The Southpaw (27 page)

“Who is going to win the ball game?” said the cabbie.

“Heavens to Betsy,” said Coker, “Notre Dame, I suppose. Notre Dame
always
wins.”

“Oh,” said the cabbie, “I thought you was ballplayers. The ballplayers stay up in that hotel.”

“Ballplayers?” said Coker. “Lordy me, that is too strenuous. We are singers.”

Well, Coker been on that kick ever since we spoke to the swishy fellow from the show early in the day.

“It is pretty strenuous,” said the cabbie.

“I bet at the day’s end them poor ballplayers is all wore down to where they ain’t got enough energy to trim their nails,” said Coker.

“Yes, they get worked pretty hard,” said the cabbie. “It is a tough life.”

“Heavens to Betsy,” said Coker, “they start playing ball in February and sometimes they play clear into October. Then them dear boys have only got November and December and January and part of February to theirselves.”

“That is right,” said the cabbie. “It is a rough life.”

“Good gracious but I would never be a ballplayer for all the perfume in Paris,” said Coker.

“It is sure tough,” said the cabbie.

“What hours do you work?” said Coker.

“I work 12 hours a day with every other Sunday off,” said the cabbie.

“You lucky stiff,” said Coker.

The program was fairly corny. Larry Hatfield is rather flatnosed, and he said if we was to make a remark or 2 about his nose he would not mind, for it always brung a laugh. There was 3 acts before us.

Then the band swung into “Take Me Out To The Ball Game,” and we was introduced. “Well,” said Larry Hatfield, “I see where Brooklyn is leading the league.” That was true, for Brooklyn opened down in Washington that afternoon. The opener is always a day earlier in Washington, the President throwing out the first ball and all that crap. Bill Scudder won it, 6-1. The audience give out with a great hand for Brooklyn.

“That is right,” said I, “and they better make the most of it, for just as soon as the Mammoths get rolling there will be little to clap for over in Brooklyn.” This remark got a tremendous amount of applause. Hatfield give me the sign to keep on talking. “It ain’t where you stand the first day,” said I. “It is where do you stand along about September 30.

Now, if it rains 3 days until Scudder rests up Brooklyn is safe. But it ain’t going to rain 3 days in 4 the whole summer through, so these folks that clap so hard for Brooklyn might just as well save their breath.” This just about brung the house down.

“How about you other boys?” said Larry. “What is your opinion in this matter?”

“It is about like Hank says,” said Coker.

“Hank give it to you straight,” said Perry.

Canada give a grunt.

“It looks like Henry Wiggen does the talking for this quartet,” said Larry Hatfield.

“I do not believe in hiding the truth under a basket,” I said. There was so much applause it sounded like even some of the Brooklyn people was chiming in.

Then we tore into the music. Frankly speaking, I think we was a little flat here and there. Somehow we was geared to the shower room rather then to an open place. We sung 2 songs. Perry forgot the words halfway through the girl with the hair hung down in ringulets, but he filled in with a couple bars of bippy-de-bop-boop-bop and it sounded exactly like it was planned that way. On the way out we was give 100 each in an envelope.

Canada and Coker went for a ride on the subway afterwards. I wanted to go along, even though I been on the subway a number of times with Lindon the September before. But Perry grabbed me. “Back to the hotel,” said he, “for you might work relief tomorrow.”

“It ain’t but 9,” I said. Nonetheless he steered me in a cab, and back we went. We grabbed a couple sandwiches and milk down in the Manhattan Drugs, and then we went up. “It sure is earlier then hell,” I said.

“It is nearly 10,” said Perry.

“I ain’t tired,” I said.

“Take a bath and relax,” he said.

“I took 1 this afternoon,” I said.

“Take another,” he said.

But I did not. Red and some of the others stopped by and said they seen us on the TV. Red said we sounded a little flat. Most of the boys seemed to think we sounded better in the shower, which was true. I wish to make this clear, for I don’t want nobody to think we sing so flat as we done on the air. Dutch come by. He asked us if we got the 100 as promised, and we said we did. “Well, get to bed,” said Dutch.

“What the
hell
!” said I. “I never before seen so many people so hot after getting to bed at 10:30 in the evening in my life.”

“Everybody goes to bed early the night before the opener,” said Dutch.

Well, if Dutch says a thing it might not always be true, but it’s the law. I begun to undress. I must of fell asleep about 11.

Along about 9 I woke up, and I laid there looking out the window. It looked cloudy and cool, and the sun went in 1 minute and out the other. I laid very quiet, for me and Perry never would stir around until the other 1 did. I laid there thinking. Lots of times when I lay still like that my mind catches a hold of things that it misses completely when I am up and moving. That is what happened, for all of a sudden it flashed upon me that if you will read in Sad Sam Yale’s book called

“Sam Yale—Mammoth,” pages 196 through 199, you will find a description of the first Opener he pitched, and how they rushed him to bed the night before and never told him a thing for fear he would be nervous and lose out on his sleep, being just a rookie and all, and how he got up about 12 midnight, thinking he would go down for a sandwich, and then he was no sooner out of his room then Dutch Schnell and Mike Mulrooney, both coaches for the Mammoths at the time, collared him and asked him where he was going, and then they went along and sat with him like 2 guards over a prisoner, and then they steered him back to his room and straight to bed, and Mike sat on a chair outside Sam’s room half the night, guarding it.

I remembered that. And I remembered all the dreaming I done as a kid, maybe whilst laying in bed, and how I would dream that that was what they done to me the night before the opener. I must of dreamed that dream 500 times. Now here it happened to me, like in Sam’s book and like I dreamed it, and I never suspected.

I got up and opened the door. Right smack across from the door, up against the opposite wall, there was a chair. Beside it on the floor there was an ash tray choked with cigarettes, cork-tip like Clint Strap smokes, and I knowed where Clint spent most of the night.

I closed the door. Perry was awake. He had a gleam in his eye like he just stole home. “You bum,” said I. “You knowed all the time.”

“Knowed what?” said he.

“Ain’t it true?” said I. “Ain’t I going to pitch today?”

“It is true,” said he, and he give me a grin from here to St. Louis. “Now you know. Everybody in the United States knowed it by midnight last night, all but you.”

“Well, I cannot go to the ball park naked,” said I, and I begun to dress, and along about halfway through my heart begun to pump something fierce and I got so excited I could barely button my shirt. I guess it was a good thing they did not tell me after all, for I would of never slept.

Dutch and Red come in about 1 minute later. “I suppose by now you know,” said Dutch. I said I did. Then Dutch went out and me and Red and Perry went to breakfast together. There was a picture of me in all the papers, saying such things as ROOK TO HURL and MAMMOTH’S SURPRISE STARTER, and Red read Krazy Kresses tripe and said that Krazy’s crystal ball was muddy already and the first game yet to be played. Red reads “The Star-Press” every day but says it is cockeyed. 1 time I asked him why he did not read another, and he said “The Star-Press” was the biggest and give you the most laughs for your money.

Then we spent most of the breakfast going over the Boston hitters.

Red knowed them all but Heinz, a young kid up from the American Association. He said that if we got the chance we should try and watch Heinz hit in practice. Perry done so, and that was a help, although we would of got his number sooner or later. There’s people that say Heinz is a coming immortal, but I got my doubts. We had a good book on him all year.

About 11 me and Canada and Perry and Coker and Lindon and Squarehead piled in a cab. The more you get in the less you each pay. The traffic got thicker the nearer we got to the Stadium, and when we got out there was a mob of kids waiting there where I first seen Sad Sam Yale in the flesh that time with Pop. The cops tried to clear a way, but the kids ducked under and around. They spotted me, for my picture was all over the morning papers, and they spotted Perry, for that was no trick, him being the first colored Mammoth since Mark Jackson in 47. Besides which they seen us on the TV the night before.

They come charging at us, crying “Sign my book, sign my book,” pushing their books under our nose. The way to do is grab 1 and sign it and keep on moving. You just can’t sign them all. I usually say, “Look, kids, if I was to sign all your books my arm would be broke and I could not pitch. So if everybody will meet me here after the game I will sign them then and it will not matter if my arm is broke or not.”

When the game is over it will take awhile to get dressed, and when you come out there will only be a few kids left that would rather have your autograph and never mind the whaling they might get for not getting home to dinner.

If you lose there might not be no kids a-tall. I seen that happen, too.

Chapter 24

I watched hitting practice from the dugout. You could hear folks “oooh”

and “aaah.” Sid and Squarehead blasted a couple long ones. Finally I got up and took my swipes, and I could feel folks quieten down a bit and studying this punk that would be working instead of Sad Sam Yale. I hit a couple puny fouls and bunted 3.

After awhile I moved down to the first base side to the warm-up slab.

Over on the other side I seen Fred Nance warming for Boston. Fred is an older man, 32 or 3, and he was already at work, the day being cool.

I felt good, although I might of liked it 5 degrees warmer, and my teeth chatted, and I was nervous. But the more I throwed the more I warmed, and after a time I could feel that folks was not looking at me so much. Goose caught me in the beginning, and then Red took over, and when I had enough we went in. I sat on the can awhile, and then I washed up and changed my shirt. Mick give her a few rubs to keep her loose, and the clock on the wall inched nearer and nearer the time, and the nearer it got the more my teeth chatted and the more I wished I had went in some other business besides this.

Sam was whistling and gay, and he stripped down and laid on the rubbing table in his jock. “Rub me slow, Mick,” said he. He hummed and whistled and joked with Mick. Yet though he was whistling and humming and joking and gay and making remarks at everyone, kidding them along and all, his face was nonetheless sad. It was like a man was to be whistling whilst carrying a coffin.

Soon the place quietened down, and Dutch begun to speak, and there wasn’t a sound but Dutch, and dim in the background you could hear the noise of the crowd, and you could hear Red taking whatever Dutch said and putting it in Spanish for George, and the only other sound was Sam laying on the table, whistling.

“Okay, boys,” said Dutch. “There is a kid name of Heinz. We looked him over. He hits everything. He hits at bad balls, too, so be on your toes.

“I do not wish to be a gymnasium teacher, but I am going to carp again on this matter of calling fly balls loud enough for all to hear and then everybody else get out of the way. Ugly will call as usual, plus Lucky in the outfield, plus Red around and about home on both pops and bunts and such, and the first man that f—s up in this respect is going to get hit in the pocketbook and hit hard. Sam, stop that goddam whistling.” Sam stopped.

“I got my rotation f—ed up in Baltimore which is partly why Sam is resting today and Henry working. If I can possibly do it every pitcher will get a full 3 days of rest and possibly 4 to begin with. Then we will not be so hard put when doubleheaders and such pile up. They give you 154 f—ing ball games and set the schedule up like it is never going to rain and wash you out and pile up your doubleheaders. You are supposed to do everything except shit ginger snaps and win a pennant besides. Well, I ain’t complaining.

“I have not got the faintest f—ing idea why Fred Nance always gives us so much trouble. Make him work. Unless there is a different sign I do not want anybody to hit until at least 1 strike is called. Is that clear? Red, tell it to George.

“That reminds me. Red, there is this goddam Porto Rican with Boston so you will have to keep George up on the signs and not be shouting them out loud.

“We might manage to tire Nance. We are going to bunt some and keep him moving so keep your eyes peeled careful for your sign. To start with George will bunt, and if he gets on Lucky will swing bunt. I think we can jump off to a fast lead.

“Henry, we have got 7 minutes yet if you wish to warm some more.”

“I am ready,” said I to Dutch.

“I want to hear plenty of music. Henry is a first-class big-time pitcher. We all know that. Yet nobody is not shaky the first time, so I wish to hear plenty of chatter out there, and on the bench as well, and I do not aim to take him out the first little bit of trouble he might get in so you better figure on keeping tight and seeing things through if it gets rough.

“It is a little cloudy. That should hurt them more then us,” meaning that I was fast and Nance more of a curve-ball pitcher.

My hands was all a-sweat, and my teeth chatted. I kept my jaws clenched.

Dutch rubbed his chin, trying to think if there was anything more to say. He paced up and down. “Sam, stop your whistling,” he said, “for I am trying to think. Yet that is all I got on my mind. Is there anybody else got anything else to say?

“Oh yes, 1 other thing that has got nothing to do with baseball. After the Saturday game in Philly I get a call from some goddam gymnasium teacher wants to know why in hell you boys cannot stand still and give your attention to the anthem. I meant to tell you and forgot. I watched you Sunday. Up and down the dugout here is what I seen. Lucky is standing there scratching his ass. Ugly is fiddling with the lace of his glove. Gene is picking his goddam nose. Some is leaning against the wall and some got 1 foot up on the bench. Now I do not think it is too much to ask to stand up with your hat over your heart for 2 minutes and not give no gymnasium teachers something to squawk about. Is that clear?”