Ducks on a Pond

Finding the meaning of the baseball phrase “ducks on a pond” is as easy as, well, shooting ducks on a pond. The hard part is figuring out why a phrase used to describe something easy (ala shooting fish in a barrel) transformed into a description of runners on base during a baseball game.

When a batter steps up to the plate with “ducks on the pond,” it means he is batting with runners on base, and the phrase is sometimes even used specifically to describe the bases being loaded. Visually, the idea of ducks representing baserunners is quite pleasing. In fact, I just imagined ducks waddling around the bases in baseball uniforms and enjoyed the mental image quite a bit. But the question remains:

Why would anyone say that in the first place?

To answer that question, we first have to explore the someone who said it: former Washington Senators broadcaster Arch McDonald.

Born in Arkansas, McDonald was known for the easy-going Southern style that filled his broadcasts in his early years with the Chattanooga Lookouts and eventually the major league Washington Senators. Mel Allen even served as his assistant on Yankees broadcasts for a year before taking over for him full-time when McDonald decided New York City wasn’t for him and went back to Washington. Not only did he coin the phrase “ducks on a pond,” he is also responsible for “right down Broadway” and Joe DiMaggio’s nickname “The Yankee Clipper” (comparing him to a smooth, graceful sailing ship as well as “clip” sometimes being used to mean hit).

Being that McDonald was from Arkansas and a country boy at heart, it’s not a stretch to say that he was familiar with hunting and the different terms used in the sport. Most hunters would easily prefer shooting a still duck on a pond rather than trying to shoot a moving target flying around the sky, and that’s why the phrase “as easy as shooting ducks on a pond” came into use. To take that idea a step further, a batter who sees runners on base when he steps up to the plate would be as excited as a hunter who sees ducks on a pond because it’s much easier for a batter to get an RBI if runners are already on base.

Hence, the phrase “the batter steps in with ducks on the pond.”

McDonald died of a heart attack while on a train ride from New York to Washington in 1960 at the age of 59, and no one ever asked or recorded his answer as to why he started using the term, so we’ll never know for sure exactly what he was thinking.

Regardless of his motives, McDonald gave us another example of a way to take a seemingly common baseball situation and describe it in an unconventional and entertaining manner.

Editor’s Note: I am not at all condoning the shooting of ducks on a pond. Or ducks not on a pond. Or shooting ducks anywhere for that matter. I think ducks are great. In fact, Donald Duck is actually my favorite cartoon character. So, just to be clear: this column is anti-duck shooting. Okay, glad we got that all straight.

Can of Corn

Listen to enough baseball games, and you’ll surely hear something like this from a broadcaster: “And he hits a can-of-corn out to shallow left field.”

He did what?

Few baseball idioms are more stupefying than “can of corn.” How exactly can a routine fly ball hit to an outfielder be compared to a can of the Jolly Green Giant’s second favorite vegetable?

Well, there are a few explanations, but one seems to stand out above the rest. The term was first used all the way back in 1896 to describe a fly ball hit so high that a fielder has ample time to get directly under it. It came from old-fashioned grocery store clerks that stacked their canned goods on high shelves and pulled them down with a long pole. It was said that an experienced clerk could easily catch one of the falling cans. Hence, an easily caught, “can of corn” fly ball.

Then, there are the less popular theories. Like the one that says a fly ball is as easy to catch as “taking corn out of a can.” I really think I could find much better ways than "taking corn out of a can" to describe something that is easy to do. Apparently, whoever came up with that theory has never cut themselves on the side of an aluminum can after realizing that they don’t have a can opener and trying to use a knife. (It wasn’t me, I promise. It was a college roommate who was desperate to eat some Spaghetti-Os… Okay, yes, it was me.)

Or how about the fact that when a batter hits a fly ball, it makes a sound like tapping against a hollow, tin can of corn? Yeah, that doesn’t work for me either. What about the old-fashioned “cornball” made of popcorn and molasses? No, that doesn’t sound right… nor does it sound like something I’m interested in eating. We’ll just stick with our grocery store theory.

There you have it: the term “can of corn” comes from grocery store clerks stacking their canned goods high on shelves and catching them in the same manner an outfielder would camp under a high fly ball.

Now, if I could only get the Green Giant to stop calling them corn “niblets.” Mostly because I don’t think I ever want to eat anything that involves the word niblets.

The Mendoza Line

4, 256 hits. 73 home runs. 56-game hitting streak.

All legendary numbers in the baseball world.

A .200 batting average.

Unfortunately for Mario Mendoza, that number is almost as legendary.

There must be dozens of ballplayers who barely managed to produce lackluster batting averages throughout their career, but in a sport where statistics are paramount, Mario Mendoza is the “lucky” player who has his name stamped on the benchmark for a struggling hitter.

If a baseball player is hitting below the “Mendoza line,” it means he has a batting average below .200. To be fair, Mendoza’s career batting average is .215 (287-for-1337), but during the 1979 season in which he played 148 games at shortstop for the Pittsburgh Pirates, he posted a .198 average. I wish I could say that was his career-low, but lesser numbers can be found plastered on the back of his baseball cards.

The origins of the phrase are widely speculated, but popular opinion points to George Brett as the first person to make the nametag famous. It’s said that Brett used to check the Sunday newspaper’s statistics section to see who was listed below Mendoza in the batting average category. Brett, who once flirted with a .400 average in the 1980 season, was actually listed below Mendoza in the paper once during the years they both played in the American League.

In an ironic twist, Brett actually credited the man he made infamous with helping to keep him from reaching the .400 mark. “I remember Mario Mendoza, the shortstop for the Mariners, making two or three diving stabs up the middle,” Brett said in an interview about his quest for the holy grail of batting statistics. “When that starts happening, you think, ‘Geez, I wonder if it's in the stars.’”

But some people, including Mendoza, say that Brett’s teammate Tom Paciorek was the true inventor of the phrase. Paciorek, however, points to another teammate. “It wasn’t my idea. It was Bruce Bochte’s. I got the credit, but I don’t want it,” Paciorek said in an interview with Sports Illustrated.

Despite the confusion over who coined the term, the “Mendoza line” is now a part of baseball culture. Ask any ballplayer, and they’ll say they never want to hear their name and Mendoza’s uttered in the same sentence. But fans will continue to use it as a clear distinction of a batter who just can’t seem to notch that extra hit every ten at bats.

But the widespread use of Mendoza’s name in relation to a low average does beg the question: What if his last name had been Smith? Or Johnson? Or some other name that isn’t nearly as fun to say as “Men-doh-zah?” Would the legend really have grown so large without such a cool sounding name?

Something tells me the “Ron Tingley line” would not have caught on the same way.

Baseball's Spectacular Vernacular

More than any other sport, baseball seems to have its own language. Terms like can-of-corn, the Mendoza line or Golden Sombrero populate common, everyday stadium chatter as if they're not ridiculously confusing ways to describe on-field action.

At some point, we all hear these terms or phrases for the first time, and shortly after that point, we think to ourselves, "what the heck does that mean?" If we're brave enough, we swallow our pride and ask. Someone will give an answer, and inevitably the next question is asked: "why the heck do they call it that?"

That's where Hardball Mysteries comes in.

Throughout the course of the summer, we're not only going to define some of the wackier terms out there in the baseball world, we're going to figure out why they even came about. Why is it called a Texas Leaguer? Where does the term eephus pitch come from? Why is Chewbacca throwing out the first pitch with Princess Leia cheering him on in the picture at the top of this post?

Okay, I can't answer that last one, but you get the idea. So, check back every week to see a new baseball term defined and explained so that you'll never have to hear the words, "how did you not know that?" while at the ballpark.

Unless, you thought the game was five innings instead of nine. Then, you deserve to hear "how did you not know that?"