Mystery Coach (3 page)

He corked the third pitch almost a half-mile into the sky. It paused, came down, and the third baseman caught it easily.

Steve returned to the dugout, ignoring the snide remarks from the fans.

Mick Antonelli took the “doughnut” off the fat part of his bat and walked up to the plate.

“Drive me in, Mick!” Wally yelled from second base.

Mick dropped to the dirt on Harvey’s first pitch, dusted himself off, and faced
Harvey again. He looked determined not to let a good pitch go by him.

And none did. Harvey’s next pitch, a chest-high fast ball, was met by Mick’s bat with a resounding whack and went singing
over the shortstop’s head for a cool single. Wally scored, running well ahead of the ball the left fielder pegged in.

Spike flied out, ending the top of the third inning.

“Let’s hold ’em, Bill!” yelled Chris.

The Piper leadoff drove a hot liner directly at Chris. It was like a rifle shot. Chris lifted his glove and boom! he had it.

“Look what I’ve got!” cried Steve Herrick.

Chris saw the grin on Steve’s face and grinned back. He had to force it; he couldn’t let Steve get under his skin all the
time. Nothing would please the guy more.

Two successive pop-ups quickly ended the Pipers’ half of the inning.

In the top of the fourth Chris belted a single through short, then scored on Jack Davis’s triple to deep center field, putting
the Blazers in the lead, 3 to 1. He headed for the dugout and plunked himself down beside the coach.

“We missed you yesterday, Coach,” he said, not able to keep silent any longer. “Didn’t you feel well?”

“No. And I don’t feel great now, either.” Coach Edson paused and began rubbing the thumbnail of his left hand. “I don’t know,
Chris. I may have to give up coaching. But I can’t just quit. I can’t let you guys down like that. No, sir. I’m not
that
sick.”

“Can’t you get somebody to help you till you’re better?” asked Chris.

“Who? I should have an assistant, but I can’t find one. Everybody seems to be too busy with his own work to give me any help.”

Chris shook his head in sympathy for the coach, then turned his attention back to the game. Frank Bellows and Bill Lewis both
grounded out. Tex singled, driving Davis home, and Wally struck out, ending the half-inning.

The Pipers came to bat and really broke loose. The first batter hit a sizzling grounder through Chris’s legs that drew a groan
from the Blazers’ fans. It also drew a snide remark from Steve Herrick.

“Coach, when are you going to put Lane in there?” he yelled.

The coach seemed not to have heard, but he must have.

The second batter hit a slow grounder to short, which Jack Davis caught and pegged to second in an attempt for a double play.
Chris missed the throw, drawing another yell from the fans—and from Steve.

The next Piper cracked a hot grounder to
second, which, this time, Chris caught. He pegged it home. Too high! A run scored, and the other two runners were safe on
third and second.

Successive hits brought in three more runs. When the wild bottom half of the inning was over, the Pipers were leading, 5 to
4, and Chris wished he had never seen a baseball.

S
TEVE HERRICK
was first man up in the top of the fifth. He was chewing gum like crazy as he stood in the box, facing Harvey Keller.

Keller wound up, delivered, and heaved a pitch so wild that not even the catcher could reach it.

“Ball!” boomed the ump.

The Pipers’ catcher trotted to the backstop screen, retrieved the ball, and pegged it to Keller. Keller’s next pitch cut the
inside corner for a strike.

His third pitch was about to groove the
plate when Steve swung.
Crack
! The ball sailed out to deep left field and dropped over the fence for a home run. The Blazers’ bench whooped and hollered
as Steve ran with long, easy strides around the bases.

“Nice hit, Steve,” said Coach Edson softly.

Steve touched hands with those extended to him, but he never looked up.
Boy
! thought Chris.
What a peacock
!

Cleanup hitter Mick Antonelli tried to duplicate Steve’s clout but succeeded only in hitting the ball to the center fielder.
Don Mitchell, batting for Spike Dunne, struck out.

Chris, up next, wished that Coach Edson would suggest what to do. Hit away? Wait out the pitches? But the coach was silent,
leaving the decision up to him. Chris decided to “wait ’em out.”

The strategy worked. He walked.

The coach then had Ken Lane bat for
Jack Davis. Chris looked at Steve for his reaction and saw the tall, dark-haired boy looking directly at him. It was obvious
what Steve was thinking. Why not substitute Ken for Chris? What was Chris doing that he should be kept in there?

I’m hitting the ball, that’s what
, thought Chris.
But I wouldn’t expect Steve to consider that
.

Ken seemed nervous at the plate and whiffed on three straight pitches. Three outs.

“Wonder why he had Ken bat for Jack?” said a disgruntled-sounding voice behind Chris as he trotted out to the infield.

Chris looked around at Steve. “He wants to give every guy a chance, that’s why.”

“I know,” said Steve. “But why Jack and not you? That’s what I’d like to know.”

Chris blushed. “Mr. Edson is still coach, Herrick. Not you.”

Their eyes caught and held for a moment. Then Steve looked away and ran to his spot at first base. Chris grinned to himself.
It was seldom that he had the last word with Steve.

The Pipers’ leadoff man fouled the first two pitches, then let the next three go by him. All were balls. He then hit the three-two
pitch directly at Chris. The ball was a soft, high-hopping grounder. Chris ran in to the edge of the grass, fielded the hop,
pivoted on his right foot, and pegged to first.

A low throw! “Stretch!” yelled Chris. Instead, Steve waited for the ball to bounce to him. He missed it, and the hitter was
safe.

“Throw ’em up, will you?” yelled Steve angrily.

“You should’ve stretched!” replied Chris.

“Oh, sure!”

Chris turned and kicked the dirt at his
feet. He had to agree partly with Steve. The throw was poor but it wasn’t that bad. If Steve had stretched, he could have
caught the ball.

A double sent the runner around to third, putting the Pipers in excellent position to break the 5–5 tie.

A hard, grass-cutting drive to Chris! He hardly had time to think about it as he reached for the hop, glanced at the runner
on third, then whipped the ball on a bead to first. This time the throw was perfect. One out.

“Nice play, Chris!” cried Tex Kinsetta from third.
Sometimes
, thought Chris as he pushed his glasses up on his nose,
I have the feeling that Tex is the only friend I have
.

The next hit was a hard blow to short. It was in the air and Ken caught it without moving a step. Two outs.

“He’s your man, Bill!” cried catcher Frank Bellows as another Piper stepped to the plate.

“Strike!” yelled the ump as Bill grooved the first pitch.

He delivered his second almost in the same spot. This time the batter swung.
Crack
! A devastating blow to right center! One run scored and then another. The hit was a three-bagger. And that was it for the
Pipers as Bill fanned the next hitter.

Frank led off in the top of the sixth, the last inning. Keller walked him. Bill bunted the first pitch down the first base
line, advancing Frank to second, and Chris frowned disgustedly. The coach hadn’t signaled Bill to bunt.

Why did he take it onto himself to do it? Even though the coach hadn’t advised the boys what to do more than two or three
times during the game, that still didn’t give Bill the right to bunt on his own.

Then Chris remembered that he had waited out Keller’s pitches when he had batted. Had he been right in doing so? He felt that
that situation was different, though. He wasn’t sacrificing himself as Bill had done.

Oh, man, they needed a good coach, all right. Needed one badly!

Tex took a strike, then lambasted a pitch to center. It was caught for out two. Wally Munson hit the first pitch to short
and was thrown out by a step. The game was over. Pipers 7, Blazers 5.

“You and old buddy Herrick exchange a few words?” smiled Tex as he and Chris walked off the field together.

“A few,” admitted Chris. “He thinks Ken should’ve taken my place instead of Jack’s.”

“So what? Maybe the next time Coach’ll have Ken take your place. We’ve only got one sub infielder.”

They reached Florida Avenue. “Did Mick tell you about his phone call last night?” asked Tex.

Chris stared at him. “That guy called him, too?”

Tex nodded. “Except that Mick hung up on him. He thought it was one of those crazy calls.”

“What did the man say?”

“He started to tell Mick how to improve on his outfield position. When Mick asked him who he was, he just said ‘Call me Coach,’
as he’d said to me, and Mick hung up.”

“Isn’t that something?” said Chris. “I wonder who he is.”

“What would you do if he called you?” asked Tex.

“Me?” Chris thought a moment. “I don’t know.”

He felt a shiver run up his spine. It must really be something to receive a call from a man who wouldn’t tell his name except
to call him Coach, and to listen to him explain your mistakes playing baseball. It was more than something. It was weird.

Then, at seven-thirty that evening, that was exactly what happened.

“Just want to offer a couple of suggestions on how you can improve yourself at second base, Chris,” said the mild, pleasant
voice. “Do you mind?”

“Who—who is this?” asked Chris, his heart pounding.

“Just call me Coach,” came the gentle reply.

W
ELL
… I … I don’t know,” answered Chris, his hand tightening on the receiver. “If you don’t tell me who you are …”

“Well, I know how you feel about an anonymous call, Chris,” the voice broke in. “But this isn’t a call to scare you. I happen
to be a baseball bug and all I’d like to do is offer you some pointers on how to improve your fielding skill, something your
coach should be telling you, but isn’t. If you don’t want to listen, okay. I’ll hang up.”

The line was silent as Chris pondered
what to say. The man’s intention seemed sound and honest. Tex had said, too, that the only thing the man had talked about
was his mistakes. And every bit of it had made sense.

“Well …okay,” agreed Chris.

“Thanks. Chris, you’re always playing in the same spot whether a left-handed hitter or a right-handed hitter is batting. Play
about halfway between first and second base and deeper on a left-handed hitter. On a right-handed hitter play closer to second
base. You’ll find that you’ll be catching a lot of balls that have been going for hits.”

Chris listened attentively, realizing that there was a lot of sense in that.

“One other thing for now, Chris. Bend your knees on low, sizzling grounders and get your glove down close to the ground. There
you are, Chris. Work on those two pointers. You’ll not only be a better ball-player,
but the teams you’re playing against won’t be scoring so much, either.”

“Thanks, sir.”

“Good night.”

“Good night, Mr. …” He heard the phone click on the other end and remembered that he didn’t know the man’s name.

“Who was that?” asked Dad. He was standing in the doorway, holding a newspaper.

“I don’t know,” said Chris. “He wouldn’t tell me his name.”

“Oh?” Dad frowned. “A stranger?”

Chris looked at his father. “You and Mom warned me against talking to strangers, Dad, even over the telephone. But this was
different.”

“In what way?”

“He suggested how I could play my position better at second base. He told me what I was doing wrong and how to correct it.”
Chris’s eyes lit up. “That’s exactly what we need, Dad! Advice! Coach Edson hardly ever opens his mouth.”

“Hmmm,” murmured Dad. “Well … seems to be no harm in that. Did he say why he wouldn’t tell his name?”

“No. And I’m not the only guy he’s talked to so far, Dad. He’s also talked to Tex and Mick. Tex listened to him, but Mick
didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“You know Mick. Nobody can tell him anything … especially a guy who wouldn’t give his name.”

“Hmmm,” Dad murmured again. “It seems that the man, whoever he is, has taken an interest in your team, all right. And he seems
to know baseball, too. Have you seen any strangers at the ball park?”

“No. That’s what Tex and I can’t figure out. Who could know so much about us
without being at our practices or at the game?”

Amusement flashed in Dad’s eyes. “Seems that your telephone friend not only likes baseball, but likes to play the mystery
man, too. Well …” he rustled the paper as he turned to go back into the other room, “as long as he’s trying to help you boys
play better baseball, I see no harm in his telephoning.”

“Why do you think he doesn’t want his identity known, Dad?”