FINLEY PETER DUNNE
“D’ye iver go to a baseball game?” asked Mr. Hennessy.
“Not now,” said Mr. Dooley. “I haven’t got th’ intellick f’r it. Whin I was a young fellow nathin’ plazed me betther thin to go out to th’ ball grounds, get a good cosy seat in th’ sun, take off me collar an’ coat an’ buy a bottle iv pop, not so much, mind ye, f’r th’ refrishment, because I niver was much on pop, as to have something handy to reprove th’ empire with whin he give an eeronyous decision. Not only that, me boy, but I was a fine amachure ballplayer mesilf I was first baseman iv th’ Prairie Wolves whin we beat th’ nine iv Injine Company Five be a scoor iv four hundherd an’ eight to three hundherd an’ twinty-five. It was very close. Th’ game started just afther low mass on a Sundah mornin’ an’ was called on account iv darkness at th’ end iv th’ fourth inning. I knocked th’ ball over th’ fence into Donovan’s coal yard no less thin twelve times. All this talk about this here young fellow Baker makes me smile. Whin I was his age I wudden’t counf annything but home-runs. If it wasn’t a home-run I’d say: ‘Don’t mark it down’ an’ go back an’ have another belt at th’ ball. Thim were th’ days.
“We usen’t to think base-ball was a science. No man was very good at it that was good at annything else. A young fellow that had a clear eye in his head an’ a sthrong pair iv legs undher him an’ that was onaisy in th’ close atmosphere iv th’ school room, an’ didn’t like th’ profissyon iv plumbing was like as not to join a ball team. He come home in th’ fall with a dimon in his shirt front an’ a pair iv hands on him that looked like th’ boughs iv a three that’s been sthruck be lightenin’ and he was th’ hero in th’ neighborhood till his dimon melted an’ he took to drivin’ a thruck. But ’tis far different nowadays. To be a ball-player a man has to have a joynt intilleck. Inside base-ball, th’ paapers calls it, is so deep that it’d give brain fever to a pro-fissor iv asthronomy to thry to figure it out. Each wan iv these here mathymatical janiuses has to carry a thousand mysteeryous signals in his head an’ they’re changed ivry day an’ sometimes in the middle iv th’ game. I’m so sorry f’r th’ poor fellows. In th’ old days whin they were through with th’ game they’d maybe sthray over to th’ Dutchman’s f’r a pint iv beer. Now they hurry home to their study an’ spind th’ avnin’ poorin’ over books iv allgibera an’ thrigynomethry.
“How do I know? Hogan was in here last night with an article on th’ ‘Mysthries iv Baseball.’ It’s be a larned man. Here it is: Th’ ordhinary observer or lunk-head who knows nawthin’ about base-ball excipt what he learned be playin’ it, has no idee that th’ game as played to-day is wan iv th’ most inthricate sciences known to mankind. In th’ first place th’ player must have an absolute masthry iv th’ theery iv ballistic motion. This is especially true iv th’ pitcher. A most exact knowledge is mathymatics is required f’r th’ position. What is vulgarly known as th’ spitball on account iv th’ homely way in which th’ op’rator procures his effects is in fact a solution iv wan iv th’ most inthricate problems in mechanics. Th’ purpose iv th’ pitcher is to project th’ projectyle so that at a pint between his position an’ th’ batsman th’ tindincy to pr-ceed on its way will be countheracted be an impulse to return whence it come. Th’ purpose iv th’ batsman is, afther judgin’ be scientific methods th’ probable coorse or thrajecthry iv th’ missile, to oppose it with sufficyent foorce at th’ proper moment an’ at th’ most efficient point, first to retard its forward movement, thin to correct th’ osseylations an’ fin’ly to propel it in a direction approximately opposite fr’m its original progress. This, I am informed, is technically known as ‘bustin’ th’ ball on th’ nose (or bugle).’ In a gr-reat number iv cases which I observed th’ experiment iv th’ batsman failed an’ th’ empire was obliged so to declare, th’ ball havin’ actually crossed th’ plate but eluded th’ (intended) blow. In other cases where no blow was attimpted or aven meditated I noted that th’ empire erred an’ in gin’ral I must deplore an astonishin’ lack in thrained scientific observation on th’ part iv this officyal. He made a number iv grievous blundhers an’ I was not surprised to larn fr’m a gintleman who set next to me that he (th’ empire) had spint th’ arly part iv his life as a fish in the Mammoth Cave iv Kentucky. I thried me best to show me disapproval iv his unscientific an’ infamous methods be hittin’ him over th’ head with me umbrella as he left th’ grounds. At th’ request iv th’ iditor iv th’ magazine I intherviewed Misther Bugs Mulligan th’ pitcher iv th’ Kangaroos afther th’ game. I found th’ cillybrated expert in th’ rotundy iv th’ Grand Palace Hotel where he was settin’ with other players polishin’ his finger nails. I r-read him my notes on th’ game an’ he expressed his approval addin’ with a show at laste iv enthusyasm: ‘Bo, ye have a head like a dhrum.’ I requested him to sign th’ foregoin’ statement but he declined remarkin’ that th’ last time he wrote his name he sprained his wrist an’ was out iv the game f’r a week.
“What’d I be doin’ at th’ likes iv a game like that? I’d come away with a narvous headache. No, sir, whin I take a day off, I take a day off. I’m not goin’ to a base-ball game. I’m goin’ to take a bag iv peanuts an’ spind an afthemoon at th’ chimical labrytory down at th’ colledge where there’s something goin’ on I can undherstand.”
“Oh, sure,” said Mr. Hennessy, “if ’twas as mysteryous as all that how cud Tom Donahue’s boy Petie lam it that was fired fr’m th’ Brothers School because he cuddn’t add? ... “
“Annyhow ’tis a gr-rand game, Hinnissy, whether ’tis played th’ way th’ pro-fissor thinks or th’ way Petie lamed to play it in th’ backyard an’ I shuddn’t wondher if it’s th’ way he’s still playin’. Th’ two grreat American spoorts are a good deal alike polyticks an’ baseball. They’re both played be pro-fissyonals, th’ teams ar-re r-run be fellows that cuddn’t throw a base-ball or stuff a ballot box to save their lives an’ ar-re on’y intherested in countin’ up th’ gate receipts, an’ here ar-re we settin’ out in the sun on th’ bleachin’ booards, payin’ our good money f’r th’ spoort, hot an’ uncomfortable but happy, injying ivry good play, hottin’ ivry bad wan, knowin’ nathin’ about th’ inside play an’ not carin’, but all jinin’ in th’ cry iv ‘Kill th’ empire.’ They’re both grand games.”
“Speakin’ iv polyticks,” said Mr. Hennessy, “who d’ye think’ll be ilicted?”
“Afther lookin’ th’ candydates over,” said Mr. Dooley, “an’ studyin’ their qualifications carefully I can’t thruthfully say that I see a prisidintial possibility in sight.”