text: > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > get the newspaper
  Taken.
  
  You hear a rumbling from the south. The train is approaching.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > look at the gentleman
  He is a middle-aged man with a professional appearance and friendly demeanor. He's holding a notepad.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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."
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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."
  
  > 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."
  
  > 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."
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.