Introduction (2 of 4)
Ironically, not too many years would pass before men and women with PhDs would be making names for themselves not by decrying slang but by collecting it—not only that of the diamond, but also of the carnival, the hobo jungle, the railroad yard, the soda fountain—and publishing it in American Speech, that superb journal devoted, then as now, to the riches of the American dialect.
Sometimes lost in all of this discussion of the propriety of slang is the fact that it provided for a remarkably rich and effective style of writing, one that allowed the drama of nine innings to be compressed into one socko, lung-straining sentence. Such sentences tended to retain their vitality for many years. An example from the San Francisco Examiner for April 13, 1932: “Greeting big George Earnshaw like a long lost ‘cousin,’ Babe Ruth and the New York Yankees fell upon the right-handed act of the Athletics this chilly afternoon, blasted him off the field in four innings and outslugged the American League champions 12 to 6.”
If baseball is a game of slang, it is also a game of heaped-on modifiers. A word like single seldom stands naked. Listen, as one is described in a sentence by Richard Justice of The Washington Post (May 22, 1986): “[It was] the only California run scored after Davis had wild-pitched rookie Wally Joyner (three for four) into scoring position and then given up a broken-bat, opposite-field bloop single to Brian Downing.”
The baseball prose of the daily press and later the broadcasters was a part of the entertainment. “What makes ‘baseball slang’ a joy is that it changes overnight and varies with the ingenuity of the reporter; today the Babe elevates the pill, tomorrow the Bambino clouts the sphere—and so ad infinitum” is how a pro-slang editorial in The Outlook put it on June 13, 1923.
A few other conclusions derived from the study of baseball language are in order.
1. The basic language of the game transcends eras.
In 1999, at the All-Star Game in Boston, Cal Ripken Jr. was honored as one of the 100 best players of the 20th century. After mingling with the likes of Ted Williams and Carlton Fisk, Ripken told Rich Thompson of the Boston Herald that what amazed him the most about meeting some of these players, whom he had only known as baseball cards when he was a kid, was the common language they shared. “I spent some time earlier in the afternoon with some of the great baseball players that were nominated and what was cool to me is that the language of baseball transcends different eras. We talked baseball with the same dimensions and strike zones.”
2. Baseball is a metaphoric circus.
The game has a particular infatuation with what one critic of sportswriters termed “the incorrect use of correct words.” There are hundreds of examples, but the point can be made by simply listing a selection of synonyms for the hard-hit ball or line drive. It is variously known as an aspirin, BB, bolt, clothesline, frozen rope, pea, rocket, and seed. A player’s throwing arm seems to be called everything but an arm: gun, hose, rifle, soupbone, whip, and wing, to name just a few. The arm is not the only renamed body part. From top to bottom, players have lamps (eyes), a pipe (neck or throat), hooks (hands), wheels (legs), and tires (feet).
So many allusions are made to food and dining—such as pitches that seem to “fall off the table”—that a fairly well-balanced diet suggests itself in terms like can of corn, cup of coffee, fish cakes, banana stalk, mustard, pretzel, rhubarb, green pea, juice, meat, grapefruit league, and tater. Among the many terms for the ball itself are apple, cantaloupe, egg, lemon, orange, pea, potato, and tomato. Implements? There is the plate (also known as the platter, pan, and dish) and, of course, the forkball. Dessert? The red abrasion from a slide into base is a strawberry, and the fan’s time-honored sound of disapproval is a raspberry.
The game proudly displays its rustic roots, and there is a tone to the language of the game that is remarkably pastoral. If any imagery dominates, it is that of rural America. Even under a dome, it is a game of fields and fences, where ducks [sit] on the pond and pitchers sit in the catbird seat. New players come out of the farm system, and a farm hand that pitches may get to work in the bullpen.
