Ball!

Ball

Northward from Florida and Texas, eastward from the storm-drenched purlieus of Los Angeles they go -- 500 leather-cheeked, great-knuckled athletes, members of the 16 "big" league teams, presumably the best baseball players in the world. For two months they have been practising; playing exhibition games under the languid unimportant gaze of winter traveler and native, under the sharply appraising eye of owner, manager, scribe. Then northward, eastward they go for careful records show that after April 11 meteorological conditions from Boston to Chicago will permit professional baseball to operate at a profit on summer playgrounds. On April 12, brass gongs will resound in eight enclosures, dapper umpires will brush eight white rubber slabs, 200,000 spectators will give anticipatory cry-- "Play ball!"

The two big leagues top the elaborate structure of organized" professional baseball, uniquely monopolistic. These are parallel associations, each composed of eight teams or clubs, each team or club representing a city in which half of its games are played.

NATIONAL LEAGUE AMERICAN LEAGUE

New York (Giants) New York (Yankees)

Brooklyn (Robins) Boston (Red Sox)

Boston (Braves) Philadelphia

Philadelphia (Athletics)

(Phillies) Washington

Pittsburgh (Pirates) (Senators)

Cincinnati (Reds) Cleveland (Indians)

Chicago (Cubs) Detroit (Tigers)

St. Louis Chicago (White Sox)

(Cardinals) St. Louis (Browns)

The players who fill the uniforms may claim residence at some far-distant point--fans care not whence the home team is recruited, so long as it wins.

During the season proper each team plays 154 games, 22 each with the others of its league. These games are studiously arranged in series of three, four or five to avoid conflicting exhibitions between leagues, to hold traveling expenses (borne by the owners) to a minimum. Games are played under a rigid, comprehensive set of rules and regulations, enforced by three (often four) militant umpires, responsible: 1) to their league presidents, 2) to onetime Federal Judge Kenesaw Mountain Landis, $65,000-a-year high commissioner of the entire operation.

After the league schedules have been completed, the team winning the greatest percentage of its contests is awarded a pennant, emblematic of a league championship. Then, early in October, the two league champions meet to compete for higher honors, additional cash. Attended by flag-waving rooters with brass bands, unlimited free publicity from the press, the National League winners engage their American League prototypes in deadly combat--best four out of seven games, known as the World Series.

The conquerors are currently honored, termed "World's Champion," richly rewarded. The vanquished, less honored, also receive goodly purses. Players scatter back to native farm, garage and couch; magnates balance their books; another major league season has passed into history.

Pre-season prognosticators, whose predictions are generally soon forgotten by all but themselves, have been especially active this spring. During no previous winter have rosters of the big teams undergone such sweeping changes in personnel. Tyrus Raymond Cobb, fiery outfielder, has joined the Philadelphia American League club, after 22 consecutive years in a Detroit uniform; Edward Trowbridge Collins, ancient, honorable second baseman, has returned to the same Philadelphia club, after an interlude of twelve years with the Chicago Americans; Rogers Hornsby, slugger, manager of 1926 World's Champion St. Louis Nationals, has gone to the New York Nationals in trade for Frank Francis Frisch, famed for speed, and James Joseph Ring; Tris E. Speaker, peerless ball-hawk, has laid aside Cleveland togs after eleven years, will strive in behalf of the Washington club; lesser luminaries, too numerous to catalogue, have shifted their paid allegiance from one organization to another. The shuffling process has caused predictors to wax prolific.

A large share of impartial attention is bestowed upon the Philadelphia Athletics, attracted mainly by what seems a striking change of policy on the part of Manager Cornelius McGillicuddy, conveniently called "Connie Mack."

This ancient, able, angular seer of baseball, who shares managerial honors with John J. McGraw of the New York Giants, led his Philadelphia club to its first American League pennant in 1902. He repeated the feat in 1905, 1910, 1911, 1913, 1914. At the conclusion of the 1914 campaign, he found that his winning habits had had a deadening, unprofitable effect on his public. Philadelphians were sure that Mack's team would win; were spending their money to witness sports in which the element of chance was more noticeable.

So Mr. McGillicuddy called together most of his gleaming stars, said a kind farewell, sold them to other club owners who paid into the Athletics' treasury large sums of money. With a slight fraction of this pelf he combed sandlot, high school, college, obscure league; purchased the economical services of several bright-faced lads; settled to the business of developing another winning team. Followed lean years, amusing to Connie Mack's opponents. I

n 1925 it seemed that the old manager's patience was about to reap its reward; that he would once again assume the enjoyable role of pennant winner. His youngsters, however, proved not quite stanch enough to turn the trick; finished second to the world champion Washington Senators. Last year they were again good without being quite good enough, ended third from the top. Experts liked their 1927 chances.

Then came winter with its noisy charges of scandal, unproved, dismissed. Uneasy magnates shifted in deep leather chairs, wondered if the charges would have lasting effect on the paying public. The market was glutted with disengaged ball players of note. At this point, Mack surprisingly stepped in. Disregarding his time-honored custom of selling privately developed stock to others, he signed for his own account several ripe-- if not overripe--oldsters. It was whispered that, at 64, he had become impatient; was finally, definitely, desperately out to win another championship.

Will the addition of Cobb, Collins, Wheat, give Connie's team that extra ounce of punch needed to land them on top? Will the skill, experience of these fading stars compensate for their shortened wind and brittle legs? Will the aged manager, used to handling willing youth, be able to cope with concentrated temperament, prevent it from disrupting his already capable machine? These questions were asked, answered, asked and answered in countless news columns. The answers were strikingly dissimilar.