Results tagged ‘ Mordecai Brown ’

Ninemen’s Morris: No Sweeter Sibilance

Silas red quigley Prattling ninny!
 

Eastman Thune proved a Little Lord Fauntleroy!

I can’t think of a greater malfeasance than the continuation
of your poppycock and piddley-poo!  While
casting a vote for the windy-city murderers to appear in the La Belle Serie
Mondiale is a safe (some would say namby-pamby?) bet, the notion that
Detroiters would be denied another time is tantamount to an Irishman demurring
at an unwatched distillery.  A foppish
fantasy!  Nonsense on stilts!

Ty Cobb dominated, ripped up the basepaths and the shins of
his opponents throughout the last saison, and this correspondent sees no reason
why this status should not remain quo. 
And while a Killer Cubs World Series is plausible, there is no reason to
suggest they would easily win.  They do
indeed feature a murderous pitching rotation, led by Three-Finger Mordecai
Brown (27 wins to 9 losses) and his bewitching colleague Orvall Overall
(20-11), and lead all the leagues in Chadwick’s newly devised Earned Run
Average (a tetchy 1.74).

Tinkers evers and chance But curse you Thune, calling for their dominance for the
duration of the cententary and beyond is nothing short of swinging a dead cat
in a Chinese opium den and feigning surprise when striking a harlot.  It’s a virtual certainty, man!  They have the most devilish fireballers, the
dandiest batsmen, and a crackerjack defensive infield of Tinker, Evers, Chance,
and Steinfeldt.  Sweeter sibilance
couldn’t be dreamed up for any newsman’s reel.

Be that as it may, your tone of conciliation leaves me no
choice but to lob up a softball prognostication for you to masticate upon,
Alabaster, and I will not equivocate. 
Look you to this come springtide: this season will show an unlooked-for
boost from the man of your last column. 
I predict a mighty effort by those Cuyahoga Clippers, the Cleveland
Naps.  Arrogant namesake though he may
be, I predict Napolean Lajoie will lead his upstart brigade nearly into the
pennant, only to have his efforts dashed by Cobb’s wizardry. 

Confound you Old Man Winter, when will you forsake your
slumber for the gilded lilly of Lady Spring? 
Men and boys alike trudge through the mush and brave the howling gales
for your respite.  Come soon.  Please? 
We need your sweet breath, and the following crack of the bat.

- – -

Written by

Silas ‘Red’ Quigley
Editorial correspondent for the Boston Wax-Intelligencer.  Editor/Publisher of various workers rights
publications, sporting weeklies, and Ladies Garment Journals.  As a youth he was attache to Henry Chadwick (claims to be the
uncredited co-creator of the box score).

For more on the nature of Ninemen’s Morris, please click *HERE*


Ninemen’s Morris: QUIGLEY!

Alabaster eastman thune Quigley! 

Your mind is comprised of two
parts dung and one part wretch!
 

How dare you, sir, intercept
mail not intended for your ham-glazed grub-grubbing barnacle-encrusted
excuses for hands, and then proceed to not only consume said parcel,
but also reveal yourself as a virtuoso practitioner of the common club-footed
idiot’s box traced word waltz!
 

To start:  The fruit your
colon passed with patriotic pleasantry is not called the ‘bananella.’ 
I haven’t the faintest idea what a ‘bananella’ is.  I have
consulted several of the most amenable meta-linguisticists and word-alchemists
in my stable of resources, and, without fail, all have concluded that
the word ‘bananella’ does not exist.  Therefore, it is either
an attempted nonsensical addition to the contemporary word canon (which
is already quite full, I can assure you), or it is just your latest
exercise in rump-rousting dipsh*ttery.  My vote is for the latter.
 

QUIGLEY!  THE FRUIT IN
QUESTION IS CALLED A ‘BANANALLA’ NOT A ‘BANANELLA’!  PLEASE
SHOW SOME RESPECT TO TAFT AND HIS GLORIOUS ACQUISITION, THE PHILIPPINES!!! 
THAT LAND WILL BE A FEATHER IN YANKEE DOODLE’S CAMP AD INFINITUM!!!
 

And please refrain from your
mail malarkey!  That flagon (as a bunching of bananallas is known)
was not intended for you, but rather for your delightful wife, Hermilina. 
Haven’t you hoodwinked her enough in this lifetime, you stagnant pond
of a man?  You’ve already relieved her of her freedom to live,
love and ride her beloved bare-backs… why must you also stand between
her and fruit?  Let the lass have some God-forsaken fruit, man!
 

But enough of all things personal!

Touche. 

Your ignorance took a break
from his paternity leave and certainly made a valid statement of fact — namely, that Cobb and his Bengalese brethren have taken a commanding
hold of league American, and they are most certainly out-performing
the goodfellow Lajoie and his Ohioans. 
For the record, we are in partial agreement: The Canuck
Lajoie is not of this country, and despite his good nature,
nevertheless should be kept at arm’s length.  The land of Canada is
vast and mysterious, and my podiatric pedestals would rather take their
tickels from a Kaiser or Pharaoh, from this Moon’s day right up until
the Sun’s next!  Many a seemingly kind and girthy red, northern face
has smiled at me claiming neighborly well-wishes, when the whole time I
was looking at the chompers of a scurvy-eyed gift horse!

That said, while the Detroiters
seem to be a lock to waggle the pennant American (hopefully they will
be able to hoist it a few times before Cobb uses it to rid his posterior
of residual defecate), they will nonetheless fall hard in the
World Series, at the hands of Chicago’s dear Orphans, the mighty child
bears, the blessed Cubs themselves.
 

1908 Cubs To gaze upon America’s team
is to gaze upon a manifest destiny so bright in outlook, even blind
men have been seen turning away from the glare!  The reigning World
Champions, while locked in a heated race with the swashbucklers of Penn’s
Woods’ Pitt-City, boast a far-superior club, and once they get their
ducks in order… head for the hills, dear opponent!  Between
Mordecai Brown’s three fingered witchery, and Ed Ruelbach’s quiet
dominance, this club is poised to win championship after championship
for years to come.  Cobb certainly will wish he was returned to
the stalk after facing one of the aforementioned mound dwellers –
same as last October.
 

The Chicago Cubs will win it
all once again!
 

What say you, Dingbat? 

PS. How insightful was Frank
Chance’s sale of the quack Doc Marshall to the Superbas of Manhattan’s
armpit? Leave it up to Chance, say I! Leave it up to Chance!
 

PPS. Steal any more fruit bound
for the unappreciated beauty you call wife, and I will cut you nice
and good.

- – –

Written by

‘Alabaster’ Eastman Thune
Former editor of the “Follies and Whatnots” section of the Chicago Inter-Ocean. 



Currently unemployed.

“Alabaster” is known for coining the popular quip:  “An Irishman and
his whiskey are like the Father Sky and his Sun – you are guaranteed
that the latter will show up in the former each day of God’s blessed
week.”

For more on the nature of Ninemen’s Morris, please click *HERE*

Ninemen’s Morris: Napoleon Lajoie is a French Ninny!

Upstart to Cobb Little More Than A Baltimore Chopper

Team Named After Hubristic Canuck

Passerby: “Lajoie’s Kin Helped the Limeys Torch the Library of Congress!”

- – -

Silas red quigley Dear Rumpus-Rouser:

LAJOIE! You seek a
moral standard bearer, and you choose LAJOIE!?

Across the gentle
waves of the republic, there are two creeds that rankle the populous more than
any other, two regimes that chafe the ankles of freedom like Monte- Cristo’s
manacles.  They are, of course, none
other than the French Empire (Marquis de Lafayette excepted!) and the
British Commonwealth (royalist buggery!).  The French Canadian Lajoie manages to
encompass both!

Lajoie, having
illegally jumped leagues in 1901, and then sold by Connie Mack to the Cleveland
Nine, proceeds to win a newsmans raffle and the club winds up nomened with his
prenom!  This crafty Francophile’s
arrogance is matched only by the girth of the president of the republic.  His league-jumping garnered this
double-crosser unable to cross the
Pennsylvania state lines, and veritably forfeiting the
‘Naps’ games to the A’s!

“But hark,” you say,
tremulously caterwauling, “is he not a batsman beyond compare?  Did he not compile a batters-average that
same year of .427?!  And much of that
against the finest orb-slingers of the day, besting even the mighty Three
Finger Mordecai Brown!”

Still your knocking
knees!  His average this year?  Scarcely kissing .325, and his Cleveland Naps
langour at the bottom of the standings, skulking about the sous-sol like the
ghost of Washington Irving.

I brush your charges
aside as a horsefly from a mule’s fetlock. Ty Cobb’s Tigers pistol-whipped
Connie Mack’s White Elephants in four games at the close of August, and now the
American League is chasing their tail.  
The pennant may not yet be stabled, but those boys firmly grip the
reins.

Ty-cobb September sees those
mighty
Michigan maulers sitting prettily atop the table,
with Cobb clubbing .380.  And seek you
long the long ball!?  Cobb leads the
league, walloping more “all-baggers’ than anyone else in the game.  He may hit ten of them!  What be that French Canadian’s count to
date?  Nil!

But the Naps have
produced one a great wonderment this year – the first unassisted triple play,
by Neal Ball, on July 19.  Never seen
before, Ball’s Triumph saw him gather in a liner, step on the second bag, and
apply a tag to the fleet-footed fool from first.  This feat of derring-do will most assuredly
never be replicated, even in a hundred years’ time.

On a sidenote, I wish to thank you, Mr. Thune, for the olive-branch
gifting of the crate of yellow bananellas. 
As you say, they are a delightful taste and texture, evoking an erotic
south seas sustenance.   Perhaps in this
move to purchase the Filipinos our ebullient executive has given an
uncharacteristic boon.


- – –

Written by
Silas ‘Red’ Quigley
Editorial correspondent for the Boston Wax-Intelligencer.  Editor/Publisher of various workers rights
publications, sporting weeklies, and Ladies Garment Journals.  As a youth he was attache to Henry Chadwick (claims to be the
uncredited co-creator of the box score).

For more on the nature of Ninemen’s Morris, please click *HERE*

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