When “our” side is at bat you are always hoping the batter will hit it safe. You watch the pitcher wind up. Your muscles are tense. You see the ball leave his hands. You see the batter prepare to strike at it. He strikes and misses. The umpire calls “one strike.” You relax. Again the pitcher delivers the ball. Again the muscles become tense. The umpire says “one ball” and again you sink back in your seat in perfect repose. By this time the pitcher is again ready. The third time the ball is sent toward the batter like a white streak. Somehow you feel he is going to hit it this time. As before, your muscles become tense. You hear a crack of wood against leather. You raise yourself up in your seat. It’s a foul fly back of the plate. You see the catcher throw off his mask and run up for the ball. You are absolutely rigid. You see the set and determined face of the catcher as he comes running toward you, his mind on nothing but the catch he hopes to make, he sees nothing but the ball. You, yourself, are thinking of nothing else. You hope he misses it. Now it’s coming down close to the stand. He’s almost under it. He’s going to get it. Just then he stubs his toe on a pebble and he muffs it. You are glad. You relax. You cheer him for missing it. You look round you. There are ten, twenty, forty thousand people, a moment ago just as tense and rigid as you, thinking of nothing else but that catch, who are now settling back in their seats, happy and content, everyone of them, excepting of course the few “rooters” for the other side. The next ball pitched is a good one, fast and straight over the plate. The batter sets himself to meet it fair and square. You do likewise, as if you would help him. Now he pulls back his bat, he swings, he meets it fair, you can tell by the sound it makes that it’s a long hit. You see the center fielder, look once to get the direction, then turn his back to the ball and run just as hard as he knows how. You stand up, everybody stands up, not a word is spoken. It seems as though minutes are passing until the play is decided. Soon you see the fielder turn half way round to look and then he goes on running. He is still too far away. You see him getting near the ball, but not near enough to catch it. By this time the ball is going over his head. He has lost it. No, he makes one try at the right moment. He takes a mighty leap into the air, up goes one hand, the ball hits his glove and sticks, he comes down to earth, he rolls over half a dozen times on the grass, but he comes up finally with the ball in his hand and you begin to relax. Then you start to jump up and down, you wave your hat, you throw it up in the air, and wave your arms and you try to yell louder than your neighbors. If you look around, you will see forty thousand people doing the same. Yelling and cheering and waving arms, hats or anything that comes within reach. You are cheering the other side, but you don’t mind. It was a wonderful catch.