What Tim Hurst says places a somewhat different version upon the affair, states the Cincinnati Enquirer. He says the glass which he threw into the crowd, and which struck Cartuyvelles, hit him upon the foot as it rolled over the ground. Tim also asserts that a second glass was hurled from the grand stand, and fell upon the field where he could see it. “The two coming so closely together,” said Hurst last night, “rattled me. To tell you the truth, I lost my temper. However, I thought the matter over, and decided that the proper time to act had arrived. I did not want to be at one end of a glass hurling match. So I picked up the glass that had struck my foot and cut loose. My intention was to hit the backstop, and I hoped in this way to scare any one who contemplated starting an assault upon me. The glass missed the backstop, and, going about a foot to one side, struck the spectator. I was horrified to see it, and I greatly regret having thrown the glass at all. I did not mean to hit anyone, and did not know from what direction the glass was thrown at me. In justice to myself, I must say that I meant no harm. I only wanted to avert such an experience as Sheridan was subjected to when he was rotten-egged at St. Louis, and later at Chicago. It’s all right to talk about calling a policeman and having this or that person put off the ground, but it is not such an easy task to get a policeman when he is most needed. There are two things for which the average man has no consideration. They are a dog with a tin can tied to his tail and an umpire. Take, for instance, the case of poor Jack Sheridan. It was that St. Louis egging that started him down the toboggan. This was what was uppermost in my mind when I saw those two glasses thrown upon the field, and I did not intend to stand idly by and do nothing to defend myself. I am very sorry that the thing came up, and I hope that it is the last scene of its kind that I ever figure in upon a ball field.”
In the Base Notes column of a local paper after the above article was written is this entry, “It is said that umpire Sheridan anxiously inquires the price of eggs in every city he visits nowadays.”
We will leave the final word with the Chicago Post, “While the rules give the umpire more power, the handlers of the indicator seem to have more trouble than ever before. The principal reason for this is that the magnates have not given the umpires their moral support. “When an umpire enforces the rules on players he is immediately protested by the club that gets the short end of it. Is it a wonder that umpires weaken under such continued attacks? The lockup has at last overtaken that pugnacious, fiery-tempered, and tyrannical little umpire, Tim Hurst. President Nick Young, of the National League, should have fifty Andrew Freedman’s after him if he permits Hurst to go back upon the diamond after yesterday’s disgraceful exhibition. Hurst hurled a beer glass into the grandstand at Cincinnati and seriously wounded a patron of the game innocent of any wrongdoing. Hurst is a product of the prize ring. His real level appears to be acting as a referee in mills, and he has always umpired games with a page of Marquis of Queensbury rules in mind. His language to players is of the coarsest and his pugnacious temperament has always acted upon excitable players as a red shirt waved before a bull. The National League could well afford to get along without Hurst, Sheridan and Sandy McDermott.”
