himself to be tagged and he could not go back, so he made
that historic slide which was heard almost around the world, cut off
several yards of Frank Baker's trousers, and more important than the
damage to the uniform, lost us the game.

Snodgrass had the jump in his first start, and if he had kept right on
going he would have made the bag without the aid of the passed ball, in my
opinion. But he did not know that he had this advantage and was on his way
back, when it looked for a minute as if the Athletics' catcher had made a
mistake. This really turned out to be the "break" in the game, for it was
on that passed ball that Snodgrass was put out. He would probably have
scored the run which would have won the game had he lived either on second
or third base, for a hit followed.

After losing the contest after watching the opportunity thrown away, some
fan called me on the telephone that night, when I was feeling in anything
but a conversational mood, and asked me:

"Was that passed ball this afternoon part of the Athletics' inside game?
Did Lapp do it on purpose?"

In passing I want to put in a word for Snodgrass, not because he is a
team-mate of mine, but on account of the criticism which he received for
spiking Baker, and which was not deserved. And in that word I do not want
to detract from Baker's reputation a scintilla, if I could, for he is a
great ball-player. But I want to say that if John Murray had ever been
called upon to slide into that bag with Baker playing it as he did, Baker
would probably have been found cut in halves, and only Murray's own style
of coasting would have been responsible for it. If Fred Clarke of
Pittsburg had been the man coming in, Baker would probably have been
neatly cut into thirds, one third with each foot.

Clarke is known as one of the most wicked sliders in the National League.
He jumps into the air and spreads his feet apart, showing his spikes as he
comes in. The Giants were playing in Pittsburg several years ago, before I
was married, and there was a friend of mine at the ball park with whom I
was particularly eager to make a hit. The game was close, as are all
contests which lend themselves readily to an anecdote, and Clarke got as
far as third base in the eighth inning, with the score tied and two out.
Warner, the Giants' catcher, let one get past him and I ran in to cover
the plate. Clarke came digging for home and, as I turned to touch him, he
slid and cut my trousers