From The Sporting News, 5-7-1898
From The Sporting News, May 7, 1898.
On baseball writing, when Detroit was “out west”& Omaha must have been close to China:
Baseball writing is an art, and out in the wild and woolly west the writers have reduced it to a fine art, says the Detroit Tribune. When a club is shutout they do not call it a “goose-egg.” but expressively say the nine was “horse collared.” The crowd upon the stands are compared to “flies upon a sore toe.” Of [Wallace] Hollingsworth, the Omaha shortstop, the World Herald says: “Now, ‘Holly” is one of the few living relics of those obsolete-times, a direct descendent of the weezygees whose awful wisdom has been lost, their arts and sciences scattered to the four or five winds, leaving only a few old hoopskirts and tomato cans an evidence of their radiancy and splendor. A paucity of these curiosities, however, continuing steadfast to their pristine glory, kept a strangle-hold on their purity and preternatural power. They are all in their graves now, but ‘Holly,” he stands alone like a wart on a dray horse’s hind leg, felicitous in the knowledge that he has been granted permission to live in Omaha, and that his mind is bright and clear as that of his forefathers.
Note: Speechless, I’m left.
On baseball writing, when Detroit was “out west”& Omaha must have been close to China:
Baseball writing is an art, and out in the wild and woolly west the writers have reduced it to a fine art, says the Detroit Tribune. When a club is shutout they do not call it a “goose-egg.” but expressively say the nine was “horse collared.” The crowd upon the stands are compared to “flies upon a sore toe.” Of [Wallace] Hollingsworth, the Omaha shortstop, the World Herald says: “Now, ‘Holly” is one of the few living relics of those obsolete-times, a direct descendent of the weezygees whose awful wisdom has been lost, their arts and sciences scattered to the four or five winds, leaving only a few old hoopskirts and tomato cans an evidence of their radiancy and splendor. A paucity of these curiosities, however, continuing steadfast to their pristine glory, kept a strangle-hold on their purity and preternatural power. They are all in their graves now, but ‘Holly,” he stands alone like a wart on a dray horse’s hind leg, felicitous in the knowledge that he has been granted permission to live in Omaha, and that his mind is bright and clear as that of his forefathers.
Note: Speechless, I’m left.
posted by Carlos Bauer at 11:40 AM
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