[SelzShoes]

From the Philadelphia Almanac

Given our Quakers were one win away from the first base ball title since the pre-Empire days, the disaffection with this year’s squad was understandable. For half a year, no club scored fewer times, allowed more runs or won less than our crimson clad warriors. Blame was assigned to any and every corner imaginable; from owner Zechariah Franklin, who allowed the best players to leave the city; to Cappy Richardson, who has shown while he controls the bat he may not be able to control men; to the new park, where the lines where built to Cappy’s specification and not anyone else’s.

But an odd thing occurred while our squad settled into the cellar, a full 20 games behind the tussling Chicagos and Brooklyns and the rumors of Richardson’s flight to a different city became daily fodder for even casual fans: Cappy made these boys into winners.

Saddled with a 16 win, 32 loss season, Cappy used his superior base ball intellect to finish the year with an astounding 50 wins and a third place finish. And it is a puzzle to even the most knowledged of the game to understand how they won. Six clubs crossed home more times and four prevented the opposition from scoring more runs. The only edge our club had was a field captain whose desire to win surpasses all.

The crowds, which had dwindled to half the size as during last year’s glorious run, by the end of play surpassed any seen in our city—and rivaled the throngs seen in Chicago and Brooklyn. Cranks who months ago would have bartered Cappy for a Muffin hurler now shouted his name as a hero again. He was no longer Cappy, he was “our Cappy.”