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Updated: June 8, 2025
This, however, is often the case with many pitchers who are more than passably successful; to the outsider, to the watcher from the stand or the bleachers, the pitcher frequently seems to be the man who is pitting his brains and skill against the brains and skill of the opposing batters and delivering the goods, when the actual fact remains that it is the man at the "receiving end" who is doing nine-tenths of the thinking, and without whose discernment, sagacity, skill and directing ability, the twirler would make a pitiful show of himself.
Burt had stopped statue-like as if stricken in his tracks; then he came running, darting among the spectators who had leaped the fence. Old Well-Well stood a moment with slow glance lingering on the tumult of emptying bleachers, on the moving mingling colors in the grand stand, across the green field to the gray-clad players. He staggered forward and fell.
The best people gradually filled the grand stand, while the poorer white and colored folks found seats outside, upon what would now be known as the "bleachers," or stood alongside the lists. The knights, masquerading in fanciful costumes, in which bright-colored garments, gilt paper, and cardboard took the place of knightly harness, were mounted on spirited horses.
They were also told informally that his new check suit was some suit. "I'll soon have one coming off the same piece," said the Pitcher. They went through a little door and out upon the grounds. A few players were idling there, only two of the pitchers being in uniform. The vast empty stands and bleachers seemed to confer privacy upon an informal and friendly gathering.
White at second base leaped high for the stinging hit, and failed to reach it. The ball struck and bounded for the fence. When Babcock fielded it in, Red was standing on third base, and the bleachers groaned.
Tell him I want him on the bench. If he's loyal to his school he'll come. I'll set him to warming up, anyhow." Bunk went searching for Hooker, and discovered him at the far end of the right-field bleachers, talking with Herbert Rackliff. "Hey, you, Hook!" called Lander. "Roge Eliot wants you to warm up, for it looks like they're going to knock Grant into a cocked hat.
Professor Grind, of the Committee on Student Affairs, was observed to write in his note-book. The Sophomores who saw this rejoiced that they were not in rushing clothes. Still the racket went on. Jack Smith, in spotless tennis flannels, sat on the bleachers.
One of the players yelled: "Here he is, Dale! Here's the potato-pegger! Knock his block off!" The cry was taken up by other players. "Peg him, Dale! Peg him, Dale!" And then the bleachers got it. Ken's dry tongue seemed pasted to the roof of his mouth. This Dale in baseball clothes with the lowering frown was not like the Dale Ken had known. Suddenly he swung his arm.
The long, tardy, and stubborn students had broken their silence. Dale leaped out of the grand-stand to lead the cheering. The giant Stevens came piling out of the bleachers to perform a like office. And then they were followed by Bryan, captain of the crew, and Hilbrandt, captain of the track team. Four captains of Wayne teams inspiriting and directing the cheering!
I am rather strong for the new players, not because of their playing, which is poor indeed, but for the way they tried under peculiarly adverse conditions. "That young fellow Ward what torture that inning of successive hard hits to his territory! I was near him in that end of the bleachers, and I watched him closely.
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