Read Catcher with a Glass Arm Online
Authors: Matt Christopher
Catcher with a Glass Arm
Copyright © 1964 by Matt Christopher Royalties, Inc.
Copyright © renewed 1992 by Matt F. Christopher
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced,
distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written
permission of the publisher.
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First eBook Edition: December 2009
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and
not intended by the author.
Matt Christopher® is a registered trademark of
Matt Christopher Royalties, Inc.
ISBN: 978-0-316-09547-1
To Rudy and Kitty
Contents
THE #1 SPORTS SERIES FOR KIDS: MATT CHRISTOPHER
®
B
all two!”
Jody had to reach almost out of the catcher’s box for that pitch. He looked at the runner on first. The Tigers’ man was jumping
back and forth, teasing Jody to throw the ball.
Jody didn’t know what to do. If he threw to second base, he might throw wild. He had a poor peg. If he threw to first, the
runner might dash for second.
“Throw it here!” yelled Moonie Myers angrily.
Jody tossed the ball to Moonie, who was
waiting for it about six feet in front of the pitcher’s mound. That settled his problem for a while.
Moonie toed the rubber, looked at the man on first, then pitched.
“Strike two!”
That pitch breezed in knee-high, about an inch from the outside corner. Jody caught it smack in the pocket of his mitt. It
stung a little.
Then Jody saw the runner on first take off like a shot for second base. Sweat broke out on his face. Even before he threw
he knew that the ball would not reach second. He could catch any pitch near the plate, but he could not throw a ball within
twenty feet of a target.
Jody saw Rabbit Foote run from his shortstop position to cover the bag. Jody heaved the ball. It arced over Moonie’s head
like a
fat balloon and struck the grass short and to the left of Rabbit.
Rabbit caught the hop. By the time he tried to make the play, the runner was already on the base.
The Tigers’ bench let out a lusty cheer. They had plenty to cheer about, too. This was the last of the fourth inning, and
they were leading 5-4. Now there was a man on second and no outs. They had a good chance to fatten that score.
Rabbit tossed the ball to a disgusted Moonie Myers and trotted back to his position. He was small but quick-footed as the
animal for which he was nicknamed. He had a lot of spark, too. He showed it now as he started a chatter that spread like wildfire
among the other infielders.
Jody joined in, but it was hard to yell through an aching throat. It was his fault
that a man was on second base, just as it was his fault that the Tigers had got two runs in the second inning. At that time
he had thrown wild again to second, and two men had scored. He had expected Coach Jack Fisher to put in somebody else to catch.
But there was no other catcher.
Moonie breezed in the next pitch.
Whiff!
One out.
The next hitter flied out to left field. Then Jody caught a high pop fly, and the inning was over.
Jody breathed a sigh of relief. He took off his catching gear, put on a protective helmet, and picked up a bat. He was leading
off this inning. Boy, he’d like to hit that ball this time. A hit would make up for that bad throw to second.
“Batter up!” cried the umpire.
Jody stepped to the plate. He was a left-handed hitter, already with a single and a
walk to his credit. He let the first pitch go by, then swung at the next. The bat connected with the ball solidly. The white
pill flashed over second, and Jody rounded first for a clean double.
The fans cheered, and the knot that had lodged in Jody’s stomach disappeared. That was what a good hit did for you. It was
like medicine. It made you feel all well again.
Right fielder Roddie Nelson let a pitch go by that was straight down the heart of the plate.
Another pitch breezed in, curving across the outside corner. Roddie swung. Missed!
Jody, leading off the bag, turned and trotted back. He tried to remember when Rod-die had got his last hit. He just couldn’t.
This was their second league game, and Roddie had not yet touched first base. Roddie was just hopeless, that’s all.
The pitch. “Ball one!” Roddie almost swung at that one.
The pitch again. It looked good. Roddie swung.
Crack!
It was a beautiful sound. Real solid. Jody saw the ball flash like a meteor over his head, and he knew it carried a label
on it. A home-run label.
The ball sailed over the left-field fence for Roddie’s first hit of the year—a two-run homer.
The fans had never cheered so loudly. Roddie came in, crossing the plate behind Jody. He was so happy he couldn’t say a word.
Jody was the first to shake his hand and congratulate him.
“Nice socko, Roddie!”
There were no more hits that inning. Now the score was 6-5 in the Dolphins’ favor.
Moonie worked hard on the first batter and struck him out. Then a single through short
changed things quickly. The runner was the Tigers’ lead-off man, a speedster on the base paths.
He took a small lead as Moonie climbed upon the mound.
“Steal, Peter!” a Tigers player yelled from the bench. “That catcher can’t throw! He’s got a glass arm!”
Jody winced.
A glass arm.
Nobody had ever said that about him before.
M
oonie stretched, looked at the man on first. Quickly he turned and snapped the ball to first baseman Birdie Davis. The runner
scooted back safely.
Birdie returned the ball to Moonie. Once again Moonie went through his stretch. Again came the cry from the Tigers’ bench:
“Steal, Peter!”
The pitch came in, slightly high and outside. Jody caught it. He saw the runner racing for second, head lowered and arms pumping
hard. Jody heaved the ball, making
sure he didn’t throw too hard for fear the ball might sail over Rabbit Foote’s head.
Instead—the ball fell short! Rabbit missed the hop and the ball bounced out to the outfield. The runner raced on, to third.
He stayed there as center fielder Arnie Smith made a perfect peg in to Moonie.
“I told you he had a glass arm, Peter!” yelled that same voice from the Tigers’ bench.
Jody tried to ignore the cry. But he couldn’t. The words
glass arm
stormed through his mind like an echo.
Moonie toed the rubber and threw in a low inside pitch that was probably harder than any he had thrown. Jody never thought
that the batter would bite at it. But the batter did. He hit a dribbler toward the mound. Moonie picked it up and tossed it
to first for the put-out.
Two outs. The runner was still on third.
One more out, thought Jody… just one more, and this rough inning will be over.
Crack!
A line drive over Moonie’s head! The runner scored, and the hitter held up at first.
The game was tied up now, 6-6. Jody pressed his lips firmly together, yanked on his chest protector, and returned to his spot
behind the plate.
The pitch … a hit to short! Rabbit picked it up, threw to second… .
Out!
Jody whipped off his mask and walked to the bench. He didn’t look at anyone, but he heard someone from behind the backstop
screen say, “Don’t let it bother you, Jody. You’ll get that ball up there.”
On the bench Coach Jack Fisher patted Jody on the knee. “You seem to be afraid to throw that ball, pal. Heave it hard. Let
it fly.”
Jody shook his head. There was nothing he could say.
Now Mike Brink, pinch-hitting for Arnie Smith, started the ball rolling. He singled through second, and scored on a double
by Johnny Bartho. That was all the Dolphins put across that half-inning, but it was enough. The Tigers couldn’t do a thing
at their turn at bat, and the game went to the Dolphins, 7-6.
Jody removed his catching gear and put it into the canvas bag. He had started walking toward the gate when a tall, thin man
with a crew cut and dark-rimmed glasses approached him.
“Good game, Jody. You did a great job behind that plate.”
“Thank you,” said Jody, trying to smile. “Guess I can’t throw worth beans, though.”
“Don’t worry. You have a strong arm. I can tell. You’re just afraid to use all that power.” He smiled and Jody smiled with
him.
“Want to come home with us?” the man invited.
Jody didn’t know whom he meant by “us.” He had never seen the man before. “No, thanks,” he said. “I don’t live very far from
here. I can walk home.”
“Okay. See you at the next game.”
“Good-bye,” said Jody.
The man walked toward Coach Fisher and a group of boys who were helping him load up the canvas bag. Jody turned and stepped
through the gate.
“Meowrrrr!”
Jody grinned. “Hi, Midnight,” he greeted. “Come to meet me, did you?”
The black cat rubbed up against Jody’s leg, and Jody bent down to pet it. Midnight
was really a wonderful pet. He tagged after Jody almost everywhere Jody went. And Jody loved him. He probably loved Midnight
as much as he did baseball.
He found Rabbit and Birdie waiting for him too, and they all walked home together.
Rabbit talked a blue streak most of the time, hardly giving Birdie or Jody a chance to squeeze in a word. But that was Rabbit
for you. Jody liked him a lot.
Then Rabbit said, “Gets me why you can’t throw that ball to second, Jody. Boy! Would I like to have tagged that one kid. He
runs like a streak, but we’d have had him if you’d thrown the ball at the bag.”
“I know,” admitted Jody. “But I can’t. That’s all there is to it. I just can’t.”
He suddenly remembered what a Tigers player had said—glass arm.
“Moonie was real sore,” said Birdie. “Maybe he won’t pitch any more.”
Jody’s mouth dropped. “Why not?”
Birdie shrugged. “Oh. You know how he is.”
Jody pressed his lips together. Yes, he knew how Moonie was. But it was
him
Moonie was sore at.
T
he sun was blazing overhead just before noon Saturday as the blue car zipped along Route 4. In the front seat were Mom and
Dad Sinclair. In back were Jody, his sister, Diane, Rabbit Foote, and, of course, Midnight. They were going on a picnic.
It wasn’t going to be just an ordinary picnic, though. Dad had plans. As a matter of fact, it was his idea to have Rabbit
come along.
Jody didn’t know what those plans could be. Dad had suggested that they bring along a bat, baseball, and some baseball gloves.
That was strange since Dad, a real golf bug, had his bag of clubs in the trunk with the food.
Lincoln Park was thirteen miles away from home. It was a beautiful green spot with hills protecting it on all sides. There
were picnic tables sheltered underneath trees and along the hillsides. There was a large swimming pool already dotted with
swimmers. There was a softball diamond, and plenty of room to drive a baseball a mile.
There were already golfers practicing on long and short putts. That was what Dad liked to do, too.
Dad parked the car. Jody and Rabbit found a vacant table nearby.
Dad asked, “Do you kids want to go swimming until lunch is ready?”
“Okay by me,” said Rabbit.
The boys ran to the bathhouse with their trunks. At their heels raced Midnight, his black tail high in the air. The boys got
into their trunks and then dived off a low diving board into the cool, clean pool.
It was almost half an hour later when Diane came after them. From the edge of the pool she cupped her hands to her mouth and
shouted:
“Jody! Rabbit! Come and get i-i-i-it! You, too, Midnight!” she added.
The boys climbed out of the pool and walked to the picnic table, water dripping off their bodies. Diane tossed each a towel,
and they dried themselves as best as they could. Then they sat and ate. After that they were too full to swim anymore. Anyway,
they knew they shouldn’t so soon after eating. They went to the bathhouse and dressed.
“Bet Dad will be out there with his golf clubs,” said Jody as they started out the door.