2 May 1903
The season is young and the fans in the District think they have the makings of a special team.
Senators 4 Highlander’s 3
Cold windy day, some said more fitted for football. Highball Wilson did not look strong, but he mixed slow and fast curves, with an occasional bit of speed, and managed to keep the Highlanders hits scattered. Barney Wolfe of last year’s Kansas City team was not batted hard, but the Senators hit him at important times. The fielding at times was sensational. The best play was a running catch by Herm McFarland in the third inning. Ed Delehanty hit the ball, so it was not necessary to say how far McFarland had to run to gather it in. Rabbit Robinson of the Senators is not an imposing figure at shortstop, but his fielding is definitely fast. Umpires Tom Connolly, Bob Caruthers. Time 1:59.
Update. Gene DeMontreville is in sad shape. Charley Moran is even worse shape. Demontreville’s tendon has been torn from the flesh under the knee; he has been compelled to keep at his work, although his every move occasions him the most excruciating agony. Moran is much in the same predicament. Yet the conditions can’t be bettered, and the team goes along in its crippled state, fattening its lost column and plunging the loyal local fans into a slough of despair.
Joe Martin is a lively youngster, was engaged as a substitute for the outfield. So far he has had no opportunity to demonstrate his worth, save in one game, when he batted in the ninth inning for Happy Townsend, lining out a slashing single. Martin says he played second base, and with a little practice would feel thoroughly at home at that position.
Heard in the Bleachers Nearby sat a couple of South Washington sports, fresh from the hands of a barber, who has perfumed them within an inch of their lives, after possible applying a saucer to the back of their heads, and carefully cropping their hair all around it, their paving stone vocabulary clearly indenting their stamping grounds. At left sat a young dry goods clerk, who had doubtless resorted to the time honor subterfuge, to gain an afternoon off, while next to him was seated a burly chap, who gnawed ravenously at a huge plug of black tobacco, spit and swore and swore and spit, regardless of the close proximity of those around him.
Colonel Lee was in the box, and when it became manifest that Wyatt was up in the air the burly one gave the reporter a jab in the ribs which nearly put him out of business and then opened up:
“Say, what you think of dem Senators?” and before a reply could be made he continued,
“Just look at do mutt on de slab; he can’t git’em over. What you trying to do Lee? De plate ain’t up in de grandstand. Dat feller is dead stuck on hisself. Anybody would think he was a Bowery actor de way he struts about de field.”
Just then a screaming triple was laced out to center and after relieving himself of a mouthful of tobacco, which trickled down the dry goods clerk’s back, he jumped to his feet and whooped it up like a Comanche chief.
“Take him out Loftus! Take him out! His wing is on de blink today. Take him out! Aw gwan.” His example was soon followed by a large percentage of the sun gods and a wail, long and fervent, went up for Lee’s retirement.
Then the boy with the tobacco habit proceeded to give a long dissertation on how the game should be played.
“Dem guys out dere kin play ball if someone tells ‘em how, but dry ain’t got no head; flies drops between ‘em, and dere ain’t nobody to call ‘em out. Loftus us too busy counting do balls he keeps in dat little satchel at his feet, and Gene, well he’s lame, so you can’t blame him. When dey gits on er base dey are as slow as a ice-cream freezer and ders ain’t nothin’ to it.
“if I was out on de lines I’d wake ‘em up,” and here an oath escaped his tobacco-stained lips that would make your blood run cold.
“I likes to see some ginger in de game, I does. Bang de ball on de nose and den run like —-. Der ain’t nothin’ in dis buntin’ game. Dey ain’t fast enough on their feet for fat. Hit ‘er out; dat’s de stuff.”
“Here comes Townsend. I tought it. I knowed Loftus heard what I said. Now you’ll see some baseball what is baseball. Good eye, Jack! Keep it up! Youse is all right. Who said he was a mutt? I’ll give you a poke in der “
Here the reporter fled.