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July 9, 2006
By JOHN CHARLES ROBBINS
Staff writer
No gloves.
That's the first thing you notice about watching vintage base ball players in action, as you grimace at the sound
of the ball smacking the palms of the brave man at second base.
That hard line drive is gonna hurt in the morning, yes sir, but that's part of the fun of playing 1800s style ball.
Back then they called it "base ball," two words. And playing was more important than winning.
Vintage base ball is making a comeback as folks yearn for simpler times -- kinder and gentler games in a crazy world
torn by conflict, where courtesy has gone the way of the dinosaurs.
That's the second thing you might notice: The outward decency of the players.
Above all, from the first pitch to the last inning, the players are gentlemen.
It's Saturday afternoon at Beery Field in downtown Douglas, and the home team, the Douglas Dutchers, are taking the
field and gallantly introducing themselves.
The Dutchers, two dozen men from towns throughout West Michigan, have adopted the uniforms, rules and equipment of
base ball as it was in the nineteenth century.
Each player is dressed in period uniforms, gray shirts and pants, long dark socks, black long-sleeved undershirts,
and gray flat-top ball caps circled by four red pinstripes.
And everybody has a nickname. It's mandatory.
During the team's introduction to the crowd and the opposing team, the men line up and each call out their names,
and nicknames.
One Dutcher, caught eating candy, says he is "Mike ‘Eating a Tootsie Roll' O'Brian." His everyday
nickname is "Mop." He's joined by "Sparky," "Yogi," "Lucky," "Rooster" and
others.
The atmosphere at Beery Field is starkly different from the major ball parks of today.
There are no huge Number 1 foam fingers. There's no profanity. No trash talk. Very little scratching and spitting.
It's all "sir" and "thank you."
New fans to the sport of centuries past may be thrown by some of the words common during play of the 1840s and 1850s.
The "tally man" kept score. A run was an "ace." A batter was a "striker" and the catcher
was the "behind."
The hurler tries to throw the onion over the dish, while the striker grips the willow and hopes to avoid a foul tick
and deliver a daisy cutter.
Who's on first?
Oh, that's Bruce "Arm" Masopusdt.
Maneuvering playfully on the dusty pitcher's mound is Ron "Stoob" Klug. In real life he's a chemist for
a pharmaceutical company in South Haven.
Demonstrating the decency of base ball's past, Klug, 53, stops the game and approaches the crowd in the bleachers,
to ask for permission to roll up his sleeves.
"I hope none of you ladies will be offended by my bare arms," he says with a big dose of chivalry.
The courteous behavior is one of the things Klug likes about vintage base ball.
"One of the things that's appealing to me is the sportsmanship. It's a game for gentlemen. The competitiveness,
the winning at all costs, is not there," he said.
Eugene "Pest" Dagen, 44, of Zeeland, whose son Zachary is one of the Dutcher mascots, is playing with the
team for the first time and he's having a blast.
"I love playing base ball," Dagen said with a wide smile and a twinkle in his eye.
The Dutchers like their home in the heart of Douglas, just around the corner from the restaurants and shops of town.
What the Dutchers really want is more cranks in the stands.
No, they're not hoping to attract hecklers -- fans of yesteryear ball were called "cranks."
Part of the charm is the quirky terminology. Some words and phrases make perfect sense.
The first time you play vintage ball and invite the 5 3/4 inch missile into your bare hands you know why a hard hit
ball is called a "stinger."
Other phrases seems awkward and outdated. Imagine the raised eyebrows if a coach or player today shouted out to a
teammate, "Show a little ginger!"
Back in the day, the phrase meant to play harder or play smarter.
One thing is clear from watching these grown men -- many in their 50s and older -- they're having a ball.
At one point Saturday, the Dutchers and the Ohio Village Muffins stop their game to offer a hardy salute to the Harbor
Duck, a water taxi filled with waving tourists.
"Hip Hip, Huzzah! Hip Hip, Huzzah! Hip Hip, Huzzah," the players shout as they tip their ball caps to the
wind.
Then it's back to business.
Tally man Samuel Phillippe adjusts the revolver he has dangling from his hip, and wets the led of a pencil to update
the score book.
Umpire Henry Van Singel adjusts his straw hat and shouts, "Striker to the line!"
The outfielders jostle their weight from one leg to the other, as the sun inches lower in the deep blue summer sky.
Contact John Charles Robbins at (616) 546-4269 or john.robbins@hollandsentinel.com.
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