He rushed into the other room, waving it over his head like a flag. “Look what she paid me!” he cried. “Twenty-five dollars! Can you believe it? Twenty-five dollars! Oh, I love you, Mrs. Benson!
His mom, AnnMarie, and Frankie smiled happily at him.
Dave called at two o’clock. He said that his mother was going to drive him to the game shortly after three and would Bernie and Frankie like to ride with him?
“Sure,” said Bernie.
After Bernie hung up he realized that it was strange that Dave’s mother should be driving him to the game. Dave had always walked before. Never ridden.
“Something must really be wrong with Dave Grant, Ma,” he said. “His mother’s driving him to the game, stopping here for Frankie and me first. Mrs. Grant ever tell you about him?”
“No. And maybe you’re drawing some wrong conclusions,” said Mrs. Shantz. “Maybe Mrs. Grant has to make a trip that way and is killing two birds with one stone.”
“Could be,” said Bernie. “Just the same, Dave has been acting funny lately, Ma. He seems to want to do a lot of things, then gets pooped in no time at all. I don’t think he’s well.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” said Mrs. Shantz. “I’m sure that his parents know if he’s troubled by some illness. Why don’t you get a good rest before they show up? You need it after working so hard this morning.”
He lay down in his room and slept for almost an hour. At ten after three Mrs. Grant drove up with Dave, picked up Bernie and Frankie, drove them to the ball park, and left.
Bernie wanted to ask Dave if his mother had an errand to do or if she were driving directly home. Then he changed his mind. It wasn’t his business, he told himself. And if Dave were sick or something, and didn’t want to tell anyone about it, that was his business.
Just the same, Dave was his good friend and it was hard to ignore the way he’d been behaving lately.
Both teams took their batting and infield practices. Then, promptly at four, the game started. The Rangers were at bat first, with Bernie in the lineup. On the mound for the Sharks was Luke Kish, a tall right-hander with a mop of curly black hair that his baseball cap was barely large enough to sit on.
Bill took a called strike, then asked for time out and ran to the dugout for another bat. When he was settled in the batter’s box again, he leaned into a high pitch and blazed it to Vince in left field for the first out. Ed connected with a double and Deke walked, bringing a rousing cheer from the Ranger fans and Buzz up to the plate.
Luke brushed two strikes past him, missed the corner on the next three pitches, then fired one on a level with Buzz’s knees. Crack! Buzz sent it spark-flying to second base. The result was a quick double play, second to first.
Disappointed that they couldn’t score even one of the two runners, the Rangers gathered up their gloves and ambled out to their positions. Bernie tossed in three warm-up pitches, then stood on the rubber and faced the first man, Tim MacDonald. Tim was the shortest kid on the Sharks. He must have been ordered to just stand there and not swing, because that’s just what he did, and it earned him a free pass to first.
Jess Miller tried to bunt the first pitch, missed, then tried to bunt the second pitch and missed that one, too. Then he struck out.
The ball sailed around the horn.
Bernie measured Butch Ecker’s height with a calm glance, then fired two inside pitches past him. Two corner cutters evened up the count, two and two. On deck was Vince, swinging two bats with metal doughnuts on them.
Bernie felt his heart pound as he got ready to throw the next pitch. Vince really looked sure of himself. What had he said? Mick and I made a bet that one of us will knock your submarine pitch back into the sea.
That guy really bugs me, thought Bernie.
He stretched, then blazed in the ball, bringing it up from his knees, and giving it a slight twist just as he released it. Crack! The ball looped over short for a Texas leaguer hit!
Up to the plate strode Vince, a confident smile on his lips. It lingered there as he waited for Bernie’s first pitch.
8
Crack!
The blow was loud and solid as the ball shot out to deep left, curving toward the foul line. A yell broke simultaneously from the fans, then deflated to a sad groan as the ball struck foul by inches.
“You was robbed, Vince!” yelled a Shark fan.
“He was lucky, Bernie!” came another voice, one that Bernie recognized. “He hit it by accident!”
He glanced in the direction from which the sound had come and saw both Dave and Frankie sitting halfway up the stands behind the backstop. Dave waved to him, while Frankie sat quiet and composed beside him, indifferent to the long foul shot.
Bernie breezed in two more pitches that Vince let go by. Two balls, one strike. Then Vince swung, this time getting just a piece of the ball. Bernie pitched again. Outside. Three and two.
He stepped off the mound, rubbed the ball nervously, then got back on again. He stretched, delivered, and watched the ball shoot up toward the plate, coming close to Vince. Too close. Vince pulled his bat back ready to swing, then tried to dodge the ball as it headed directly at him. He wasn’t quick enough and the ball struck him a glancing blow on the hip.
A gasp tore from Bernie as he stared at Vince, wondering if he were hurt. But apparently Vince wasn’t, for he dropped his bat and calmly started for first, loading the bases.
“Afraid I’d sink one of your submarine pitches, Bernie?” he ’said.
Bernie didn’t answer. Hitting Vince bothered him, though. The last thing he wanted to do was hit a batter.
Then he walked in a run by giving Bob Kolowski a free pass.
Fred Button called time and trotted out to the mound. “You okay, Bernie?” he asked.
“I’m okay,” said Bernie. Sweat glistened on his face. The sun was hot, but it wasn’t the sun’s heat that bothered him. It was hitting Vince.
“Relax,” said Fred. “Just get those pitches over, that’s all.”
“Right.”
He did, and struck out the next two men.
Rangers 0, Sharks 1.
Tom McDermott led off the top of the second with a streaking single through short. Rudy Sims bunted him to second, but that was as far as he got as Chuck and Fred flied and grounded out, respectively.
Mick Devlan, leading off for the Sharks, walked. Luke Kish got a feel of Bernie’s submarine pitch with a foul tick, then grounded out. Tim, batting for the second time, popped out to short, and Jess landed on his bottom as he went down swinging.
Bernie’s heart pounded as he stepped up to the plate to lead off the top of the third inning. He couldn’t explain it, but he always hated being the leadoff batter in any inning.
He took two called strikes, then held his breath as Luke breezed two inside pitches by him. Both were teasers for him to bite on.
Then Luke fired in a fast ball that came up along Bernie’s chest. Bernie cut at it, swinging harder than he had so far this year, and met the ball squarely. It sailed out to deep left like a white rocket, but it was a mile high and gave Vince plenty of time to get under it. Vince put it away easily, and Bernie, already halfway to first, slowed down, turned, and ran back to the bench. Should’ve known I’d never smash one over the fence, he thought dispiritedly.
The top of the batting order was up again. Bill stepped to the plate, then called time to tie his shoelaces. Then he knocked the dirt off the soles of his shoes with his bat before stepping into the batting box.
“You sure you’re ready now?” the umpire asked him.
Bill nodded, smiling.
Luke pitched. Crack! Bill drilled it over short for a single.
Ed struck out. Then Deke, after fouling two pitches to the backstop screen, spiked a down-the-middle pitch close to the left-field foul line for a triple, scoring Bill. Buzz ripped a single through short, scoring Deke, then Tom flied out, ending the two-run rally.
Butch was the first man up for the Sharks
in the bottom of the third. As he rubbed the toes of his shoes into the dirt to dig in for Bernie’s pitch, Bernie took the time to look behind the backstop screen. He saw Frankie, but not Dave. A sudden chill rippled through him. What had happened to him? Why wasn’t he there? He had an intuition that something awful had happened to his friend.
He turned his attention back to the game and saw that Butch was ready. He stretched, delivered.
“Ball!” boomed the ump.
Bernie drilled in another. “Ball two!”
He caught Fred’s toss back and glanced up at the stands. Dave was still missing.
He fired in a strike, then two more balls.
“Take your base!” yelled the ump.
Bernie did no better with Vince, nor with Bob. Three walks in a row and not an out.
Fred called time out again and ran out to ask Bernie if he were all right.
“Sure, I’m all right,” Bernie answered stiffly.
“You sure aren’t throwing as if you are,” Fred answered.
“Well, I am. Get back where you belong, will you?”
Fred stared at him, then spun on his heels and trotted back to his position.
Sam was up. He had struck out the first time at bat. He didn’t look dangerous, but in this inning nobody had to get a free pass to first base. It seemed all you needed was a uniform and a bat on your shoulder.
Oh, man, what am I thinking! Bernie asked himself. All I’m doing is walking the guys. Why doesn’t the coach take me out? Can’t he see that I’m missing the plate by a yard?
He stepped on the rubber, eyed the plate, and tried to concentrate on the pitch. He couldn’t. He could only think about Dave. Something had happened to him. He was sure of it. Right after the half-inning was over he’d ask Franke. He wouldn’t be able to continue playing without knowing.
He stretched, and delivered a sidearm pitch that was down the pipe. Sam met it with the fat part of his bat and Bernie heard the message: It’s gone! The blow to left center was a three-bagger for Sam and the end of the line for Bernie.
Coach Salerno took him out and put in Jeff Eastman.
“You feel all right, Bernie?” the coach asked as he met Bernie in front of the dugout.
“Yeah. I’m okay. I just can’t get it over, that’s all.”
“You look as if you’ve got your mind in Timbuktu. Sit it out. Maybe you’ll come back to earth after a while.”
Then the coach squeezed his shoulder lightly and laughed. “I’m kidding, Bernie. You’re just having one of those days. It’ll pass.”
Bernie shrugged, started for the dugout, and looked up at the stands again. A peculiar sensation stirred through him and he began to feel foolish.
Dave was there now, and he looked perfectly fine.
9
Andy flied out to left. Mick popped out to Bill and Luke grounded out, ending the Shark’s fat half-inning. Rangers 2, Sharks 4.
Maybe Jeff should’ve started instead of me, Bernie thought.
Rudy Sims led off in the top of the fourth with a series of foul balls, then struck out. Chuck doubled. Fred, belting three fouls in a row, finally popped out to Mick.
Bernie had visions of the game going down the drain and of Vince popping off to him, uttering sarcastic remarks. He had a good idea why Vince acted that way toward him; it had started shortly after track season, when Bernie had outrun Vince in the 50-and 100-yard dashes. That had qualified Bernie to run against other schools in the league and had earned him over half a dozen first prizes. Vince hated to see that somebody was better than he was.
Jeff waited out Luke’s pitches to the limit, then cracked the three-two pitch to short. Tim MacDonald muffed it and Jeff was safe on first. Then Bill lined out a streaking single, scoring Chuck. Ed flied out, and that was it.
Tim, leading off for the Sharks, lined Jeff’s first pitch to center field for a hit, scooted to second on Jess’s sacrifice bunt, then scored on Butch’s shot to left field. Vince popped a foul fly to Deke, who caught the ball near the Sharks’ dugout. Then Bob bashed a double over third base to score Butch, and Sam Norton grounded out, ending the Sharks two-run rally.
Buzz’s triple, and Rudy’s single, gave a breath of life to the Rangers as they picked up one run in the top of the fifth. The Sharks couldn’t score at their turn at bat, but held the Rangers scoreless too in the top of the sixth and won 6–4.
Bernie hoped to avoid meeting Vince as he left the field, but Vince cornered him almost immediately.
“What happened to your submarine pitch, Bernie?” he asked. “Run out of fuel? It didn’t even surface!”
“Why don’t you go and haunt somebody else for a while, Vince?” Frankie snapped.
Vince punched him lightly on the shoulder, hardly enough to hurt. “What are you — your brother’s dummy?” He laughed then and dropped back, waiting for Mick to join him.
“Why’s he like that?” Dave asked as he, Bernie, and Frankie started off the field. “He picks on you as if he’s mad at you.”
“He is mad, because I beat him out in track,” said Bernie. “I’ve got ribbons to show for it and he doesn’t.”
“So that’s what bugs him.” Dave shook his head. “I don’t know about him. He’s a good baseball player. What else does he want?”
“He wants to show me that he can hit my submarine pitch,” replied Bernie.
“He won’t, though. Not if you’re on. What happened to you today, anyway? Frankie told me that you hit Vince, then couldn’t get a pitch over the plate.”
Bernie looked at him. “That’s right. But what happened to you? Where did you disappear to?”
Dave shrugged. “I went for a drink.”
Bernie stared at him. “That’s all you did?”
Dave matched his stare. “That’s all I did. Why? Was that what bothered you? My not being there for a little while?”
Bernie nodded, letting out a deep breath.
“Let’s forget it,” he said, but he wondered if Dave was telling the whole truth.
The Rangers’ next scheduled game was against the Atoms. Jeff wasn’t present and Bernie figured he’d have to pitch the whole game. Well, if he was going good, he wouldn’t mind it. Anyway, he shouldn’t have to worry much. They had beat the pants off the Atoms in the practice game, 9–3.
The Rangers batted first. Pitching for the Atoms was a short, stout kid called Petey Waterman. Bill, leading off, looked over Petey’s first two pitches, both strikes, then laced the next one into right center for a long triple. Ed flied out, but both Deke and Buzz pounded the ball for safe hits. Then Tom grounded out.
Rudy found the handle of Petey’s pitches again and walloped out a double, scoring Deke and advancing Buzz to third. Bernie felt relieved now that he could get out there with at least two runs to back him up. “Come on, Chuck!” he yelled. “Bring ’im in!”
But Buzz died on third as Chuck flied out to center fielder Mark Pine.
The first batter to face Bernie was the skinny kid, Ralph Benz, who looked like the letter Z as he stood bent over the plate. Bernie wound up and threw his submarine pitch — even the Lake Center News was calling it that — and got Ralph swinging at the air. Ralph went down after four pitches.
Jim Hayes popped up to Chuck. But Hank Dooley was stubborn. He kept ticking Bernie’s pitches as if he were seeking a record for fouls. Finally, after the sixth tick, he flied out to Bill.
In the top of the second, Fred got on to Petey’s second pitch, belting it for a double between center and left fields. Bernie, getting the coach’s signal to bunt, couldn’t latch on to a satisfying pitch, and finally walked. Bill popped out. Then Ed came through with a high, rainbow drive over Mark Pine’s head in center field that hit the fence and ricocheted back. It was good for a triple and scored Fred and Bernie. Deke tried to kill Petey’s pitches — falling down twice on his rear — then popped up to the catcher, Nick Collodino. Buzz grounded out to short to end the hot inning.
Bernie felt as pleased as he ever
had when he picked up his glove and walked out to the mound. The day was like a hot oven, but he didn’t mind. His submarine pitch was working.
He glanced up at the stands and saw Dave sitting with Frankie, Mom, and Dad. Dad had the day off, and Bernie was glad to see him there. Dad hadn’t seen a game this year yet, so he hadn’t seen Bernie’s new submarine pitch.
Bernie looked at the batter, Mark Pine. Mark was a big, powerful kid. He had the eyes of a hawk. Bernie wound up, delivered. The ball came up from his knees and shot toward the plate. Mark reared back and swung. Swoosh! He missed the pitch by six inches. Two more swings and he was out.
The Ranger fans roared.
Dick Stone missed with two swings, then popped out to short. Foxy Mattoon waited them out, then laced the three-two pitch to Bill, who piped it over to first for the third out.
4–0, Rangers.
In the top of the third Tom, leading off, lambasted a triple against the right-field fence, then perished on the sack as Petey shot down the next three guys on strikeouts.
Needle Hall, who was even skinnier than Ralph Benz, led off for the Atoms. He pulled a surprise, bunting Bernie’s first pitch down toward third for a base hit. Nick Collodino followed suit with another surprise bunt; then Petey looped a single over short, driving in the Atoms’ first run.
Now the Atom fans let everybody know they were there, too.
The rally continued, Ralph and Jim both knocking out singles.
“There goes your submarine pitch, Bernie!” yelled Needle, who was now coaching at third.
Hank Dooley ticked the ball twice this time, then popped out to short. Mark, up next, tried again to smash the ball out of the county and again went down swinging. Dick Stone pounded out a double, scoring two runs, then Foxy struck out. Rangers 4, Atoms 5.
Bernie felt a big lump in his stomach as he walked off the mound. Darn it! The pitch just wasn’t working again. It was too erratic. Was that the word?
“How’s it coming in, Fred?” he asked the catcher in the dugout.
The Submarine Pitch Page 4
