A Midsummer Madness

by Guy Franks

  “I have a few things I want to share with you men before tonight’s game,” said Shake in a loud and commanding voice. “So lend me your ears.” He came up next to Matt Horn, who sat with a cast on his foot, and placed his hand on Matt’s shoulder. “We all saw what happened to Matty. And we all know why it happened. In the New Haven paper I have here, Manager Jonson was asked about the play and says, quote, ‘It was just one of those things’. He claims it wasn’t intentional and that he ‘plays fair and coaches his team to do the same’. He also goes on to say that ‘Horn leaves his foot on the bag and it was bound to happen at some point’. In other words, their spiking of Matty was, according to him, Matty’s own fault. Never mind that Matty has never been spiked before—it wasn’t their fault. And who am I to argue with Bennie since he is a fair man.

  “We miss Basset and Cap, Prince and Estrella. We’ll miss Deer’s bat. And now we’ll be without Matty. Who do Bennie and the Admirals miss? Nobody. Rumor has it that he talked the big club out of calling up players so they could come at us with a full deck. That’s how bad they want to beat us. So some of their better players over there like Percy, hard-working, deserving players, are denied the chance to go to the show because Bennie wants a trophy. But he denies this rumor, and who am I to argue with him since we all know he’s a fair man.

  “And here sits Matty. Out for the game he worked so hard to get back to. But I guess it was his own fault. I guess this—” (Here Shake pulled out Horn’s bloody sock from a plastic bag and waved it in front of his players.)—“is his own fault. Matty’s blood? Not their fault. Beanballs and dirty play? Not their fault. And who are we to argue with them since Bennie is a fair man. But take a look at Matty here, at his foot and these crutches, at this sock, and ask yourself, ‘Whose fault is it?’ Do you think it was fair play—or foul?” (His team cried “Foul!”) “Look at Matty and look at this sock and tell me it was fair play.” (His team yelled “No!”) “Right! I don’t have the words or the wit any longer to stir your blood. I only speak from the heart and tell you what you already know. The rest is up to you.”

  At that the Kingsmen erupted into a growling cheer and began to chant “Matty.” Pumped with adrenaline and ready for battle, they barged out of the locker room, through the tunnel, and into the dugout pounding and slapping each other in readiness. Shake walked next to Rick as they followed their team through the tunnel.

  “What was that?” asked Rick with a knowing grin. “Henry the Fifth, right?”

  “No, Julius Caesar.”

  Starting line-ups were announced and “The Star-spangled Banner” played. Shake saw Mimi in the stands and waved at her. Linda and the kids were on one side of her and Delia, Dane’s fiancé, was on the other. Mimi had a scorebook opened in her lap and was ready for the game. So was Shake. He let Kalecki take the line-up card to home plate while he took his spot along the dugout rail. “O Fortuna” started up and the Kingsmen ran out onto the field to loud cheers.

  It was a scoreless, well-pitched game through five. The defense was sparkling on both sides. In the top of the sixth with two outs, the Admirals hitter got on with a swinging bunt. That brought the pitcher up. On a 1-2 count, Ellsworth, who was maybe impatient for a strikeout, grooved a fastball instead of his nasty splitter and the pitcher hit a long fly ball to left. Shake leaned out and watched the trajectory of the ball, quite sure it was going foul, as it sailed high over the foul pole. The third base umpire ran towards the foul pole, stopped, and incredibly twirled his finger to signal homerun. Shake saw three things in succession:

  1.The fans in left field jumping up and pointing that the ball was foul.

  2.His left fielder Svoboda gesticulating at the third base umpire that it was foul.

  3.And his catcher Manning turning around and screaming at the home plate umpire Rob Goodfellow that it was foul.

  Shake shot out of the dugout and sprinted towards the third base umpire Todd Clinton. When he arrived, Clinton turned his back and Shake had to keep dancing in a circle to stay in eye contact with him. “Ask for help,” pleaded Shake. “Just ask for help.” Clinton refused.

  Shake turned away in frustration and took his case to the head umpire Goodfellow. Despite looking sympathetic, Goodfellow wouldn’t overturn the call. Shake pulled out the stops in his effort to sway the jury, pointing out the thousand umpires in the left field bleachers who had a better look than any of them. Manning saw it was foul. Svoboda saw it was foul. The fact that Clinton blew that call was just further proof he didn’t belong in the Eastern League let alone on a playoff crew. Goodfellow patiently waited for Shake to finish and replied:

  If you have any pity, grace, or manners,

  You would not make me such an argument

  The lines from A Midsummer Night’s Dream caught Shake off-guard. Clever guy, he thought, figuring Goodfellow had probably memorized those lines just for this game and couldn’t wait for a chance to use them. Shake took off his cap and scratched his head. He’d been checkmated. He started to walk out to the pitcher’s mound but couldn’t help but leave Goodfellow with this: “Here’s my journey’s end and here’s my butt.” He might have been checkmated but he wasn’t going to be out-Barded.

  He called his infield together at the mound and calmed everyone down. It was now two-zip but they had plenty of time to get those runs back. Shake knew that Hank Percy was up next and he laid out his plan. It was payback time.

  They pitched Percy high and tight—ball four was under his chin—and he went to first base livid with anger. The kid was a hothead and they had stoked the fire. Shake knew Percy was itching to steal second and he called three pick-off throws in a row. Each time Rosecrans slapped his glove down hard on Percy’s helmet. Nothing would stop him from going now and Shake signaled his catcher for a pitch-out. It came and Percy went and Manning threw a perfect seed down to second.

  Percy was out on a close play and immediately jumped up and got in the umpire’s face. All his pent-up anger came spewing out like a lit lava cone on the fourth of July, and within fifteen seconds—even before Bennie could run out there to pull him away—Percy was tossed from the game. The P.A. Announcer played “Brain Damage” by Pink Floyd as Bennie dragged Percy off the field.

  “That worked like a charm,” said Rick with a grin.

  “Yep,” agreed Shake. “Now we need to string some hits together.”

  But hits were not forthcoming in the bottom of the sixth or the seventh and the Kingsmen went into their half of the eighth still trailing 2-0. Hoffman led off the inning. On a brush back pitch, the ball nicked his jersey and he was awarded first base. That brought up Rosecrans, who was 0 for 3, but to everyone’s surprise he stroked a single up the middle.

  “O brave new world!” shouted Speed gleefully. Shake looked over at him and laughed. Speed liked to think he knew the Bard but whenever he quoted him he usually mangled it. But this time he got it right and it delighted Shake to no end (both the quote and the hit).

  Shake thought about pinch-hitting for Ellsworth but instead let him be announced and waited to see if Bennie would change pitchers. He didn’t. Shake gave the bunt sign and Ellsworth put a beauty down to move both runners up. It was one out with runners at second and third and the Kingsmen finally had something going. The crowd could feel the momentum shifting. That brought Bennie out of the dugout, and he called in his ace reliever.

  Travis Burks strode to the plate and Dane, now in the on-deck circle, carefully watched the at-bat. Dane knew the book on this guy: a big right-hander with two pitches—a ninety-six mile-per-hour fast ball and a circle-change—and when he was on he was tough to hit. Burks struck out swinging on a 1-2 change-up and he slammed his bat to the ground in anger. That brought Dane up with two outs and runners in scoring position. He stepped into the batter’s box and got prepared to grind out an at-bat.

  In a beautiful at bat, Dane worked the count full and fouled off pitch after
pitch. On the twelfth pitch of the at-bat he popped another one foul behind home plate. The catcher threw his mask off and took a bead on it. The ball headed towards the stands, by the rail next to the Admirals dugout, and the catcher raced over and leaned against the rail next to three fans. In everyone’s attempt to claim the prize, the ball hit the catcher’s glove and popped loose and fell to the ground.

  Bennie charged out of the dugout and argued for fan interference but Goodfellow would have none of it. After a five-minute interval of argument during which the P.A. Announcer played “Who’s Zoomin’ Who,” Dane looped the next pitch over the second baseman’s head for a hit. Hoffman and Rosecrans scored to tie the game and Dane, on a heads-up play, saw the throw-in sail over the cut-off-man’s head and took second base. That put the go-ahead run on second with two outs.

  Mike Goff dug into the batter’s box. With a base open, Shake didn’t think Goff would get anything good to hit but on a 2-0 count (a hitter’s count), Goff (badly fooled on a change-up) managed to reach out and hit a shallow fly ball to center. Shake saw it all unfold in his mind before it happened on the field. Hank Percy, with his great speed, would have burst in and snagged the shallow fly at his shins, but the new centerfielder got a bad jump and in his panic dove headfirst to make the catch. The ball bounced off his glove. Dane, off on contact, cut the bag hard at third as Kalecki wind-milled him home to score the go-ahead run. The fans roared and the stands shook in celebration.

  Dane was welcomed back in the dugout with high-fives and slaps on the back. In between the mob of bodies, Shake caught Dane’s eye and said, “Nice job, Son.” Dane smiled and replied “Thanks, Dad.” In the general clamor, the meaning of those words were lost on everyone but the two of them.

  The moment was short-lived as the next batter Manny Ortiz was hit in the helmet on the first pitch. But we’ll let the play-by-play announcer and color commentator for WDRC AM 1360 take it from here:

  Jim

  Oh, that hit him.

  Don

  On the helmet. It sounded like the helmet.

  Jim

  And here we go. Here come the Kingsmen out of the dugout. Now here come the Admirals led by their red-faced manager Jonson. We knew this was coming. It’s been brewing all series and it was just a matter of time. Once Horn went down on a cheap shot—can I call it a cheap shot, Don—we knew this was going to happen.

  Don

  You can call it a cheap-shot, Jim—cause it was.

  Jim

  The umpires are in the middle of it but they’re like kites in a storm. These two teams want a piece of each other and no one is going to get in their way. Oh my, and here comes Percy charging out like a bull. He was ejected in the sixth for bumping the umpire.

  Don

  I guess they didn’t lock the clubhouse door.

  Jim

  I guess not, and it’s taking three coaches to keep Percy from attacking someone. Good luck with that… There’s a lot of pushing and shoving going on right now…

  Don

  Well, it’s quickly turning into your typical baseball fight—what I call the big waltz. Everyone’s grabbing each other and waltzing around.

  Jim

  Oh wait. Look at that! Managers Glover and Jonson are now going at it. They’re rolling around on the ground. Burton’s in the middle of it trying to break it up—or he’s helping Glover. I can’t tell which. Now Goodfellow’s in the middle of it. Maybe it’s a tag-team.

  Don

  This is better than WrestleMania.

  Shake and Bennie rolled around in the dirt. How they got there, Shake wasn’t sure. They had come face to face and he said to Bennie, “It’s a nice night for a prize fight” and the next thing he knew they were on the ground locked up tight like earthworms in heat. He could hear “Disco Inferno” playing over the loud speakers. “I’m too old for this,” he said in Bennie’s ear, and to his surprise Bennie replied back, “So am I.” At that they got up, assisted by Burton and Goodfellow, and dusted each other off with a grin and a handshake. The air went out of the fight when the players saw their managers shaking hands and the donnybrook ended. Order was quickly restored and miraculously no one was kicked out of the game, but a warning was issued to both benches. Ortiz, who was unhurt, took first base and play resumed.

  The next hitter Joe Svoboda almost took the lid off the house by hitting a ball deep to left but it was caught at the wall for the third out. “Once more unto the breach!” cried Shake and the Kingsmen bounded out onto the field needing only three outs for a championship. Shake and Benedict talked and decided to leave Ellsworth in for the ninth. Pitch count was not an issue and he was still getting ground balls with his splitter. Both Romero and Stewart warmed-up in the bullpen.

  Ellsworth induced a ground ball against the first batter but it found a hole on the left side for a hit. With the eighth place hitter due up, Shake was betting on a bunt. Sure enough, the batter squared around to bunt and fouled it off—then proceeded to foul off the next two pitches for strike three.

  “I wonder what Bennie has to say about that?” Rick wondered aloud.

  “A bunt, a bunt. My kingdom for a bunt!” yelled Speed. Everyone in the dugout laughed at that. So did Rick, who usually found Speed annoying. Even he had to admit that Speed was on a roll today.

  The pitcher’s spot was due up for the Admirals and Bennie went with a pinch-hitter. Shake knew the guy had power, and since it was a righty-lefty match-up, he went out to the mound and brought in Tito Romero. For Shake, it had turned into a game of percentages and match-ups; they’d be out-matched in an extra inning game so he spun his limited options out in his head.

  My brain more busy than the laboring spider,

  Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemy

  Romero paid off by getting a ground ball to first, but Rosecrans didn’t trust his arm to try for the double play and instead took the sure out at first. It was two out and the tying run on second.

  Shake waited for the Admirals batter to be announced then went out to the mound and brought in Scott Stewart. The lead-off hitter was Percy’s replacement and Shake thought it unlikely that Bennie would pinch-hit for him. He was right, and now he had the final match-up he wanted. As he walked back to the dugout, Mimi nodded with approval at his strategy. He smiled back at her.

  Stewart was amped up and his first pitch sailed over Manning’s head. The runner on second easily took third and now was a wild pitch, a pass-ball, or a slow-roller away from tying the game. Manning went out to settle down his pitcher. The next pitch was a get-it-in fastball that the Admirals hitter sliced down the third baseline. Shake dug his hand into Burton’s shoulder and looked out to see the ball land a foot foul. Clinton called it right and it was now one and one. Stewart went into his stretch as the runner danced off third. Unseen by everyone but Shake, Dane moved two steps over to his left against the right-handed hitter and Shake knew why. Because he was smart.

  The next pitch was a cutter that would have painted the outside corner for a strike, but the batter hit it hard towards the hole between first and second. Dane broke to his left on the crack of the bat, laid out on the grass, speared the ball in his glove, and came up on his knees to throw the runner out at first by a step. Game over.

  A dog pile ensued on the infield. Fans jumped up and down and high-fived each other. Shake and his coaches hugged and slapped each other on the back then walked towards the dog pile. He glanced over at Bennie who stood ashen-faced next to his dugout. Bennie saluted him and he saluted back. Queen sang “We are the Champions” over the loudspeakers. There would be a trophy presentation, an MVP award, then beer and celebration in the clubhouse—but before all that happened, Shake spun around and walked back to his dugout.

  Mimi awaited him at the rail. He opened the small, swinging gate and let her down onto the field. They came into each other’s arms and kissed. “I love you,” he said
.

  “I love you.”

  “Our son did good.”

  “I know. So did you… I’m so happy… Is it just a dream?”

  “If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep.”

  They kissed again, hard, to make sure it wasn’t a dream, and Dane came up to them. He pulled on Shake’s sleeve. “What is it?” asked Shake, smiling at his son.

  “Come on, Dad,” he said. “You’re missing all the fun.”

  EPILOGUE

  These our actors,

  As I foretold you, were all spirits, and

  Are melted into air, into thin air…

  The Tempest

  Say farewell to Shakespeare Glover, to Mimi, Orson and the others. The bright lights in Beehive have now gone down, and our stage is empty as a ghost town. Each player had their entrances and displayed their finer arts; each player had their exits and played their many parts. These actors, these spirits, have melted into air, and the time has come to end this pleasant affair. The Ol’ Bard and Baseball have had their run, and the game’s been played and fairly won.

  The actors in this novel-drama are mere shadows, the stuff of dreams, and will not be found in the Register League Encyclopedia or in the annals of Baseball America. Shake Glover never stood in his spot, next to the bat rack, in Beehive Stadium and his beloved Mimi never wore a floppy sun hat or kept score in the stands. Rex did not build an empire nor live and die, and his clown Speed never uttered a pun for anyone to hear. But we’re keenly aware that audiences must have closure. We view life as a narrative unity. It is human nature to desire a fitting end, to know that the heroes lived happily ever after and that the villains got their just deserts.

  As the character Papi might have said, “I feel you, dawg.” What work of fiction, what film, can truly leave us satisfied unless we know how our main characters, even the minor ones, fared in the end? Afterall, they fretted and strutted their hour upon the stage and we invested interest in their well-being. So we’ll call forth the wine-bearer and fill your cups. What became of Shake and Mimi, of Dane and Delia or Orson and Rose? Did Faust find happiness in the Steroid Era or did Santiago break one heart too many? If we are to give them life beyond this three-penny opera, it might look something like this: