An Innocent Abroad On The Baseball Diamonds

"Thank you," Dark said. "What side of the plate does he hit from?"

"Right," I said. How dumb could he get? But then suddenly I realized I was being taken. Standing directly in Dark's line of vision, I was blocking his view of home plate. And he was using this device to make the point. Stung by my first exposure to baseball humor, I moved back toward the bat rack.

"Thank you," Dark said. And he turned his attention once again to the game.

EDDIE MATHEWS

Eddie Mathews of the Milwaukee Braves was my chattiest subject. He had been having a bad spring. But the second day the Braves played in Mesa he hit two home runs and a double. Then he was rewarded with the rest of the afternoon off.

Looking at my pictures later, there was a relationship between how long that game had progressed and how happy Eddie Mathews looked.

The first time Mathews came up I flashed my "Press Only" card, stepped in front of the batters' box and asked the Cub pitcher to wait a moment. I told Eddie I'd like a picture of him taking his batting stance. The Cub catcher, Moe Thacker, and Umpire Jocko Conlan leaped out of the picture.

"That's not necessary," I said, struck by my newfound power.

Nevertheless Thacker stayed off to the left. But Jocko Conlan took me at my word and moved right back into the picture. "You know," the veteran umpire said, "I've never seen a picture of me and Eddie together that I'm not calling a play. And with this mask on I'm the only one who knows it's me."

I told Jocko I'd be delighted to take a shot of him with Eddie and without his umpire's mask. He beamed. I took the picture of the two of them. And the game resumed. Now every time I look at the photo I feel I took advantage of a nice guy. And it bothers me.