“I know, Stoge. And I know he sure messed things up for you. But the guy’s so good, you know it? I don’t only mean as a ball player, but as a guy. He’s a barrel of fun.”
Stogie nodded. “Nobody said he’s not a good guy. But don’t you think he’s pigheaded for still thinking I ruined his glove? I’ve never heard of anything so crazy!”
Just the same, he felt like saying, I can’t help being a little sore at Sam. It’s his fault I’m not playing shortstop. His fault I’m playing second base where I won’t get the action I got at short.
Beak didn’t answer. He stretched out his legs and began carving something in the soft dirt with the edge of his sneakers.
“I’ve got a tent,” he said at last, breaking the long silence. “I’ve been thinking about putting it up tonight in the backyard. Want to help me, and both of us spend the night in it?”
Stogie shrugged. “Sure.” He was glad the subject had changed. He felt an ache in his stomach every time Sam Suzuki’s name was mentioned.
His mother gave him permission to spend the night with Beak. Beak used a small hatchet to drive in the stakes while Stogie held up the tent. It was large enough for two sleeping bags and still had plenty of space in between.
They lay in their pajamas in the darkness, a chorus of crickets breaking the night’s velvet silence. Beak said he wished they had a million dollars so that they could travel to Europe and see the Colosseum, the Eiffel Tower, the Alps and a hundred other things. Then to Egypt to see the Sphinx and the pyramids, and to China to see the Great Wall. Man, it would be the coolest cool.
They kept talking and wishing, and suddenly a sound — a different sound from the chirping of the crickets — cut into the quiet night.
“What was that?” asked Stogie, quickly straining his ears.
“I don’t know!” Beak whispered.
The sound continued. It was a grating noise and seemed to originate just outside of their tent.
“I’ll take a look,” whispered Stogie. He shoved aside the quilt blanket, pivoted off the bed, and peeked through the front of the tent. Nothing.
He held still for a moment. The noise had stopped. He started back for the cot when it started up again. He realized now that it was coming from the side. This time he went all the way out of the tent and around the corner. And stopped dead.
An animal about two feet long and shaped like an oversized football, except for a tail on one end and a snout on the other, seemed to swell up for a second. Stogie recognized it instantly. A porcupine!
“Beak!” he cried softly. “C’m here! Quick!”
Just then something bumped against him and he jumped. “I am here!” murmured Beak. “Hey, it … it’s a porcupine!”
Even before Beak had the words out of his mouth, the animal was scurrying toward the woods beyond the yard.
“He was gnawing on something,” observed Stogie. In the semidarkness he saw the hatchet where Beak had left it after driving in the stakes. He picked it up, and instantly he knew.
“He was gnawing on this. The handle’s all wet and rough.”
Then he was staring after the porcupine which he could no longer see, and another thought struck him — struck him like the blow of a bat striking a ball.
“Beak! I’ve got it! That’s what happened to Sam Suzuki’s glove! It was the porcupine that chewed it up!”
“Stogie, you’re right! It had to be!”
Stogie did an Indian war dance on the spot. “Boy, Beak, do I feel good! I won’t be able to sleep a wink the rest of the night!”
He did though.
10
ON TUESDAY Stogie was itching to tell Sam about the porcupine so he could clear up the whole mess about the glove. But when he and Beak arrived at the Suzukis’ house, no one was home.
“Guess I’ll have to wait till tonight,” he said. “I’ll see him at the game. I hope he’ll be there.”
They were at the ball park at 5:15 when most of the guys came drifting in. They played catch, then had batting practice, hitting three and laying one down. Sam Suzuki still hadn’t shown up.
In a way, thought Stogie, I don’t care if Sam never shows up. Then I can go back to my old position at short. But Stogie knew he didn’t really mean it. He had to tell Sam what he had discovered about the glove.
Maybe — a thought brought a gleam into his eyes — maybe the coach would let him play short while Sam was gone!
“Anybody know where Sam Suzuki is?” inquired Coach Dirkus.
“In New York City with his parents,” answered Beak.
“When are they coming back?”
“I don’t know.”
The coach picked up a bat and a ball. “Okay, let’s have infield,” he announced. “Dennis, take short, Stogie, second.”
Stogie’s hope collapsed like a punctured tire. He had thought sure … Lips pressed tightly together, he picked up his mitt and ran out to second. He wasn’t going to argue with the coach again. No fun warming the bench.
The coach rapped out grounders for ten minutes, then the Rainbows took over the field. At 6:30, game time, Sam Suzuki still hadn’t appeared.
The Rainbows had first raps. Tom Rolf, pitching for the Mohawks, walked the lead-off man. The second man blasted a hot grounder directly at Stogie. Stogie stooped to snare it — it looked like a soft catch — but the ball zipped past his glove, through his legs, and to the outfield!
“Get your tail down, Stogie!” yelled a fan.
Playing second base wasn’t as easy as he had thought!
Stogie rushed back, caught the throw-in from right fielder Bernie Drake, and held it. The man on first had advanced to third, and the hitter was standing comfortably on first.
“Sorry, Tom,” said Stogie, tossing the ball to the pitcher. Tom’s tightened lips showed that he wasn’t at all happy with that play.
Tom winged in two outside pitches on the next hitter, then struck him out. A Texas leaguer over short scored a run. Jim Albanese pulled in a fly for the second out, and Bob Sobus caught a pop fly for the third.
“Wish Sam would show up,” said Fuzzy in the dugout, tapping his bat against the tips of his sneakers. “He’s smaller than most of us, but he’s good.”
Daren Holden grinned at Stogie. “You don’t think so, though, do you, Stoge?”
Stogie shrugged. “Who says I don’t? Sure, he’s good.”
“But you don’t like him. You don’t like his taking over your favorite position.”
Stogie’s control shattered like glass. “You’d better close your trap and keep it closed, Holden!”
Daren chuckled and Stogie, his face still burning, turned his attention to Jim Albanese standing at the plate. He wished more than ever that Sam would return. I hope that when I tell him what I saw he’ll forget about the ruined glove and be my friend, Stogie thought. I really want him to be my friend.
Fats Cornell couldn’t get one over and Jim Albanese got a free ticket to first. Lee Cragg, up next, laid down a nice bunt between third base and the pitcher, advancing Jim. Fats threw Lee out at first.
Dennis Krupa fouled the first two pitches, then blasted a high fly to left. The Rainbow left fielder caught it. Fuzzy Caliel went after a high pitch for strike one, then slammed a low one in a crazy, sizzling grounder to Fats. Fats dropped to his knees, trapped the ball between his fat legs, and threw Fuzzy out.
Three away. No runs, no hits, no errors.
And still no Sam.
11
THE RAINBOW lead-off hitter socked a belt-high pitch directly back at Tom Rolf. Tom caught it and stared at the ball in the pocket of his glove as if he were surprised he had it. He tossed it to first and the ball zipped around the horn.
“Two more, Tom!” Bob Sobus hollered. “Let’s get two more!”
The second Rainbow hitter blasted Tom’s first pitch to right center for two bases. Then a grass-cutting grounder zipped down to short. Dennis fielded it and threw it wild to first. A run scored and the hitter trotted to second.<
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Stogie kicked a pebble, then picked it up and threw it beyond the foul line. It was only the top of the second inning and he could already foresee the end of the ball game. The Rainbows were going to smear the Mohawks but good.
The next batter socked a high-bouncing grounder to third. Fuzzy snared it and whipped it to first. Out! Bob Sobus shifted his position to peg to third, but the runner stayed glued on second.
A hard blow over Tom’s head scored the Rainbows’ second run. He struck out the next man to retire the side. Rainbows 3, Mohawks 0.
“Start it off, Stogie,” encouraged Coach Dirkus. “Get a hit.”
Fats Cornell wound up and breezed a pitch past Stogie’s ear. Stogie reared back. “Ball!” yelled the ump.
Fats’s second pitch cut the outside corner. “Steeerike!”
Fats’s third started to cut the center of the plate and Stogie swung. Crack! The ball zoomed out to left center. Stogie lost his helmet as he rounded first. The helmet bounced on the base path and stopped near the grass about the same time that Stogie stopped at second base.
Time was called and Stogie got his helmet.
Bob Sobus, after fouling two pitches, grounded out to short. Bernie went the limit, three balls and two strikes, then struck out. The Rainbows chattered like crazy and Stogie wondered if he’d die on second.
Tony Francis blasted the first pitch through short and the coach at third wind-milled Stogie in. The Rainbow shortstop took the throw-in from left and pegged it in to home, but Stogie was already there. Tony advanced to second on the play.
Tom Rolf stepped to the plate and waited out Fats Cornell’s pitches to a two-and-two count. Then he popped one high to first base for the third out.
“Well, we’ve broken the ice, anyway,” said the coach. “Now go and get ’em out.”
The Rainbow lead-off man singled on the first pitch. The next drove a hot grounder to second. Stogie crouched to pick it up and missed the hop. The ball struck his left knee and glanced behind first. Bob Sobus hightailed after it, picked it up and hurled it to third to get the first runner heading there from second. The throw was too high! The runner rounded third and scored, and the second runner stopped on second base.
Nice! Stogie muttered to himself. Sobus and I are both playing a nice game — for the Rainbows!
The Rainbows didn’t stop there. They scored twice more before the Mohawks could get them out. At the end of the top of the third inning the scoreboard read, Rainbows 6, Mohawks 1.
“They’re burying us,” said Fuzzy as he plunked himself on the bench. “We’re just not playing baseball.”
“Get hold of yourselves,” Coach Dirkus said firmly to the team. “Keep loose out there and keep your heads up. You’re not thinking. Think ahead every minute. Say to yourself, ‘What’ll I do if the ball’s hit to me?’ Have that answer in your head and you won’t get mixed up when the ball does come to you. The old fight, now. Let’s go!”
If Jim Albanese had any of the old fight in him before, he didn’t have it now. He popped the second pitch to short. Lee Cragg put some life into the team with a single through short, but Dennis struck out and Fuzzy grounded out to second.
“I hardly got to sit down!” grunted Bernie, running across the diamond with Stogie.
“I’m up first next inning,” said Stogie. “It’ll be the second time.”
“Better do something!” Bernie said. “My father says a game’s never over till the last inning.”
“Is he here?”
“Try to keep him away! But this is one game that’s over already.”
The first Rainbow drove Tom’s first pitch through the hole between third and short, and it seemed as if the Rainbows were rolling again. A pop-up to Fuzzy Caliel, and then a fly to center fielder Daren Holden, who had taken Lee Cragg’s place, brightened the Mohawks’ hopes. Then Tom, after throwing a wide pitch to the batter, winged three strikes over the plate. The batter swung at the last one and missed it a foot. Three away.
Stogie ran in, looking for Sam. But Sam still hadn’t shown up.
“Start it off again, Stoge!” yelled a fan.
“Sharpen up your tomahawks, you Mohawk Indians, and get some hits, will you?” cried another.
Stogie pulled on his helmet, selected his favorite bat, and stepped to the plate. Fats drilled a strike past him, then drilled in another. Stogie swung. “Strike two!” cried the ump.
Fats threw a bad one, then came in with a pitch that looked slightly inside. Stogie couldn’t take the chance of being called out. He cut at it. Crack! A line drive between short and third for a neat single!
“Thataway to go, Stoge!” screamed the fans.
Bob followed up with a single too, and Stogie raced around to third. Beak Peters, batting for Bernie, socked a grounder to short. The Mohawk fans groaned as the ball zipped to second and then to first for a double play. Stogie stayed on third, playing it safe. Tony rapped a grounder to second which sizzled through the player’s legs, and Stogie scored.
Tom walked and Russ Russo, pinch-hitting for Jim Albanese, stepped to the plate. He waited out Fats Cornell’s pitches, got a two-and-two count, then laced the next pitch to short left. The left fielder came running in hard, but didn’t seem to be covering the ground fast enough.
He did though. He caught the ball one-handed and received a whopping cheer from the Rainbow fans. Rainbows 6, Mohawks 2.
Two innings to go. It was possible for the Mohawks to beat the Rainbows, but not probable. Not probable at all. It was too much to expect.
Stogie reached his position at second. When he turned, his eyes popped. There, around the corner of the stands, came Sam, running as hard as he could!
“Hey, look who’s here!” he shouted. “It’s Sam!”
12
COACH DIRKUS sent Sam immediately out to short in place of Dennis. Sam’s face sparkled with a broad grin. “Hi, Fuzzy! Hi, Stogie!” He waved to the guys in the outfield, who shouted, “Hi, Sam!”
Look at the greeting he’s getting, thought Stogie. The guys really like him. Guess I’m the only one … Heck! I like him, too! It’s just that I don’t like his taking over shortstop from me. He didn’t really take it. Coach Dirkus put him there for his own reasons. I’ll never get over that part of it. I don’t think I will, anyway.
“Got something to tell you after the game, Sam!” he cried. “Something about your glove!”
The sparkle on Sam’s face diminished a little. “What is something?”
“You’ll see!”
“Steeerike!” shouted the ump as Tom grooved the first pitch to the Rainbow lead-off hitter.
“Where’ve you been?” asked Fuzzy. “The game’s almost over!”
“Impossible to leave early from New York City!” Sam replied. “I keep telling my father, ‘Hurry! Hurry! Hurry! I must play baseball!’ He says he is hurrying!” Sam shrugged. “Lucky to be here now!”
“Yes, but it’s probably too late,” replied Fuzzy dismally.
Crack! A hard grounder to Stogie’s right side. He rushed over, fielded the hop and snapped the ball to first. Out!
“Nice play, Stogie!” yelled Sam.
Stogie grinned. Who else would praise you on a play while still thinking you were responsible for ruining a glove autographed by one of Japan’s greatest baseball players? Who else would play with you as if nothing had happened, though you knew that he was still hurt. Sam really believed that Stogie had ruined his glove. Some guys might hate you for it, might want you to pay for the glove. Not Sam. He had wanted nothing.
A high pop-up over the pitcher’s box. “I’ll take it!” Tom shouted.
He took it. Two away.
The third Rainbow came up. Tom grooved a pitch for strike one. His second pitch was slightly higher. The batter swung. Crack! A solid blow! The ball shot to deep left. It kept going … going … and dropped over the fence for a home run!
We’re licked, thought Stogie gloomily. The Rainbows are ahead of us, 7 to 2, and we have only two
more raps. It was hope, less.
Tom struck out the next Rainbow and the Mohawks came to bat. Daren Holden led off. Fats couldn’t get more than one strike over the plate and Daren got a free pass to first. Sam Suzuki was up next.
“Your meat, Sam!” Beak yelled. The fans gave Sam a big hand too.
Sam took a called strike, then two balls. Fats wiped his sweating face, stepped on the mound and delivered. Smack! A bullet drive in the hole between left and center! The ball dropped between the outfielders and kept rolling. Daren scored and Sam held up at third.
The Mohawk bench was wild with excitement. “Keep it going, Fuzz! Bring ’im in!”
Fuzzy didn’t. He grounded out to short. Stogie strode to the plate. He felt great.
The pitch. Stogie swung. A ground ball through short! Sam scored and Stogie stood on first for his third hit of the game. Bob flied out to left and Beak stepped into the box, his bat under his armpit while he jiggled the helmet firmly on his head.
Fats got two balls on him, then a strike, then threw two more balls. Beak walked.
Two outs, two men on, and Tony Francis was up. No one had much faith in Tony’s hitting. He had knocked a single the first time up, and got on base by virtue of an error the second time. His luck couldn’t last.
But it did. He singled to right, scoring Stogie, and Beak raced around to third. Tom Rolf singled, too, but it was a scratch hit, a slow dribbler down to third that advanced Tony to second.
Russ Russo ended the big inning by grounding out to short. Rainbows 7, Mohawks 5.
The top of the sixth. Each Mohawk was alive with spark and noise. He was going to make sure no ball would go by him.
A smashing drive to short! Sam Suzuki got in front of it, fielded it neatly, pegged it to first. One away!
A poke over first base! It looked certain to be a hit. Bob ran back … back … and caught the ball over his shoulder! Two away!
“One more to get, Tom! One more!”
A high smash to deep center! Daren stood a moment, not moving, as if he had lost sight of the ball. And then he stepped back, raised his glove, and the white pill dropped into it.
Shortstop from Tokyo Page 4
