Frankie Frisch, the player-manager of the St. Louis Cardinals for much of the 1930s, is approaching the main entrance of the team's hotel when a paper bag filled with water zooms past his head and splats on the sidewalk.
Frisch is no fool. He knows who's responsible. And the Fordham Flash hotfoots it to the room of one Pepper Martin, leadoff hitter, third baseman and general pain in the kiester.
Frisch finds Martin in his eighth-floor room sitting next to an open window overlooking the scene of the crime and starts chewing him out.
Martin interrupts: "Gee, Frankie, you wouldn't have wanted me to hold that bag out the window all day and tire out my arm, would ya?"