The Year Mom Won the Pennant

by Matt Christopher

  Johnny Linn got the next two men out without letting the Tornadoes score. But the Tornadoes picked up three more runs during the next two innings to the Thunder-balls’ two and won the game 11 to 4.

  “Better luck next time, Coach!” Coach Stevens yelled over at Mom, the cat grin on his face.

  Mom smiled back. “We’re not worrying, Mr. Stevens! The real fight has not yet begun!”

  Nick stared at her. What was she saying? Wasn’t it enough that they had lost so badly? Why’d she have to say a thing like that?

  The next day Jerry Wong came over with Scotty and took turns playing chess with Nick. Jerry’s father ran the only Chinese restaurant in Flat Rock.

  Next to baseball, Nick liked chess best. Matter of fact, now that Mom was coaching, he probably liked chess better.

  Nick won once, Scotty once, and Jerry twice. In both of Jerry’s games his queen and rook tied up his opponent’s king so quickly that the guys hardly knew what had happened.

  After their chess games the next day, they went outdoors to skateboard. Most of the kids in the neighborhood skateboarded at one time or another on the sidewalks. Even Jen and Sue had skateboards of their own.

  “Nick, look!”

  Nick swung around at Jen’s voice, almost losing his balance and falling off the skateboard. There was Jerry Wong on his skateboard, standing on his hands. The guys and girls looked at him as if transfixed.

  “Hey!” Nick said. “You practicing for some show or something?”

  Jerry grinned at him. “No. I just learned this yesterday.”

  A chess hotshot, now a skateboard hotshot, thought Nick. What was the guy going to do next?

  “Hah!” smirked Scotty. “He’s just showing off for the girls.”

  That did it. Jerry got off his hands and back on the board with his feet.

  “You moron,” snapped Jen. “You embarrassed him.”

  “I didn’t mean to,” apologized Scotty.

  Jerry was smiling, however, his face red from having stood on his hands. It was hard to tell whether he was embarrassed or not. But he wasn’t annoyed. That was the important thing. He was sensitive, but seldom had Nick seen him annoyed.

  The boys rode down the sidewalk and started to turn past the corner drugstore, when something in the field across Columbus Street caught their attention. A boy was riding a shiny black horse, sitting straight on its bare back while it trotted as hard as it probably could. The boy was Wayne Snow. He looked at the guys for an instant, and then looked away.

  Scott sighed. “Well, la de da!” he sang. “Isn’t it nice to be rich? You can pretend you don’t know the guys you play baseball with.”

  Down the highway a bit was a big white house where Wayne lived with his parents. When they were home, that is. Otherwise there was no one except him, his older brother Ron, and a housekeeper. Mrs. Snow traveled around the country putting on fashion shows, and Mr. Snow was usually away on a business trip. Nick didn’t know exactly what he did.

  Just then two kids on skateboards rounded the corner a block away and started up the sidewalk toward the boys.

  “Hey, look who’s here!” one of them shouted. “Nick, I heard your mom’s coaching the Thunderballs!”

  Jabber Kane was one kid with the perfect nickname.

  “So what?” said Nick. The kid with Jabber was Steve Dale. Both boys played with the Stars.

  Jabber laughed as they approached. “I heard you got beaten badly by the Tornadoes,” he said. “Trouble with your new coach?”

  “My mom probably knows more about baseball than your whole bunch of Stars put together,” snapped Nick.

  Jabber’s wide smile showed large teeth in front, teeth that Nick felt like knocking down Jabber’s skinny throat.

  “I can’t wait till we play you guys,” said Jabber. “I can picture your mom yelling from the dugout, ‘Come on, boys! Don’t slide unless you have to! You mustn’t get your pants dirty!’ Ha!”

  The guys laughed. Including Scotty and Jerry. Nick saw red. He squared his jaw and went after Jabber, his fists clenched. Jabber whisked around on his skateboard and sped off down the sidewalk, his laughter trailing after him.

  “Forget it,” said Scotty. “He’s only kidding.”

  “I know,” replied Nick. “But I don’t like it. I hope that when we play those Stars we’ll beat them twenty to nothing.”

  What he really wished, though, was that someone else was coaching the Thunder-balls. Someone else, not Mom.

  4

  Make a lot of noise out there,” Mom told the boys. “Let Johnny know he has nothing to worry about.”

  With that final order from the coach, the Thunderballs ran out on the field. It was July 5, the Thunderballs’ first game of the season. At bat were the Knicks, a scrappy bunch of guys who were talking it up loudly in and around their dugout as if they had the game sewn up already.

  Johnny Linn, on the mound for the Thunderballs, threw in several warm-up pitches to Wayne. The umpire yelled “Play ball!” and the Knicks’ first hitter stepped to the plate. He was short and his uniform was almost too big for him.

  “Ball!” cried the ump, as Johnny’s first pitch zipped high over the plate.

  The infield chatter grew louder but it didn’t help Johnny’s control. He walked the batter. The next man bunted down to first. Johnny threw him out but the other runner was safe on second.

  The next man lined a single over short, scoring the runner.

  “Just lucky, Johnny,” Nick said. He caught the throw-in from left fielder Gale Matson and tossed it to Johnny. “Let’s go for two.”

  The Knicks’ batter socked a bouncing grounder to short. Nick caught it and whipped it to second. Cyclone caught it, snapped it to first. A double play!

  “There you go!” Nick said with a smile.

  “You asked for it.” Johnny smiled back at him.

  “Cyclone Maylor! Jerry Wong! Nick Vassey!” Mom read off the names of the first three hitters. “Let’s get that run back!”

  Cyclone let two strikes go past him, then socked a cloud-high drive above the pitcher’s mound. The Knicks’ third baseman took it for the first out. Jerry let a strike go by, then took four straight balls for a free pass to first. Nick came up, looked over a couple, then hit a slow grounder to third. The third baseman fielded it, looked toward second, saw that he couldn’t get Jerry, and threw to first. Out.

  Gale pounded a long fly to center. Three away.

  The Knicks came up, eager to pile up runs. But they didn’t get any. Instead it was the Thunderballs who began popping the ball in between the Knicks. Russell Gray started it off with a single, followed by Wayne Snow’s hot grounder over the third-base bag. Scotty Page drove a long fly to right, which was caught, but which advanced Russ to third.

  “Only one out!” yelled Mom, standing in front of the dugout with a finger jabbing the air. “Play it safe!”

  “Thataway to talk to ‘em, Coach!” a fan yelled from the stands. Other fans made remarks, too.

  The remarks embarrassed Nick as he stood in the third-base coaching box. The people were having a good time, all right. But it was mostly over watching and listening to Mom. The game had little to do with it. That was how it seemed anyway.

  Pat Krupa singled, driving in Russ. Wayne advanced all around to third. Then Johnny Linn singled to left, scoring Wayne. The fans stood up and clapped their hands thunderously, particularly the young fans. Jen and Sue were with a bunch of girls and they were shouting louder than ever.

  The lead-off man, Cyclone, was up again. Monk Jones, the Knicks’ tall right-hander, breezed a third strike by him for the Thunderballs’ second out. Then Jerry popped up to the catcher, ending the rally and the bottom of the second inning.

  Mom patted Johnny’s back as he started out of the dugout. “Keep your pitches in there, Johnny,” she said. “You’ve got good boys behind you.”

  Johnny simply nodded. He was a quiet kid. A half-dozen words from him equaled a thousand from Cyclone.
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br />   The Knicks started to hit. A double over second base. A single between third and short. A long fly to second, which Jerry caught, but which accounted for a run after the runner tagged up. Two more runs scored before the Thunderballs could settle down and make the second and third outs.

  Knicks 4–Thunderballs 2.

  It was the Knicks fans’ turn to yell now. “How do you like them apples, Coach Vassey?” one of them said.

  “That’s right,” Wayne said softly. “That’s just the beginning.”

  Nick stared at him. “That’s a fine thing to say, Wayne.”

  Mom, standing nearby, smiled. “That’s being a defeatist, Wayne. We won’t win if you feel that way.”

  Wayne’s face turned beet red.

  5

  Nick led off in the bottom of the third.

  “A home run, Nick!” Jen yelled in that soprano voice of hers. “Over the fence!”

  Monk Jones rubbed the ball, nodded with satisfaction at the signal from his catcher, then stretched and delivered. Nick pulled back his bat, saw that the pitch was going wide, and held his swing.

  “Ball!” yelled the ump.

  Monk drilled the next pitch across the inside corner for a strike. Nick cut at the next one and heard the ball plop into the catcher’s mitt.

  “He’s your man, Monk, ol’ boy!” shouted the Knicks’ catcher.

  Nick stepped out of the box, rubbed the bat gingerly, and looked at Monk. Monk might try to fool him with a curve this time. He stepped back into the box.

  The pitch came in close, then curved away. Nick swung. Crack! The ball struck the ground in front of Monk, bounced high over his head and then over second base for a single. The fans yelled as Nick stood on the bag at first and looked at Mom for a bunt signal. But she gave none.

  Gale, up next, blasted the first pitch in a line drive over second. Nick swept around second base and headed for third.

  “Go! Go! Go!” third-base coach Tom Warren shouted, swinging his left arm like a windmill.

  Nick rounded third and raced for home. As he got close to it he heard Mom and some of the guys yelling to him, “Hit it, Nick! Hit the dirt!”

  Nick did. The catcher caught the relay and put it on Nick, but Nick was already across the plate. “Safe!” cried the ump.

  Nick got up, brushed off his pants, and saw Gale trotting back to second base for a clean double. “Nice running, Nick,” Mom said. “Okay, Russ! Let’s keep it going!”

  Russell Gray fouled the first two pitches to the backstop screen, let an inside pitch go by, then went down swinging. Next batter was Wayne Snow. He walked to the plate, dragging his bat over the ground.

  “Look at him,” muttered Scotty disgustedly. “How are we going to win with him acting like that?”

  “Look alive, Wayne!” snapped Cyclone. “This is a ball game, not a funeral!”

  “All right, all right,” cautioned Mom. “Cut out the remarks.”

  Wayne swung at a high pitch and drove it in a line over the fence. It went foul. He swung at the next pitch and sent it a mile into the sky. This one dropped behind the home-plate stands.

  “Straighten it out, Wayne!” Mom shouted.

  There was a chuckle in the stands and Nick looked over at Mom. Either she had not heard it or she wasn’t letting on she had. After thinking about it, he felt a funny sensation — a sensation of pride. It took a lot of nerve to do what Mom was doing.

  Monk’s next three pitches were balls. Then Wayne stepped into a sidearm pitch, swung hard, and missed completely. He walked back to the dugout, dragging the bat, not looking anywhere except at the ground.

  “Forget it, Wayne,” said Mom. “You’ll be up again.”

  Scotty waited out Monk’s pitches and got a free ticket to first. Pat came up, took two balls and a strike, then laced a drive to deep center field. It sure looked as if it were heading for the Great Beyond. But the Knicks’ center fielder, running back as hard as he could, reached up his gloved hand and nabbed it.

  The Knicks came up and put across two more runs to give them a 6 to 3 lead. With two on and two out, the Knicks’ batter drove a hot liner directly at Nick. It was high. Nick leaped, stretching as far as he could. Pop! He had it!

  He ran in from short, sweat dripping off his face. A few inches higher and that ball would have gone over his head and two more runs would have been scored.

  He looked sorrowfully at Mom. Her first game, he thought, and they were going to lose it. She caught his eye and smiled.

  I don’t know, he thought. We’re losing the game and she looks as happy as if we were winning it. If Dad were in her place, he wouldn’t be smiling. You could bet your life on that.

  6

  Johnny Linn led off in the bottom of the fourth inning with a colossal triple to left center field. It sure looked like a good start. But Bill Dakes, batting for Cyclone, grounded out to third and Jerry Wong bounced one back to the pitcher for the second out.

  “Oh, no!” Mom moaned. “Jim, bat for Nick! Wait for a good one! Tom, get ready to bat for Gale.”

  Nick tossed his bat onto the pile fanned out on the ground and returned to the dugout. He wasn’t happy about being replaced, but knew that Mom wanted every player on the team to play at least three innings. It was a league rule that every player had to play at least two innings. Mom preferred to be a little more generous whenever she could.

  Jim Rennie drew a walk. Then Tom Warren walked, filling the bases!

  The Thunderballs’ dugout buzzed like a beehive. “A grand slammer, Russ!” yelled Nick. “Clean the bases!”

  Russ wiggled the toes of his sneakers into the soft, dusty earth, tugged at his protective helmet, then got ready for Monk’s pitch. The ball came in slightly high. Russ swung, and missed.

  “Too high, Russ!” Cyclone shouted.

  The next was high, too. Again he swung and missed. The Thunderball fans groaned. Monk pitched another high one. This one Russ let go by. Ball one.

  Monk threw two more balls for a three-two count, then rifled the next one in knee-high. Russ swung hard and missed for strike three. Three away. Russ tossed his bat angrily toward the dugout and ran out to his position at first base. Nick knew exactly how he felt. He had struck out with the bases loaded a few times himself.

  “Scotty,” said Mom, as Scotty started out of the dugout, “wait. Mike, take right field.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Mike Todey. “I mean, yes, ma’am.”

  Nick grinned. Guess it was going to be a long while before most of the boys would be calling Mom “Coach.”

  The Knicks picked up a run in the top of the fifth with a double and then an error by Jim Rennie. He had made a neat catch on a fast bouncing ball, but pegged it too high to first base. The runner on second scored on the overthrow. The run was the only one the Knicks got.

  The Thunderballs started off like a straw fire during their turn at bat. Wayne Snow belted a hot grounder that zipped over the third-base bag for a double. Mike Todey singled him in and Pat Krupa drew a pass.

  “Look at Pat,” said Scotty. “He wobbles like a duck. I can’t see how he can run as fast as he does.”

  “He pulls back all levers and goes when he has to,” Nick said, grinning.

  Johnny Linn, up next, also drew a walk, filling the bases. Again the Thunderballs’ fans grew excited and began to yell for a hit. Any kind of hit.

  Bill Dakes tapped the tip of his bat against the plate, lifted it to his shoulder, and waited for the pitch. It was high. Ball one. He swung at the next pitch and laced it to left field. The fielder hardly had to move. Mike Todey, on third, stayed on the bag until the ball was caught, then bolted for home. He made it easily.

  Jerry Wong took a called strike, then belted a searing grounder directly at the shortstop. The guy fielded it, snapped it to second. Second to first. A double play. Three outs.

  “We picked up two, anyway,” said Mom. “Now get out there and hold them.”

  Hold them they did. Johnny struck out the first man and t
he next two grounded out. The Thunderballs came up for the last time. They were trailing 7 to 5. Fat chance we have of winning this ball game, thought Nick. It would have been a good start to have won the first league game for Mom.

  Jim Rennie led off and smashed the second pitch for a clean single over second. Then Tom Warren popped out to put a damper on the Thunderballs’ hopes of getting a run. Russ, having struck out the last two times at bat, didn’t raise anyone’s hopes as he strode to the plate. He took a called strike, a ball, then hammered a solid drive to right center field! Jim raced all around to home and Russ took second on the play on Jim.

  Wayne went down swinging. Two away. And two runs from winning the ball game. It still seemed hopeless.

  Then Mike walked. Pat hit a grounder to short. It was fumbled! Russ held up at third, Mike at second. Pat was on first. The tying run — and the winning run — were on base!

  “Win your own ball game, Johnny!” yelled a fan. “Chase home those ducks!”

  Johnny Linn waited out the pitches. Then, with the count two and two, he swung at a chest-high pitch. Crack! A line drive over the shortstop’s head! Russ scored. Mike scored. Pat halted on third, leaving Johnny with a double.

  The game was over. The Thunderballs were the winners, 8 to 7. Mom had won her first league ball game.

  7

  Two days later the Thunderballs tangled with the Zebras. Mom had Bill Dakes and Jim Rennie start in place of Cyclone and Nick. The Thunderballs had first raps, but in the first two innings they could do little against their opponents. Eddie Cash, the Zebras’ little right-hander, didn’t seem to have much on the ball, yet no Thunderball could hit him.

  Frankie Morrow, pitching for the Thunderballs, was tagged for four hits and three runs in the two innings. He led off the third with a single, though, and Bill sacrificed him to second on a bunt. Then Jerry Wong tripled, scoring Frankie, and Jim hit a high fly that landed between three fielders for a freak double, scoring Jerry. It was funny the way the three Zebras stood there, each expecting the other to catch the ball.