10.The Death Of Big Ed Delahanty
Sometimes, hungover, he might lose a pop fly in the glare of the
Washington sun.
And yes, he swung at bad pitches, and let the Irish in him
sharpen up and boozy-bloat his tongue.
Nights on the road he led a bachelor's life, with the bright
short blaze of a shooting star.
But he soaked some homersyeah, four in one game--when the ball
was dead and the fences far.
Big Ed don't let them weigh you down.
Big Ed don't let us weigh you down.
In July 1903 he was hitting .333; for him that was a little bit
under par.
On the 2nd he jumped the team and jumped a train from Detroit to
New York, went straight for the dining car.
He was boozing it up good, they say, making trouble, cursing,
shouting, Delahanting in the bar.
At Fort Erie, Ontario, he was bumped from the train, wandered
out on the international bridge but he didn't get too far.
Big Ed don't let them weigh you down.
Big Ed don't let us weigh you down.
The night watchman said he'd seen a man, ended up wearing his
bowler hat; he heard a splash but he didn't see him fall.
For a week no one found a clue of him.
What good's it do to question death when it makes a bad call？
But I don't think he killed himself. I think some strange notion
drew him to Niagara Falls,
across the curve of day and night, like the perfect arch of a
high fly ball.
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