[Big Six]

Canton, Ohio
August 30, 1897

Three men sat at a table in the office of the Canton Watchmakers base ball club, papers spread out in front of them. The Buckeye League allowed its teams to expand their rosters from 22 to 30 players on September 1, and the Watchmakers brain trust was deciding which players from their Canal Dover farm they would bring up to Canton.

Watchmakers manager John Gilmore wrote the names "Jack Holland" and "Carl Backman" on the list. Holland, a big, strong outfielder, and Backman, a versatile infielder, would be rewarded for their efforts with a chance to spend three weeks with the "big club."

"That gives us 28," said Henry Blair, the general manager of the Canton club. "We have room for two more, if we want them."

Vincent Pace, the manager of the Canal Dover team, scratched his chin for a moment. "What about Charlie Callahan? He was the best pitcher we had this year, by a long shot."

Gilmore remembered Callahan, who had impressed him at the tryout back in March. "Callahan has a good arm," he noted. "But do you think he's ready to pitch against the hitters in our league?"

"He might get hit pretty hard," Blair admitted. "I think the question might be this: how would he respond to that? Do you think he will lose his confidence if he's roughed up a little bit?"

Pace shook his head. "He encountered some rough times with us this year, particularly at the beginning of the season. He seemed to be able to shake that off pretty well. And he pitched better late in the season."

A boy, perhaps eleven or twelve years old, slowly shuffled into the room. He walked with a noticeable limp, and he carried a sheaf of papers in his hand.

"Excuse me, Father, but I think you ought to let Charlie Callahan pitch for Canton," the boy said quietly. "He's a lot better than Lafe Keefer, and you have Keefer on your list."

Henry Blair smiled at his son. Henry, Jr. loved base ball more than anything, but a badly broken ankle, suffered in a wagon accident when he was five years old, kept young Henry from playing the game. A bright boy with a knack for mathematics, Henry became a passionate collector and student of baseball statistics.

"Son, I appreciate your suggestion, but we have a lot of work to do here," Blair said gently.

"But I think I have some information here that can help you," said the boy. He shuffled his papers and found the one he wanted, and placed it on the table in front of his father.

"Look here. Mr. Pace is right. Charlie did pitch better later in the season." Henry pointed to a neat column of figures. "In July and August, he won seven games and lost only three. He pitched 88 innings, and he allowed only 71 hits."

"That's enough, Henry," said Blair.

"No, Blair," said Gilmore. The boy's calculations intrigued him. "Let's hear what he has to say. "Go on, Henry."

Young Henry smiled. "He struck out 47 men and walked only 11. And here's something else. If you add up the number of men he walked and the number of hits he gave up, you see that he allowed less than one base runner per inning. That's what this means." Henry pointed to a column he had marked "WHIP."

"That sounds good to me," Gilmore smiled. "If a man doesn't get on base, he can't score a run, can he?"

Now the general manager was intrigued by his son's work, too. "Why do you call that WHIP, Son?"

"Walks plus hits per innings pitched," young Henry said, beaming.

"So all these numbers say he can pitch," said Gilmore. "Can they tell us if he'll lose his nerve if someone hits him hard?"

"Well, we have one more spot available," Blair pointed out. "Let's give it to John Callahan. John might not be young, but he hit .310. I think he earned a chance. And he'll be there to steady young Charlie if we need him to."

Henry Blair, Jr. smiled even more brightly. For the first time in his life, he felt like he was part of a base ball team, and it felt very, very good.