A shameful week-end of base-ball concluded with a harrowing sight on the score-board: Nine chapters of consecutive “goose eggs” for the Bostons. The lack of batting so appalled one dour spectator that he was moved to wonder whether the Nine had traded their man-stunning clubs for flimsy riding crops that could barely startle a mule into his trot!
Such speculation misses the true cause of our woes: It is not the lumber in the bats-mens’ hands, but the venue in which they engaged their rivals. Surely it is no coincidence that the only occasions of a triple loss to the same opponent have come in new-fangled base-ball “gymnasiums” -- better suited for bouts of sparring and wrestling than for the beauties of the stick-and-ball.
Perhaps the ceilings are trapping miasmas that befuddle our mighty swatters. Or, the lack of glorious spring sun-shine may be sapping our Grip-ridden boys of their vigor. Whatever the cause, a return to the verdant turf and gentle wind currents of Fenway’s fine park should revive the local squad like a strong dose of salts.
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