Devore promptly got himself into the hole with two strikes and two balls on him, but a little drawback like that never worries "Josh." "I'm going to pitch you a curved ball over the outside corner," shouted Bender as he wound up. "I know it, Chief," replied "Josh," and he set himself to receive just that sort of delivery. Up came the predicted curve over the outside corner. "Josh" hit it to left field for two bases, and brought home the winning run. Bender evidently thought that, by telling Devore what he was actually going to pitch, he would make him think he was going to cross him. "I knew it would be a curve ball," Devore told me after the game. "With two and two, he would be crazy to hand me anything else. When he made that crack, I guessed that he was trying to cross me by telling the truth. Before he spoke, I wasn't sure which corner he was going to put it over, but he tipped me." Some batters might have been fooled by those tactics. It was taking a chance in a pinch, and Bender lost. Very few of the fans who saw this first game of the 1911 world's series realize that the "break" in that contest came in the fifth inning. The score was tied, with runners on second and third bases with two out, when "Eddie" Collins, the fast second baseman of the Athletics, and a dangerous hitter, came to the bat. I realized that I was skating on thin ice and was putting everything I had on the ball. Collins hit a slow one down the first base line, about six feet inside the bag. With the hit, I ran over to cover the base, and Merkle made for the ball, but he had to get directly in my line of approach to field it. Collins, steaming down the base line, realized that, if he could get the decision at first on this hit, his team would probably win the game, as the two other runners could score easily. In a flash, I was aware of this, too. "I'll take it," yelled Merkle, as he stopped to pick up the ball. Seeing Merkle and me in front of him, both heavy men, Collins knew that he could not get past us standing up. When still ten or twelve feet from the bag, he slid, hoping to take us unawares and thus avoid being touched. He could then scramble to the bag. As soon as he jumped, I realized what he hoped to do, and, fearing that Merkle would miss him, I grabbed the first baseman and hurled him at Collins. It was an old-fashioned, football shove, Merkle landing on Collins and touching him out. A great many of the spectators believed that I had interfered with Merkle on the play. As a matter of fact, I thought that it was the crisis of the game and knew that, if Collins was not put out, we would probably lose. That football shove was a brand new play to me in baseball, invented on the spur of the second, but it worked.