Long Stretch At First Base (7 page)

J. E
CHOLS
— right field

T. M
ANDOS
— first base

J. N
ICHOLS
— pitcher

The umpire named off the batteries for both teams. Then the Redbirds ran out to the field amid a roar of applause and horn-blowing.

The Seals lead-off man took a called strike, then hit a dribbling grounder to third. Mark fielded it and threw him out with
a perfect peg to first.

I wish I could throw that straight, thought Bobby.

The second hitter popped to first. The next hitter went the full count, then walked.

The clean-up man looked over the first
two pitches — one a ball, the other a strike. He belted the next just out of reach of pitcher Jack Nichols’s outstretched
glove. Second baseman Al Dakin ran and made a stab at the ball. He caught it, tossed it underhand to Bobby, who raced hard
to cover second. Out!

Bobby, leading off in the last of the first, clouted the second pitch for a single. He got the steal signal from Mr. Barrows.
As the ball zipped past the plate, Bobby took off like a jet. He slid safely into second, beating the throw by two feet.

Bobby was in scoring position now. All that was needed was a hit.

Dakin fanned. Toby hit a two-three pitch solidly to left field, but it was caught. Two outs. Bobby crossed his arms and stiffened
his lips. Couldn’t anybody knock him in?

Jim Hurwitz came up.
Crack!
A Texas leaguer over short. Bobby shot to third, touched the corner of the bag with his toe, and bolted hard for home. He
scored standing up. Dave Gessini then flied out to center, ending the inning.

The next two innings went by scoreless for both teams.

In the top of the fourth, the Seals leadoff man banged a hot grounder to Bobby’s right side. Bobby fielded it nicely, pegged
to first. A sick cry broke from his lips. The ball was wide! Tony Mandos couldn’t reach it, and the hitter was on.

Bobby shook his head. Kirby would have caught that.

The bad throw started off a rally for the Seals. They scored five runs. Mr. Barrows took Jack out and put in Cappie Brennan.
The rally stopped.

The Redbirds went hitless at their turn at bat. And Bobby took all the blame himself. That bad peg had started it all.

In the fifth Tony missed another wide throw. This time the ball was thrown by second baseman Don Robinson, who had taken Al
Dakin’s place. Cappie Brennan then threw in a home run pitch, which raised the Seals’ score to 7. The Redbirds managed to
put three runs across when they batted, but it was not enough.

In the sixth inning neither team hit safely. The game ended with the Seals winning, 7-4.

“You have to come to the next game!” Bobby pleaded with Kirby that night. “We would’ve won today if you had played first.
I made three bad throws. One of them started the rally. I know you
would’ve caught those throws, Kirby. Everybody else said so, too.”

“Well, your throws should have been better,” said Kirby quietly. “And I’ve played before, and we still lost.”

“That’s not so,” said Bobby. “You helped us win two or three games by your catches at first. But that’s not the only reason
you should go to the next game. Mr. Barrows said that scouts will be there.”

“Scouts?” Kirby frowned.

“You know! The men who are choosing the All-Stars,” said Bobby. “They’re going to be there to make the final selections for
the All-Star game in Cooperstown. You
can’t
miss that, Kirby.”

Kirby’s face dropped. “But I will. I’m not going. Tony’s better than I am, anyway. They’ll pick him, whether I’m there or
not.”

A lump that felt like a golf ball rose in Bobby’s throat. It hurt him to see Kirby feeling like this. “You
must
go, Kirby,” he insisted. “You’re better than Tony. I know you are. They’ll pick you for sure.”

“I said I’m not going and that’s final!” Kirby almost shouted.

Bobby stepped back from the whip-cracking sound of Kirby’s voice. He walked out of the room, Kirby’s harsh words ringing in
his ears.

On Friday, Bobby rode to the game again with Mr. Gessini, Dave, Jim, and Tony. His own father had not come home from work
yet.

Bobby felt very bad. For the first time in his life he was ashamed of his brother Kirby. He had always thought that Kirby
had plenty of nerve to face any kind of situation.

“I wish Kirby had come,” Tony said. “Now those men won’t be able to see him play again. They’ve seen him before and they might
pick him if he was here.”

Bobby looked up at Tony. Tears stung his eyes.

“That’s exactly what I told Kirby,” he said. “But he wouldn’t listen. No matter what I said, he wouldn’t listen to me.”

S
OME of the Mustangs players were at the field already. Bobby recognized Earl Lowe warming up. Earl was a tall, slender boy
whose fire-red hair stuck out from under his black baseball cap like dried-up straw. He was a southpaw, one of the best pitchers
in the league.

“Oh-oh,” Dave murmured. “You see who’s starting for the Mustangs today?”

“Lowe?” Jim pushed out his lower lip. “Aw, he’s not so hot. A couple of hits and he’ll go to pieces.”

“I hope,” said Tony, and laughed.

Curt Barrows and six or seven Redbirds were playing pitch and catch.

“Where’s Kirby?” asked Mr. Barrows.

“He’s not coming,” said Bobby.

“Why not? Doesn’t he want to play baseball any more?” Mr. Barrows sounded very serious.

Bobby’s heart thumped nervously. “I guess not.”

The coach shook his head disgustedly. “Did he know that a couple of men were going to be here today to look over the players?”

Bobby nodded. “I think so.”

“Is that why he didn’t want to come?”

Bobby’s heart beat harder. “I don’t know.”

Stop asking me questions about Kirby! he wanted to shout. I wanted him to come to the game. He didn’t want to. He’s home.
He’s sitting in the living room, reading or
watching TV. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that he’s afraid to come because it will hurt him if he isn’t picked
on the All-Star team. Well — it’s true. I know that, too. And say it if you want to. Say he hasn’t got what it takes! Because
I know that is true, too!

Kirby
can
play ball, though. He can play first base better than any other player in the league. He doesn’t always hit, but he isn’t
the poorest hitter, either! He’s better than Tony Mandos, or any other first baseman you care to name. He’s the best in the
league! I know those men would pick him if he played today. But
he
doesn’t. He doesn’t think he’s any good at all.

Ask
him
why he didn’t come! Don’t ask me!

Bobby swallowed hard. He picked up
a ball and called to Dave Gessini. “Come on, Dave. Let’s play catch.”

After a while the Mustangs had their infield warm-up. When they were finished, the Redbirds had theirs.

Bobby wished that black clouds would come sweeping across the blue sky and pour rain down in bucketfuls. He was sick of baseball.
He was sick of everybody asking questions about Kirby. He would rather be home, watching his ants work in their ant-house,
or catching grasshoppers for Manty, his praying mantis pet. Nobody would bother him then.

At last the field was cleared of players. The two base umpires walked out to their positions behind first and third. The plate
umpire held his mask in one hand and announced the batteries: “Pitching for the Mustangs — Earl Lowe! Catching — Bill
Goff! For the Redbirds, Cappie Brennan is pitching — Dave Gessini, catching! Play ball!”

No sooner had the words left his lips than Jim Hurwitz nudged Bobby on the arm.

“Bobby, look!”

Bobby turned. His breath caught.

“Kirby!” he cried.

Kirby was coming around the corner of the dugout. He had on his cap and jersey, and he was carrying his mitt. He walked up
to Coach Barrows. He said something and Coach Barrows looked at him in surprise. Then Coach Barrows cracked a wide, happy
grin and gave Kirby a friendly tap on the shoulder.

“Thataboy, Kirby! I’m glad you came!” Bobby could just make out the coach’s words above the tooting horns.

The Redbirds starting line-up was almost the same as it had been the other day. The only difference was that this time Tony
batted ahead of Jerry Echols.

The team ran out to the field. Dave, with his chest protector and shin guards buckled on, caught three warm-up pitches from
Cappie, then heaved the ball to second.

The Mustangs lead-off man took a called strike. Then he knocked a one-hop bounder to Cappie, who caught the ball and threw
the runner out at first. The ball zipped around the horn.

“Way to go, Cappie!” Bobby shouted. He was smiling. He felt good. He was glad that Kirby had come. He wished that Kirby was
playing. With Kirby on first base, Bobby would never have to worry how wild a peg he threw.

Kirby would stretch out his legs and arms as if they were made of rubber and
thut!
he’d have the ball.

A pop-up to Tony and a bouncing ball to Mark Donahue ended the top of the first inning.

Bobby received a rousing cheer as he stepped to the plate.
Smack!
The ball sailed over third base, curved and struck the ground in foul territory.

“Come on, Bobby!” a fan yelled. “Straighten ’em out!”

Bobby took a high pitch. Ball one.

Another pitch — high and wide. Ball two.

The red-headed southpaw for the Mustangs backed off the mound. He rubbed the ball in his hands and climbed to the mound again.
He wound up, raised his right leg, and delivered. The ball came
in like a white bullet. Bobby pulled back his bat and swung.

Crack!
A line drive over short!

Bobby dropped his bat and scooted for first. He made his turn and raced for second. His cap and helmet fell off, but he kept
going. He saw the center fielder pick up the ball. Bobby crossed second and headed for third. He ran hard, his sneakers kicking
up dirt. He watched the third-base coach waving him on.

“Come on, come on, come on!” the coach kept yelling.

Bobby was a short distance away from the bag when he saw the ball bounce at his right. The Mustangs third baseman went after
it. He caught the ball, started after Bobby with it.

“Hit it!” cried the coach.

Bobby slid toward the bag, just enough
out of reach of the third baseman, and hooked the bag with the toe of his sneakers.

“Safe!” yelled the umpire.

A triple! Bobby stood up and brushed himself off. His ears rang with the whooping cries of the fans and the blaring horns
of the cars.

Al Dakin wiggled at the plate, and finally struck out. Bobby got nervous. After a hit like that, he wished that somebody would
knock him in.

Toby Warren came through. He punched a single over second. Bobby scored. Jim Hurwitz flied out to left. The coach held Toby
on first. Then Dave belted a grounder to short. Toby was running when Dave connected. The shortstop missed the ball, and Toby
bolted for third.

The throw-in was wild and Toby scored.
Earl Lowe fanned Mark, ending the inning. The score was: Redbirds — 2, Mustangs — 0.

“I told you guys a couple of hits and Lowe would go to pieces,” Jim said as he ran out across the diamond with Bobby and Al
Dakin.

“Let’s hope he stays that way,” said Al, smiling.

Cappie threw six pitches to the first Mustangs batter and walked him. The next hitter bunted. Cappie raced in. He slid on
the grass as he started to field the ball, and could not make the play.

Men on first and second. No outs. A good time for a double play, thought Bobby.

Crack!
A grounder to second. Al Dakin came up with it, pivoted on his right foot, and threw the ball to Bobby. Bobby
stepped on second for the put-out, and heaved the pill to first.

Too wide! Tony stretched, but he couldn’t reach it! The ball bounced by, rolled toward the fence. The runner advanced to second.
The runner who had been on second scored.

Bobby shook his head hopelessly. He was sure Kirby would have caught that ball. But why did he always throw so wild? The guys
will really believe that I’m making Tony look poor on purpose, he thought unhappily.

“Come on, Bobby,” said Jim from the outfield. “Throw ’em right, will you?”

Cappie mowed the next man down on strikes. The next Mustang popped out to Bobby.

In the dugout, Coach Barrows warned Bobby about his throws. “Take
your time. Aim for Tony’s head,” he said.

Tony Mandos led off. He took a called strike, then a ball. Bobby watched Tony carefully. Here was the boy those officials
were watching. Tony looked good at the plate. He stood with his feet apart, his knees bent slightly inward, his bat held off
his shoulder. He had a nice build, too.

Crack!
Up — up soared the ball like a tiny white meteor toward the outfield. The whole dugout emptied as the players swarmed out
and watched the ball sail. Finally it curved down and disappeared over the center field fence.

Tony trotted around the bases. Once again Coach Barrows and the rest of the players surrounded Tony and shook his hand.