Base Ball Returns -- Not a Moment Too Soon!

Rooters, cease chewing your mustaches and grab your megaphones, drums and cornets! Base Ball contests resume to-night, with the Bostons meeting the "Rays" of Tampa.

Suffering through the annual mid-season pause routinely brings the otherwise fit to the brink of nervous exhaustion. How else to explain the tale of this poor gent, which I picked up from the news wires. Surely a man in his right mind would never complain about a banquet of sausages!

No, these actions betray the signs of a Rooter longing for a finely twirled tilt:

Sausage Gets on the Nerves

CHICAGO — Linked sausage, long drawn out, served for breakfast, dinner, supper and between meals, drove Charles Jensen from his home at 3629 Harper avenue. It got on his nerves.

Liverwurst, German sausage, schnapps and bologna is poor diet for a steamfitter who earns $35 a week and wants steak once in a while. It's bad for the nerves.

Charles told Municipal Judge Torrlson in the court of domestic relations the other day that he had run away from sausage, his wife and six children.

"She gave me bologna for breakfast, llverwurst for dinner and German sausage for supper," he said "Once in a while she changed the diet with frankfurters and schnapps. I want steak once in a while.

"Honest, judge, it got so bad that every time I heard a dog bark I could smell dinner cooking. I can't work on a delicatessen diet of sausage all the time. I earn $35 a week and want steak."

"It isn't sausage. It's another woman," declared Mrs. Jensen. "He ran away from me four months ago and went to another woman somewhere on the Pacific coast. He liked sausage all right until he got 'moony' over the other woman. Sausage may not be good for married men who love other women."

"Sausage or woman — It doesn't matter," said Judge Torrison. It's just a plain case of nerves. You've looked at each other so long across plates of weinerwurst that you've got on each other's nerves. Cut out the sausage once in a while and you will get along all right. Better read a book on the control of the nerves."

Judge Torrison ordered Jensen to pay his wife $12 a week.

Keep away from open flame

Not even a king's serving of fine wieners and lashings of Duffy's Pure Malt Whiskey can make me forgot the horrible spectacle of last evening's contest.

In one chapter, the wiley Matsuzaka is sending bats-men back to the pine perch with dazzling command of the pill. The next, he's apparently poured a canteen of kerosene over his head and struck a match! It happened faster than a motor-car collision on a rain-slicked street. Oh, untimely bases on balls! Oh, the surrenduring of full-circuit clouts!

When the horrendous hurling had ended, the surging squad from Anaheim township in the county of Los Angeles in the state of California had collected enough "runs" to place victory beyond the reach of the Bostons' bats -- not that they weren't presented opportunities to hew and hack their way back.

A hopeless "whiff" by Jac Ellsbury when the diamond was bristling with Boston base-runners made me think that perhaps this yannigan needs another turn in the junior league. Then, a poorly struck ball from The Wonder resulted in a twin-killing that discontinued yet another counter-strike.

To-night, we hope that the lanky Buchholz can reclaim his twirling prowess and keep these Anaheims of Los Angeles in California from tramping round the bags and festooning the score-board with numbers.