"I'm going to make that big boob up at the bat there show such a 'yellow streak' that you won't be able to see any white," declared Alexander, and then he struck Mitchell out. Griffith had tried the wrong tactics. A story is told of Fred Clarke and "Rube" Waddell, the eccentric twirler. Waddell was once one of the best pitchers in the business when he could concentrate his attention on his work, but his mind wandered easily. "Now pay no attention to Clarke," warned his manager before the game. Clarke tried everything from cajolery to abuse on Waddell with no effect, because the eccentric "Rube" had been tipped to fight shy of the Pittsburg manager. Suddenly Clarke became friendly and walked with Waddell between innings, chatting on trivial matters. At last he said: "Why don't you come out on my ranch in Kansas and hunt after the season, George? I've got a dog out there you might train." "What kind of a dog?" asked Waddell at once interested. "Just a pup," replied Clarke, "and you can have him if he takes a fancy to you." "They all do," replied Waddell. "He's as good as mine." The next inning the big left-hander was still thinking of that dog, and the Pirates made five runs. In many instances defensive coaching is as important as the offensive brand, which simply indorses the old axiom that any chain is only as strong as its weakest link or any ball club is only as efficient as its most deficient department. When Roger Bresnahan was on the Giants, he was one of those aggressive players who are always coaching the other fielders and holding a team together, a type so much desired by a manager. If a slow roller was hit between the pitcher's box and third base, I could always hear "Rog" yelling, "You take it, Matty," or, "Artie, Artie," meaning Devlin, the third baseman. He was in a position to see which man would be better able to make the play, and he gave this helpful advice. His coaching saved many a game for the Giants in the old days. "Al" Bridwell, the former shortstop, was of the same type, and, if you have ever attended a ball game at the Polo Grounds, you have doubtless heard him in his shrill, piercing voice, shouting: "I've got it! I've got it!" or, "You take it!" This style of coaching saves ball-players from accidents, and accidents have lost many a pennant. I have always held that it was a lack of the proper coaching that sent "Cy" Seymour, formerly the Giant centre-fielder, out of the Big Leagues and back to the minors. Both Murray and he attempted to catch the same fly in the season of 1909 and came into collision. Seymour went down on the field, but later got up and played the game out. However, he hurt his leg so badly that it never regained its strength.