Look Who's Playing First Base (6 page)

I hope I’m right
, thought Mike.
I hope that’s all Don is — a bag of wind
.

T
HE CHECKMATES
had an easy time winning over the Jetstars on the 23rd. Mike knocked his second home run of the season, with two on, and
Yuri blasted one out of the lot too. He had missed a high pop fly but nobody said anything about it.

On July 29 the Checkmates had first raps against the Rascals. They drew a goose egg. The Rascals came to bat and their lead-off
man cocked a looping fly just over Dick Wallace’s head for a Texas league single.

The second Rascal batter drove a pitch directly back to Gary. The hard-driven ball glanced off Gary’s glove toward first base.
Yuri fielded it and tagged out the runner two steps from the bag.

The third Rascal popped a fly just outside of the first-base foul line and Mike waited breathless as Yuri got under it. The
ball dropped from the sky — and Yuri caught it. A load left Mike’s chest, and Checkmate fans gave Yuri a rollicking cheer.

The fourth batter cracked a double and drove in a run. The fifth walked. Another double drove in two more runs. Three to nothing.

A solid blast to deep center! The Rascals were really pounding the ball. Tom Milligan went back … back … and bagged it.

Three outs.

Tom received the loudest cheer ever as he trotted in from the outfield, the ball clutched in his hand.

“Nice catch, Tom,” said Mike. Then he sat down beside Yuri. “Nice catch, Yuri.”

“Thanks,” said Yuri. “All the time that ball was falling, though, I was worried.”

Mike laughed. “So was I!”

The second inning went by scoreless.

Dick Wallace drew a walk to lead off the top of the third inning. Mike grounded out to short and Hank fanned. Then Tom doubled,
scoring Dick, and Bunker struck out. Checkmates 1, Rascals 3.

The Rascals’ lead-off man drove a hot grounder directly at Yuri. Yuri reached down and the ball struck the heel of his glove.
He recovered it too late to put out the hitter.

“Yuri!” shouted Don. “Why don’t you sit in the dugout? You may do better there!”

“Don!” yelled the coach from the bench. “Keep your mouth shut!”

A pop fly and a quick double play ended the Rascals’ chance of scoring.

Yuri was first man up in the top of the fourth. He looked nervous. Mike was sure that the last error and Don’s sarcastic remark
were responsible.
Just ignore him, Yuri. You should know him well by now. He’s just a bag of wind
.

Fergie — Hayes Ferguson — hurled in the first pitch and Yuri backed away. “Strike!” boomed the ump.

He’s still worried about getting hit by a pitched ball, thought Mike. Lefty Mason was to blame for that.

“Strike two!”

Mike felt his heart pound as if he were
at the plate himself. He wished he were. He wouldn’t feel as tight or anxious.

“He’s some pal,” said a voice at his elbow. A familiar voice. “You sure can pick ’em, man.”

Mike sucked in his breath and let it out slowly. Then he looked at Don and smiled. “Don,” he said, “did anyone ever tell you
how nice a guy you are?”

Don grinned. “Very funny,” he said.

Fergie stretched and delivered. The crowd was silent as the ball shot like a bullet toward the plate. Yuri drew back his bat,
brought it around as he leaned into the pitch. Then
boom!
A long, high, sky-reaching blast! The crowd started to shout almost the same instant that Yuri’s bat connected with the ball.
The shout seemed to grow louder as the ball climbed higher. And then the ball, like a white pill,
dropped far beyond the fence, while the crowd kept cheering and cheering. Yuri loped around the bases, a broad smile on his
face as he crossed the plate and came in to the dugout.

One by one the guys shook his hand. Even Bunker, Art and Don did, except that they didn’t seem as enthusiastic about it.

Mike’s grip of Yuri’s hand was probably the hardest. “Beautiful hit, Yuri!” he said happily. “You can really swing a mean
bat!”

Cy Williams, batting for Dave Alberti, singled. Then Cy stole second, and scored on Don’s single over second base.

The Rascals failed to do a thing during their raps, and neither team scored in the fifth. In the top of the sixth Don doubled
to left center, for his third hit of the game,
and Gary drove him in. He was real quiet. Any other guy would be tickled pink to have gotten three hits. If Don was, he didn’t
show it. Mike knew what the trouble was. Don was jealous. Even three hits in a game couldn’t match the spirit the crowd displayed
when Yuri had blasted that long home run.

Bob Layton, pinch-hitting for Dick Wallace, grounded out. Mike pounded out a single, scoring Gary, the second and last run
that half inning.

“Hold ’em, Checkmates!” yelled the fans.

The Checkmates did, and won, 5 to 3.

That evening came the news. It was a phone call from Coach Terko.

“Don Waner handed in his uniform, Mike,” he said. “We’re out of a catcher.”

Mike could hardly believe his ears. “I — I was beginning to think he was just talking,” he said. “I didn’t think he’d do it.”

“I didn’t, either. I think he talked himself into it, Mike. He said it so often that he figured if he didn’t quit now the
guys would say he just talks and never backs up his word.”

“That could be, Coach.”

“Don’s a good kid and everybody likes him. But he has a strong sense of pride. I tried to make him change his mind, and even
bawled him out for blaming Yuri for losing our games. You guys play baseball because you enjoy the game. I coach it because
I love it. But you learn to get along with one another and that winning or losing is just a part of it.”

“Maybe Don hasn’t learned that yet, Coach,” said Mike.

“It’s just his stubborn pride, Mike. Well, now comes the tough part. I’d like to ask a favor, Mike.”

“Sure, Coach.”

“I’d like you to take Don’s place. Until he comes back —
if
he comes back.”

Mike gulped. “Sure, Coach. I — I’ll do the best I can.”

M
IKE HAGIN
crouched behind the plate during batting practice to get acquainted with his new position. The mask felt like a basket over
his head. And peering through it — well, he had a good idea now how a caged canary must feel.

The chest protector and shin guards seemed to weigh a hundred pounds. And the huge mitt — How did Don ever do it? How could
any catcher ever do it?

But that was only half of it. The other half was his being scared whenever a batter swung at the ball. Mike was all right
as
long as the batter didn’t swing. When the batter swung he just couldn’t catch and hold on to the ball. He didn’t know what
made him scared. Maybe he was thinking more about the batter’s swinging than he did about catching the ball. He wasn’t sure.
Anyway, he dropped almost every pitched ball whenever the batter swung.

But, if
he
didn’t catch, who would? No one. Some of the guys were even more scared to catch than he was.

The big day arrived. The day he caught his first game. It was against the Crickets and Mike thought he had never been so nervous
in his life.

He crouched behind the plate, peering through the cage of his mask and feeling the heavy weight of the chest protector and
shin guards. “Come on, Art!” he shouted, pounding his fist into the pocket
of his huge mitt. “Right in here, boy!”

Art’s first pitch was head-high. Mike couldn’t get the mitt up fast enough and the ball sailed over his head to the backstop
screen. He chased after it, wondering how in the world catchers could run so fast with all that weight on. He picked up the
ball, pegged it to Art and trotted back to his position.

Somehow the Checkmates got the batter out, and then the next two. The Crickets picked up two runs in the second and one in
the third.
We’re heading for a real bombing
, thought Mike unhappily. His glove hand was hurting, too. The small flat sponge Coach Terko had given him to cushion the
blows didn’t help much.

In the bottom of the fourth his hopes went up as Yuri came to the plate with the bases loaded. One of Yuri’s long clouts
could put the Checkmates ahead like the snap of a finger. With each pitch the crowd seemed to hold its breath, as if it too
were thinking the same thing.

“Strike one!”

“Strike two!”

“Ball!”

And then …
whiff!
Yuri struck out!

The Cricket fans went almost crazy.

In the fifth Mike himself started a rally and the Checkmates picked up two runs. In the top of the sixth the Crickets picked
up two more, putting them in the lead, 5 to 2. Then, during the Checkmates’ last raps, Yuri stepped to the plate. Again the
bases were loaded. And again the crowd hushed as the first pitch breezed in.

Ball! For a moment a hum rose, sounding like a thousand bees. Then it hushed again as the next pitch came in.
Crack!

“There it goes!” yelled Mike.

And it did. A grand-slammer! The Checkmates won, 6 to 5.

This time it was the Checkmate fans who shouted like crazy.

Things were different on Thursday. Mike missed a couple of pop flies that were hit directly over his head. The other Checkmates
just didn’t seem to have the spirit to play ball and the Longhorns smeared them, 8 to 3.

“Wish Don would come back,” said Bunker. “We need him.” He grinned at Mike. “I don’t mean to be rude, Mike. And it’s not because
we lost. We just —well, we just miss him. That’s all.”

Mike smiled faintly. “I know. I do, too.”

The Longhorns lost to the Crickets on Wednesday, but beat the Checkmates
again on Thursday and the Rascals on Tuesday, giving them seven wins and five losses. Up till the nineteenth, the Checkmates’
record was seven wins and four losses. If they lost to the Rascals they would be tied with the Longhorns and would have to
meet in a playoff game.

“Has anybody seen Don?” asked Yuri as he sat with Mike beside the swimming pool the evening before the Checkmates’ last game.

“I haven’t,” said Mike.

“Is he playing baseball with some other team?”

Mike shrugged. “I haven’t heard,” he said.

“I should have quit, not he,” said Yuri softly. “It has been my fault — his quitting.”

“Forget it,” said Mike. “The season’s almost over.”

“Sure. And everybody will remember Yuri Dotzen, the Russian boy. They will say his poor playing made a good catcher quit the
team and made the team lose the championship. That is what everybody will remember.”

Mike slid off the edge of the pool to the ground. “You talk too much,” he said. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

Most of the Checkmates were at the field when Mike and Yuri got there. The sun was hiding behind an overcast sky.

Mike’s palm was still swollen and sore from catching. The sponge he used hadn’t helped very much. Each of Gary’s throws felt
like a hot iron falling against his hand.

I’ll never be able to catch three innings, let alone six
, he thought wretchedly. My
hand already looks like a raw hamburger
.

Just then a kid came around the corner of the dugout. A familiar kid. He wasn’t wearing a uniform, but he was carrying a glove
and a pair of baseball shoes.

It was Don Waner.

C
OACH TERKO
looked hard at Don. “Do you think you deserve to play in our last game of the season after what you did?” he asked, his voice
as hard as his look.

Don cleared his throat. “No. No, I don’t.”

“But you still would like to play?”

“Yes.”

Mike looked at Bunker, at Art, at the other guys, and then at Yuri. They were waiting anxiously — waiting to hear Coach Terko’s
decision.

“Did you try to get on another team?”

Don’s eyes lowered. “No.”

“Why not? I thought you wanted to.”

“I changed my mind. I didn’t want to get on another team.”

There was silence for a while. A good long while. Then Don said, “I couldn’t play with anybody else, Coach. These guys — they’re
my friends. All of them. Yuri, too. I — I really didn’t mean all that stuff I said about him.” He looked at Yuri. His eyes
were red. “I didn’t, Yuri.”