ould not run, and it took a hit to
advance him a base. Get a fast man on behind him and, because the rules of
the game do not permit one runner to pass another, it was like having a
freight train preceding the Twentieth Century Limited on a single track
road. Hickman was not so slow when he first started, but after a while his
legs went bad and his weight increased, so that he was built like a box
car, to carry out the railroad figure.

Hickman finally dropped back into the minor leagues and continued to bat
three hundred, but he had to lose the ball to make the journey clear
around the bases on one wallop. Once he hit the old flag pole in centre
field at the Polo Grounds on the fly, and just did nose the ball out at
the plate. It was a record hit for distance. At last, while still
maintaining the three-hundred pace, Hickman was dropped by the Toledo club
of the American Association.

"Why did you let Charley Hickman go?" I asked the manager one day.

"Because he was tyin' up traffic on the bases," he replied.

Merkle is not a particularly fast runner, but he is a great base stealer
because he has acquired the knack of "getting away." He never tries to
steal until he has his start. He is also a good arriver, as I have pointed
out. It was like getting a steamroller in motion to start Hickman.

Clever ball-players and managers are always trying to evolve new
base-running tactics that will puzzle the other team, but "there ain't no
new stuff." It is a case of digging up the old ones. Pitchers are also
earnest in their endeavors to discover improved ways to stop base
running. Merkle and I worked out a play during the spring training season
in 1911 which caught perhaps a dozen men off first base before the other
teams began to watch for the trick. And it was not original with me. I got
the idea from "Patsy" Flaherty, a Boston pitcher who has his salary wing
fastened to his left side.

Flaherty would pitch over to first base quickly, and the fielder would
shoot the ball back. Then Flaherty would pop one through to the batter,
often catching him off his guard, and sneaking a strike over besides
leaving the runner flat on the ground in the position in which he had been
when he slid back to the bag. If the batter hit the ball, the runner was
in no attitude to get a start, and, on an infield tap, it was easy to make
a double play.

The next time that the man got on base, Flaherty would shoot the ball over
to first as befor