October 19, 1902 Washington Post “Rube” Waddell’s Exploits A few days ago a game of baseball was to be played between the Camden and Gloucester amateur teams. It was game for supremacy on the Jersey shore of the Delaware. Both teams were keyed up to high ambition—an ambition born only of jealous rivalry. Each city had its crack-a-jack club, and they were to come together for a final and decisive combat. Upon the result of that game would rest the laurels of championship. But Gloucester tried to be foxy by engaging a crack amateur pitcher—none other than “Cy” Cummings, who had been tried in the big league games but was not quite good enough. “Cy” was the man for the place. He could mow down the amateur batters like a harvester levels ripened grain. The tip went around that “Cy” was to do the strong-arm stuff for Gloucester, and there was much speculation as to what “Cy” would do to Camden. The joke was too good, however, and it leaked outside the channels of the Gloucester contingent. Their rivals heard of it and they proceeded to beat Gloucester at their own game. The Camdenites were nonplussed as to where go get a pitcher better than Cummings. Some one suggested “Rube” Waddell. The idea was a happy one. A search was made for the “Rube,” and he was found. The “Rube was just starting on a fishing campaign. He was adorned with miniature horseshoes studded with diamonds, rings, and pins flashing like searchlights, all evidences of the esteem in which he is held by the fans in Quakertown. Waddell had a rod and reel tucked under his arm, and the cork of his bait box protruded from an inside pocket. He was told the mission of the Camden ball players. The idea struck “Rube.” If there is one thing he likes better than fishing, it is a baseball duel, and here was his chance. “Rube” divested himself of superfluous adornments and his fishing tackle—all but the bait—it was ten years old, and would not spoil. The game was on. Camden to the bat. Cummings sent them to the bench in one, two, three order. “Cy” looked like the autocrat of the game, and the skeeterites from Gloucester thought so, too. Their confidence was great. But the “Rube” had not yet been unfolded. The umpire called up the first Gloucester batter. All the Camden players were in position except the slab man. There was a little anxiety, but not with Camden. The great “Rube” threw off his disguise and walked to the box. The consternation of the Gloucester contingent could only be measured by the tumultuous merriment of the Camden crowd. The tune had changed. “Rube” was recognized by every one on the lot, and they knew of his prowess. The “Rube” did the trick. He was a little wild—hitting five batsmen—but that may have been caused by lugging that bait. Safe hits were as scarce as well-stocked coal bins. Gloucester got two and that was all. But “Cy” Cummings had some benders up his sleeves, too. He was slamming them over in his best style. The final turn at bat came for Camden. The scored stood 1 to 1. Waddell went to the plate and made a two-bagger. He stole third, and while Cummings was folding himself up to fan out the next batter, the “Rube” stole home with the winning run. Then he went a-fishing. The champion Athletics played an exhibition game with the famous Brandywine club at the end of the regular season. A great crowd of loyal rooters was present. Every favorite—and all were favorites—were given a turn in the game to be seen and get glad hands and presents. Waddell, the great luminary, was saved for the last act. All the other pitchers had taken a short turn on the slab. “Rube’s” cue came in the eighth inning. The first batter to face him made a hit. “Rube” was chagrined, mortified. His lip curled and his face twitched. He wrapped that powerful arm up for his best effort. The next two batters walked to the bench. They had hit only the air. The third victim batted out a fly. While it was being taken care of the “Rube” turned to the man who made the hit and said: “I see you are still here.” He did not have a chance to move from first. In the last inning the first batter up struck out. So did the next one. Then he called all his team mates up the pitcher’s box except the catcher. Why did he did this no one knew but Waddell. The told the players to take seats on the bench and he would finish the game himself. And he did. The man at the bat made three vicious swipes at the ball, and all was over. That night Waddell rode on a hay wagon in a parade before thousands upon thousands of his loyal admirers. He was greater than William Penn
Posted on: Sun, 19 Oct 2014 18:15:08 +0000
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