Score: 4 to 0.
The Steelers were helpless at the plate, but for the next several innings they held the Falcons to one hit. In the fifth the Falcons found their eye again, and blasted the ball for three runs. This time the Steelers’ pitcher went to the showers.
At their turn at bat, the Steelers seemed to find their eye at last. The first two batters singled, and Tommy walked the third to load the bases.
Coach Bartlett waved the infielders in.
For the first time since the game had started, Stan felt scared. What should he do if the ball was hit to him? Throw home, or to second? He looked at Gary, and then at Tommy. But Gary was leaning forward, his hands on his knees, chattering for all he was worth. He had lots of life, Gary did. Tommy was facing third, rubbing the ball, just taking his time. He didn’t look worried at all.
The first pitch was a called strike. The second was in there, too. The batter swung. Crack! A hot grounder down to second, right at Stan!
He had to make his decision — right now! Home, or first?
He caught the hop, whipped it home. Out! Larry snapped the ball to third. Safe by half a step!
“Nice peg, Stan!” said Tommy, smiling.
One away. Still three on.
A high pop fly to third, going foul, with Mose Finn going under it. Mose had taken Jim’s place. A warm relief came over Stan. Mose will catch this ball and I won’t have to worry about a double play, he thought.
The ball came down, a small, white meteor. It struck Mose’s glove, and bounced out!
“Get a basket!” somebody shouted from the stands.
“Butterfingers!” Stan muttered to himself.
The next pitch was a ground ball to short. Stan raced to cover second. Gary fielded the ball and snapped it hard to Stan.
The ball struck the thumb of Stan’s glove and sailed past him!
He turned, ran after the ball, and picked it up. But it was too late. A runner had just crossed the plate.
“Come on, Stan!” shouted Gary, angrily. “Hold on to ’em!”
Stan blushed. Even though it was the Steelers’ first run, Stan felt that it was his fault. Gary had thrown that ball a little too hard, but he still should have had it.
Tommy fanned the next man, and the boys hustled off the field.
“You threw that ball too hard, Gary,” accused Coach Bartlett. “When you’re that close to second, throw it easier. Watch it the next time.”
Stan looked, baffled, at the coach, and then at Gary, who went silently to the dugout. So the coach had noticed. Suddenly, he felt a lot better.
The Falcons went on to win the game, 8 to 1.
12
I need a vacation,” said Phil just before August rolled around. “I haven’t been away from home in a long time.”
Dad smiled. “Where do you want to go?”
Phil shrugged. “South somewhere. Georgia. Florida. Just to see some country I haven’t seen before.”
Phil had no steady job. He had worked on construction for a while, on the new senior high school. Then he had had a job as a stock clerk in a computer factory. He seldom complained, but he hadn’t acted satisfied with either job.
“Boy! Wish I could go with you,” cried Stan.
“Maybe you can — sometime,” Phil said, pinching Stan’s nose. “But not this time.”
“We’ll miss you,” Dottie said, her cheeks dimpling as she smiled. “But I think a two weeks’ vacation will do you good.”
Phil laughed. “Want to get rid of me?”
“Just for two weeks,” replied his sister, and kissed him on the cheek.
Phil looked at Stan. “If you want any rides in the boat, little buddy, Dad will take you. Don’t you ever take it out by yourself.”
“Don’t worry,” said Stan. “Jeez, don’t you think I know?”
Phil packed his suitcase, and Dad drove him to the bus station.
“Write,” Dad said.
“I will,” Phil promised.
Things did not go very well around second base during the practice sessions. Stan felt sure he knew what it was. Gary just didn’t like the idea of Stan’s taking over at second.
Was second base very different from shortstop? Stan didn’t think so, yet it could be only for that reason that Gary acted that way.
Jeb was almost always at the practices, too, sitting in the dugout with his legs stretched out in front of him and his arms crossed over his chest. He had dated Dottie again and Stan didn’t like that at all. There were so many real nice guys. Why did she have to go out with him?”
The funny part of it was, Stan really couldn’t think of anything bad about Jeb. Maybe he just didn’t want to like Jeb because he showed Gary pointers on the ball field. Phil never had done that with Stan.
In a way, when you thought about it, Phil was a strange sort of guy.
Gary played the entire game at short against the Red Devils. Once, a double-play ball, he threw the pill too hard to Stan just as he had done before, and Stan missed it. The very next pitch was hit for a grounder and Stan didn’t get his glove down low enough. The ball sizzled through his legs to the outfield and a run scored.
“The coach must be blind if he thinks you’re an infielder,” said Gary with a very angry look on his face.
A double drove in another run for the Red Devils. Stan was glad when Fuzzy Collins took his place in the fourth inning.
Two runs were all the Red Devils scored. The Falcons beat them, 5 to 2.
They trimmed the Comets, 11 to 1, and on August 4 they played the Steelers again. No team was worried about the Steelers. Whoever had named that team must have figured that they would be tough as nails. But the Steelers were in the cellar and by the looks of things would stay there.
The Falcons had a field day against them. Everybody batted around at least three times, and some four and five. Stan and Gary pulled off two sparkling double plays. Two other times Gary snapped the ball too wildly for Stan to catch. Gary said nothing at these times, as if he knew Stan couldn’t possibly have caught those throws.
The Falcons had a lot of men left on. Otherwise the score would have been worse than 9 to 3.
Picture post cards came from Phil. They were stamped in Atlanta, Georgia; Memphis, Tennessee; and Nashville, Tennessee.
“Boy! He’s really traveling!” murmured Stan excitedly.
Then, for a few days during the second week of Phil’s vacation, there was no word from him.
“He’s sent us a card almost every day,” Mom said. “Guess he wants to rest a while.”
But Mom looked worried. Of course there was no reason why she should be worried, but Mom was like that. Dad got a little disgusted with her.
“He’s a man now, Jen. He can take care of himself. You have to get used to that fact.”
“I know,” Mom said quietly. “But it isn’t easy.”
And then, exactly on the day that was to end Phil’s two weeks’ vacation, Mom and Dad received a letter from him.
Hello, everybody! Sorry I haven’t dropped you even a post card these last few days, but I’ve been very busy. Doing what? Well, listen! I have just signed with Harport! Yes, I’m back with them, and I’m happy! I’ll have to come home for some of my things, and to tell my boss I’m quitting. Until then, be good and be cheerful!
Love,
Phil
13
Phil flew home and Dad drove to the airport to meet him. Stan went along, too, excited as ever over the news about Phil’s playing professional baseball again.
Phil had barely climbed down the steps from the plane when Stan rushed up to him and asked:
“How are you doing, Phil? Are you hitting that apple?”
Phil grinned, and pinched Stan’s nose as he sometimes did. “Maybe not like Mantle, but I’m hitting. Let’s wait till I get home and I’ll tell you all about it. Right now I’m so hungry I could eat a bear!”
Mom and Dottie kissed Phil as if he had been away a year. Then Mom cooked a quick meal an
d everybody sat around the table listening to Phil talk while he tried to eat.
“Oh, let the poor boy eat,” said Mom.
But whenever Phil said anything, she was all ears too.
“So you took your vacation just for the purpose of trying out with Harport again,” said Dad, grinning.
“That’s right,” answered Phil between bites, his glance swinging from one to the other. “I wanted to play baseball again. Matter of fact, nobody really knows how much I missed it and wanted to play.”
His eyes rested on Stan for a moment, then turned away. I know, Stan thought. I know exactly how he felt.
Phil said he had to return to Harport day after tomorrow. They were playing a night game.
“Oh, boy!” said Stan, and looked up at Dad with wide, eager eyes. “Can we go back with Phil, Dad? Can we see him play?”
“That’s a good idea!” said Phil. Smiling, he tapped his left hip pocket where his wallet was. “I signed for a nice bonus. The trip will be on me. Better yet, how about Mom and Dottie going, too?”
“Nothing doing!” cried Mom. “No airplane trips for me! I’m keeping my feet on the ground!”
“Mom,” said Dottie, “don’t be so oldfashioned. We’ll make the trip. Phil will buy us all round-trip tickets, and we’ll go. Right, big brother?”
“Right!” said Phil.
Mom insisted she wasn’t going by air, and that was that. She kept her word, too, at least until the next afternoon.
Once again Dad got disgusted with her.
“All right,” he said. “If you’re not going, neither am I.”
“Oh, no,” Mom said. “You’re going. I’m staying home.”
When the plane departed the next afternoon, Phil, Stan, Dottie, Dad and Mom were on it.
Stan laughed when the plane taxied down the long runway, and then took off. Mom had her eyes closed. It wasn’t until the plane was quite high that she opened them again and dared a glance out of the window.
“Oh, my,” she said.
She was quiet for a while, fascinated by the view passing slowly underneath them. The earth below stretched out like a giant patchwork quilt. Hills loomed in the distance. Rivers wound crookedly, finally emptying into small lakes that flashed the sunlight like tiny mirrors.
“This is beautiful,” Mom finally said. “Really beautiful.”
At her side, Dad grinned with satisfaction, winked at Stan, and then leaned his head back to rest.
The game, played under lights, drew a large crowd. Stan and his family sat in reserved seats, directly behind the Harport dugout. Phil, dressed in his white uniform, winked at them as he walked past. Broad-shouldered and head held high, he looked even taller than he did in regular clothes.
The game got under way. Phil played short, and Stan watched him eagerly. It had been a long time since he had seen Phil play. Phil moved lightly on his feet, and he threw the ball like a bullet.
Each time a ball galloped down to short, Stan bit his lip. But Phil played the ball like the professional he was, catching the hop and whipping it to first for the put-out. Once he worked a double play without an assist. The ball was hit to his side of second base. Running hard, he nabbed the ball in his gloved hand, stepped on the bag, then pegged to first.
Then, in the fifth inning, he fumbled a hard-hit grounder. He finally picked up the ball and fired it to first, but the runner was already there.
“Oh-oh,” muttered Dad.
Stan got nervous. How would Phil act now? Would that error bother him so that he might miss another? Or would he not play as well as he had been playing the earlier part of the game?
In the seventh inning a hard-driven ball headed between third and short. There were two outs, and a man was on third. Harport trailed by one run. This extra run would be an “insurance” run for the other team.
Phil’s too far from it! thought Stan. He just can’t possibly get that ball!
Then Phil stretched out his bare right hand, caught the ball, and pegged it to first! The throw was long, swift, and accurate. It beat the runner by a step!
“Wow!” gasped Dad. “Did you see that?”
“Man, what a catch!” cried Stan.
The fans gave Phil a big hand.
So far, at the plate, Phil had grounded out and drawn a walk. Now, with a man on, he stepped into the batter’s box again. He was a right-hand hitter. He stood tall and loose.
The pitches came in, and he looked them over carefully. At last he had a full count on him — three and two.
“This is the one that counts,” whispered Stan excitedly.
The pitch came in, and Phil smacked it. It sailed far out to left, over the fielder’s head! The ball struck the fence and bounced back. A run scored and Phil stopped on third base with a triple.
The next hitter scored Phil. Harport kept ahead the rest of the game and won it, 4 to 3.
The crowd cheered, and then began to drift out of the ball park.
Dad stood up, a pleased smile on his lips.
“Phil will stay with the game now,” he said, almost to himself. “He’s not afraid of losing any more. He’s not afraid of making errors, or striking out. I wonder what made him change his mind?”
14
The family stayed at a motel that night. They saw Phil the next morning for a while, and both Dad and Stan praised him.
“Man, what a catch you made!” said Stan. “Didn’t that ball sting?”
Phil grinned. “A little.”
They spent a couple of hours with him, seeing some of the sights around the city. Then they had lunch with him. Later a taxi drove them to the airport, and they boarded their plane for home.
Stan watched clouds drift past the right wing of the big plane.
“I’ve been thinking about Phil, Dad,” he said.
“You have?”
“Yes. I bet he’s thought about those letters. Those mysterious letters I’ve been getting. What do you think, Dad?”
His father patted his knee and smiled. “I wouldn’t be a bit surprised, son. Not surprised at all.”
After the plane landed, Dad called a taxi to drive them home.
When Stan walked into his room, he found a package on his bed. It was box-shaped, and wrapped in red and white striped paper with a large bow. Stan looked for a tag but didn’t find it.
“It must be mine,” he said to himself, his heart tingling.
He took off the bow and the wrapping. The box clearly showed what the package contained. A Voyager model!
“Phil gave it to me!” he shouted.
Sure enough, there was a card inside the box. Hi, little buddy. I hope you like this. Phil.
Stan carried it out to the living room, almost stumbling in his haste, and showed it to Mom, Dad, and Dottie. They acted surprised, but almost immediately he knew they were only pretending. They had known about the package all the time!
He spent the next morning putting the model together. In the afternoon he looked over the baseball schedule and discovered that the Falcons had a game with the Jaguars. They had split with the Jags before, so Stan wasn’t worried.
Suddenly he remembered Gary whipping the ball to him so hard that he had to miss it. How could Coach Barrett expect to make a good combination around second base if Gary insisted on being bullheaded?
Mom, Dad, and Dottie came to the game and sat in the bleachers behind first base. Stan wished they hadn’t come. He and Gary were starting, and he knew that things weren’t going to go just right between them.
Then he remembered the letters, and Phil. Phil had conquered the thing that had held him back from playing baseball. It must have been the letters — those strange, mysterious letters — that had changed Phil.
As long as I think about those letters I feel all right. It’s as though they have some magic power.
The Jaguars were first up. A pop fly and two grounders to the infield took care of their first three men.
Jim Kendall, leading off for the Falcons, drew a walk, and
Stan bunted him to second.
Frankie Smith, digging in hard, hit a dribbler down to second. He was thrown out, but Jim advanced to third. Then Duffy got up and lifted a high fly toward left field. It soared like a meteor. This ball was really going into orbit. Duffy tossed his bat aside and beat it for first.
But then the ball curved, and disappeared over the left-field fence!
“Foul ball!” boomed the umpire.
Duffy was nearly to second base. Shaking his head, he cut back across the diamond, picked up his bat, and tried it again. The Jaguars’ pitcher slipped the next one by him. Then Duffy poled one to center field and the ball was caught.
Three away.
The Jaguars’ clean-up man swung two bats from one shoulder to the other as he stood just outside the batter’s box. Then he flipped one aside and stepped to the plate. He was a left-hand hitter and looked mighty dangerous.
The outfielders moved toward the right. Eddie Lee went back ten steps. In the field Stan and George Page backed to the edge of the grass.
Tommy got his signal, wound up, and delivered.
“Ball one!” shouted the umpire.
The next one was in there, and the batter swung. Crack! A high fly ball over second base!
Stan ran back for it, watching the ball constantly. Ahead of him he heard Eddie Lee coming toward him on a mad run, and a horrible fright went through him. He’d read about players colliding. Sometimes it resulted in a serious injury. That mustn’t happen now! Not when he had a chance to nab that fly!
“Let me take it, Eddie!” he yelled desperately. “Let me take it!”
“Go ahead!” cried Eddie.
The ball came down swiftly over his left shoulder. Stan put out his glove. Smack! He had it!
“Nice catch, Stan!” said Eddie.
Cheers and loud applause greeted Stan as he turned and pegged the ball in to Gary. A warm feeling overwhelmed him as he trotted back to his position. He noticed that Gary didn’t say a word, but Stan didn’t care now.
Challenge at Second Base Page 4
