There were several women in the lounge when Diamond entered, but the one furthest from the door rose immediately from her chair and approached him. He knew it was Heather.
“Hi, Jimmy,” she said, and opened her arms to hug him.
“Hi, Heather,” he answered, and they embraced warmly for several seconds.
When they moved apart, he smiled at her and told her she looked marvelous. She returned the compliment and suggested they sit down. Neither sofa was occupied, and Heather led him to the closer one.
“I’m sorry about the game,” she said. “I know how much winning it would have meant to you.”
He wasn’t ready to talk about that yet, to spoil their reunion recounting Norris’s mistakes. “Where are you living?” he asked. “Still in Texas?”
“Oh, no, we moved out of Texas the same year we got married. It’s been over twenty years in New Mexico.”
“Well, I was in Albuquerque once … for two days.” He smiled again.
“We lived in Gila for the peace and quiet while my husband wrote his doctorate thesis. Now we’re farther north, outside of Santa Fe. He’s a scientist and works at Los Alamos. That’s where they did all that atom bomb stuff in World War Two.”
“Yeah, I remember reading about that. What about you, do you work? Did you ever finish up nursing school?”
“I did finish, and I worked at it for four years, mostly part time, but then the kids began to need me more and I stopped.”
“You said ‘kids.’ How many?”
“Three. Two boys and a girl.”
“Is your other boy a ballplayer too?”
“No, he’s into soccer and tennis, but he’s pretty good at both of them.” They looked away from each other for several seconds, saying nothing.
“So you’re going back tomorrow morning, you said.”
“Yes.”
Diamond nodded his head up and down in response. Heather spoke again. “Well, I know you have a wonderful stepson, and I’ve been told he’s an excellent shortstop.”
They were back to baseball. He figured it was time to try and make her feel better about Norris’s performance before she left. “He is a good shortstop, just like our son, but my gut and your being here told me to play Matt tonight.”
Heather looked slightly confused. “I don’t understand,” she said.
“I had to make a decision between Kyle and Matt, and I was sure you’d come all the way to see our son play.”
“Jimmy, I came here to see my daughter. Our son is at home in New Mexico. In fact, he’s been home since the middle of July when he tore his Achilles heel.”
“But Matt … I thought he …”He stopped speaking and stared at Heather.
“I can’t imagine where you got that idea,” she said.
Just then the lounge door opened and Debbie Newton came over to the sofa. “Hello, Mr. Diamond, I see you’ve met my mother.”
It was like the aftershock following the earthquake.
Heather looked at him and spoke before he could answer. “I came here to see Debbie,” she said, “and to meet her boyfriend. They seem to be very serious about each other.”
“We are, Mr. Diamond. And Mom thinks Kyle is just terrific. She invited him out to New Mexico this winter. We were both glad he was able to get into the game tonight, but it’s so sad that we lost.”
HOT CORNER BLUES
“I’ve had a pretty good success facing Stan (Musial) by throwing him my best pitch and backing up third base.”
—Carl Erskine
SEVENTH INNING STRETCH. Damn. Better get something going now or we’ll be looking at Rosado and Gilman on the mound in the eighth and ninth. If we can tie it with two runs here, Connelly will throw someone else out there if they don’t get the lead back in the eighth. Who the hell expected a 3–1 squeaker with us starting Manley and them pitching Perez? Shit, they both have ERAs in the low sixes.
“Come on, Andy, give us a hit. This guy’s running out of gas. Get on, baby.”
I don’t think Red’s gonna want him to lay one down. Third baseman’s watching for it. Let’s have it, Red, scratch your nose or your ear over there. Nope, no bunt on this pitch anyway. Okay, Andy, watch my hands. No bunt, but lay off until the ump calls a strike.
“Goddammit, give us a break, ump. That was below his knees. Bend down and watch the damn pitch. Okay, Andy, shrug it off, the next one’s yours.”
Lazy bastard. Get your fat ass down and look at the ball. The League would dump this clown in a minute if it could. The strike zone don’t mean shit to him. You’re on your own, Andy. Throw him a curve, Perez, throw him a curve. Hey, thanks baby, just what we wanted. Attaboy, Andy, good hit. Kid can put the outside curve into right like he was tossing it there himself. No one up loosening yet but that’ll change if Starr gets on. He’s watching me to see if there’s a bunt on. We’re two runs down, Kevin, not one. You know Red never bunts two runs down. Hit away.
“What’s the matter, Perez? Arm getting heavy? You’ll be resting it in a couple of minutes, man, soon as Kevin boy racks you up. Put it in gear, Kevin, drive this wreck off the lot.”
I’d have bet against Kevin getting rung up twice by Perez today. He’s only got three K’s for the game. Don’t know if he really painted the black on those called third strikes to Kevin or the dumb ump painted it for him.
“Come on, Kevin, Andy’s got a message for me. Send him over here.”
Hey, that was a pitch he should’ve turned on. What’s he waiting for? Maybe he didn’t get his sleep last night. Check the signs again, Kev. Nothing on. Just pick your pitch and hit it. If it’s hard into left or center, Andy holds at second. Good arms out there. But the guy in right’s probably thinking about his next at-bat. Needs a hit to keep his streak going. I’ll take my chances if it goes that way.
“Good eye, Kevin, good eye. Drop it down this way, baby.”
Ha! That brought Perini in a couple of steps. Slap it past him, Kevin. Andy ought to be taking a bigger lead. Perez has no move to first. Wake up, Red, tell Dutch to talk to him. Get him off that base for Chrissake! Another fastball, one and one. Thought he was going after it.
“Stay loose, Kevin, he’s throwing prayers up there. Take him deep on the next one, baby. Come on, Perez, show the fans your gopher ball. That’s what they came for.”
Wow, terrific stop back there. That rookie Domozych’s got all the tools. Reminded me of Pudge Fisk on that one. Real quick! Two and one now. This ought to be your pitch, Kevin. Give it a ride if it’s in there. Look at Connelly. He’s parked right next to the dugout phone. He’ll be on it if Kev reaches. Goddammit, Andy, get off the base, stretch that lead. Bingo! Into right, and it’s gonna fall! Come to Poppa, Andy. Watch me, watch me!
“Come on, Andy, move it! Come on!”
What the hell did he slow down for at second? Now McFee’s got a chance to make a play. Oh shit, this is a bullet coming in and right on line. Watch me, Andy. Go for the outfield side of the bag.
“Leg it, leg it! Hit the dirt! Safe, he’s in there. Oh bullshit, ump, he had the base before the tag. His left hand was on the corner before Perini put a glove on him. Oh bullshit, you just blew the goddam call. Get in the ballgame, for Chrissakes!”
Red could’ve come out here and made some noise. Would’ve taken some of the heat off me. Probably pissed that I waved Andy over on a hard hit single. But he’d have made it easy if he took a bigger lead and didn’t hesitate halfway. I’ll catch hell in the papers if that kills the inning and we lose it by a run. But the goddam writers never saw what really hurt the play. All they know is I waved him over and he didn’t make it so it’s my fault. Looks like Connelly’s gonna stick with Perez as long as he got the out. Someone’s up warming, now two of them. Maybe Trinidad will come through and get me off the hook. Rafey could lay one down and beat it out where Perini’s playing him. Red can see the same thing but he’s not calling for it.
“Come on Raphael baby, it’s garbage time. You can hit this guy. Unload, kid.
”
Good lead, Kevin, but don’t go too far. Looks like Red woke up and knows why Andy got thrown out. Rafey’s due for a big hit. He’ll sit on a fastball here. And there it is! Up the alley in left. This’ll score Kevin.
“Keep coming, Kev. All the way, all the way.”
Oh, shit! How’d Spencer cut that ball off so fast? It would’ve rolled to the wall. He’s throwing it in and Russo’s right there for the relay. Kevin’s too slow to make it home. One out, I’ve got to hold him at third or he’s in trouble.
“Hold it, Kev! Stay up, stay up. Hold it right here … Oh shit!”
Ball ticked off Russo’s glove. Goddammit, if I’d sent him, he’d have made it. Russo had to go fifteen feet to pick it up again. Great! Now the shortstop makes me look like an idiot. Half the park figures he’d have scored even if Russo handled it cleanly and made the throw. And 20/20, the rest of them wish I’d taken the chance and waved him in. I’ll be meat for the goddam writers, a two-time loser. “When’s the team gonna get a third base coach who knows what the hell he’s doing?” That’s what I’ll be reading tomorrow. Bastards, all of them.
“You’d’ve been a dead duck, Kevin, if I’d sent you and they handled it cleanly.”
Connelly’s seen enough of Perez. Who’s he bringing in? Son of a bitch, he’s calling Rosado. He wants this game bad if he’s asking the lefty to get him five outs. That means Red’ll probably pinch hit Montanez. Yup, here he comes. Kid’s been great off the bench this year. Hitting up around .350 off southpaws. Second and third. A base hit to the outfield and this game’s even. Connelly’s got the balls to put Montanez on and go for two, but I don’t think he will. A free pass could haunt him if that wins it for us. He’ll go for an out even if the run scores from third. What about a runner for Kevin, Red? He’s done a helluva job catching Manley, but right now we need some speed. Send Goodwin or Klinko out here. Hey, it’s his call. Play it the way you want, Red. Rosado looks shaky on those warm-ups. Fastballs low and curves not breaking a hell of a lot. Probably not enough tosses in the pen. Red wants me to talk to Montanez. Whisper in his ear for him to take a strike before he swings at anything. Okay, Red, will do. Monty wasn’t too happy about it. Said Red knows he likes that first pitch. Better make sure Kevin knows what’s up.
“One away, Kevin. Infield’s not playing in. If it’s anywhere on the ground, take off. On a fly ball, tag up right away and listen to me. ‘Go’ means go like hell and be ready to slide. ‘Now’ means take a few steps down the line like you’re going, enough to draw a throw. But heads up. If the ball gets away and you can score, take off. You got it? Keep your eye on Rosado. He’ll pitch from a stretch. He may fake a throw to second and try to catch you leaning, so stay close to the bag. When he delivers, move off but don’t wander down the line. Domozych would love to pick you off. He’ll have you diving back into third for your life.”
I’ve got a good feeling here. It’s about time we broke through on Rosado. He’s been handling us lately like we’re Little Leaguers. Rollins is on deck. Not much in the clutch, but Red won’t hit for him and move someone else into center, not yet. If Kevin’s got a chance on a fly ball, I’m sending him. I still wish Red had put in a runner. Dammit, that strike to Monty was a straight fastball down the pike. I’ll bet Red’s sorry he gave him the take. May be the best pitch he’ll see. Here comes slider time. Rosado won’t show him another heater unless he gets behind on the count. Shit, now Monty’s in the hole. Missed that slider by a foot.
“Cheat a little down the line, Kevin. Remember, anything on the ground, you go. Come on Monty, just takes one, meet it, baby.”
Good, he shortened up on the handle the way Red’s been telling him with two strikes. Kid learns fast and the pressure don’t bother him. Good eye, Monty. Look for the same pitch. He’ll keep it inside on you. There we go, two and two. What’s bothering Rosado? That’s three times he shook off the sign. Probably wants to throw a change. Now Domozych’s out for a conference. May be doing it just to try and spook Monty, get him anxious. Break it up, ump, let’s get going here. I’m still guessing changeup. Hit one, Monty. Fly ball. Shit, is it deep enough to left for Kevin?
“Tag up, Kevin, I’m sending you. Cream him if he blocks the plate. Make him pay. Get set … go!”
Move it! Dig! Dig! It’s close. Drop it, you bastard! Shit! Double shit! Should’ve had two runs in and going for more. Worse goddam inning I’ve ever had and none of it was my fault. Oh boy, here it comes. Go ahead, you freaking boobirds, let me have it. As if any of you knew what the hell really went on out there. Just blame the coach, you assholes. I ought to tip my cap and give them something to really holler about. Screw it, let me just get in the friggin dugout.
TRADE-OFF
“When they start the game, they don’t yell, ‘Work ball.’ They say, ‘Play ball.’”
—Willie Stargell
HELL, MURPH, NO one’s asked me about that for ages. Most of the characters who were involved aren’t even around anymore. But you’ve always been straight writing about the ball club, and as long as we’re stuck here until another crew shows up to put this damn plane in the sky, I’ll tell you what I know about it. This comes from what I heard back then and from people I’ve spoken to who picked up pieces here and there and passed them on to me. But if you do a story on this, you’ve got to agree not to mention my name.
You know the year we’re talking about, right? Okay, well the Sox and Yankees were playing three games over the weekend at Fenway in July when it happened. The Yankees took the Friday night game 6–2, with DiMaggio getting the big hit, a three-run homer that put them ahead for good. Williams had two doubles, the second one just about a foot short of clearing the fence and landing in the Sox bullpen. But things turned around on Saturday afternoon. We won that one 9–3, and it was the Kid’s two homers, mainly the grand slam, that led the way. Joe D. was pretty much the whole Yankee offense, hitting two balls off the Green Monster in left for doubles and a mammoth shot half way up the light tower. He drove in all of their runs.
Tom Yawkey and Dan Topping watched both games from separate owners’ boxes upstairs on the third base side of the field. When the Sox got the final out on Saturday, Yawkey went over and invited Dan to have dinner with him that night. Topping agreed, and Tom told him they’d meet at the Garden Café, a small bar and dining room in the Kenmore Hotel. That’s where the Yanks stayed when they were in town, and both Yawkey and Williams kept a room there for the whole baseball season.
Most of what they talked about over dinner was that year’s pennant race. Each of them kind of boasted about his own team and predicted it would finish first, but they could both see that with a little bad luck or a slump or two at the wrong time, they could be lucky to finish in the top half of the division. Anyway, at some point Topping said that if Williams was playing in Yankee Stadium, he’d have hit three home runs that afternoon instead of two, and another one on Friday night, referring to the ball Ted hit off the bullpen fence. Yawkey chuckled at that, and after thinking about it for a few seconds said he didn’t want to take anything away from DiMaggio, but that the fly ball homer Joe hit the night before would have been caught by the left fielder if it was hit in the Bronx.
Topping picked right up on that. “You know, these two guys were really meant to play their careers in each other’s ballpark,” he said. “If Ted played his home games in the Stadium, and Joe played his here at Fenway, they’d both have a chance to break the Babe’s record.”
Well, what Topping said lit a fire under Yawkey real fast. “You’re right, Dan,” he told him, and leaned forward to look the Yankee owner straight in the eye while he spoke. “And what a thing it could be for baseball if those two were battling each other every year to see who could hit sixty-one out of the park. Attendance would be up all over the league, especially at your ballpark and right here. I’d have to hire an architect to see if there was a way to add at least ten thousand seats to Fenway. Ticket sales would go through the roof.”
I’ve no idea, Murph, whether those two guys were having drinks during the course of their dinner, but they were there for over three hours so I suspect they did. I can only guess that Yawkey, a southerner, would have gone for bourbon and Topping would have asked for Scotch. What I do know is that it was after they’d sat in the restaurant all that time that Topping proposed trading DiMaggio for Williams, straight up. “I’ll give you the greatest player in the major leagues today,” he told Yawkey, “and you give me maybe the greatest hitter of all time.”
“There’s no maybe about it,” Yawkey shot back. “There’s no one around who can hit like Ted, and never was. But we’re talking just those two, right?”
“That’s what I said, just Joe D. and the Kid.”
“Don’t you have to check with Del Webb?” Tom wanted to know. “I thought he owns fifty percent of the team.”
“Don’t you worry about him,” Topping told him. “Leave that to me.”
Yawkey took his time before answering, bobbing his head this way and that like he was lining up all the pros and cons of the deal in his mind’s eye. “Okay then, I’ll do it,” he said finally, “but on condition that no one finds out about it until after tomorrow’s game.”
“Agreed,” Topping answered. “We can announce it after the Yankees leave town.”
“Well, then I’d say we’re all done here and it’s time to go to bed.” Yawkey caught the waiter’s attention and signaled for the check.
“I’ll drink to that,” Dan said, reaching for his glass on the table and gulping down whatever was left.
The fact that it was almost midnight didn’t stop Topping from phoning DiMaggio as soon as he got back to his room and telling him about the trade. “You’ll play for us tomorrow, Joe, because we don’t want word of this to get out until the team has left Boston, and we don’t have a good reason to keep you out of the game. But I wanted you to know I did it to help your career. You deserve to have a place like Fenway to hit in, to go for Ruth’s record and have a chance of being MVP every year. McCarthy will love it when he finds out he’s got you playing on his team again.”
Painting the Corners Again Page 21
