Bud Hayden, first baseman. Walking through the lobby of a hotel in Cleveland, he spied a hairpin lying in full view on the carpet. Instead of leaping for it, he simply turned to his companion and said: "Ain't women slovenly?"
Fig McKnight, center fielder. He called time and ran all the way into the dugout. The TV announcer said he was after his sunglasses. It developed later, however, that he had come in to complain to his manager as follows: "They's too much peat moss in that turf out yonder."
Vincent Popperly, Brooklyn fan. When one of the Brooklyn players was knocked unconscious sliding home, he was the only person among the 18,585 spectators who refused to commiserate with the fallen Dodger, saying: "He ast to play baseball, didnee?"
Posey Bunsen, outfielder. He refused to go to bat without wearing his wrist-watch, claiming that whenever he took it off "it throws me off balance."
Donald Weatherwax, St. Louis fan. He was hit on the head by a home-run ball from the bat of Stan Musial. When he regained consciousness the club management offered to give him the ball that struck him, autographed by Musial. He declined the honor, saying: "No thanks, I'd prefer to have it autographed by William Faulkner."
Porky Susskind, shortstop. He consistently encouraged his teammates by slapping them on the shoulder instead of on the posterior. Asked by reporters why he didn't pat lower, the way everyone else did, he said, somewhat archly: "They won't leave me do it to ladies on the train so I'll be danged if I'll do it on the field."
Those are but a few examples of what I have in mind. Are such sterling performances to go unrecorded? I propose that in the future the annual record book carry a fat appendix setting forth all these special achievements in baseball, achievements which are beyond the province of the cool-blooded statisticians. They should be passed along to posterity, so that posterity won't grow up believing that our national pastime was nothing more than a great big wonderful game of arithmetic.
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