A form of “rounders”; Americas national game for nearly 150 years. Baseball is played formally and informally as “hardball,” “softball,” “stickball,” “wiffle ball,” “monkey move-up,” “one old cat,” and in dozens of other forms. Almost all Americans have played some version of it, watched it, and read about it, and most Americans are exposed to its lore and language more often than they realize. Baseball has also sunk deep roots in Japan and Latin America. Baseball players are from disparate regional and ethnic backgrounds. They come together only for practices, games, and road trips, then go their separate ways. White, Black, Latino, they are literate and subject to the same popular culture that America at large shares. Moreover, they read the people who write about the game, and they talk to the people who broadcast it. Thus, they are not a clear-cut folk group, although they have a certain homogeneity, and an occupa-tional lore has developed among and about them. This lore may be divided into three parts. First is the lore brought to the game by the players from their varied backgrounds. This lore is drawn on as needed and, even if modified to fit the occupation, differs little from the same lore beyond the game. The number thirteen is unlucky on the diamond as at home. Second is the lore that grows up within the game itself. Dizzy Dean strolls over to the opposing dugout, asks each starter what pitch he prefers, then, throwing only the pitches requested, hurls a shutout. Third is the lore that sportswriters, radio and television personnel, and sometimes fans create about baseball, much of which filters back to the players. The proverb “Nice guys finish last,” erroneously attributed to Leo Durocher, is a case in point. Because most ballplayers come from literate backgrounds, they have no need for the major forms of folk tradition: for religious stories like myths (they have their Christianity or Islam or odier religions), for songs, ballads, and love lyrics (they have radios, televisions, and cassette players), nor for full-blown legends chronicling the history of their cultures. What one finds, therefore, are anecdotal legends and jokes, proverbial lore, superstitions, and especially a vigorous body of folk speech. Baseball’s most famous tale is about George Herman “Babe” Ruth, the true hero of the game. Supposedly, this superman, at the plate in the fourth inning of the third game of the 1932 World Series against star pitcher Charlie Root, had two strikes on him when he pointed to the centerfield stands and on the next pitch hit a home run to the exact spot indicated. Eyewitnesses agree that Ruth did raise his finger after the second strike, but Root insisted until he died that all Ruth was doing was illustrating his taunt: “You still need one more, kid!” Nevertheless, the “indicator home run” story is known wherever baseball is known and has pretty much hardened into fact. Ruth, who was by far the most charismatic player to play the game, is also the hero of numerous anecdotes: He drinks all night, then smashes three homers when hung over; he earns more than President Hoover and rationalizes it on the grounds that he had a better year than the “prez”;’ he eats and wenches in a fashion that would exhaust Hercules. But there are other heroes and other tales. Rube Waddell loads the bases on purpose, calls in the outfield, and strikes out the side. Lefty Gomez comments on his fastball at the end of his career: “I’m throwing as hard as I ever did; they just aren’t getting there as fast.” Such anecdotes wander, attaching themselves to whatever hero is before the camera at the moment. Who was the player who hit one for the sick child? Who was the pitcher so mean he “low-bridged” his mother at a church softball game? Who was the batter thrown out of the game because he told the umpire he was sick, “…sick of bad calls”? Many stories take the form of tall tales or outright jokes. Satchel Paige is known to throw so hard he can get strikeouts without releasing the ball: He simply winds up, the catcher slaps his glove, and the duped umpire yells “Strike!” the batter blinking in agreement. A dog runs onto the field and grabs a grounder, forcing Honus Wagner to pick up the animal and heave him to first for the out. Gaylord Perry throws an illegal spitball that is so loaded it sprays both the batter and the umpire. Although baseball has developed a number of beliefs and superstitions—such as the seventh-inning stretch and the prohibition against telling a pitcher he has a no-hitter going—most such material is highly personal. Players who always cross a baseline rightfoot-first, or who pick up every scrap of paper in the dugout, or who wear lucky clothes and carry amulets are acting no differently than any human faced with a critical situation. Nor is most of this material unique to the game. The bad luck associated with a black cat, and the good luck associated with four-leaf clovers, the rabbit’s foot, and not shaving on the day of a game, are superstitions known everywhere in America. Baseball’s proverbs and proverbial sayings are much more apt to rise from the occupation itself. Besides the famous “Nice guys finish last,” there are true proverbs like “Don’t pitch a country boy high” (Don’t throw fastballs to a rookie), truisms like “Southpaws are crazy,” conventional phrases like “Stick it in his ear,” and popular comparisons like “Loose as a goose” or “Loosey goosey.” Much of this material is part of the cant of the game and is a vital part of American speech. Even the least interested know the meaning of words and phrases like “rookie,” “bench warmer,” “rooter,” “beanball,” “southpaw,” “bush-league,” “pinch hit,” “out in left field,” or “out of my league,” even if they have no idea of the meaning of a “can of corn” (easy fly ball), a “gopher ball” (a pitch a batter can “go for”), or a clothesline (line drive). Sportswriters and announcers, mingling with the players, have been instrumental in spreading such folk-say. One of their efforts has resulted in the widely used malapropisms attributed to former catcher, coach, and manager Yogi Berra: “It’s not over ‘til it’s over,” “It’s déjà vu all over again,” and (at an event honoring him), “Thanks for making this night necessary.” Some writers and announcers have had true literary talent or flair: Ring Lardner, Gilbert Patton, Edward Stratemeyer, Grantland Rice, Paul Gallico, Ernest Thayer, and James Thurber, to name a few. In magazines and newspapers, these men created an entire lore about the game. Tales of Lardner’s Jack O’Keefe in You Know Me, Al; Pattons Frank Merriwell, Stratemeyer’s Baseball Joe, Thayer’s Casey of Mudville, and Thurber’s midget in You Could Look It Up (which inspired Bill Veeck to send midget Eddie Gaedel to bat in a major league game) are as much a part of baseball’s lore as stories about Ruth, Waddell, or Dean. Tristram Potter Coffin References Coffin, Tristram Potter. 1971. The Old Ball Game: Baseball in Folklore and Fiction. New York: Herder and Herder. ——. 1975. The Illustrated Book of Baseball Folklore. New York: Seabury. Ludwig, H.A. 1986. Baseball Lingo. Cleveland, OH: Lingo. McCue, Andrew. 1991. Baseball by the Books: A History and Complete Bibliography of Baseball Fiction. Dubuque, IA: William C.Brown. Okrent, David, and Steve Wulf. 1989. Baseball Anecdotes. New York: Oxford University Press.