiester today, skip?", you ask.

"They don't call him Jack the Giant Killer for nothing. He's been murdering us all year, and he's maybe their fourth-best pitcher. It's infuriating, to say the least. Ask some of the boys for tips on hitting him."

You hear the crack of the bat as Bresnahan continues his batting practice.
You ask him about yourself
"Thanks for giving me a chance today," you say.

"Don't blow it," he says.

You hear a dull thud as Bresnahan pops one up.
You ask about Tenney
"How bad is Tenney's back?," you ask.

"I don't think he'll be out more than a day or two," he says, "but this is your chance, kid. Your first start. Better make the most of it."
Go north
Are you sure you want to quit?
You ask about quitting
"Let's just focus on the game, shall we?"
Go north
You turn away, and hear McGraw calling back after you. "Merkle," he says, pointing at your spikes. "Your laces." You note that they are untied.

This is home plate in your home park. During the game, there will be fewer people loitering here, and somewhat less chit-chat. A temporary backstop has been wheeled in for batting practice.

The whole lovely ballpark stretches out before you, invitingly. Your dugout is to the south, first base is southeast, the pitcher's mound is to the east, third base is northeast, and the visiting dugout is to the north.

Leaning against the backstop is a bat.

Bresnahan stands in against Joe McGinnity, with Snodgrass crouched behind the plate. Matty and Donlin watch the proceedings from behind the safety of the backstop.
Tie laces
You lace up your new shoes.
You look at the bat
A long, heavy piece of ash wood -- around 38 ounces -- with a slight taper toward the handle. Useful for hitting baseballs.
Tie shoes
The pair of brand-new spikes (tied) is already tied.
You talk to Matty
Matty turns to you. "Oh hey, Fred. I heard you'll be starting at first today. We'll be seeing a lot of each other, I think," he says with a wink.

You could ask him about the Cubs, Pfiester, batting practice, hitting or playing first.

Bresnahan's bat rings with solid contact.
You ask him about playing first
You bring up the subject of playing first today, and Matty nods.

"Yes, you and I will be seeing a lot of each other on the diamond this afternoon. I know you're a good glove, Fred, so I'm looking forward to seeing what you can do out there today. Just plant your foot on the bag, and give the boys a nice target for the throw," he says with a smile. "But if the throw is off-line, forget about planting your foot. Go to where the ball is. The most important thing is to catch it.
We'd rather let the fellow be on first with an infield hit than be on second on a throwing error."

(You can recall this advice later by typing REMEMBER MATTY'S ADVICE).
You ask him about the batting practice
"Looks like Bresnahan is winding down," you say. "Do you want to go next?"

"That's OK, Fred, you go as soon as you're ready. Just get the bat and STEP UP TO THE PLATE. You can DROP THE BAT when you're done."

You hear the crack of the bat as Bresnahan continues his batting practice.
You ask about Cubs
"Which Cubs give you the most trouble, Matty?"

"Oh, Joe Tinker," he says without hesitation. "He's had my number for years. But if you're talking about a rivalry on the mound, it's Three Finger Brown. He and I seem to match up on the mound an awful lot, and he wins much more than his share. But thankfully we won't be seeing him today, unless maybe in relief."

You could ask him about Pfiester, hitting or Three Finger Brown.
You ask him about Pfiester
"Any tips on hitting Jack Pfiester?", you ask Matty.

He smiles and says, "I'm one of the worst hitters on the club, Fred. You might want to talk to someone with a chance of hitting him, like Mike over there," pointing to Donlin.
You ask Donlin about the hitting
"Say, Mike, how do you approach an at bat against a tough pitcher?"

"Well, kid, the way I see it, hitting is all about two things: pitch recognition and timing. You have to be able to identify a pitch right out of the pitcher's hand, whether it's a fastball or a curve or a change or a spitball or something else. You have to get good at anticipating where it's headed, too. Pitchers are going to want you to chase their pitch out of the strike zone; you have to make them throw you your pitch.

And then there's timing. Pitchers are trying to foul up your timing, keep you off-balance, so they will vary the speed of their pitches.

If it's a fastball, it's coming hard; you'll need to start your swing early. For a fastball on the inside part of the plate, SWING EARLY TO PULL. For an outside fastball, SWING EARLY TO THE OPPOSITE FIELD. If they throw you something off-speed, like a changeup or a curve, it's going to be deceptively slow; you want to keep your hands back and swing late. If it's inside, SWING LATE TO PULL, and if it's outside, SWING LATE TO THE OPPOSITE FIELD. Of course, if it's out of the strike zone, you don't want to swing at all."

You could ask him about batting practice, Pfiester, pitch recognition, pulling the ball or the opposite field.
You ask him about the batting practice
"Looks like Bresnahan is winding down," you say. "Do you want to go next?"

"That's OK, kid, you go when you're ready. Just get the bat and STEP UP TO THE PLATE. You can DROP THE BAT when you're finished."

You could ask him about Pfiester, pitch recognition, pulling the ball or the opposite field.

Bresnahan curses as the pitch jams him and his hands sting.
You ask him about the pitch recognition
You ask Mike about recognizing pitches.

"The first thing to identify is the spin. A ball with backspin is going to be a fastball or a changeup. A ball with forward spin is going to be a curveball. A ball with no spin is a knuckleball, but Pfiester doesn't throw one, so you don't have to worry about that.

You also want to get a look at the pitcher's grip if you can. If the pitcher's any good, his motion with the fastball and change is going to look exactly the same, so you don't know which is which. One way to tell is to get a look at his pitching hand when he's in his windup or in the set position. If he's got two fingers spread out on top, and the thumb underneath, that's a fastball. If there's three fingers on top, it means he's gripping it more tightly to slow it down. It's a changeup. Two fingers on the side along the seam means it's a curve."

(You can recall this advice later by typing REMEMBER DONLIN'S ADVICE).
You ask him about pulling the the ball
You ask Mike about pulling the ball.

"You can really drive an inside pitch if you try to pull it. As a righthander, you pull the ball to left field," he says.

You hear a dull thud as Bresnahan pops one up.
You ask him about the the opposite field
You ask Mike about the opposite field.

"You want to go the opposite way on a pitch on the outer half of the plate. To right field, in your case. Left, in mine."
You step up to the the plate
You pick up the bat.

Bresnahan takes his last cut and then walks over to talk hitters with Matty.

Having decided you've seen enough of the park, you step in to replace him, dig a comfortable spot for yourself with your spikes, heft your bat on your right shoulder, and get ready. The club's veteran, Iron Man Joe McGinnity, is throwing batting practice today. He's got a bucket of baseballs that he'll be throwing nice and easy to you. Everything will be somewhere near the strike zone, close enough that you can hit it. "I'll keep throwing, and you keep hitting," he hollers from the mound. "Just drop the bat to let me know when you're done."

McGinnity begins his delivery. During his windup, you notice he's got his index and middle fingers together, a little off-center. The ball starts high and inside, then drops vertically, with what appears to be forward spin.
You remember the donlin's advice
You remember Donlin's advice about hitting and recognizing pitches: Two fingers on top with backspin means it's a fastball; start your swing early. Two fingers on the seams with forward spin means it's a curveball. Three fingers on top with backspin means it's off-speed. Start your swing late for those two. If it's an inside pitch, pull the ball; if it's outside, hit it to the opposite field.

You take the pitch, and the ball pops in Snodgrass's mitt.

Snodgrass flips a ball back to McGinnity.
Wait
Time passes.

McGinnity winds up. As he reaches the top of his motion, you can see that he's gripping the ball with three fingers spread out on top. The pitch darts to the inner half of the plate, with what might be backspin.
Swing late to pull
You stay patient, and then pounce on the inside pitch, sending a line drive over short.

He reaches down for another ball.
You wait
Time passes.

McGinnity begins his delivery. During his windup, you notice he's gripping the ball with three fingers spread out on top. The ball tails away to the outer half of the plate, with what might be backspin.
Swing late to the the opposite field
You keep your hands back and wait on the pitch, driving it over the first base position and into right field. That's a nice piece of hitting.

McGinnity regards your handiwork with evident satisfaction.

Snodgrass flips a ball back to McGinnity.
You wait awhile
Time passes.

McGinnity winds up. As he reaches the top of his motion, you can see that he's gripping the ball with three fingers spread out on top. The pitch tails away to the outer half of the plate, with what might be backspin.
Swing late to the the opposite field
You keep your hands back and wait on the pitch, dumping it down the line and into the right field corner. That's a nice piece of hitting.

McGinnity regards your handiwork with evident satisfaction.

He reaches down for another ball.
You wait a while
Time passes.

McGinnity begins his delivery. When he comes to a set position, you notice he's gripping the ball with three fingers spread out on top.
The ball darts to the inner half of the plate, with what might be backspin.
Swing late to pull
You stay patient, and then pounce on the inside pitch, but you just miss hitting the sweet spot, settling for a sharp ground ball to third. Even when you guess right, you don't always get good wood on the ball. It's a game of inches, as they say.

McGinnity gets another ball.
Wait
Time passes.

McGinnity winds up. During his windup, you can see that he is grasping the ball with two fingers spread out on top of the ball and his thumb tucked underneath. The pitch tails away to the outer half of the plate, with tight backspin.
Swing early to the the opposite field
You keep your hands back and execute an inside-out swing, dumping the ball down the line and into the right field corner.

McGinnity regards your handiwork with evident satisfaction.

He reaches down for another ball.
You wait
Time passes.

McGinnity begins his delivery. When he comes to a set position, you notice he's got his index and middle fingers together, a little off-center. The ball starts high and outside, then drops vertically, with what appears to be forward spin.
Swing late to pull
You try pulling the ball to left, but it's too far outside. You hit a two-hopper to short.

He grabs another ball from the bucket.
You wait a while
Time passes.

McGinnity winds up. As he reaches the top of his motion, you can see that he is grasping the ball with two fingers spread out on top of the ball and his thumb tucked underneath. The pitch darts to the inner half of the plate, with tight backspin.
Swing early to pull
You pounce on the inside fastball and send a rope into left field.

McGinnity gets another ball.
Wait
Time passes.

McGinnity begins his delivery. When he comes to a set position, you notice he is grasping the ball with two fingers spread out on top of the ball and his thumb tucked underneath. The ball darts to the inner half of the plate, with tight backspin.
Swing early to pull
You pounce on the inside fastball and send a line drive over short.

McGinnity turns around to watch. He nods at you approvingly.

Snodgrass flips a ball back to McGinnity.
You drop the the bat
You signal to McGinnity that you've had enough, and drop the bat by the backstop. Matty steps in after you, and begins working on his bunting with Joe.
You drop the the ball
The hour draws near for the first pitch. Both clubs are nearly done with their warm-ups. The sausage vendors have begun frying up their wares, and the smell has begun wafting through the park. You can hear the Ninth Avenue Elevated dropping off fans every few minutes. Hank O'Day, who will be calling balls and strikes today, is rubbing up a few baseballs, and the groundskeeper is doing some last-minute tidying of the mound, to conform to Matty's liking.

Your date with humiliation awaits you. First, another taste of what's to come.
You buy a the sausage
A Sunday morning in church, circa 1936. People are milling around before the start of the service. They're your neighbors, for the most part. They know to tread lightly around certain subjects. Some other folks within earshot, not so much. They're busy chattering away about the pennant races. You try to shut them out, but it's impossible. You can't not hear them.

The reverend isn't here today; looks like they've got a visiting minister in. He steps up to the pulpit, maybe a little nervous, clears his throat. The crowd take their seats and wait expectantly. "I want to begin," he says, forcing the sort of smile that accompanies a weak joke, "by admitting to you an ugly secret. I am from Toledo, Ohio; birthplace of the infamous Fred 'Bonehead' Merkle!"

A few of the other parishioners gasp, and you can feel their eyes on you. Ethel squeezes your hand. Well, that's just splendid. It's one thing to hear it when you're umpiring an exhibition game  -- as happened a couple of years ago, the last time you tried to set foot on a major league diamond. But now you can't even come to church anymore. You gather up Ethel and the kids and quietly walk out.

The final indignity: you weren't even born in Toledo.
Tie shoes
The stands are packed with 20,000 cranks as the battle for the National League pennant begins. The game is a very tight affair. For the first four innings, Matty and Pfiester throw zeroes up on the board. The Cubs' defense is a little shaky, but the Gothams cannot capitalize.
You help out with a nice grab on Joe Tinker's line drive in the 2nd, but up until the final frame, you do very little with the stick -- you're 0 for 2 with a walk.

In the fifth, the Cubs strike. It's Tinker -- Matty's nemesis. He drives a ball to right that skips past Donlin. While Turkey Mike scrambles to retrieve it, Tinker circles the bases for a home run.
Cubs 1, Giants 0.

In the sixth, Donlin gets his revenge by driving in Buck Herzog with the tying run. Cubs 1, Giants 1.

The pitchers' duel continues for another inning. Now it's the top of the eighth. You and the other Giants are out in the field, playing defense. Johnny Kling, the Cubs' catcher, leads off for Chicago. There'll be a chance to avoid your fate here, if you so choose.

You stand a few steps behind and to the right of first base, wearing your glove, and ready to field your position should the ball come your way. Matty is on the mound, looking in at Bresnahan behind the plate. To your right is Buck Herzog, the second baseman. The cranks along the first base line are almost close enough to touch. They're certainly close enough to hear. Most are shouting encouragement; a few, perhaps drunk, are heckling.

++
| Part III |
++
Tie shoes
You double-knot the spikes. Maybe this time they'll hold.
Inventory
You are carrying:
a glove (being worn)
a pair of brand-new spikes (tied) (being worn)
a cap (being worn)
a uniform (being worn)

Matty deals to Kling. It's a fadeaway -- a Matty specialty -- and it runs right in on Kling's hands. He makes a defensive swing, and taps a slow roller towards Art Devlin at third. Kling dashes towards first base as Devlin barehands the ball.
You remember matty's advice
You remember Matty's advice about fielding:
"Just plant your foot on the bag, and give the boys a nice target for the throw. But if the throw is off-line, forget about keeping your foot on the bag. Step off and go to where the ball is. The most important thing is to catch it. We'd rather let the fellow be on first with a hit than be on second on a throwing error."

Devlin starts to throw, but sees that you're not covering the bag. He pockets the ball rather than risk throwing it into right field somewhere. The cranks are screaming bloody murder, all of it directed at you.
You plant the foot on the bag
You plant your right foot on the bag, and extend your gloved left hand out as a target for the throw from Devlin.

Devlin fires across the diamond. The ball is headed right for you.
You catch the ball
You field the throw cleanly, but Kling beats the throw by a couple of steps. The crowd lets out a collective sound of annoyance, but you didn't have a chance of putting him out. You flip the ball back to Matty.
You wait awhile
Time passes.

Kling dusts himself off. "Didn't think I'd beat that one out," he says. "Boy, Mathewson's been tough today, don't you think? We're lucky to have gotten anything off him at all." He looks down, points at your spikes and says "Hey, Fred, looks like your laces are untied. You might want to look at that."
You plant the foot on the bag
You plant your right foot on the bag, and extend your gloved left hand out as a target for the throw from Devlin.

With one on and none out, the pitcher, Jack Pfiester, steps up to bat. Bresnahan calls for time, and starts to trot out toward the mound. Matty waves you in as well, along with Herzog, Bridwell and Devlin.
Go northwest
You can't just go wandering all over the field during the game. You need to field your position.

Matty is waving you over to confer with the other fellows. Kling whispers over to you, and points to the north: "Merkle, I think you're wanted on the mound."
You go to the mound
This is the pitcher's mound. It rises to a height of about fifteen inches to give the pitcher a better angle from which to throw. In the old days, the hurler had a chalk-outlined box on level ground, and could throw the ball from anywhere inside that area. (Thus the expression, "knocked out of the box", when a pitcher is hit hard by the opposing team.)  Nowadays the pitcher must throw from the pitching rubber.

Home plate is west; second base is east; first base is south; and third base is north.

You can see a rosin bag here.

The entire infield is gathered here on the hill. Bresnahan begins. "All right. Pfiester is obviously going to be sacrificing here. Let's go over what we're going to do."
You listen
From every direction, the dull roar of the crowd washes over you.

He looks at you and Devlin. "Fred, Art: you two creep up a little bit when he squares around to bunt and be prepared to field the ball if it's hit your way."
Wait
Time passes.

He then turns to Bridwell and Herzog. "Al, you cover second. Fred, if you field the bunt, Buck will cover first for you. Otherwise, you cover first as usual."
You wait awhile
Time passes.

"Matty, get ready to help out if the bunt is right at you." With that, Hank O'Day starts lumbering towards the mound to break up the conference and get the game moving.
You go to first
You probably want to listen to this.

This is the pitcher's mound. It rises to a height of about fifteen inches to give the pitcher a better angle from which to throw. In the old days, the hurler had a chalk-outlined box on level ground, and could throw the ball from anywhere inside that area. (Thus the expression, "knocked out of the box", when a pitcher is hit hard by the opposing team.)  Nowadays the pitcher must throw from the pitching rubber.

Home plate is west; second base is east; first base is south; and third base is north.

You can see a rosin bag here.

Bresnahan wraps things up. "OK, everyone know what they're doing?"
The other fellows all nod their assent. Bresnahan heads back behind the plate, and Matty gives you a quick wink. The other infielders, including you, move back to their original positions.

You stand a few steps behind and to the right of first base, wearing your glove, and ready to field your position should the ball come your way. Matty is on the mound, looking in at Bresnahan behind the plate. To your right is Buck Herzog, the second baseman. The cranks along the first base line are almost close enough to touch. They're certainly close enough to hear.

Johnny Kling is here, taking a short lead off first base.

Matty steps on the rubber. He looks in at Bresnahan, who flashes the signs. Matty nods, and sets. He gives a quick look back at Kling, to make sure he's not taking a big lead. Then he begins his windup. Pfiester starts to square around to bunt, holding his bat right out in front of him to deaden the ball.
You creep up
You and Devlin take a few steps towards home plate to pounce on Pfiester's bunt, should it come your way.

Matty sets and delivers. The pitch rides up high and tight to Pfiester. There's nothing he can do with that pitch, but he tries to bunt anyway. The result is a two-hopper, straight to Matty. Looks like you've covering first base after all. Kling takes off for second, and Pfiester heads to first, disgusted. Instead of a sacrifice bunt, it's looking like a double play. The cranks along the sidelines are screaming "Two! Two!".

Matty wheels around 180 degrees just as Bridwell reaches the bag. He fires. Bridwell takes the throw and sweeps his foot across the bag, just as Kling comes bearing down on him. One out. He steps to the outfield side of the bag, and gets set to throw the ball to you, to complete the double play.
You plant foot on the bag
You're already stepping on it.

Bridwell throws off-balance as he tries to get out of Kling's way.
Even as it leaves his hand, you can see that it's starting to tail toward the home plate side of the bag. It's still a little ways off, but you can tell that it's going to be a real stretch to field this cleanly when it arrives. Time seems to slow down, as the image of a botched play flashes before you.
You catch the ball
The ball isn't within reach.

Pfiester is racing down the line as fast as he can, as the ball follows its errant arc, as near your glove as it's going to get. The Polo Grounds faithful gasp. It's going to be a tough play.
You step off
What do you want to step off?
Bag
You take your foot off the bag, in an attempt to snare the errant throw from Bridwell. It's now within reach.

Pfiester is racing down the line as fast as he can, as the ball follows its errant arc, as near your glove as it's going to get. The Polo Grounds faithful gasp. It's going to be a tough play.
You catch the ball
You catch the throw from Bridwell cleanly, just as Pfiester arrives. But then disaster strikes. Your laces must have come untied again, and you trip over yourself, just as you're about to apply the tag to the Giant Killer. Somehow Pfiester manages to avoid your toppling frame with a deft bit of acrobatics. He's safe, while you collapse in a pile on the turf.

Fortunately, you're not injured, just a little embarrassed, but it was an awkward play to begin with, and to most observers, it looked as if you were trying to avoid being run over by Pfiester while tagging him. Bridwell gets most of the blame for his errant throw. The Cubs ultimately win the game 2-1, which is terrible, of course, but you will win other pennants with the Giants, and most importantly, you are not humiliated.
Tie shoes
The pair of brand-new spikes (tied) is already tied.

The ball sails by as you make no attempt to catch it, ricochets off the tarpaulin, and rolls halfway up the right field line. Pfiester easily trots into second, while Kling comes around to score. The official scorer gives you an error on the play. The crowd boos your mercilessly. You even hear "bonehead" mixed in with the jeers. Mr. McGraw leaves the dugout to pull you from the game, a grave step when taken in the middle of an inning. Snodgrass goes out to replace you at first.

"I don't know where your head is, Merkle, but it ain't in the game. Go hit the showers. It'll be a long time before you start again in this league," McGraw growls.

The one-run lead holds up: Cubs 2, Giants 1 is the final score, and the Cubs are now in first place.
Wait
Time passes.

Pfiester is racing down the line as fast as he can, as the ball follows its errant arc, as near your glove as it's going to get. The Polo Grounds faithful gasp. It's going to be a tough play.
You get the ball
Bridwell's throw is too far off-line for you to catch it while keeping your foot on the bag. It skips past you, ricochets off the tarpaulin, and bounces halfway up the right field line. Pfiester easily trots into second, while Kling comes around to score. The official scorer gives an error to Bridwell on the play.

The one-run lead holds up: Cubs 2, Giants 1 is the final score, and the Cubs are now in first place. From a team standpoint, this is obviously a disaster. Personally, though, this is a godsend. You played a role in the debacle, but Bridwell is the goat, not you. You play the rest of your career, and live the rest of your life, as a solid, unremarkable, unremembered ballplayer.
You look at the shoes
Your new pair of baseball cleats: bright, shiny, and a little stiff. The laces they came with are oddly slick and perhaps a bit short as well, making them difficult to keep tied.

The ball sails by as you make no attempt to catch it, ricochets off the tarpaulin, and rolls halfway up the right field line. Pfiester easily trots into second, while Kling comes around to score. The official scorer gives you an error on the play. The crowd boos your mercilessly. You even hear "bonehead" mixed in with the jeers. Mr. McGraw leaves the dugout to pull you from the game, a grave step when taken in the middle of an inning. Snodgrass goes out to replace you at first.

"I don't know where your head is, Merkle, but it ain't in the game. Go hit the showers. It'll be a long time before you start again in this league," McGraw growls.

The one-run lead holds up: Cubs 2, Giants 1 is the final score, and the Cubs are now in first place.
Wait
Time passes.

He then turns to Bridwell and Herzog. "Al, you cover second. Fred, if you field the bunt, Buck will cover first for you. Otherwise, you cover first as usual."
You wait
Time passes.

Across the diamond, Devlin creeps up towards home plate. Herzog notices you not doing the same. He flashes you a look as if to say, Can't you follow instructions, Merkle? Well, it's too late now.

Matty sets and delivers. The pitch rides up high and tight to Pfiester. There's nothing he can do with that pitch, but he tries to bunt anyway. The result is a two-hopper, straight to Matty. Looks like you've covering first base after all. Kling takes off for second, and Pfiester heads to first, disgusted. Instead of a sacrifice bunt, it's looking like a double play. The cranks along the sidelines are screaming "Two! Two!".

Matty wheels around 180 degrees just as Bridwell reaches the bag. He fires. Bridwell takes the throw and sweeps his foot across the bag, just as Kling comes bearing down on him. One out. He steps to the outfield side of the bag, and gets set to throw the ball to you, to complete the double play.
Tie shoe
The pair of brand-new spikes (tied) is already tied.

Bridwell throws off-balance as he tries to get out of Kling's way.
Even as it leaves his hand, you can see that it's starting to tail toward the home plate side of the bag. It's still a little ways off, but you can tell that it's going to be a real stretch to field this cleanly when it arrives. Time seems to slow down, as the image of a botched play flashes before you.
You step off
What do you want to step off?
You catch the ball
The ball isn't within reach.

Pfiester is racing down the line as fast as he can, as the ball follows its errant arc, as near your glove as it's going to get. The Polo Grounds faithful gasp. It's going to be a tough play.
You wait awhile
Time passes.

The ball sails by as you make no attempt to catch it, ricochets off the tarpaulin, and rolls halfway up the right field line. Pfiester easily trots into second, while Kling comes around to score. The official scorer gives you an error on the play. The crowd boos your mercilessly. You even hear "bonehead" mixed in with the jeers. Mr. McGraw leaves the dugout to pull you from the game, a grave step when taken in the middle of an inning. Snodgrass goes out to replace you at first.

"I don't know where your head is, Merkle, but it ain't in the game. Go hit the showers. It'll be a long time before you start again in this league," McGraw growls.

The one-run lead holds up: Cubs 2, Giants 1 is the final score, and the Cubs are now in first place.
You examine Herzog
Buck's another rookie, but he's played quite a bit more than you this year. He's filling in today for Larry Doyle, who usually mans the keystone for the Giants. Kind of a cocky fellow, and tends to grate on the opposing players' nerves.

"Matty, get ready to help out if the bunt is right at you." With that, Hank O'Day starts lumbering towards the mound to break up the conference and get the game moving.
You go back
(to Giants' Dugout)
Weren't you listening to Bresnahan? You need to field your position, which is first base.

You stand a few steps behind and to the right of first base, wearing your glove, and ready to field your position should the ball come your way. Matty is on the mound, looking in at Bresnahan behind the plate. To your right is Buck Herzog, the second baseman. The cranks along the first base line are almost close enough to touch. They're certainly close enough to hear.

Johnny Kling is here, taking a short lead off first base.

Across the diamond, Devlin creeps up towards home plate. Herzog notices you not doing the same. He flashes you a look as if to say, Can't you follow instructions, Merkle? Well, it's too late now.

Matty sets and delivers. The pitch rides up high and tight to Pfiester. There's nothing he can do with that pitch, but he tries to bunt anyway. The result is a two-hopper, straight to Matty. Looks like you've covering first base after all. Kling takes off for second, and Pfiester heads to first, disgusted. Instead of a sacrifice bunt, it's looking like a double play. The cranks along the sidelines are screaming "Two! Two!".

Matty wheels around 180 degrees just as Bridwell reaches the bag. He fires. Bridwell takes the throw and sweeps his foot across the bag, just as Kling comes bearing down on him. One out. He steps to the outfield side of the bag, and gets set to throw the ball to you, to complete the double play.
You step off the bag
You take your foot off the bag, in an attempt to snare the errant throw from Bridwell. It's now within reach.

Bridwell turns, but sees that you're not covering first. He just holds on to the ball, and Pfiester reaches on a fielder's choice.

The crowd boos your mercilessly. You even hear "bonehead" mixed in with the jeers. Mr. McGraw leaves the dugout to pull you from the game, a grave step when taken in the middle of an inning. Snodgrass goes out to replace you at first.

"I don't know where your head is, Merkle, but it ain't in the game. Go hit the showers. It'll be a long time before you start again in this league," McGraw growls.
Creep
The ball was not hit to you. At this point, you need to cover first.

Bridwell throws off-balance as he tries to get out of Kling's way.
Even as it leaves his hand, you can see that it's starting to tail toward the home plate side of the bag. It's still a little ways off, but you can tell that it's going to be a real stretch to field this cleanly when it arrives. Time seems to slow down, as the image of a botched play flashes before you.
You get the ball
When it's thrown to you, and when it's in range of your glove, you can CATCH it.

Pfiester is racing down the line as fast as he can, as the ball follows its errant arc, as near your glove as it's going to get. The Polo Grounds faithful gasp. It's going to be a tough play.
You catch the ball
Bridwell's throw is too far off-line for you to catch it while keeping your foot on the bag. It skips past you, ricochets off the tarpaulin, and bounces halfway up the right field line. Pfiester easily trots into second, while Kling comes around to score. The official scorer gives an error to Bridwell on the play.

The one-run lead holds up: Cubs 2, Giants 1 is the final score, and the Cubs are now in first place. From a team standpoint, this is obviously a disaster. Personally, though, this is a godsend. You played a role in the debacle, but Bridwell is the goat, not you. You play the rest of your career, and live the rest of your life, as a solid, unremarkable, unremembered ballplayer.
You go to second
Weren't you listening to Bresnahan? You need to field your position, which is first base.

You stand a few steps behind and to the right of first base, wearing your glove, and ready to field your position should the ball come your way. Matty is on the mound, looking in at Bresnahan behind the plate. To your right is Buck Herzog, the second baseman. The cranks along the first base line are almost close enough to touch. They're certainly close enough to hear.

Pfiester is racing down the line as fast as he can, as the ball follows its errant arc, as near your glove as it's going to get. The Polo Grounds faithful gasp. It's going to be a tough play.
You jump
You jump on the spot, fruitlessly.

The ball sails by as you make no attempt to catch it, ricochets off the tarpaulin, and rolls halfway up the right field line. Pfiester easily trots into second, while Kling comes around to score. The official scorer gives you an error on the play. The crowd boos your mercilessly. You even hear "bonehead" mixed in with the jeers. Mr. McGraw leaves the dugout to pull you from the game, a grave step when taken in the middle of an inning. Snodgrass goes out to replace you at first.

"I don't know where your head is, Merkle, but it ain't in the game. Go hit the showers. It'll be a long time before you start again in this league," McGraw growls.

The one-run lead holds up: Cubs 2, Giants 1 is the final score, and the Cubs are now in first place.
You step on the bag
You plant your right foot on the bag, and extend your gloved left hand out as a target for the throw from Bridwell.

The ball sails by as you make no attempt to catch it, ricochets off the tarpaulin, and rolls halfway up the right field line. Pfiester easily trots into second, while Kling comes around to score. The official scorer gives you an error on the play. The crowd boos your mercilessly. You even hear "bonehead" mixed in with the jeers. Mr. McGraw leaves the dugout to pull you from the game, a grave step when taken in the middle of an inning. Snodgrass goes out to replace you at first.

"I don't know where your head is, Merkle, but it ain't in the game. Go hit the showers. It'll be a long time before you start again in this league," McGraw growls.

The one-run lead holds up: Cubs 2, Giants 1 is the final score, and the Cubs are now in first place.
You go to first Base
You probably want to listen to this.

This is the pitcher's mound. It rises to a height of about fifteen inches to give the pitcher a better angle from which to throw. In the old days, the hurler had a chalk-outlined box on level ground, and could throw the ball from anywhere inside that area. (Thus the expression, "knocked out of the box", when a pitcher is hit hard by the opposing team.)  Nowadays the pitcher must throw from the pitching rubber.

Home plate is west; second base is east; first base is south; and third base is north.

You can see a rosin bag here.

He then turns to Bridwell and Herzog. "Al, you cover second. Fred, if you field the bunt, Buck will cover first for you. Otherwise, you cover first as usual."
You examine bag
A small white bag filled with a powdered tree resin. Rosin is dry and just a little bit sticky. Pitchers use it to get a better grip on the ball when their hands get slick.

"Matty, get ready to help out if the bunt is right at you." With that, Hank O'Day starts lumbering towards the mound to break up the conference and get the game moving.
You get the resin
You pick up the rosin bag and toss it a couple of times. Your hands are now dusted with rosin, making them very faintly sticky.

Bresnahan wraps things up. "OK, everyone know what they're doing?"
The other fellows all nod their assent. Bresnahan heads back behind the plate, and Matty gives you a quick wink. The other infielders, including you, move back to their original positions.

You stand a few steps behind and to the right of first base, wearing your glove, and ready to field your position should the ball come your way. Matty is on the mound, looking in at Bresnahan behind the plate. To your right is Buck Herzog, the second baseman. The cranks along the first base line are almost close enough to touch. They're certainly close enough to hear.

Johnny Kling is here, taking a short lead off first base.

Matty steps on the rubber. He looks in at Bresnahan, who flashes the signs. Matty nods, and sets. He gives a quick look back at Kling, to make sure he's not taking a big lead. Then he begins his windup. Pfiester starts to square around to bunt, holding his bat right out in front of him to deaden the ball.
You creep up
You and Devlin take a few steps towards home plate to pounce on Pfiester's bunt, should it come your way.

Matty sets and delivers. The pitch rides up high and tight to Pfiester. There's nothing he can do with that pitch, but he tries to bunt anyway. The result is a two-hopper, straight to Matty. Looks like you've covering first base after all. Kling takes off for second, and Pfiester heads to first, disgusted. Instead of a sacrifice bunt, it's looking like a double play. The cranks along the sidelines are screaming "Two! Two!".

Matty wheels around 180 degrees just as Bridwell reaches the bag. He fires. Bridwell takes the throw and sweeps his foot across the bag, just as Kling comes bearing down on him. One out. He steps to the outfield side of the bag, and gets set to throw the ball to you, to complete the double play.
You step on the bag
(the bag)
You're already stepping on it.

Bridwell throws off-balance as he tries to get out of Kling's way.
Even as it leaves his hand, you can see that it's starting to tail toward the home plate side of the bag. It's still a little ways off, but you can tell that it's going to be a real stretch to field this cleanly when it arrives. Time seems to slow down, as the image of a botched play flashes before you.
You step off the bag
(the bag)
You take your foot off the bag, in an attempt to snare the errant throw from Bridwell. It's now within reach.

Pfiester is racing down the line as fast as he can, as the ball follows its errant arc, as near your glove as it's going to get. The Polo Grounds faithful gasp. It's going to be a tough play.
You examine the ball
It's a somewhat misshapen sphere of filthy horsehide tied with yarn, wrapped around a rubber and cork center. Filthy and misshapen, because the same ball is used for nearly the entire game. Foul balls are retrieved from the stands whenever possible. Pitchers coat the thing with dirt, tobacco juice, pine tar, whatever is available, to make it more difficult to hit. Late in a game, with the shadows advancing on the field, the ball can become nigh-invisible to a hitter. And nobody, except Bresnahan, wears a batting helmet.

He then turns to Bridwell and Herzog. "Al, you cover second. Fred, if you field the bunt, Buck will cover first for you. Otherwise, you cover first as usual."
You put the resin on the ball
(first taking the rosin bag)

You pick up the rosin bag and toss it a couple of times. Your hands are now dusted with rosin, making them very faintly sticky.
You need to be holding the rosin bag before you can put it on top of something else.

"Matty, get ready to help out if the bunt is right at you." With that, Hank O'Day starts lumbering towards the mound to break up the conference and get the game moving.
You get ball
When it's thrown to you, and when it's in range of your glove, you can CATCH it.

Bresnahan wraps things up. "OK, everyone know what they're doing?"
The other fellows all nod their assent. Bresnahan heads back behind the plate, and Matty gives you a quick wink. The other infielders, including you, move back to their original positions.

You stand a few steps behind and to the right of first base, wearing your glove, and ready to field your position should the ball come your way. Matty is on the mound, looking in at Bresnahan behind the plate. To your right is Buck Herzog, the second baseman. The cranks along the first base line are almost close enough to touch. They're certainly close enough to hear.

Johnny Kling is here, taking a short lead off first base.

Matty steps on the rubber. He looks in at Bresnahan, who flashes the signs. Matty nods, and sets. He gives a quick look back at Kling, to make sure he's not taking a big lead. Then he begins his windup. Pfiester starts to square around to bunt, holding his bat right out in front of him to deaden the ball.
You touch ball
The ball isn't within reach.

Bresnahan wraps things up. "OK, everyone know what they're doing?"
The other fellows all nod their assent. Bresnahan heads back behind the plate, and Matty gives you a quick wink. The other infielders, including you, move back to their original positions.

You stand a few steps behind and to the right of first base, wearing your glove, and ready to field your position should the ball come your way. Matty is on the mound, looking in at Bresnahan behind the plate. To your right is Buck Herzog, the second baseman. The cranks along the first base line are almost close enough to touch. They're certainly close enough to hear.

Johnny Kling is here, taking a short lead off first base.

Matty steps on the rubber. He looks in at Bresnahan, who flashes the signs. Matty nods, and sets. He gives a quick look back at Kling, to make sure he's not taking a big lead. Then he begins his windup. Pfiester starts to square around to bunt, holding his bat right out in front of him to deaden the ball.
You get the rosin
You pick up the rosin bag and toss it a couple of times. Your hands are now dusted with rosin, making them very faintly sticky.

He then turns to Bridwell and Herzog. "Al, you cover second. Fred, if you field the bunt, Buck will cover first for you. Otherwise, you cover first as usual."
Tie shoes
You double-knot your spikes. With the rosin on your hands, and now on the laces, you feel pretty confident that they will finally stay tied.

"Matty, get ready to help out if the bunt is right at you." With that, Hank O'Day starts lumbering towards the mound to break up the conference and get the game moving.
You catch the ball
The ball isn't within reach.

Bridwell throws off-balance as he tries to get out of Kling's way.
Even as it leaves his hand, you can see that it's starting to tail toward the home plate side of the bag. It's still a little ways off, but you can tell that it's going to be a real stretch to field this cleanly when it arrives. Time seems to slow down, as the image of a botched play flashes before you.
Swing early to the the opposite field
You offer at the pitch, but it's got late movement. You get a piece of it, fouling it off. O'Day pumps his fist to indicate a strike.

Pfiester gets the ball back as the din of the crowd grows ever louder.
Wait
Time passes.

Pfiester begins his delivery. As he reaches the top of his motion, you notice he is grasping the ball with two fingers spread out on top of the ball and his thumb tucked underneath. The ball tails away to the outer half of the plate, with tight backspin.
Swing early to the the opposite field
You offer at the pitch, but it's got late movement. You get a piece of it, fouling it off. O'Day pumps his fist to indicate a strike.

The crowd roars, trying to get you a hit through sheer force of will.
You wait for a while
Time passes.

Pfiester winds up. When he comes to a set position, you can see that what looks like a fastball grip. The pitch flutters toward the inside part of the plate with a sort of loose backspin.
Swing late to pull
You wave at the offering, but it's too far outside the strike zone. A swing and a miss. Strike three.

The official scorer marks a "K" for a strikeout. Kling hands the ball to O'Day and the Cubs head to the dugout, all smiles.

In the tenth, Chance leads off with a double, Steinfeldt advances him to third on a groundout to Herzog, Hofman flies out, but then Tinker strikes again. He raps a single to left, Chance scores, and the Cubs win. They're now in first place in the National League, and never surrender it.

Your failure in the ninth is painful, but short-lived. Everyone strikes out sometimes. Two days from now, no one will remember the details of what happened in the ninth inning.
Wait
Time passes.

You let the pitch go by. It's well out of the strike zone. "Ball one!," yells O'Day.

Pfiester gets the ball back as the din of the crowd grows ever louder.
You wait
Time passes.

Pfiester begins his delivery. As he reaches the top of his motion, you notice what looks like a fastball grip. The ball flutters toward the inside part of the plate with a sort of loose backspin.
You look
Though the bugs are screaming, and there's a runner on first, and a dugout full of teammates cheering you on, and two umpires and eight other Cubs arrayed in front of you, your field of vision is narrowed to the one man on the hill. It's just you and Jack.

You let the pitch go by. It's well out of the strike zone. "Ball two!," yells O'Day.

The crowd roars, trying to get you a hit through sheer force of will.
You wait
Time passes.

Pfiester winds up. During his windup, you can see that he's gripping the ball with three fingers spread out on top. The pitch tails away to the outer half of the plate, with what might be backspin.
Swing late to the the opposite field
It's an off-speed pitch on the outer half of the plate. You draw your hands back, step with your left foot, and swing. There's a satisfying THWOCK sound: you got good wood on it. The ball shoots between Evers and Chance into right-center. It's a clean single! The crowd erupts. McCormick takes off towards second base.
You run to first
You race to first base, tossing the bat aside en route. You make a wide turn, but there is no point in trying to stretch this into a double. Your run doesn't count. You settle in at first as the Polo Grounds cranks cheer wildly for you. McCormick makes it all the way to third. The winning run is only ninety feet away.

You're a few steps off first base, this time as a baserunner. The cranks nearby are singing your praises.

First and third, two outs. Frank Chance, the Cubs' manager and first baseman, stands next to you, keeping you close to the base. Al Bridwell steps up to the plate. In the on-deck circle, Matty gives you a congratulatory nod.

For the first time this inning, you exhale. You've done your part, kept the inning alive, put the winning run in scoring position. Everything is right with the world.

Pfiester and Kling agree on the pitch. You take a few steps off first in anticipation. Maybe a few too many steps. You catch Bridwell's eye, and he looks at you as if to say, Are you nuts, Merkle? Where are you going? Pfiester steps off the rubber, and you scamper back to first.
You step off the bag
But you aren't on the bag.

The crowd roars, cheering on Bridwell as he gets set for the pitch.
You wait awhile
Time passes.

Pfiester winds, kicks and delivers. Bridwell swings -- it's a hit! McCormick starts racing home with the winning run, and the cranks go insane. They start pouring onto the field, whooping in celebration, hoping to touch the idols of the Polo Grounds in the fading afternoon light.

You are halfway to second base when Bridwell reaches first, and Matty and McGraw greet McCormick at home. The roar from the crowd is deafening, and the field is swarming with the faithful. The scene is utter chaos.
You go to second
Go to second base, you say? Oh, the thousands of times you have wished this, lying awake, pleading with God, anyone, to let you go to second base. It has tormented you for decades. You would trade anything you've ever had, except your family, to go to second base.
But it's a trade you can't make.
You exit
You step out onto the field, for the first time in years, and survey the lovely, if crumbling, horseshoe-shaped park. You brace for the worst.

Then, something shocking and beautiful happens. The crowd rises to their feet, and they cheer. No boos, no heckling, no insults. Just cheers and applause and love for you, Fred Merkle. You wipe a tear away, and trot towards first base.

Maybe Mr. Durocher was wrong.