by Rick Wilber
“Don’t worry,” I said to Durocher, “everything’s going to work out.” If he heard me he didn’t let on.
But was everything going to work out? And what part was I going to play in it? Even though I’d contributed to the Giants’ amazing stretch drive, I didn’t belong. Why am I here? I kept asking myself. I had some vague premonition that I was about to change history. I mean I wasn’t a ballplayer. I was a writer. Here I was about to go into Grade 12 and I was already planning to do my master’s thesis on E Scott Fitzgerald.
I didn’t have time to worry further as Alvin Dark singled. Don Mueller, in his excitement, had carried his copy of The Mill on the Floss out to the on-deck circle. He set the rosin bag on top of it, stalked to the plate and singled, moving Dark to second.
I was flabbergasted when Durocher called Monford Irvin back and said to me “Get in there, Kid.”
It was at that moment that I knew why I was there. I would indeed change history. One stroke of the bat and the score would be tied. I eyed the left field stands as I nervously swung two bats to warm up. I was nervous but not scared. I never doubted my prowess for one moment. Years later Johnny Bench summed it up for both athletes and writers when he talked about a successful person having to have an inner conceit. It never occurred to me until days later that I might have hit into a double or triple play, thus ending it and really changing history.
When I did take my place in the batter’s box, I pounded the plate and glared out at Don Newcombe. I wished that I shaved so I could give him a stubblefaced stare of contempt. He curved me and I let it go by for a ball. I fouled the next pitch high into the first base stands. A fastball was low. I fouled the next one outside third. I knew he didn’t want to go to a full count: I crowded the plate a little looking for the fastball. He curved me. Nervy. But the curveball hung, sat out over the plate like a cantaloupe. I waited an extra millisecond before lambasting it. In that instant the ball broke in on my hands; it hit the bat right next to my right hand. It has been over thirty years but I still wake deep in the night, my hands vibrating, burning from Newcombe’s pitch. The bat shattered into kindling. The ball flew in a polite loop as if it had been tossed by a five-year-old; it landed soft as a creampuff in Peewee Reese’s glove. One out.
I slumped back to the bench.
“Tough luck, Kid,” said Durocher, patting my shoulder. “There’ll be other chances to be a hero.”
“Thanks, Leo,” I said.
Whitey Lockman doubled. Dark scored. Mueller hurt himself sliding into third. Rafael Noble went in to run for Mueller. Charlie Dressen replaced Newcombe with Ralph Branca. Bobby Thomson swung bats in the on-deck circle.
As soon as umpire Jorda called time-in, Durocher leapt to his feet, and before Bobby Thomson could take one step toward the plate, Durocher called him back.
“Don’t do that!” I yelled, suddenly knowing why I was really there. But Durocher ignored me. He was beckoning with a big-knuckled finger to another reserve player, a big outfielder who was tearing up the American Association when they brought him up late in the year. He was 5 for 8 as a pinch hitter.
Durocher was already up the dugout steps heading toward the umpire to announce the change. The outfielder from the American Association was making his way down the dugout, hopping along over feet and ankles. He’d be at the top of the step by the time Durocher reached the umpire.
As he skipped by me, the last person between Bobby Thomson and immortality, I stuck out my foot. The outfielder from the American Association went down like he’d been poleaxed. He hit his face on the top step of the dugout, crying out loud enough to attract Durocher’s attention.
The trainer hustled the damaged player to the clubhouse. Durocher waved Bobby Thomson to the batter’s box. And the rest is history. After the victory celebration, I announced my retirement blaming it on a damaged wrist. I went back to Iowa and listened to the World Series on the radio.
All I have to show that I ever played in the major leagues is my one-line entry in The Baseball Encylopedia.
W P. KINSELLA Kinsclla, William Patrick “Tripper”
BR TR 5’9” 185 lbs. B. Apr. 14,1934 Onamata, IA.
I got my outright release in the mail the week after the World Series ended. Durocher had scrawled across the bottom:
“Good luck, Kid. By the way, The Great Gatsby is not an allegory.”
Acknowledgments
An anthology of this nature, one that collects and reprints classic material from writers past and present, is very much a team effort. A necessary collaboration takes place between the anthology editor, the various writers and their agents, and even, on occasion, the original publisher of the story at hand. It is the sort of time-consuming work where patience is a virtue, though a sense of urgency is also required.
I’m very grateful for the perfect balance between those two extremes shown by Skyhorse Publishing editor Jason Katzman, who kept me on track throughout, and Jarred Weisfeld of Start Publishing, for seeing the potential of this project from the very start. I’m also very grateful for the generosity and support of talented writer and publisher Jacob Weisman, who brought me into the project and offered sound advice along the way, and to Night Shade editor Jeremy Lassen, who initiated the entire project.
My agent, Bob Diforio, was extremely helpful with advice, counseling, and some critical communication with other agents, and I’m most appreciative of that help. Special thanks, too, to Roxana Aguilar, who worked some critical magic with the scanner at just the right moment; and to Bradbury scholar Donn Albright, whose advice is greatly appreciated.
Also, my wife, Robin, and my daughter, Samantha, have always been supportive of my writing and editing work, and I greatly appreciate their support on this project. My son, Richard Jr., is a big baseball fan and unmatched supporter of the Tampa Bay Rays. His hugs, encouragement, and consistently positive outlook on life were important to me in completing this project.
And, finally, I owe a huge debt to the writers of these fine stories, who have, one and all, entertained and deeply informed all of us who love great literature and the game of baseball. I’m deeply appreciative of the opportunity to reprint their work.
The conversion of reprinted material from its original source to the version you see here in Field of Fantasies is a demanding task. A number of people have worked to make that conversion a clean one and I thank them all. Any errors or omissions, of course, are mine.
Rick Wilber
May 2014
Permissions
“A Face in the Crowd” by Stephen King and Stewart O’Nan. Copyright © 2012 by Stephen King and Stewart O’Nan. e-book reprinted by permission of Scribner, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
“The Further Adventures of the Invisible Man” © 2002 by Karen Joy Fowler. Originally appeared in Conjunctions 39: The New Wave Fabulists (Bard College, Annandale-on-Hud-son, 2002). Reprinted with permission of the author.
“The Hector Quesadilla Story” © 1984 by T. Coraghessan Boyle. Originally appeared in the Paris Review 93, Fall 1984. Reprinted with permission of the author.
“Arthur Stembach Brings the Curveball to Mars” © 1999 by Kim Stanley Robinson. Originally appeared in The Martians (Voyager/Harper Collins, April 1999). Reprinted with permission of the author.
“Ronnie on the Mound” © John Sampas, Lit. Rep. Originally appeared in Esquire, May 1958. Reprinted with permission of SLL/Sterling Lord Literistic, Inc.
“My Kingdom for Jones” © 1944 by Wilbur Schramm. © renewed 1971 by Wilbur Schramm. (Agent of record, Harold Ober Associates, unable to locate an heir.) Originally appeared in Saturday Evening Post, November 25, 1944.
“Diamond Girls” © 2007 by Louise Marley. Originally appeared in Absalom’s Mother and Other Stories (Fairwood Press, 2007). Reprinted with permission of the author.
"How to Read a Man” © 2002 by Valerie Sayers. Originally appeared in Zoetrope, Vol 6 No. 2. Reprinted with permission of the author.
“The Hanging Curve” ©
2002 by Gardner Dozois. Originally appeared in Fantay & Science Fiction, April 2002. Reprinted with permission of the author.
“The Franchise” © 1993 by John Kessel. Originally appeared in Asimov’s Science Fiction, August 1993. Reprinted with permission of the author.
“Understanding Alvarado” © 1975 by Max Apple. Originally appeared in American Review #22,1975. Reprinted with permission of the author.
“The Southpaw” © 1993 by Bruce McAllister. Originally appeared in Asimov’s Science Fiction, August 1993. Reprinted with permission of the author.
“Ahab at the Helm” © 1964 by Connoisseur’s World, renewed 1992 by Ray Bradbury. Originally appeared in Connoisseur’s World, April 1964. Reprinted by permission of Don Congdon Associates, Inc.
“McDuff on the Mound” © 2005 by Robert Coover. Originally appeared in Iowa Review, Vol 2 No. 4, Fall 1971. Reprinted in A Child Again by Robert Coover (McSweeney’s Books). Reprinted by permission of Georges Borchardt, Inc., for the author.
“The Mighty Casey” © 1960 by Rod Serling. Originally appeared in Stories from the Twilight Xone (Bantam Books). © renewed 1988 by Carolyn K. Serling, Anne C. Serling, Jodi S. Serling. Reprinted by permission of Carolyn K. Serling, Anne C. Serling, and Jodi S. Serling.
“The House that George Built” © 2009 by Harry Turtledove. Originally appeared on Tor. com, June 23, 2009. Reprinted with permission of the author.
“Baseball” © 2002 by Ray Gonzalez. Originally appeared in Circling the Tortilla Dragon (Creative Arts Book Company, 2002). Reprinted with permission of the author.
“My Last Season with the Owls” © 2006 by Ron Carlson. Originally appeared in 108. Used by permission of Brandt & Hochman Literary Agents, Inc. All rights reserved.
“Pitchers and Catchers” © 2007 by Cecilia Tan. Originally appeared in FurtherFemvay Fiction 2007. Reprinted with permission of the author.
“Baseball Memories” © 1989 by Edo van Belkom. Originally appeared in Aethlon: The Journal of Sport literature, 1989.
“Lost October” © 1999 by David Sandner and Jacob Weisman. Originally appeared in Pulp Eternity, 1999. Reprinted with permission of the authors.
“Stephen to Cora to Joe: The Use of Literary Icons and Sports Motifs in Speculative Fiction.” © 2000 by Rick Wilber. Originally appeared in Asimov’s Science Fiction, 2000. Reprinted with permission of the author.
“How I Got My Nickname” © 1983 by W P. Kinsella. Originally appeared in Spithall #8, Fall 1983. Reprinted by permission of the author.
