Horseshoes

Horseshoes
Ring Lardner

First published The Saturday Evening Post, 187 (August 15, 1914)

THE series ended Tuesday, but I had stayed in Philadelphia an extra
day on the chance of there being some follow-up stuff worth sending.
Nothing had broken loose; so I filed some stuff about what the
Athletics and Giants were going to do with their dough, and then
caught the eight o'clock train for Chicago.
Having passed up supper in order to get my story away and grab the
train, I went to the buffet car right after I'd planted my grips. I sat down
at one of the tables and ordered a sandwich. Four salesmen were
playing rum at the other table and all the chairs in the car were
occupied; so it didn't surprise me when somebody flopped down in the
seat opposite me.
I looked up from my paper and with a little thrill recognized my
companion. Now I've been experting round the country with ball
players so much that it doesn't usually excite me to meet one face to
face, even if he's a star. I can talk with Tyrus without getting all fussed
up. But this particular player had jumped from obscurity to fame so
suddenly and had played such an important though brief part in the
recent argument between the Macks and McGraws that I couldn't help
being a little awed by his proximity.
It was none other than Grimes, the utility outfielder Connie had been
forced to use in the last game because of the injury to Joyce--Grimes,
whose miraculous catch in the eleventh inning had robbed Parker of a
home run and the Giants of victory, and whose own homer--a fluky

one--had given the Athletics another World's Championship.
I had met Grimes one day during the spring he was with the Cubs, but I
knew he wouldn't remember me. A ball player never recalls a reporter's
face on less than six introductions or his name on less than twenty.
However, I resolved to speak to him, and had just mustered sufficient
courage to open a conversation when he saved me the trouble.
"Whose picture have they got there?" he asked, pointing to my paper.
"Speed Parker's," I replied.
"What do they say about him? " asked Grimes. "I'll read it to you," I
said:
Speed Parker, McGraw's great third baseman, is ill in a local hospital
with nervous prostration, the result of the strain of the World's Series,
in which he played such a stellar rôle. Parker is in such a dangerous
condition that no one is allowed to see him. Members of the New York
team and fans from Gotham called at the hospital to-day, but were
unable to gain admittance to his ward. Philadelphians hope he will
recover speedily and will suffer no permanent ill effects from his
sickness, for he won their admiration by his work in the series, though
he was on a rival team. A lucky catch by Grimes, the Athletics'
substitute outfielder, was all that prevented Parker from winning the
title for New York. According to Manager Mack, of the champions, the
series would have been over in four games but for Parker's wonderful
exhibition of nerve and----"
"That'll be a plenty," Grimes interrupted. "And that's just what you
might expect from one o' them doughheaded reporters. If all the
baseball writers was where they belonged they'd have to build an annex
to Matteawan."
I kept my temper with very little effort--it takes more than a peevish
ball player's remarks to insult one of our fraternity; but I didn't exactly
understand his peeve.

"Doesn't Parker deserve the bouquet?" I asked.
"Oh, they can boost him all they want to," said Grimes; "but when they
call that catch lucky and don't mention the fact that Parker is the
luckiest guy in the world, somethin' must be wrong with 'em. Did you
see the serious?"
"No," I lied glibly, hoping to draw from him the cause of his grouch.
"Well," he said, "you sure missed somethin'. They never was a serious
like it before and they won't never be one again. It went the full seven
games and every game was a bear. They was one big innin' every day
and Parker was the big cheese in it. Just as Connie says, the
Ath-a-letics would of cleaned 'em in four games but for Parker; but it
wasn't because he's a great ball player--it was because he was born with
a knife, fork and spoon in his mouth, and a rabbit's foot hung round his
neck.
"You may not know it, but I'm Grimes, the guy that made the lucky
catch. I'm the guy that won the serious with a hit--a home-run hit; and
I'm here to tell you that if I'd had one-tenth o' Parker's