like blind men with bats in their hands? Why could I beat Cincinnati game after game for two years when the club was filled with hard hitters? It is the psychology of baseball, the mental attitudes of the players, some intangible thing that works on the mind. Managers are learning to use this subtle, indescribable element which is such a factor.

The great question which confronts every Big League manager is how to break a valuable young pitcher into the game. “Rube” Marquard came to the Giants in the fall of 1908 out of the American Association heralded as a world-beater, with a reputation that shimmered and shone. The newspapers were crowded with stories of the man for whom McGraw had paid $11,000, who had been standing them on their heads in the West, who had curves that couldn’t be touched, and was a bargain at the unheard-of price paid for him.

“Rube” Marquard came to the Giants in a burst of glory and publicity when the club was fighting for the pennant. McGraw was up against it for pitchers at that time, and one win, turned in by a young pitcher, might have resulted in the Giants winning the pennant as the season ended.

“Don’t you think Marquard would win? Can’t you put him in?” Mr. Brush, the owner of the club, asked McGraw one day when he was discussing the pitching situation with the manager.

“I don’t know,” answered McGraw. “If he wins his first time out in the Big Leagues, he will be a world-beater, and, if he loses, it may cost us a good pitcher.” But Mr. Brush was insistent. Here a big price had been paid for a pitcher with a record, and pitchers were what the club needed. The newspapers declared that the fans should get a look at this “$11,000 beauty” in action. A double header was scheduled to be played with the Cincinnati club in the month of September, in 1908, and the pitching staff was gone. McGraw glanced over his collection of crippled and worked-out twirlers. Then he saw “Rube” Marquard, big and fresh.

“Go in and pitch,” he ordered after Marquard had warmed up.

McGraw always does things that way, makes up his mind about the most important matters in a minute and then stands by his judgment. Marquard went into the box, but he didn’t pitch much. He has told me about it since.

“When I saw that crowd, Matty,” he said, “I didn’t know where I was. It looked so big to me, and they were all wondering what I was going to do, and all thinking that McGraw had paid $11,000 for me, and now they were to find out whether he had gotten stuck, whether he had picked up a gold brick with the plating on it very thin. I was wondering, myself, whether I would make good.”

What Marquard did that day is a matter of record, public property, like marriage and death notices. Kane, the little rightfielder on the Cincinnati club, was the first man up, and, although he was one of the smallest targets in the league, Marquard hit him. He promptly stole second, which worried “Rube” some more. Up came Lobert, the man who broke Marquard’s heart.

“Now we’ll see,” said Lobert to “Rube,” as he advanced to the plate, “whether you’re a busher.” Then Lobert, the tantalizing Teuton with the bow-legs, whacked out a triple to the far outfield and stopped at third with a mocking smile on his face which would have gotten the late Job’s goat.

“You’re identified,” said “Hans”; “you’re a busher.”

Some fan shouted the fatal “Take him out.” Marquard was gone. Bescher followed with another triple, and, after that, the official scorer got writer’s cramp trying to keep track of the hits and runs. The number of hits, I don’t think, ever was computed with any great amount of exactitude. Marquard was taken out of the box in the fifth inning, and he was two years recovering from the shock of that beating. McGraw had put him into the game against his better judgment, and he paid for it dearly.

Marquard had to be nursed along on the bench finishing games, starting only against easy clubs, and learning the ropes of the Big Leagues before he was able to be a winning pitcher. McGraw was a long time realizing on his investment. All Marquard needed was a victory, a decisive win, over a strong club.