THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, August 11, 1996 TAG: 9608110096
SECTION: LOCAL PAGE: B1 EDITION: NORTH CAROLINA
TYPE: Column
SOURCE: Paul South
LENGTH: 55 lines
Listen - between the pops of the mitt and the clink of a ball against an aluminum bat - and you hear it.
Chatter.
As Dare County's entry in next week's Babe Ruth World Series went through an evening workout at Manteo High School, every fly ball, every grounder, every whiff of an awkward swing prompted a response that would make baseball novices shake their heads in bewilderment.
A lazy pop fly rises in shallow right field.
``Can of corn,'' someone shouts.
An outfielder scoops up a base hit, and fires a perfect strike to second.
``Good shot, babe,'' the second sacker says, eyes fixed on the fielder.
In baseball, if you put on your cleats and walk the walk, you're going to learn to talk the talk.
I can't tell you how chatter started. Ken Burns didn't address it in his public television documentary on baseball.
But chatter is as much a part of the game as Babe Ruth's called shot or Cal Ripken's playing streak.
Infielders often encourage their man on the mound with the ever-popular ``Hum Babe.''
Umpires are known by the bench jockeys as ``Blue.'' Home runs are known as dingers, taters, slammies, the grand salami.
Some, like a kid I knew in high school, used unorthodox methods to rattle hitters. This kid had a face only his mother could love.
``Hey boy,'' my pal would shout, ``I'm taking your sister to the prom.''
Three pitches, the batter was history.
And it's an amazing thing, I can walk into a minor or major league ball park, and after a few cold beverages, I'm chattering again, a futile attempt to fend off middle age.
When you're young, chatter can have some devastating effects. The first infield mantra I ever learned went like this:
``He can't hit it. Everybody knows it. SWING!''
Oh, the shame. Oh, the heartbreak. Oh, the humanity.
But most of today's ballplayers aren't fazed by baseballspeak. They don't mind being called a ``Rag Arm (bad pitcher),'' or tagged with the epithet ``No stick,'' which means you can't hit, or being branded ``New meat,'' the tag for relief pitchers who replace recently rocked starting moundsmen.
``It doesn't bother me,'' says Brock Nixon, a second baseman from Hertford. ``I just block all that stuff out.''
But Kenny Simmons, a shortstop from Moyock, says one thing bothers him.
``When I come to the plate, the infielders start saying, `He's fast. He's fast. Infield up.' That makes me mad. They don't even know if I'm fast.''
So as you settle into your seat at the Babe Ruth World Series, don't look at it as just baseball, but a chance to learn a second language.
The Babe would be proud. MEMO: Main story is also on page B1. by CNB