By Steve Meyers
Date: May 13, 1901, 9:00 AM
The poorly lit locker room was the site of the Bakers team meeting. The players were scattered around the rectangular room in a U shape. Julien Henri stood at the front and prepared to address the team.
A visual aid consisting of one large wooden chalkboard that could be flipped over to the other side. On the side the players were seeing were the Liberty Division updated to reflect the most recent game played the night before.
Richmond 41 24
Baltimore 37 28
Philadelphia 35 30
NY Bakers 21 44
Henri stood patiently at the front of the room. There was a nervousness that pervaded the clubhouse as the few voices that were heard murmuring moments before became quiet. So quiet, that you could hear the drip of a leaky pipe somewhere near the showers.
An overhead light flickered off to the side. Moe Nash kept looking at it as if he expected it to go dark before his eyes. It did no such thing sporadically arcing and then returning to a steady light as if it were on its own schedule.
Henri gazed into the room and raised his left arm that was holding a 3 ft. pointing stick. It was a menacing sight and Moe Nash felt certain the GM was pointing it right at him. He looked down at his shoes and noticed he had missed an eyelet of his right foot. Oh, great, I can’t even tie my shoes, now.
Henri’s silver ring with the NYB embedded on the top could be seen if someone wanted to see it. But everyone seemed to be alternating their gaze between the end of the pointer and the standings. Some even looked at Moe Nash waiting to see if the hammer was going to be dropped on the 21-year-old infielder.
Nash was a likely candidate for a scathing rebuke thought many of the players. Batting a paltry .169 he was barely hitting his .160 weight. The skinny kid from South San Francisco had gathered 21 hits while drawing 6 walks and fanning 48 times. It was the 48 number that bothered Nash the most.
Moe Nash was not used to being a liability. In the bakery he was the whiz kid hustling to mix batches of bread before swinging to the other side of the production room to form the loaves and eventually bake them in the huge rotating oven. Not everyone liked Nash. His reputation for looking after only himself did not sit well with the other bakers.
Henri began, “Men, we are about to come in last place for the third year in a row.” Now everyone was looking down at their shoes. Nash took the opportunity to untie his laces and amend the earlier mistake. Anything was better than looking at Mr. Henri who was pointing the pointer right at him. At least that was his take on it.
“We are winning less than one out of every three games.” At this point only 40-year-old RF Joe Berni was calmly looking at Henri. A veteran of many baseball seasons Berni suspected that the intent of Henri’s meeting had little to do with the poor team performance. He’s known Henri for several years and if there is one thing that stood out to him about Julien it is that he always takes the ‘high road’.
Henri flipped the chalkboard so that the other side was now visible. The players sighed relief as the ugliness of the standings were now out of view. In their place was a new set of statistics that spoke to a very different take on the season.
Average Attendance Last Year 3,338
Average Attendance This Year 6,584
“For those of you who are not too sharp on the math that is a 49.2% increase from last year.”
The room quieted as the players sat motionless trying to determine what was coming next. “The fans have not given up on us. If anything, they like us even more than last season.”
A few players looked up from their shoes to exchange awkward looks with other players they felt close to on the team. “So, what does that tell you?”
After a brief silence, 29-year-old infielder Ron Ashley took a stab at the answer. “That we ain’t as bad as we think, Mr. Henri?”
“Anyone else?”, asked Henri.
Ashley looked back down at his shoes knowing full well his answer was not the one the GM was looking to hear. He made a show of adjusting his ball cap to mask the embarrassment across his face.
Moe Nash piped up, “It means the crowd believes in us. They ain’t given up on the Bakers.” The room was quiet awaiting Henri’s response. Nash, in a departure from his earlier body language, was now looking Julien Henri in the eye.
“Bingo.” The players looked over at Nash wondering how the kid came up with the right answer. Some may not care for his personality but most of the players in the room respect him for speaking out.
Henri now was speaking almost in a whisper, “And the fact that the crowd is still believing in us leads us to the next point. Which is?………”
Nash, again, took the initiative, “It means that we have to continue to believe in ourselves, too. So as to not let them down.”
“Moe just nailed it. We don’t give up today. We don’t give up tomorrow. We don’t ever, ever give up. When we lose, we come back hard the next day. We don’t hang our heads. We don’t blame the guy next to us. We play harder and harder and……one day……one day……” Henri is pausing for effect as he flips the chalkboard back to the other side.
Taking aim with the pointer he touches the Richmond name….” The Rebels”, he drops the pointer down one line, “the Clippers”, and finally “the Brewers” are going to be looking at the standings and you know what they are going to see?”
Nash stands to his feet, “The god damn Bakers in first place. That’s what they are gonna see, the New York Bakers who will be kicking their asses.”
The room erupts into an energy that can hardly be contained within the walls of the dark and damp locker room. Henri is done talking. The players grab their gear, and spirit themselves off the bench and towards the exit door to take the field for the evenings game.
Henri is the last man to leave the room and just before he exits and closes the door the flickering light stabilizes and begins shining brighter. Henri turns to witness it before smiling and turning his back to it. He knows he has a game to watch tonight.