Challenge at Second Base

by Matt Christopher

  On Friday they played the Jaguars. Gary started at second. In the first two innings he handled three grounders without an error. The Jaguars played good defensive ball and began hitting Lefty Kellar hard. The score was tied in the fifth, 3-all. With one out and men on first and third, Coach Bartlett put Tommy Hart in to pitch.

  A hit meant at least one run. An extra-base drive could mean two runs.

  Tommy threw in some warm-up pitches, then waited for the hitter to enter the batting box. Tension mounted and the infielders began chattering in what sounded like a lot of jumbled words.

  “Getimout, Tommy! Getimout!”

  “Throweminthere, Tom! Strikeimout!”

  Tommy stepped on the rubber, stretched, and delivered. Crack! The ball zipped across the infield close to second base. Gary ran hard, reached for the hop, caught it, and snapped the ball to shortstop Don Marion covering the bag. Don whipped the ball to first.

  In time! A double play!

  “Nice play, Gary,” said the coach, as the second baseman came trotting in. “Fielded that ball like a major leaguer. Nice play, Don.”

  Then the Falcons broke the tie. With a man on first, Duffy Powers socked a double and George Page singled. The Falcons went ahead by two runs.

  Stan replaced Gary at second. He snagged a pop fly, then bobbled a grounder. He picked up the ball quickly and, almost without looking, snapped the ball to first. The ball went wide, and the runner advanced to second.

  However, the Jaguars didn’t score. Neither did they push across any runs in the final inning, and the score ended with the Falcons coming out on top, 5 to 3.

  On July 5, Stan played the first three innings and bobbled two grounders. One of them resulted in a run for the opponents, the Red Devils. But the Falcons managed to keep ahead from the first inning on and won again, 3 to 1.

  We’re lucky to win, thought Stan. I’m playing as if I’m a real rookie!

  He was worried out there. He was thinking about how much better Gary Newman was than he. That was why he kept bobbling so many grounders.

  Phil was right. You can love the game with all your heart. But your heart can get hurt awfully easy.

  The same thing was happening to Stan that had happened to Phil.

  8

  The hot July days skipped by quickly. Stan almost forgot about the mysterious letter he had received. He had thought that some member of his family had sent it — perhaps his Dad — but he wasn’t sure.

  So far Phil hadn’t seen the Falcons play. Stan didn’t encourage him, either. Dad and Mom went as often as they could, and so did Dottie.

  “I don’t see what you’re worried about,” said Dad after the Falcons’ game with the Clippers. “You got a hit and made two assists. Is that bad?”

  It did not happen to be bad that time, but the Falcons had lost the game, 7 to 4. Then the Comets gave them a lacing, 6 to 2, a game in which Stan went without a hit. However, he didn’t feel so bad. Some of the others went hitless, too, including Duffy Powers.

  One warm afternoon, as they were riding in Phil’s boat, Larry remarked to Stan and Tommy, “You know, there’s one guy who surprises me on our ball team.”

  “Who?” said Stan.

  They were discussing baseball, trying to figure out why the Falcons had lost their third game in a row yesterday. In that game they had gone two extra innings. Then a triple broke the tie, ending the game in the Red Devils’ favor, 7 to 6.

  “Gary Newman,” said Larry. “That guy’s really gone to town. Know what his batting average is?”

  Stan turned away and looked at the waves swirling alongside the fast-moving boat. He knew, all right. And so did everybody else on the team.

  “Three-seventy-two,” said Tommy. “The highest on the team.”

  “And he hasn’t missed many at second,” went on Larry.

  Maybe he didn’t realize he was “rubbing it in” Stan. And maybe he did. It was a wonder Stan wasn’t benched for good.

  The boys had played catch on shore and had brought their gloves and a ball on board with them. Now Stan struck the dark, oily pocket of his fielder’s glove hard with his right fist. Why did the guys keep bringing up Gary’s name? He wished he had never heard of Gary Newman.

  “Hey, you guys!” yelled Phil suddenly. “Look what’s coming over that hill at our left!”

  The three boys turned. A yell burst from all three. The northwestern sky was almost black. Mountainous clouds bore toward them, twisting in the sky before a strong wind.

  A streak of lightning flashed and then thunder rumbled.

  “We’d better head for shore right now!” Phil said, turning the wheel of the craft. “Put on your life jackets! We can’t take any chances!”

  The boys each turned to pick up a life jacket. As Stan reached for his, the boat turned and he lost his balance. Quickly, he caught himself, but his fielder’s glove slipped from his hand and went over the edge.

  “My glove!” he shouted. “Phil! My glove!”

  Panic overtook him as he saw his almost-new glove riding the crest of a wave, then gradually sinking.

  If he didn’t do something right now, that glove would be gone forever!

  Stan dived into the water and felt the pleasant shock of its warmth cover his body. He opened his eyes and looked around hastily. Then he rose, whipped the water from his head and leaped high to look for the glove. Again and again he leaped, searching the dark, greenish water.

  Then he knew that the worst had happened. He’d never see that glove again.

  9

  You crazy fool!” yelled Phil as he slowed the boat alongside Stan so that Tommy and Larry could haul the boy in. “What’re you trying to do? Drown?”

  “I wanted to save my glove,” Stan murmured hoarsely.

  “Save your glove?” Larry echoed. “You make it sound as if it was human.”

  With his friends’ help, Stan got into the boat and sat on the rear seat. Instantly, Phil increased the throttle, and the boat began speeding forward again.

  “To blazes with the glove!” yelled Phil over his shoulder. “I’m trying to save us from being hit by a storm and you want to save a glove! Try to top that, will you?”

  Phil would say that, of course. Perhaps he had never felt the way Stan did about a glove. Perhaps that was why he didn’t care about playing baseball any more.

  “Here, put this on,” said Tommy, and helped Stan with a life jacket.

  Stan steadied himself against the bouncing of the boat. Already the waves were rolling high. Drops of water fell upon them. For a moment Stan wasn’t sure whether they came from the water about them or the heavy clouds swirling overhead.

  Again lightening pierced the sky for a moment and then abruptly vanished. Again thunder rumbled.

  The boys hung on for dear life to the sides of the boat. Ahead of them the shoreline seemed to be rising and falling. Trees leaned under the power of the wind. Leaves broke loose from their branches, flew swiftly and crazily through the air. Birds swooped low and high, carried every which way by the wind. The drops fell thicker, and now Stan knew they were falling from those black clouds.

  The boat lifted on the crest of a wave, then came down smack! The bow pierced the water, and gallons of the churning whiteness spilled into the boat, covering the boys’ feet.

  Phil hung desperately onto the wheel to keep the boat from getting out of his control. It was up to him now. It was a fight between him and the mad waters of the lake.

  For a while the gap between the boat and the shore seemed to remain the same. Then slowly it closed, and Stan saw several men appear on the dock. They were waiting to help pull in the boat and secure it.

  Finally the boat rocked close to the dock. The boys tossed out the rope. The men caught it, pulled the boat in against a pair of rubber tires, and secured it. The last puff-puff of the motor died away as Phil turned it off.

  “Thanks, guys,” he said gratefully. “We’d have a real damaged boat if it weren’t for you.”

 
“We were ready to call the Coast Guard,” one of the men replied, grinning.

  Hardly five minutes had passed when a car drove up, stopped with a sudden jerk, and three anxious-looking people jumped out.

  “Stan! Phil! Are you all right?”

  The boys grinned at Mom, Dad, and Dottie, who stared at them white-faced.

  “All right?” echoed Phil innocently. “Why? Is something wrong?”

  Dottie’s green eyes flared. “Don’t be smart, Philip Andrew Martin! We saw that storm coming, and we knew you were out on the lake. You and Stan — all of you! Of course, if we knew you were such a hot-shot pilot —”

  “He is!” Stan cried out seriously. “He saved our lives!”

  Dottie smiled. Her eyes softened.

  “I’m not so sure about that,” said Phil humbly.

  “Well, I am!” said Stan.

  “So are we,” said Larry earnestly. “If it wasn’t for Phil, we might have all drowned.”

  “Drowned? With your life jackets on?” Phil chuckled. Even with his face streaming wet from the rain, you could see it color a little. “Look, the four of us don’t mind,” he went on, pointing at himself and his three companions. “But don’t you folks care about getting wet?”

  “Yes, we do!” Dad yelled, and led the race to the car and its shelter from the storm.

  10

  On Thursday, July 21, Stan watched the start of the Clippers-Falcons game from the bench. Some of the boys sitting beside him, especially Larry’s brother Ray, Ronnie Woods, and Mose Finn, chattered without letting up a minute. They seemed satisfied just wearing the Falcons’ uniform. Fuzzy Collins was more quiet, like Stan.

  “Come on, you guys,” said Mose. “Where’s that chatter?”

  This nudged Stan and Fuzzy into some yelling, but not for long.

  Stan didn’t know about Fuzzy, nor did he care very much. He had his own self to worry about.

  He didn’t like warming the bench three or four innings a game. Of course he knew all fifteen players couldn’t play at the same time, although the better ones did play every inning.

  “Got to keep in the better players so no team could shellac us,” Coach Bennett once said.

  Not playing regularly proved he wasn’t one of the better ones. That was what griped him, and made him feel the way he did now. The season was almost half over, and he wasn’t a bit better now than he had been at the beginning.

  Phil was right. Don’t get to love the game very much. You might get awfully discouraged.

  I’m awfully discouraged now, thought Stan.

  He watched the Clippers take their first raps and go down under Left Kellar’s fastball pitching. The Falcons came to bat. Frankie Smith smacked a solid single, but he didn’t get past first.

  The Clippers started off the second inning with a single, followed by a sacrifice bunt that put the man in scoring position. A double sent him around the bases. Another run scored before the Falcons could get the Clippers out.

  That last hit was a hot grounder to Gary’s left side. Gary almost had it. But the ball struck the tip of his glove and went bouncing to the outfield.

  I could’ve caught that, Stan thought. I would’ve kept that last run from scoring.

  It looked easy from the bench.

  I have a hobby at home. My airplane and spaceship models. I can work on them. After a time I can forget baseball. A guy can forget it, can’t he, if he’s away from it for a while?

  By the fifth inning the Clippers had a strong hold of the game. They were leading, 4 to 0.

  “Okay, Stan,” said Coach Bartlett. “Get on second. Lots of hustle now.”

  Stan picked up the new glove Dad had bought him and raced out to his position at second. A moment later the Clippers’ lead-off man beat out a dribbling grounder to third. The Falcons’ infield moved in, expecting a bunt.

  It was a bunt! The ball rolled toward first, just inside the foul line!

  George Page charged in after it. Stan rushed to cover first. At the same time Lefty ran toward first, too.

  “I’ll cover, Lefty!” Stan yelled.

  Lefty stopped. George fielded the ball, turned, and whipped it to first. The ball just missed the runner. Stan stretched, and caught the ball in time.

  “Out!” cried the umpire.

  Stan felt good as he hustled back into position. The next hitter flied out and Lefty walked the third. Then a grounder was hit to short, and Don tossed the ball to Stan at second for the forced out.

  He didn’t get to bat this inning, but he would the next. The Clippers, hotter than fire, mowed down the Falcons one, two, three in the bottom of the sixth, then scored two more runs at their turn at bat.

  With one out and a man on, Stan stepped to the plate. He took a called strike, then leaned into a shoulder-high pitch and swung with all his might.

  “Strike two!” cried the umpire, as Stan’s bat swished through the empty air.

  He took a ball, and then another. Now the count was two and two.

  Stan stepped out of the box and touched his sweating hands into the soft dirt. I can’t strike out, he thought. I just can’t!

  He got back into the box, and the pitcher went into his stretch. The ball breezed in. It looked a little inside, but it might cut the corner!

  Stan swung.

  Smack!

  The sound was the ball hitting the pocket of the catcher’s mitt.

  “You’re out!” yelled the umpire.

  Stan went back to the dugout, sick at heart.

  Fuzzy batted for Eddie Lee, and fanned, ending the ball game. The Clippers took it, 6 to 0.

  Stan spent a lot of time the next day looking at the spaceship models in the Hobby Shop on Darby Street. He would earn money somehow — there were always people who wanted their lawns cut — and save it up to buy more models. He could spend hours and hours just assembling models. It wouldn’t be long before he’d forget baseball altogether.

  He didn’t say much around the house, but the way everybody looked at him they certainly must have suspected that he wasn’t happy about something. Mom tried to pry the trouble out of him, but he told her that there was nothing wrong.

  “I bet!” said Dottie, who was suspicious about anything.

  The next day he got a letter. He stared at the address on the envelope. It was exactly like the one he had received before. The words were cut out of either a newspaper or a magazine.

  He tore off the end of the envelope and took out the letter. This, too, was made up of cut-out words.

  YOU ARE GIVING UP TOO EASILY. NO BOXER QUIT BECAUSE HE LOST A FIGHT. YOU LOVE BASEBALL. IT’S A GOOD GAME. STICK WITH IT.

  The last three words were underlined twice in ink.

  “Mom,” he said, the letter trembling in his hands, “who keeps sending me these letters?”

  Mom shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know,” she said. “But whoever it is must certainly know what’s bothering you!”

  11

  Everybody in the family read the strange letter. If one of them had sent it, his — or her — face did not show it. Everyone acted just as surprised as Stan did, and looked at each other suspiciously, too.

  Maybe it’s somebody on the team, Stan thought. But who would care enough about him to send a letter like that?

  Tommy Hart? Larry? Or could it be Coach Bartlett?

  He did not mention the letters to any of his teammates. Maybe one of these days the person who had sent them would say something unintentionally that would give him away.

  “Just the same, that letter makes good sense,” Dad said. “Everybody should take its advice.”

  Phil’s face colored a little, and he turned and walked away.

  Beginning with the next practice, Stan played harder and harder. He tried to forget about himself and just do what he had to do, and do it the best he could.

  He improved fast. Coach Bartlett noticed it.

  “I’ve been noticing you, Stan,” he said. “You’ve picked up a lot of spark lately.
Just as if you’ve shaken off some kind of bugaboo. What’s happened?”

  Stan grinned shyly, and shrugged. “I don’t know. Guess I’m just playing harder, that’s all.”

  “Guess you are,” said the coach. “Okay, get on second. Gary!” he shouted across the diamond. “Play short! I want to try something new!”

  Gary looked puzzledly at him. “Short? But Coach, I’ve never played short.”

  “Don’t say never,” replied Coach Bartlett. “A good infielder plays any position in the infield. Your arm is strong. Get on short and don’t argue.”

  Gary got on short, and Coach Bartlett began hitting grounders to him and Stan. They worked double plays. The coach showed Stan how to cover second and then throw to first when the ball was hit to short. Then he showed Gary how to work the play when the ball was hit to second.

  “You’re doing great,” he commented after he had the boys sweating. “Something tells me you’re going to turn into a great double-play combination.”

  Coach Bartlett said things like that. The kids liked him for it, even though what he said didn’t always turn out to be true.

  It was Wednesday, July 27, when the coach had Gary and Stan try out their new positions in a game. The new line-up was as follows:

  J. Kendall 3b

  S. Martin 2b

  F. Smith If

  D. Powers cf

  G. Page lb

  G. Newman ss

  L. Jones c

  E. Lee if

  T. Hart p

  The Falcons had first raps against the Steelers. Jim walked, and Stan laid a beautiful bunt down the first-base line to put Jim in scoring position. Frankie socked two pitches back to the screen, then whiffed. Two outs.

  Duffy Powers walked to the plate and smashed the first pitch to deep center for a triple. Jim scored, and then George beat out a dribbler to third, scoring Duffy.

  Gary walked, and Stan was sure that the Steelers’ coach would put in a new pitcher. But he didn’t, even when Larry singled and Eddie Lee singled right behind him. It was Tommy who ended the merry-go-round, hitting a ball to deep center which the center fielder caught almost without moving.