Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: MONDAY, October 18, 1993 TAG: 9310180006
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: By Jack Bogaczyk STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
I played. It was like a lot of other baseball games I've played, in that I went 0-for-4. Otherwise, it was like no other game I've played.
When VMI's Cadet Club team asked me to play, I was told we would play the game as it was played in the '50s and '60s. Great. That's when I last played the game.
It turns out Keith Gibson, executive director of museum programs at VMI, meant the 1850s and '60s. Still, some of the rules were the same. Three outs in an inning. Nine players to a side. Ninety feet between bases.
There wasn't much else to be recognized. The Ohio Village Muffins, the first team in the nation to play regular seasons of 1860s-style baseball, were the visitors. They were also good, and quite gracious.
It was their first trip south of the Mason-Dixon Line, and guess what? In the shadow of Stonewall Jackson's statue, the North won again.
On the field where VMI played its first baseball in 1867, the Muffins baked us, 14-3. They were historical. We were mostly hysterical. After a seven-run first inning, the Cadet Club played about as respectably as possible, considering I was pitching.
Oh, sorry - I wasn't the pitcher. I was the "hurler." The batter was the "striker." The catcher was called the "behind."
I thought the umpire fit that description better.
When a player scores a run, or an "ace," he reports to the "tallykeeper" next to one foul line, puts his left hand on a table, raises his right hand like he's swearing to something and asks to be tallied.
If he's given permission to count, he rings a bell for the run. You think someone warming up in the bullpen is unnerving to a pitcher? The way that bell kept ringing in the first inning, I thought it was time for dinner in the mess hall.
There I stood, 60 feet 6 inches from the circular home plate, wondering not only how I had gotten myself into this, but also how I would get out of the ding-dong inning.
I was wearing a white, blouse-type jersey, with a blue ribbon bowed around my neck. Fortunately, the woman whistling at me from the stands was my wife. Those uniforms are as close to women's athletics as VMI has gotten.
The rules say the hurler must cross his legs, hold the ball so the striker can see it, and then deliver it where the striker wants it.
There are no called balls, no called strikes. The pitch is delivered underhand. I'd like to see Nolan Ryan work in these conditions. He would have become a rancher and banker many years ago.
The Muffins, from the Ohio Historical Society in Columbus, were playing about their 60th game of the year. The Cadet Club was playing its first. We needed help.
We weren't going to get it from the umpire. I'm not sure why, but I've always been suspicious about teams that travel with their own officiating, as the Muffins do. Sort of like the Harlem Globetrotters.
This umpire didn't have to call pitches, which immediately eliminated any chance I had of getting some of the borderline strikes Jerry Crawford called in the recent National League Championship Series.
The umpire wore gloves, something the players can't do. He carried a cane, and for much of the game, he smoked a cigar. In the handle of his cane, he had a compass, perhaps to help him find the bases. Another twist lower in the cane, he had a flask.
That wasn't tobacco juice he was drinking. Only a team captain can address the umpire; our captain - Ed Merrell, site director of the New Market Battlefield Historical Park - mostly addressed him as "Sir," while laughing.
When the umpire explained the rules before the game, he stressed that there would be no cussing and no spitting. Any occurrences of those "-ings," and the fine would be a quarter.
I asked if he took American Express.
No spitting, no cussing? This is baseball? Heavens to Lenny Dykstra.
The game used to be one of defense. Consider that the first, second and third basemen, as fielders, must stand with at least one foot on the bases until the ball is pitched.
That makes for some nice hitting holes. However, a ball caught on a first bounce, as well as on the fly, is an out. At the same time, any ball that hits in fair territory first, no matter where it lands before it passes a base, is a fair ball.
There is no such thing as "out of play." Fans or spectators are called "cranks." That's also what some of the balls hit off me were.
I thought the description fit the umpire better.
The bats look a bit like ax handles. The balls usually used are made of yarn bound with leather. Because our team was sort of like the 1993 Mets, we played with one of those RIF - Reduced Injury Factor - balls kids use in T-ball.
It's called a gentlemen's game - no sliding, no stealing, no leading off - but the game 130 years ago was already played by the boys of summer.
It was a great experience, although I had to type this one-handed after fielding that fifth-inning one-hopper. I learned more about the game's origins in two hours than I would have in a trip to Cooperstown.
There's one thing I'm still wondering about. In my last at-bat, I hit a foul pop that bounced toward a line of vehicles parked on the side of the parade ground.
The Muffins chased the ball, after their fans did, and one of them retrieved it from the luggage rack of a van. Since it hadn't hit the ground, the first-bounce out rule was called by the umpire.
However, since no one had heard of Henry Ford in the 1860s, and vans didn't appear until after the St. Louis Browns had moved to Baltimore, how could I be out?
The umpire called the van "a carriage." I wanted to spit, but I'd already paid one of Merrell's earlier fines with my only quarter.
Personally, I think I was cranked.
by CNB