Life, 1912-09-05 · page 11 of 44
Life — September 5, 1912 — page 11: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page presents a humorous baseball poem by Arthur Guiterman illustrated with action sketches. The narrative follows a player named Dorlan during a crucial ninth-inning game. The "tract" format—typically used for moral instruction—parodies religious language by applying it to baseball instead. The illustrations depict baseball action: batters, catchers, and fielders in dynamic poses. The poem describes Dorlan's dramatic at-bat and subsequent base-running, using elevated language to mock both sports enthusiasm and moralistic literature common in the era. The humor lies in treating a baseball game with the gravity usually reserved for spiritual salvation, a satire on how Americans invested emotional importance in sports while Life magazine satirized contemporary culture through such irreverent juxtapositions.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Dorlan’s Home-Walk HE ninth; last half; the score was tied, The Hour was big with Fate, For Neal had fanned and Kling had flied When Reddy toed the plate. And every rooter drew a breath And rose from where he For Weal or Woe, or Life or Death Now hung on Dorlan’s bat aut, The Pitcher scowled, the Pitcher flung An inshoot, swift and queer; Rut Dorlan whirled his wagon-tongue And smote the leathern sphere. “When Reddy toed the plate” He smote the ball with might and main, He drove it long and low, And firstwards like a railway train He sped to beat the throw A Baseball Tract He reached first base with time to spare (The throw went high and wide), But what a tumult rent the air When “Safe!” the Umpire cried. “Wha shricked the Pitcher, lean and her stout, “What!” roared the Ca “Wheat!” yelled the Basemen one and I, “Ye're off! the man is out!” The Shortstop swore, the Catcher plead, They waved their arms around The Umpire shook his bullet head And sternly held his ground, Though in the wild-eyed Fielders ran To tear him limb from limb Or else to tell that erring man Just what they thought of him. The Basemen left the bases clear And came to urge their case; So Dorlan yawned and scratched his car And strolled to second base “Safe? Saf the Pitcher hissed, “Ye're blind! And breathed a Naughty Word; While Dorlan hitched his belt behind And rambled on to third. And throats were hoarse and words ran high And lips were flecked with foam As Dorlan scanned the azure sky And held his way toward home 1711 "And held his way toward home “* And still he heard in dreamy bliss As down the line he came The Umpire growl, “Enough o° this! He's safe. Now, play the game All right. Come, boys,” the Pitcher bawled ; “Two out; now make it three! When Dorlan touched the plate and drawled, “Hey! score that run fer me!" What wrath was there, what bitter talk, What joy and wild acclaim! For Dorlan’s peaceful homeward walk Had won the doubtful game. Aye, thus the game was lost and won; bs 30, Athletes great and small, ike mischance ye fain would shun Keep cool, don’t kick, play ball. Arthur Guiterman. comicbooks.com