The National League listened on Monday to its president, John A. Heydler, propose to make out of the baseball nine a baseball ten. Mr. Heydler would give every manager the option of naming a tenth man on his team who would bat in place of the pitcher when ever the rotation got to the bottom of the batting order. The pitcher would continue to pitch, always sitting on the bench between innings, until his usefulness on the mound was exhausted.

The major arguments in favor of the step are two. Many familiar with the sight of a first-class pitcher who has allowed three hits in seven innings being removed from the line-up to allow a strong hitter to toe the plate. Mr. Heydler's plan would allow the pinch-hitter and keep the pitcher in the game. Besides the elimination of this handicap to a team, Mr. Heydler points out that his plan would speed up ball games by doing away with the annoying delays of getting a pitcher ready to hit, and getting him a sweater when he reaches base.

A lot of the pitchers wouldn't like the scheme. Even if they hit only once in six trips to the plate they have a human desire to crack something. They want to get back at the other pitcher for all the hits that have whistled past their ears. Although the proposal does not prevent the pitchers from taking their turns, the chances are that managers would discover some player short on brains and fielding prowess, but able to hit them far and frequently, who would stay on the roster as a hitter and nothing else, to the exclusion of the pitcher from the batter's box.

The creation of a new specialized class in baseball brings the question around to the viewpoint of the spectator, from whose grandstand Mr. Heydler took one look at the problem. Half the nervous thrill of baseball comes when "the weak end of the order" comes to bat in a rally two runners on base, two out, the score in a ticklish position, and the pitcher up. How many in the bleachers would substitute invariably for the trembling of the game in the chances of a weak hitter or a pinch-hitter entering cold, the placid content in the assurance that Casey, mighty Casey, or someone nearly as mighty, is advancing to the bat.

The step toward specialization and toward a privilege for pitcher and hitter alike will not find favor, it is likely, with the majority of baseball men.