Some worlds are best kept safe by letting their ritual run, inning after bright, impossible inning.
SCP-9935 first pitch.
| Assigned Department | Department Head | Research Head | Assigned Task Force |
| Structures, Constructs, and Patterns | Dr. Constance Evermore | Dr. Claire Higgins | Delta-23 "Batboys" |
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-9935 is contained at its time and place of origin, at the site of Bruce Park in Indianapolis, Indiana, USA circa 1889 - near the corner of East 22nd St. and North College Avenue in the modern day. A perimeter has been established around the field and no civilians are to be permitted beyond the perimeter. Any persons who attempt to access the East 22nd St. site are to be given a Class-C amnestic and remanded to local police. Ongoing containment of this perimeter is under the purview of MTF Delta-23 "Batboys".
Due to the ongoing temporal anomaly present at the site, no additional obfuscation assets are necessary - it is impossible to see the site of SCP-9935 until one crosses the boundary of the temporal anomaly.
Hoosiers second baseman Charley Bassett being tagged out at home by Nationals catcher Tom Daly. Image taken during the bottom of the 21,015th inning.
Description: SCP-9935 is a baseball game between the Indianapolis Hoosiers and Washington Nationals that has been played continuously since it originally began on the 5th of October, 1889. As no rule exists that declares a baseball game concluded after a set period of time if the score is tied, and as neither team has broken the tie since the game began, it has run uninterrupted for over 135 years.
The unusual nature of the game in question has resulted in a region of altered temporal state surrounding the ball field that affects both the persons who inhabit the region, and persons from outside the region who cross into it. Crossing over the anomaly's threshold during the course of the game will find the affected persons shifted temporally to the 5th of October, 1889 - as determined by the positions of stellar objects within the region and without. Persons looking at the altered region from the outside will see a flat patch of dirt in a vacant lot on East 22nd Street, while persons within the altered region will see the city of Indianapolis as it existed in 1889 when looking out from within it.
The altered region is only accessible during the hours in which the game is being played - starting roughly two hours before 14:00 EST and lasting between 4-5 hours in duration. Shortly after the conclusion of the period of play, the altered region will demanifest until the start of the next period. The game is played every day except Sunday and any of the eleven major American federal holidays.
Map of the city of Indianapolis circa 1889 and 2025. Relative location of Bruce Park added - relative location of anomaly threshold demarcated in red.
The area within the boundary is roughly 19,000m2, and begins roughly six meters from the back fence of the Bruce Park field, extending down both sidelines towards the grandstand, from which it extends out ten meters past the grandstand behind home plate. This threshold is not static, and has been known to shift back and forth up to 1.2m. The day-night cycle within roughly matches the same cycle outside of it, though the interior cycle does not experience seasonal shift, as every day within the boundary is the 5th of October, 1889.
SCP-9935 is inhabited primarily by players and spectators who were present at the start of the game in 1889. These persons do not grow old, nor do they seem to be otherwise adversely affected by the altered temporal topography of SCP-9935. They are capable of passing the threshold of SCP-9935, but only on the 1889 side - the same (but in reverse) as individuals who enter SCP-9935 from the modern day. Persons within SCP-9935 are aware of the anomalous nature of the game, and have commented on it when questioned by Foundation personnel (see Addendum 9935.6 for more details).
It is currently uncertain whether SCP-9935 exists as a temporal loop perpetuated by the innately arcane nature of the game of baseball (in which the persons within SCP-9935 are those who were there the day of the game), or a parallel timeline extracted from consensus reality in which the game never ended (in which the persons within SCP-9935 are not from the "consensus" timeline, but instead originated because of the unusual nature of the game). This question arises from a potential misinformation campaign that would have arisen shortly after the original published end of the game; one of the organizations that acted as a precursor to the modern Foundation, the Wabash Theological Seminary, was aware of the anomalous nature of SCP-9935 and worked to supress knowledge of it at the time, but their work did not begin until several months after the supposed end of the game.
Whether the original game ended as published (a 15-6 win for Indianapolis) and the persons involved lived out the rest of their lives naturally (and therefore SCP-9935 is a branch timeline) or whether the published end result was misinformation on the part of the Wabash Theological Seminary (and the inhabitants of SCP-9935 are the original players stuck in a temporal loop) is unknown, as no records have been recovered from the Seminary's archives that indicate either as truth.
Addendum 9935.1: History
SCP-9935 began on the 5th of October 1889 at roughly 14:00 Eastern Standard Time. The game was played at Bruce Park in Indianapolis, Indiana, United States, and was the third game in a three-game series between the host Indianapolis Hoosiers and the visiting Washington Nationals1. Both teams were at the end of losing seasons - Indianapolis would finish the season with a record of 59-75, while Washington would finish with a record of 41-83. They would finish 7th and 8th in the National League, respectively, and both teams would fold before the start of the next season2.
According to gamekeeper Martin Van Dijk, the game sat at 15-6 going into the 7th inning, at which point Washington scored five runs on Indianapolis pitcher Amos Rusie off strong hitting by batters Tom Daly, Arthur Irwin, and Billy Hoy. The Hoosiers were held scoreless in the 7th and both teams were unable to score in the 8th, leading to a 15-11 9th inning start. Nationals second baseman Sam Wise then proceeded to get on base, steal second, and was promptly batted in by Arthur Irwin who, along with his brother John Irwin, scored on a Walt Wilmot double to bring the game within a run, 15-14. Tom Daly later hit a single that scored Ed Beecher from second, tying the game at 15. The Hoosiers were held scoreless at the bottom of the 9th, leading to the first extra innings period.
The unusual properties of SCP-9935 became apparent quickly, as neither team managed to score a run for the next twelve innings. Indianapolis shortstop and player manager, Jack Glasscock, described the revelation as such:
Jack "Pebbly Jack" Glasscock, player manager for the 1889 Indianapolis Hoosiers.
"It must’ve been somewhere ‘round the twentieth inning when we first began to realize how queer the whole affair had grown. By then we were plumb wore out, the sun had long since gone down, and the lamps out in the field were no help at all, faint little glimmers that scarcely lit the grass. We’d been told a storm was bound to roll in that evening, yet it never did, and still we played on. Felt like hours piled atop hours, each of us praying one side or the other might finish it off so we could all go home, but neither club could manage the winning stroke."
"Me and John3 went out to speak with Bill4 about stoppin’ things, for we were all bone-tired, but he just shook his head and said the game had to be played out, no matter the hour. It was, I reckon, the top of the thirty-fifth when the next run came across. We sat in the dugout before takin’ our turn at bat, and I told Jerry5 it was no shame if he wanted to lay down his arms and call it a night. But Jerry snapped right back at me: “Jack, I ain’t goin’ into the record books as the fellow who stood idle while his nine lost the longest game ever played.” Sure enough, he steps up and drops a little bounder past second, then Emmett sends him along with a fly out to right, and the lad comes home on a passed ball. All square again."
"At length we struck a bargain with Bill to call a halt after the forty-first, so’s everyone could steal away for some rest. I swear I never slept so sound in all my life. Come the next morning, we tramped back to the park, and someone remarked how the weather was the selfsame as the day before - mighty strange, we all thought, seeing as how we’d braced for rain the previous night. The crowd was back too, same faces and same hollers, eager to see how the thing might end. That’s when it struck me how peculiar it all was. Near everything stood just as it had the day before - the sky, the people, even the sun breaking through the fog at dawn. The only thing different was the number painted up on the scoreboard."
-Jack Glasscock
After the second day of play with no score increase, a pre-game meeting was called between managers Jack Glasscock and John Morrill, and umpires Bill Krieger, Tad Renshaw, and Buck Halstead. In Morrill's account of that meeting:
John "Honest John" Morrill, manager for the 1889 Washington Nationals.
"You’d reckon I’d have put it clear out of mind by now, but truth be told it feels as though it might’ve been yesterday. At the outset, we all figured this contest was either a sorry exhibition of baseball, or else the greatest match ever, which just so happened to be played betwixt two of the sorriest clubs ever to set foot upon a diamond. Whichever way it turned, we knew it would be remembered. Old Bill Krieger asked us plain what our course should be if the affair spilled into a third day. Seems comical now, but in that moment all we thought on was getting home and finding work, for the club was about to fold."
"I went into that parley certain he meant to tell us there existed some forgotten rule or obscure by-law that would let us call the game as it stood. We were already in the forty-sixth inning, no nearer to a decision than the day prior. But he said no such statute was writ, the game must be seen to its close. Still, he wished to strike an agreement should we march into day three. “Nine innings a day only,” says he, “with fresh pitchers each morn. We’ll play every day save the Sabbath, so the Lord’s rest be not disturbed, and we keep at it until the matter is settled or heaven itself descends to call time.” We’d already spoken as a team, and the lads were set to see it through. Those with wives had ‘em brought ‘round, for all knew this would be the last match we’d play, and there was one of those new Bell switchboards down at the station if a fellow had to ring his folks."
"We all supposed the end must come within a day or so. Funniest thing, I recollect Ed6 remarkin’ on the weather, saying how fair it had been these past few days. “Just the same fine day as it was yesterday,” he says, plain as you please."
-John Morrill
Addendum 9935.2: Team Batting & Pitching
Player ages are marked after their names.
| Indianapolis | Pos. | Washington |
|---|---|---|
| Con Daily, 24 | C | Tom Daly, 23 |
| Paul Hines, 34 | 1B | Jack Carney, 22 |
| Charley Bassett, 26 | 2B | Sam Wise, 31 |
| Jack Glasscock, 31 | SS | Arthur Irwin, 31 |
| Jerry Denny, 30 | 3B | John Irwin, 27 |
| Emett Seery, 28 | OF | Billy Hoy, 27 |
| Jack McGeachey, 25 | OF | Walt Wilmot, 25 |
| Jim Sneddon, 26 | OF | Ed Beecher, 29 |
| Indianapolis | Pos. | Washington |
|---|---|---|
| Henry Boyle, 28 | P | Alex Ferson, 22 |
| Pretzels Getzien, 25 | P | George Haddock, 22 |
| Amos Rusie, 18 | P | George Keefe, 22 |
| Bill Burdick, 29 | P | Hank O'Day, 29 |
| Jim Whitney, 31 | P | Egyptian Haley, 22 |
| Jack Fee, 21 | P | Mike Sullivan, 18 |
| Lev Shreve, 23 | P | Gus Krock, 23 |
| Varney Anderson, 23 | P | John Thornton, 20 |
| Indianapolis | Pos. | Washington |
|---|---|---|
| Jack Glasscock, 31 | Man. | John Morrill, 34 |
| Officials |
|---|
| William Krieger, 65 |
| Tad Renshaw, 40 |
| Buck Halstead, 36 |
Addendum 9935.3: Discovery and Early Containment
The first recorded documentation of SCP-9935's existence was a police report filed by Indianapolis police officer J.R. Callahan, where a child (noted as "Thomas Ellery") had approached him and remarked upon the strange game he had just witnessed:
Police Report – Precinct 4
Date: Dec. 17, 1889
Officer: J.R. Callahan
- YOUNG BOY, name of Thomas Ellery (approx. 10 yrs), approached on Bruce Rd. near old Charleston library.
- States he observed Hoosiers base ball game “past the 1000th inning.” Scoreboard marked in excess of usual tallies.
- Reports odd weather conditions, "blustery on the outside but cool autumn day on the inside"
- Claims players & crowd present, but none remarked upon the strange happenings of the game.
- On inspection: Bruce Park empty, no sign of man or beast.
- No further witnesses at scene. Child returned to guardian.
Recommend: likely overactive imagination - monitor area, note if further reports arise.
The next published reporting on the game was over eight years later in the spring of 1898, when a fringe paranormal investigation newsletter called "Truth Seekers in the Lord's Army" out of Cleveland, Ohio, USA published a story submitted to them by a "Sir Chester A. Malthus, GCB" - real name "Frank Wells" - a known drifter and likely narcissist with a penchant for writing in to local newspapers with elaborate fictions purporting as truth. In an editorial note from Truth Seekers managing editor Arnold Hendricks, the story is described as "the unfiltered truth from the mind of one whose eyes have peered across the veil":
Only known photograph of Frank Wells, alias "Sir Chester A. Malthus, GCB".
i seen it i swear to God Almighty and all His Angels i seen it with these eyes and they cannot lie to me no more. all the folks said i was cracked in the head and my tongue loose but THIS TIME it was real true, it was out there in the dark part of town where that old field stands like a grave with no stone. i heard the crack of a bat that had no bat, i heard the roar of a crowd that had no lungs.
the men was playin ball, base ball, but it was no day’s game, no, it was the GHOSTLY GAME OF THE DAMNED. the scoreboard was tallied up like a tower of numbers, past a thousand innings, past the counting of man. i walked up close and the players’ faces was hollow as lanterns, bones knockin in their uniforms, caps sittin crooked on skulls. they pitched and they caught and they swung, and every inning ended the same as the last, never no finish, never no rest.
the air was wrong, thick as smoke but no smoke, and the sun was not right neither. it set and it rose and then it set again but never did it change, just the same day unending, stuck like a wheel in the mud. i felt the hair rise on my arms like needles. i wanted to run but my legs would not move, like they was nailed into the earth.
they is cursed, i tell you, cursed men from long ago, ballplayers who never quit, damned to swing and pitch till the Judgment comes. and the crowd! oh Lord the crowd. they cheered and they jeered but their mouths had no teeth and their eyes was pits, black pits, yet they hollered all the same.
you may laugh at me like you done before, sayin i am touched or fevered, but you go down to that field in Indianapolis when the fog rolls and the lamps burn low and you will hear it too! the endless game, the endless cries, the players of the dead locked in their innings forever. i will not sleep tonight nor any other, for i have SEEN IT TRUE.
Rev. Andrew W. Carter
It is widely believed that SCP-9935 came under the control of the Foundation precursor group "Wabash Theological Seminary" in the early 1900s. The seminary - which was founded in the late 1880s in Wabash, Indiana, and was based out of Indianapolis by 1902 - served as a major surveyor and catalogue of anomalous artifacts in the region at the time, as well as an assessor of other anomalous phenomena within the scope of their charter. While they primarily managed theological anomalies - in their own words, "demonic possessions, liturgical rituals, and wayward miracles" - they did occasionally branch out into more secular anomalous activity when it occurred within their reach.
While the Seminary did keep exhaustive records of many of the anomalous happenings in their jurisdiction, SCP-9935 is mentioned only a few times, and only ever by the Seminary's founder - Reverend Andrew W. Carter. Carter, himself a self-avowed fan of baseball in America, wrote about SCP-9935 on three separate occasions - first in 1903, then again in 1908 and lastly in 1910, just prior to his death.
From a 1903 report on anomalous activity in central Indiana, western Ohio and eastern Illinois:
…and among the local unusualities of our time, none hath proven more perplexing to my soul than the unnatural contest of base ball, now observed upon Bruce’s Street to the north of Indianapolis. On three occasions have I taken my seat within those stands, hoping by patience and watchfulness to discern the reason for its continuance. Yet at no time have I departed with any new understanding, for the game abideth without resolution. Surely, were the men upon that field to will it so, they might contrive in concert an end to their sport; yea, it would require but one youth to strike at the appointed moment and thus conclude the matter. And yet, despite the simplicity of such deliverance, they persist day upon day, their labor unceasing, the contest enduring now for more than a decade beyond its origin. It is as though some higher judgment binds them, that they may serve as living parable of man’s obstinacy in the face of Divine ordinance.
From a 1908 collection of personal musings:
Three days past I conferred with Reverend Mitchell, and once more our discourse returned to that most curious and interminable contest of base ball. The Reverend, steadfast in his conviction, holds that the game itself is naught but a grand defiance against the heavens; that the players therein, by prolonging their sport beyond all natural bounds, seek to flee both the judgment of God and the punishment of perdition. He did entreat of me leave to inquire further into the histories of the men so engaged, hoping thereby to uncover some past iniquity which might account for their present heresy.
Yet what the Reverend knows not is that such inquiries I had already made, in years gone by. I found among those players neither a company wholly depraved nor one wholly righteous, but rather a mingling of both. There stand sinners and saints alike, men of sound conscience beside the wayward and profane, the devout shoulder to shoulder with the faithless. If their game were truly some scheme to avert Divine reckoning, surely such differences would yield strife - yet no such discord troubles them. It appears rather that Heaven’s favor or displeasure bears no weight upon their strange fraternity.
Nevertheless, I granted Reverend Mitchell his petition, for he is not an unreasonable man, and perhaps by his own labors he may arrive at some light which yet eludes me, even after so many years of observation.
From a 1910 letter to a "Dr. Percival Cairns":
My dear Friend,
You will find, among our records, the scant memorials and testimonies concerning a singular spectacle of base ball played upon the north side of the city of Indianapolis. Your investigators may take some surprise that this trivial pastime should be entered beside the other portents and infernal matters we have borne witness to; yet I beg you to believe me when I affirm that of all the prodigies committed to our ledgers, none has rooted itself in my mind as persistently as this.
The contest hath endured now these twenty years and upwards, and yet the men who ply the bases show no mark of age. Morning follows morning with the selfsame weather; those who sit in the stands remain there, day after day, forever the same faces applauding as though a thousand yesterdays had not passed them by. The tally upon the board mounteth toward a thousand runs a side, and for ten thousand innings and more no advantage hath been won by either party. It is, in brief, an endless arena - an interminable prison of sport into which men, and their observers, are locked in a repetition they perceive with full cognizance yet cannot break.
You, who have peered into the various thresholds of limbo and returned with reports fit for sober men, will know that the torment of those suspended betwixt mercy and condemnation possesses a cruelty of its own. The half-damned endure a monotony that pierceth the soul more keenly than any lash; the slow attrition of sameness gnaws where fire and brimstone may merely scorch. To watch such lives revolve about an act without aim is to witness a spiritual wasting that no demon’s spear could well equal.
Therefore I entreat you: consult the place as set forth in our documentation and behold the game with your own eyes. You will, I think, encounter something other than what your reason now conjectures. I have spent many hours in that stadium - three score and more afternoons of patient observation, speech with those upon the field, and solitary walks about the vacant lot at eventide, straining for the crack of bat and the thud of ball. The thing hath taken hold of me as surely as it seizes the players and spectators within.
My days draw short. When at last my summons cometh I shall seek audience with God the Father, and perchance in His presence the origin of this portent will be made plain to me. Till that hour I remain in perplexity and prayer. Whether this marvel be some attribute of Heaven, some ensnaring ruse of Hell, or some other, stranger agency beyond our present ken, I cannot say.
One request I make in earnest: should Providence permit, once I am gone, you will visit that field and, if it be fitting, take a seat among the watchers. If there be any solace to be found in bearing witness, I desire that my friend should also behold it. Perhaps there will be a day when we shall meet again in those stands, and together share the fellowship that has so richly blessed my time upon this Earth.
Yours in the service of Truth and Faith,
Andrew W. Carter
The SCP Foundation in its modern iteration began containment of SCP-9935 in early 1911, shortly after the Wabash Theological Seminary was folded into the Foundation. This group would eventually form the core of the Department of Structures, Constructs, and Patterns - which maintains containment and observation of SCP-9935 to this day.
Addendum 9935.4: Notable Incidents
Over the course of SCP-9935's running, there have been several incidents of note. Due to the extended duration of SCP-9935 it is likely there are many other significant events that have gone unnoticed. An abbreviated list of these events is available below:
Incident #: 01
Date: 16 MAR 1890
Name: The First Bird Game
Summary: During the fourth inning of the day, Indianapolis third baseman Jerry Denny notices a small flock of birds perching on the roof of the third base grandstand. He points this out to umpire Buck Halstead, and comments that he believes they are tufted titmice. Washington outfielder Ed Beecher, sitting in the visitor's dugout, overhears this conversation and argues that titmice don't flock like that, and it must be some kind of grackle. Denny takes issue with Beecher's assessment of his bird identification abilities and a small argument breaks out.
Then, as described by Hoosiers shortstop Jack Glasscock and recorded by WTS archivist Luke Baden:
"Jerry and Billy got themselves in a real quarrel over a pair of birds, pointing and carrying on like schoolboys. Each man swore he knew just what sort they were. Jerry was firm it was a titmouse, and Eddy Beecher shot him down at every turn. Jerry kept right on describing the little things as plain as day, but Ed wouldn’t so much as stand to look. He was that certain of himself, claiming he didn’t need to see to know."
"After enough jawing back and forth, Ed finally rose and strode to the edge of the dugout, meaning only to get a look at the roof where the birds had perched. Jerry, seeing him move, reckoned he meant to start a fight, and so he rushed at him. Ed took Jerry’s charge as proof of mischief, and the next thing any of us knew, both benches had emptied and the two of them were rolling on the ground."
The two teams were separated by the officials, who suspended both Denny and Beecher for the rest of the game. Hoosiers second baseman Charley Bassett later commented:
"Them two spent the whole damned day hollerin’ at one another about those birds. You could hear ’em out in the lot by the grounds, each callin’ the other a fool who didn’t know a titmouse from a turkey. They were still jawin’ when we packed it in and headed home. Funny part is, one of the birds lit on the dugout roof not long after, and we all saw it plain. Neither of ’em had it right. It was just a common sparrow, nothin’ more."
This incident marked the first of many fights that have occurred during the course of SCP-9935.
Incident #: 23
Date: 29 JUN 1913 - 05 NOV 1913
Name: The Bunt Games
During Washington outfielder Walt Wilmot's first at-bat during the day's second inning, he attempts to bunt7 over Billy Hoy from first to second base. Hoosier's third baseman Jerry Denny fields the ball and gets Hoy out at second, leaving Wilmot alone on first. Ed Beecher then tries to bunt Wilmot over, but the ball pops up and he flies out to the pitcher, Pretzels Getzien. Tom Daly then comes to bat, and also attempt to bunt Wilmot over, but is tagged out on the baseline when the bunt rolls directly to Hoosiers first baseman Jack Carney.
In the bottom of the inning, seemingly originally as a jest against the Nationals' unsuccessful attempts to bunt the runner over (and likely because of many previous failed attempts) all three of the Hoosiers batters bunt, and all three are thrown out at first base. This begins a back and forth where both teams do nothing but bunt for over four straight months. Scoring craters during this period and games became unusually short, as neither team is able to generate any significant offense.
Indianapolis first baseman Paul Hines described this period as such:
"At the start we was all just lookin’ to get a laugh out of it. They couldn’t move their man along and we was takin’ our fun watchin’ ’em fail. Then they turned ’round and tried again right after we did, layin’ down bunts like it was the only trick left in the book. From there it weren’t about nothin’ but who’d crack first. Truth is, that’s what this whole damned game’s been for some of us, a test to see who blinks. We sure as hell weren’t about to blink."
The period known as the Bunt Games ended when Washington shortstop Arthur Irwin hit a home run off Indianapolis pitcher Bill Burdick on the 5th of November, 1913. Underhand lobs by the pitcher had become the status quo, as they significantly reduced the power of bunted balls and made them far simpler to field. Irwin took one of these lobs over the right field fence and put Washington up a run, their first such advantage in over two months at that point.
Irwin's only comment on the home run at the time was:
"I ain’t much for layin’ one down. Swingin’s what I do best, so I’m fixin’ to take my cut and drive that ball."
Normal play resumed immediately afterwards.
Incident #: 64
Date: 08 DEC 1941
Name: The Snow Game
In the only instance of such a thing happening up until that point8, the game that began on 08 DEC 1941 experienced a period of snowfall during the two hours prior to the start of the day's innings. As both teams prepared for a cold-weather game (with help from the attending spectators), a meeting was held between Jack Glasscock, John Morrill, and head umpire Bill Krieger.
Foundation researcher Alex Jameson was on-site for the game and submitted a report on the proceedings. The following is an excerpt from that report.
As the game was preparing to start, both managers approached the plate umpire and asked him about the ongoing weather situation. Neither man seemed particularly aggrieved by it, only asking if there were any special conditions that needed to be taken into account before the game started. The umpire indicated there were not, just that both teams should see to it that their players were kept warm and that if they needed to suspend play to clear the baselines they would do that, but only for so long as it took to clear the field.
Despite appearing for a moment as if the weather was going to clear up right at the start, the snow began again in earnest upon the first pitch. A spectator near me remarked, "I swear upon my eyes I ain’t never beheld the like. Snow falling in the midst of a ball game! All my years watchin’ this sport, never once have the flakes and the baseball met upon the same field. I’d wager such a sight has ne’er been seen since the game was first played." A perhaps ironic comment, given the nature of the game being played!
The first run to score of the day was a simple shot to center that could have been cleanly fielded - but the Indianapolis fielder lost the ball in the snow and the runner scored easily. This caused a small uproar from the Indianapolis dugout and a counter-protest from the Washington side, who argued that there was nothing to do about it as they were both playing in the same conditions. The second time this occurred, Indianapolis put two on Washington and pulled ahead, at which point the (now more conciliatory) Washington manager agreed that something needed to be done.
One of the men in the stands offered a can of paint from his nearby home as a way to mark the baseballs so they could be more easily spotted in the snow. The umpire (William Krieger) denied this, saying no outside substance could be used to mark the balls. The players discussed this for a few minutes longer, before one of them determined they could dig down through the snow to the clay of the mound and use it to darken the balls. Afterwards it became much clearer to see them, though the heavy snow did still affect the state of play.
When later interviewed about the Snow Game, Washington pitcher Alex Ferson described the conditions as such:
"It was the cruelest fall of snow I’ve ever known upon a ballfield - three hours straight as if the sky were a flour mill turned mad, sifting the world to white. Our breath went to hoarfrost the instant it left our mouths; the bats took to our palms like iron straight from a well. We were spared worse by the charity of the town’s good wives, who came trooping with shawls, mittens, and coats; their own hearth-gear pressed into our numb hands, for we’d packed as if for October, not the pole! We set a little stove to red in the dugout - an angry eye in the dark - and in the long at-bats we’d cry time and stagger it toward the mound, two lads to a handle, just to coax fire back into our fingers enough to throw a strike or find a sweet spot."
"By and by the gallery found its voice. First one soul called through the driving flakes to put the matter by - for pity’s sake, before the cold laid us out like tombstones - and then another, and another, until the whole grandstand roared for a stoppage, that storm hammering their pleas into one iron demand. We stood fast, snow needling our cheeks, each man waiting for Providence or its deputy. And then it came, a sound clean as a chapel bell and sharp as a switch off the telegraph: the umpire’s call, Old Bill Krieger, white to the cap brim, cutting the wind as if it were his to part. I swear the diamond steadied underfoot when he spoke, and the words he gave us in that blizzard - God witness me - I’ll carry them in my breast until the day the score is finally tallied."
"He said-
"Lads, ye may beg me to call it off, for the snow does bite and the wind howls fierce, but I cannot. I stand here not for warmth nor favor, but for the law of the very game itself, which is older than the weather and sterner than man’s comfort. The rulebook is my scripture, and in its keeping lies the order of things: three strikes, three outs, nine men to a side. Should I falter, the lines upon this diamond would vanish into mere dirt, and all that we are - player, fan, and arbiter alike - would be set adrift in a world unmoored from its own play. Fairness is not for me to barter, nor is the storm an umpire; it is I who call, and so I call thus: play on, and let no snow, nor pleading voice, unmake the contest that binds us to God's green Earth!"
- and not a whisper of dissent passed a man’s lips thereafter. We played on, snow thick as wool about us, until the day’s light bled itself away - deadlocked once more, as ever it seems fated. And from that storm forward, none dared question Old Bill’s resolve. His word was iron, and his conviction the very spine of the game itself."
Incident #: 174
Date: 04 JUL 1968
Name: The Second Bird Game
At the start of the sixth inning of play on the 4th of July, 1968, Indianapolis third baseman Jerry Denny once again spotted a small flock of birds perched atop the grandstand. Ed Beecher, taking exception to Denny bringing up an old slight (despite the slight having occurred 80 years prior) commented that they weren't going to be starting the same argument again. He then grabbed a baseball from a bucket in the Washington dugout and threw it at the flock perched atop the grandstand.
It was at this point that all involved realized that this was not a flock of sparrows, but starlings - and it was not a small flock, as a larger group was sitting on the back side of the grandstand rooftop facing away from the field. The aggression on the part of Beecher caused the whole flock to take flight, and attack the players on the field and the fans in the stands.
The whole event was described by local spectator Jean Wells in the official report:
"Merciful heavens, bedlam visited the grounds as if a seam in the sky had ripped wide. Young Ed Beecher, in some mischief misjudged, popped the ball up toward a flock resting above, and at once the air turned to feathers and shrieks. Down they plunged, black as mourning crepe, so fierce that the parasol ribs in our hands clicked like little bones while we ladies were summoned forward to fend them off! Silk and lace are poor shields, I can tell you; the creatures worried our bonnets and pecked at our kid gloves while the men on the field bore the worst of it. I saw Mr. Charley Bassett bolt from second like a hare flushed from hedgerow, clear over the outfield fence, stripping his shirt as if mere cloth might bargain with that wild, beating storm."
"Then, as sudden as a kettle taken from the boil, the clamor ceased - the birds lifting all at once to prosecute their business elsewhere, leaving only torn feathers and our thudding hearts. What remained was the reckoning. Umpire Krieger stood there red to the brim and laid such a scold upon Eddy Beecher as would shame a deacon’s switch. The poor lad answered meek as a chastened schoolboy - yes, sir; no, sir - until the matter ended with his dismissal, and a solemn pledge wrung from him besides: that he would keep his peace with birds for so long as this unending game shall run."
Incident #: 93
Date: 20 DEC 1991
Name: The Game
The game that featured the most scoring of any game thus far. A description of the game was collected by Foundation researcher Patrice Van Buren, who interviewed one of the spectators in attendance - one Remy McCormick, a local sportswriter who was in attendance for SCP-9935:
"When the sun first crept over the horizon the tally stood at 6,174 runs apiece, a number that would beggar belief had we not seen it played with our own eyes. Indianapolis struck the first blow of the day, advancing a man across the plate and threatening further, with two more poised in scoring position. Yet the Nationals, unbowed and unbroken, wriggled free of the snare and in their turn in the second inning lashed back with a pair of runs, seizing the narrowest of advantages. The Hoosiers went quietly in their half, and for a fleeting moment in the third the tumult stilled, but all was loosed again when Indianapolis roused themselves in the fourth, sending three men scampering home and reclaiming the lead by two. Washington would not be cowed, answering with two in the fifth before the Hoosiers scratched across another, clinging stubbornly to a single-run advantage."
"The battle surged on. Washington plated another brace in the sixth, only to watch Indianapolis answer with three in the seventh. The Nationals, resourceful as foxes, clawed their way even with a run in the eighth and another in the ninth, while their arms held the Hoosiers silent. Both sides, ravenous for conquest, clamored for more. Umpire Bill Krieger, stern but swayed by the crowd’s fervor, granted them one more frame beneath the gathering night."
"The tenth inning proved a crucible. Washington struck first, sending three men across against the weary Hoosier hurlers whose arms hung heavy as lead. Indianapolis, backs to the wall, contrived a chance in their half: one man home, another poised upon second, but hope seemed to gutter out when Emett Seery lofted meekly to right and Jack McGeachey fell upon strikes. Two down, two runs behind, a lone runner stranded. Then to the plate strode Sparky Sneddon, the most unlikely of champions. A man never much for the bat, yet fleet upon the paths, and now bearing the full burden of Indianapolis upon his shoulders."
Hoosiers outfielder Jim "Sparky" Sneddon warming up prior to a day's playing of SCP-9935 in 1965.
"The crowd, a living sea of voices, trembled upon the brink of delirium. Washington’s George Haddock, who had borne the strain the livelong day, reared back and dealt. First came a fast one outside that Sneddon wisely watched, then a cruel curve which bent past his desperate swing to even the count. Haddock, intent upon finishing it, reared again and hurled another fastball, this one climbing higher than his design. Sneddon met it square, and the crack rang out like a shot heard across the ages. The ball soared deep into the right-field gloom, sending Beecher scrambling. From second, Jerry Denny was off like a bullet, scoring with ease as the throw hurtled in. Yet fortune betrayed the Nationals, for the ball sailed above Wise, skipped past Irwin at third, and caromed loose into foul ground."
"Sneddon, legs pumping like pistons, rounded the bases in a frenzy. Irwin chased the errant ball, Daly crouched at the plate ready to receive. The throw came, Sneddon flung himself headlong in a storm of dust, his arm outstretched for salvation. A heartbeat of silence, then the dust cleared and the umpire’s arms spread wide. Safe! Sneddon had caught the very edge of the plate a breath before Daly’s tag. The board read 6,183 apiece."
"I have witnessed many contests upon the diamond, but never have my ears rung with such exaltation for a run that did no more than draw the sides even. The multitude roared their throats raw, and even after Con Daly succumbed upon strikes, they still sang out their adulation for Sneddon’s mad dash. The Nationals themselves, beaten in that instant though not in the match, doffed their caps in tribute. The Hoosiers have faced peril and snatched escape oft before in their long history, but never have they clawed themselves free of a trap so dire, nor given their faithful such a night to remember."
Addendum 9935.5: Analysis of the Thaumaturgical Basis for SCP-9935
Dr. Kendrick Rhodes, former head of the Department of Structures, Constructs and Patterns, submitted the following analysis of SCP-9935 in his paper "On Sacrements, Sanctity, and Sports":
On that matter of SCP-9935; I submit that baseball, more than any other sanctioned pastime, is already a liturgy disguised as leisure. Its field is a consecrated geometry; its rules are rubrics. Its officiants operate by performative utterance ("safe," "out") that does not describe reality but installs it. In truth, a game without a clock invites the oldest temptation in ritual magic: to suspend ending. When, on an afternoon in 1889, two evenly matched sides entered into a perfectly symmetrical contest, the sport’s latent metaphysics found purchase. The crowd’s anticipatory hush, the chalked lines, the umpire’s masked anonymity, and the sequence of call-and-response between pitch and swing formed a complete rite - and a rite seeks recurrence. What should have been merely extra innings became, under these conditions, a closed ceremony, and in a closed ceremony time is not spent but circulated.
The diamond amplifies this. Nine men, three outs, three strikes. Trinities squared until the arithmetic approximates a ward. The ninety-foot paths make a square that becomes a compass; each base is a station on a pilgrimage that returns the supplicant to "home," an altar recessed into dirt and rulebook. The rubber at 60 feet 6 inches fractures simple proportionality just enough to produce a standing wave of probability between pitcher and batter. Chalk is an apotropaic mineral; dragged and redrawn each day it refreshes the boundary glyphs that forbid resolution. The groundskeeper’s careful raking is not maintenance but tracing. Within this diagram, the possibility of a decisive play exists but is forever deferred - like an uncollapsed waveform humming between foul poles.
Superstition supplies the current. Baseball’s taboos - do not step on the foul line, do not speak the no-hitter, invert your cap to beckon a rally - are not quaint. They are household spells that bias chance. Chatter from the dugout is a communal incantation that keeps contingency warm but never boiling. The seventh-inning stretch is a hymn that renews the covenant mid-rite, preventing ritual fatigue. Curses and blessings (cats on the field, a sudden gust, a cap brim touched) act as micro-sacrifices to postpone closure, each postponement reinforcing the egregore of "the game in progress." Fans and players, knowing yet untroubled, participate as celebrants in a ceremony whose comfort is its middle, not its end. Belief, distributed across thousands of bodies and repeated daily, has the thermodynamic heft to hold a tie like a levee holds a river.
Thus the anomaly is not an intrusion into baseball but baseball accomplishing itself too fully. Our Foundation’s instruments register a stable loop anchored to the speech-act of "play ball" and sustained by a conservation law unique to this sport: no inning ends until three outs are taken, and nothing in the rite compels that they must be. In consequence, the ontology of the participants is braided to the game-state; aging halts because endings are forbidden where endings are not spoken. To terminate the phenomenon would require desecration: erase the chalk, silence the hymn, abolish the taboo grammar that keeps probability indeterminate - violence against a culture’s most benign temple.
In short, I advise against it. Some worlds are best kept safe by letting their ritual run, inning after bright, impossible inning.
Addendum 9935.6: Interviews with SCP-9935 Players and Spectators
The following is a collecting of excerpts from interviews with players and spectators within SCP-9935 by Foundation personnel, discussing the nature of SCP-9935 and their involvement with it.
Interviewer: Dr. Claire Higgins
Interviewee: Jack Carney, Washington first baseman
HIGGINS: How long do you think you've been playing?
CARNEY: How long’ve we been at it? You mean in innings? Why, it’s plain as day upon the board, ma'am.
HIGGINS: No, I mean in terms of days, years.
CARNEY: Ah, years you say. Well, that I couldn’t rightly reckon. I know it’s been a spell, sure enough. Folks in the grandstand have changed faces more times than I can count, and the tally climbs higher with every sun. But truth be told, for all it feels to me, we might’ve commenced only yesterday.
HIGGINS: You mean to say, you haven't noticed the passage of time?
CARNEY: Passage of time? (Laughs) I catch your drift, but it sounds queer to my ear. Aye, I know it’s been long - long as any life lived, perhaps, or longer - but I don’t wear the weight of it. Not I. Feels as though the game holds the clock at bay, and I’m none the worse for it.
Interviewer: Dr. Claire Higgins
Interviewee: Helen Irwin, wife of Washington shortstop Arthur Irwin
HIGGINS: How aware would you say you are about what goes on outside of the stadium?
IRWIN: I tread the same path to the grounds near every day, and oft I meet the same dear souls along the way. Now and again the faces differ, but for the most part it’s a steady procession, like church on a Sunday morn. The world beyond may shift and stir - I cannot say - but in my heart I know such a thing as this does not spring from happenstance alone. Oft I wonder if we have not slipped loose from the common order, set adrift in some strange providence. Still, I hold fast to the thought that the game must one day close, and when it does, we shall gather ourselves, take the road once more, and return homeward.
HIGGINS: Do you think the game will end?
IRWIN: Aye. All things fashioned must meet their end in season, even so beloved a pastime as baseball. The lads are finely matched, true enough, but someday fortune will tip her hand. It might be upon the morrow, or it might tarry a century yet - I shan’t pretend to know Heaven’s arithmetic. But I do know naught under the sun is forever. When the last out is called, we shall reckon with what’s befallen us. Till that hour, well… till that hour we shall bear it as we ever have, and mind our duty in the meantime.
Interviewer: Dr. Claire Higgins
Interviewee: Jack Glasscock, Indianapolis manager and shortstop
HIGGINS: What do you think this thing is?
GLASSCOCK: Truth be told, I’ve puzzled on that many a time. For a long while I reckoned it must be some manner of hex, or a devil’s jest set upon us. Most fellows seem content enough to play on without giving it much thought, but I’ve kept my guard. Tell me, ma'am - have you or your learned folk ever known of such a happening in any other place?
HIGGINS: Yes, but not quite like this. I think this is the only baseball game that has ever run on quite like this.
GLASSCOCK: Aye, it is a queer business, this baseball. Each man upon the field, each soul in the grandstand, the umpires in their masks, even the urchins peeking through the fence boards - all cut from different cloth, from different homes and histories. Beyond these gates we’re but so many candles flickering in the dark, each bound to gutter when the wax is gone. Yet once our feet touch this diamond, something changes. We tread the same lines trod by the players before us, and by those yet to come. Mayhap the soil beneath shifts, but the pattern holds. Man, woman, child - it is the very earth itself binding us together. Do you mark me?
HIGGINS: So what do you think it is?
GLASSCOCK: (Pauses) For now, I cannot rightly say. Perhaps I'll know tomorrow.
Interviewer: Dr. Claire Higgins
Interviewee: Jim Sneddon, Indianapolis outfielder
HIGGINS: I've spoken to just about everyone who's interested in talking, but I wanted to get your thoughts about the game.
SNEDDON: Alright then, fire away.
HIGGINS: I went back and checked - you weren't originally on the roster for this game, were you?
SNEDDON: (Laughs) No, I was not. It’s a queer bit of business. Marty Sullivan generally tends the pasture for our club, but he took on a sour stomach and was scratched. The skipper sent for me in his stead, and here I am. Now and again I wonder if Marty’s innards have been out of sorts these hundred-odd years since.
HIGGINS: I know ball players are superstitious. Have they ever given you a hard time for being the odd man out of the group?
SNEDDON: Not in the least. Some of the rooters in the bleachers call me "Turtle" - on account of that tale about the world riding a turtle’s back. They say the game found its balance when I showed my face. All in good humor, no malice in it.
HIGGINS: Do you ever regret it?
SNEDDON: Regret what?
HIGGINS: Coming up for this game. Having to play it every single day for over a hundred and twenty years.
SNEDDON: Hmm. (Pauses) My father was a decent, steady man who worked himself near to the bone to keep bread on the table. Times were lean more often than not. Then one day he said we’d go up to Indianapolis to see the Hoosiers - grandest treat I could imagine! We all went; mother, father, brothers and sisters, and sat there roaring for our fellows and groaning when the calls went against us. I reckon that may have been the happiest I ever saw him.
(Pauses)
SNEDDON: I’ve little ones of my own now. I see them, and my wife Carolyn, each evening after the game. Baseball’s but a game, sure, yet it handed my father - and all of us - a gift no mill, parish, or courthouse could give by itself. In due time I aim to pass that same portion to my children, and they, God willing, to theirs.
(Pauses)
SNEDDON: My father passed on before I ever pulled a Hoosiers uniform over my shoulders. I carried that sorrow a long spell, used to sit outside nights after the children were abed, feeling the hollow where he ought to be. Then just the other day, standing out in the garden of the outfield, I glanced to the home stands and there he was beside my mother - smiling, giving me a small wave and a cheer. Next I looked, he was gone.
(Pauses)
SNEDDON: So, to your question. Do I rue stepping onto this diamond and finding myself bound to it? No, ma’am, I do not. This is heaven, I think, and until the ledger is finally closed I get to spend one more afternoon here.
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