The Southpaw (28 page)

“My lace was loose,” said Ugly.

George spoke in Spanish and Red put it back in English. “George says tell Ugly lay more over closer towards second on lefthanded hitters. George says he goes to his own left like a shooting star.

George says he feels fine and hopes the rest is the same. He says he loves everybody and wishes them good luck.”

The boys fired back “Good luck” and “Adios” and “Hasta la vista” and “Manyana” and all such. George gets the drift by the tone. I wished they would stop their fussing and get out of there. “Okay,” said Dutch at last, “leave us go,” and out we went through the door and down the little tunnel to the dugout, and some of the boys patted me on the shoulder and elsewhere and said the things you say to give a fellow courage. I guess I know how a poor beggar feels when he walks the last mile.

We sat on the benches in the dugout. The big clock in center field showed 3 minutes to go, and they seemed like 3 weeks at least. The scoreboard showed Washington and Brooklyn 0-0 after 1 inning of play. The groundsmen pulled their smoother 1 last time across the infield, and the umpires come out and was booed, as is the custom, and the band played “Three Blind Mice” in their honor, and just when it seemed like all was set the loud speaker called out the license of some cluck that parked his car on the sidewalk and was told to move it or get tagged.

Then Dutch said it was time and out they went on the double, starting in a bunch and then fanning out to their positions, Sid and George to first and third, Ugly and Gene down around second, Vince and Pasquale and Lucky off on the long jog to the outfield, and the crowd stood up and give them plenty of reception, and me and Red strolled out together, and the rest of the boys stood in the dugout, and the loud speaker said, “Ladies and gentlemen, our national anthem.” I took off my cap and held it over my heart and stood facing the flag like we was told, and Red done the same, standing like a knight in his gear, his cap and his mask in 1 hand, and the anthem was played and a lady sung.

Red jabbered all the way through, and when it was done a mighty shout went up, and he said, “Land of the free and the home of the brave. There ain’t a 1 of them free, and there ain’t 200 of them brave.  25,000 sheep.”

“My old man is up there,” I said. “Also my girl.”

“Ain’t a 1 of the whole 25,000 brave enough to sit it through with their hat on,” he said.

“I notice you took yours off,” I said.

“By God, I did,” he said. “That is the last time. Hereafter I will never stand for the anthem. I will wait in the alley betwixt the dugout and the clubhouse,” and he done it ever after as you will notice when you see the Mammoths play.

“Throw anything you want the first pitch and after that listen to your old redheaded papa,” said Red. “Good luck, Henry, this is for the money.”

I throwed about 6 to loosen. Then the Mayor of New York throwed out the first ball. Sid copped it and run over and got the autograph and rolled it down to the dugout. Morty Zinke was behind the plate, and he give Red another, and around it went, Red to George to Ugly to Gene to Sid, and then to me. My hand sweated, and I picked up the resin bag, and then I tossed it down, and Black stepped in, and I throwed the first pitch, wide, and Red whipped it back to me, and I was set.

Black went after the second pitch. He lifted it up behind second, and Ugly called “Gene” and Gene gathered it in.

Now I begun to hear the music. It was sweet, believe me. You hear the crowd, but they ain’t really with you. They are just a lot of people and a lot of noise, and they shout things at you but you never hear much. What you hear is your own boys. You hear the dugout, and you see their face, and now and then Dutch will raise his voice above the rest and tell you something. I heard Perry and Coker and Canada and Lindon, and I heard Squarehead loud and clear, and out behind me I heard the music, and in front of me, from Red.

Red says, “To me, Henry, to me, this is my sign, to me, to me.”

George says a flood of words in Spanish, and then he says your name.

Ugly says, “Baby boy, Hank is my baby boy, baby boy, baby boy, Hank is my baby boy, baby boy,” over and over.

Gene says, “All you got to do is throw, that is all. All you got to do is throw. Just throw, Hank. Just throw. All you got to do is throw.”

Sid sings a song. He sings different songs, but the words is always the same. He sings, “Oh they cannot hit my Henry boy oh they cannot hit my Hank oh my Henry oh my Hank my Henry Hank Hank Hank.” He might sing the same song 1 inning or a whole game or a week.

You know they are there. You have got to know. When you are a kid you think you don’t need nobody behind you, for when you are a kid you think you will strike out whoever comes along. You will gobble up the whole blooming world and you do not need no help. But in the bigtime it is different, and you have got to know they are there. You have got to know that if you make a mistake there is someone behind you to cover for you and help pull you out. You are always going to make mistakes. The idea is to not make too many.

I made a mistake on Granby and throwed 1 too fat, and back it come like a rocket, about ankle high, right at me. I could not of stopped it if I tried, and it burned past me with “1 base” wrote all over it. Gene was moving fast behind me. He took it backhand behind the base, and still off balance he whipped it down to Sid. Perry or Lucky or George might of beat the throw, but Granby stays longer in 1 place and he was out by half a step. Gene got a great hand. He deserved it.

Now I heard the music clear from the outfield. I never hear Lucky much, but I hear Vincent and Pasquale, and their voice floats in, saying, “Nuttin to worry, nuttin to worry, no hitter boy, no hitter boy, never worry, nuttin to worry,” and I stopped worrying right then and there, with 2 down and none on, knowing from then forwards that it was my ball game to win. I had the old confidence, and I never lost it, not then nor any other day. Give me a baseball in my hand and I know where I am at. Give me a piece of machinery and I may be more or less in the dark. Give me a book and I am lost. Give me a map and I  cannot make heads nor tails, nor I could no more learn another language then pitch with my nose. But give me a baseball and I know where I am at, and I fired down to Fielding twice, 2 blazing fast balls, and then I changed up and throwed him a jughandle curve that he went for like a fool and bounced down to Sid. I raced over to cover.

Sid waved me away and beat Fielding to the bag in plenty of time.

Fielding rounded the bag and went over for his glove. “Say boy,” said he to me, “I hear that they have got you rooming with a n—r.”

“That is right,” said I to him, and I dropped my glove along the line, and the kid run up with my jacket and held it while I slipped it on, and I went in towards the dugout. I got a good hand on the way, and I touched my cap.

Then the running begun. George was on first quicker then you could tell it. He bunted down third on the second pitch, and Nance went over and fielded it and never even bothered to make the throw.

They figured Lucky for the sacrifice. Lucky swung around for the bunt and Blodgett tore in from third, but Lucky chopped at it, the swinging bunt, and it popped down the third base line where Blodgett was but wasn’t no more, and Granby chased over from short and Blodgett turned and started out after it, too. That was where he put the knife in his own back, for George rounded second never busting his stride and come barreling down for third. Nance come over to cover as soon as he seen what was happening, and Joe Jaros give George the slide sign, and George hit the dirt. Nance took the throw from Granby from short left, and George brung him to earth with the slide, and Nance was still trying to get up off his back while Lucky went streaking to second.

Vince Carucci worked the count to 3-and-2 and then lifted 1 about 410 feet into left center that Black took, and now we was running again, George tagging up and scoring easy enough from third, which was what everybody expected. The only thing they did not expect was what Lucky done. Lucky tagged, too, and he broke for third on the catch, which neither Black nor all of Boston expected, and he made it in a very close play with a neat slide. That is how ball games are won, doing the unexpected.

We wasn’t through yet. Dutch ordered the squeeze, shoving his right foot up on the dugout step. That’s the bunt sign, not bunt and run but run and bunt. The suicide squeeze. It means get moving and not worry about getting doubled up or trapped. All or nothing. It means the batter has got to bunt no matter what.

Thinking back on it it all sounds simple. But Dutch figured it all in a flash. They would be throwing low to keep Sid from hitting in the air where Lucky could score after the catch. The infield would lay in a little close for the possible play at the plate, though not
too
close. It would never expect the bunt from Sid, for his specialty is the long drive. Joe Jaros flashed the sign to Sid and Lucky, shouting, “Okay, Sid, leave us drive 1 about 650 feet.” You will notice that the name “Sid” is the second word. So between the bunt sign from Dutch and the word from Joe both Lucky and Sid knowed that Sid was to bunt the second pitch.

The second pitch was low, the best kind to bunt, and Sid pushed it along first, neat enough for a man that don’t do it much. Fielding took it, but he seen he had no chance in the world to make the play at the plate, for by now Lucky was across. Chickering covered first, and Sid was out. But we had 2.

That was how it stood when we batted in the last of the third. I come up first. I got a good hand, partly because I done well up to then and partly because I was a rookie and folks always like to see a rookie make good. I touched my hat.

“Well, well, well,” said Toomy Richardson, the Boston catcher, “if it ain’t Henry Wiggen that rooms with the n—r.” He crouched and give his sign.

“That is me,” said I, “and it will not be many weeks before you will be dizzy trying to throw that n—r out stealing.”

Nance sailed 1 past me for a called strike.

“Is that so?” said Toomy. “Well, n—rs was always fast runners. They ain’t honest so they got to know how to run.”

“That is so,” said I.

Nance breezed another by, and Zinke bawled out, “Stee-rike!”

All of a sudden I got a notion maybe I could get on base. I figured Nance would waste 1 and then fog 1 through. He figured I would never take the bat off my shoulder. He throwed wide. “What in the world is the sense in wasting pitches on me?” said I to Toomy. “I wish you would throw it through good so I can go back and sit down.”

“Oh,” said Toomy, “we always play around a little bit with punks before we strike them out.”

“Well, hurry it up,” said I, “for I would like to get back and put my jacket on and keep my flipper warm,” and Nance reared and throwed. I swang.

When I have a mind to do it I can cut pretty good at a ball. I caught that 1 nice, with the fat of the bat, and I drove it down the line in right, and Casey Sharpe loped over. I seen him waiting to play it off the wall, and I thought, “Well, Casey old boy, how is your arm this fine day?” and I rounded first, and I dug, and I churned down the line and got them legs moving about as fast as they ever went before, and I went on down towards second like there was the flag itself resting on the outcome, and Granby come over to cover, and I hit the dirt about the instant he took the throw, and I went under him, and my foot hooked the bag just as snug as could be, and Neininger called me safe.

I think this must of upset Fred Nance’s ideas of what was proper. He walked George. Lucky moved us along with the sacrifice. Vince Carucci popped out, but then they walked Sid to load the bases and have a play at every bag, figuring they had a little better chance with Pasquale then with Sid. But Pasquale lined 1 into right center that was still on the rise when it left the infield. We was all running, of course, with 2 down, and the drive hit the Gem sign about 10 feet off the ground. I jogged in, and George was right behind, and Sid was rounding third when Heinz begun his throw. Nance cut the throw off, seeing there was no chance on Sid, and that kept Pasquale from taking third. It did not matter, for Ugly singled him home anyways, and that was all for Nance. Nippy Lewis come on to relieve. Gene almost kept the rally going with a smash down third, but Blodgett took it backhand on the bag, and that was the end of the inning. 6-0.

That was how things stood through 6. In the top of the seventh Dutch lifted Sid Goldman and sent Canada in at first. Sid is a fair enough fielding first baseman, but he tends to weight, and the weight slows him down. He says if he lived in the hotel with the boys he might keep his weight down better, but he lives with his mother on Riverside Drive when the club is home and she feeds him too much. I ate up there 1 Friday night and must of put on 2 pounds betwixt the time we sat down and the time we tried to get up. So Dutch lifted Sid and played Canada at first so as to bolst the defense. It was a good hunch, like all Dutch’s hunches that day, like pitching me in the first place and then again jumping off to a fast lead by bunting. Everything was working. I do believe if we sent the batboy up to hit he would of rapped a triple.

I been going good up to the seventh. I was really enjoying myself. The boys was singing behind me and threatening at bat almost every inning, and the sun come out bright and strong about the fifth, and the crowd was with us all the way, for next to beating Brooklyn they love best to beat Boston.

I felt a little sorry for Squarehead. I guess when Dutch sent Canada in poor Squarehead knowed for sure what was in the cards. Yet he kept booming out from the dugout like he never thought a thing about it.

Soon I was too busy to worry about Squarehead. I was up to my eyeballs in trouble.

Fielding opened the inning with a single. Canada sung to me over from first, “It does not mean a thing, Hank, does not mean a thing,” and I throwed down to first a couple times, not half so much trying to pick Fielding off as give Canada a chance to loosen and get over being nervous. I knowed he was nervous. Casey Sharpe followed with a Texas League single that Lucky and Ugly and Gene all raced for, yet it fell between them in short center. Canada went down to cover second, and I shot over to first. Fielding took third.