[No Pepper]

San Francisco, November 13, 1902

The news that ex-NL star Amos Rusie had jumped San Francisco to join John McGraw and the All-Nationals dominated the thoughts of another pitcher contemplating his future. Jack Chesbro himself had bolted from the strong Pittsburgh club the year before and decided to sign a more lucrative contract with the Sacramento Senators of the outlaw California League. Rumors among the players were already going round that the success of the last campaign has spurned interest in forming a much larger league with more credibility, much like what the American League had done in two years ago.

“What they say is true, Jack,” Clark Griffith explained as he handed the pitcher another beer. They were at some dark smoky saloon with tables in the back. Both were thinking about joining the poker game, voices were getting louder, the smoke heavier, and no doubt the stakes higher. Competition was their nature.

Griffith was in a better mood than Jack, and it was known among the California boys that he was on a recruiting mission for the soon-to-be New York club, the old Baltimore team that Ban Johnson wanted in New York to spite John McGraw of the Giants. It sounded like another good opportunity for Jack to get back east rather than labor in relative obscurity. Life was good here, though, and the pay back east was horrible. But ego isn’t always served by money and a suntan.

Elmer Flick, who had also jumped out West, was already on his way back to Cleveland to sign a contract. Flick claimed he got a good offer but everyone knew that despite being among the best batsmen in the California League [he won top honors] it was the best batsman in an outlaw league. He couldn’t go back east if things fell through out here, and with more rumors of the AL and NL making peace this winter, Flick wasn’t going to take a chance at getting blacklisted or banned if he stayed put.

“And he’s right too,” chimed in Griffith, who almost seemed be reading his mind.

“Keep to your drinkin’, Griff. I’ve got my own booze to keep me happy.”

“But you aren’t happy, Happy Jack. It’s written all over you. Can’t you see? Flick, now Rusie. I hear Mercy's [tour organizer Win Mercer] swept up Donovan and is even close to signing Sam Crawford for Detroit. Heck, even Jones and Comiskey, the bastard, managed to whisk away clean as Doc White!” Clark had a way of piling it on, much like all the junk he threw at hitters when he was in the clutch.

“To up the ante, I’m working a curve by your old teammate Tannehill when we go back east in two weeks,” added the old fox.

“You know, you’re already down a couple hundred bucks on this tour Foxy. Why should I bet on you and take your offer if you can’t even buy a ticket back?” Chesbro smiled as he took another stiff shot of whiskey.

“Because more than ten, twenty times that is waiting back there if you do!”