Willie & Me (12 page)

“Flip, there's something else I need to tell you.”

“Believe me, Stosh, anything you could possibly tell me about the game today, I know already. Remember, I lived through this once. I know what's gonna happen.”

“Did you know that the Giants cheated?” I asked him.

“Whaddaya mean they cheated?” Flip said. “You mean they're gonna throw spitters or cork their bats? Somethin' like that? Everybody does that stuff, Stosh.”

“No,” I told him. “Well, they may be doing that stuff, too. But they're stealing signs.”

Flip laughed. “
Everybody
steals signs, Stosh! It's part of the game. I told you that a million times.”

“Not like that,” I told him. I pointed to center field. “See that window? That's Leo Durocher's office. He's got a telescope up there.”

“So?”

“It's pointing at home plate,” I told Flip, “and right next to the telescope on the desk is a buzzer system. When you push the button, it buzzes down in the Giants bullpen. You see? They steal the catcher's signs and tip off their batters what the next pitch is going to be.”

“Are you
kidding
me?” Flip asked, raising his
voice almost a little too loud. “Jeez, how do you know all this, Stosh?”

“I saw it with my own eyes,” I said. “I was up there.”

“I-I can't believe it. I mean, I know Durocher likes to win and all, but . . .”

I took the eyepiece out of my pocket and handed it to Flip.

“Look,” I said. “I took this off the telescope. But for all I know, Durocher has another one.”

“Holy moly!” Flip replied, slapping his forehead. “I had no idea. This changes everything.”

I didn't bother telling Flip that Durocher and his boys had roughed me up and tied me up in the equipment room, or that Willie Mays had rescued me. He had enough information to process.

Flip was clearly floored by what I had told him, and furious, too. After it had sunk in, he looked over at the Giants' dugout, where Leo Durocher was talking with his players.

“Cheaters!” Flip said, spitting on the ground. “We had a thirteen-game lead on those guys! Now I know how they won all those games at the end of the season and caught up with us. And people call
us
bums.”

“And it goes into the record books for all time that the Giants won the pennant,” I said.

Flip had calmed down a little. Now, I could tell, he was plotting strategy.

“So in the ninth inning, Thomson's gonna know what pitch is coming,” he said. “If they can't steal our
signs, he won't hit the Shot Heard Round the World and they won't win the pennant.”

“Probably not,” I agreed.

“And Ralph won't be the biggest goat in baseball history for the rest of his life,” Flip added.

“Right.”

“Ralph is one of my best friends on this team,” Flip said. “I can't let the Giants ruin his life. I've gotta do something.”

“I thought you made a vow not to change history,” I said to Flip. “Aren't you worried about the butterfly effect?”

“Yeah, but I'm worried about Ralph, too. This is just wrong. I can do something to make it right. Lemme think.”

I figured Flip was going to suggest we tamper with Thomson's bat or throw a pitch at his head to knock him out of the game. But he had a different plan.

“Here's what I'm gonna do,” he whispered. “In the ninth inning, when it's time for Ralph to come into the game and pitch to Thomson, I'm gonna convince Dressen to bring
me
in instead.”

“What?” I exclaimed. “But then
you'll
be the goat for the rest of your life!”

“That's not gonna happen, Stosh. If the catcher calls for a fastball, I'll throw my curve. If he calls for the curve, I'll throw my fastball. If the Giants steal our signs, they'll be stealing the wrong signs. And if Thomson is expecting my fastball and I throw
him the curve, no way is he gonna hit it. I'll probably strike him out on three pitches. I'll be the hero.”

“What if Thomson hits a homer off you fair and square?” I asked Flip. “Then you're the goat.”

“I'm willing to take that chance,” Flip replied. “Listen, Stosh. I've lived my life. Twice now. Whatever happens to me, good or bad, I can handle it. But I don't want this to happen to Ralph.”

A marching band came out on the field to play the national anthem. Flip told me he was going to run over to talk with manager Charlie Dressen and plant the idea in his head to bring
him
in during the late innings.

“Don't move, Stosh,” Flip instructed me, as he turned to run to the dugout. “I'll be right—”

What happened next is painful to describe. Somebody had left a couple of bats on the ground next to the bullpen. As Flip turned to take his first step, his right cleat landed on the thick end of one of the bats and he went sprawling. He tried to avoid it, but his left foot landed on the other bat. There was a sickening crack when he hit the ground.

Oh no, not
again
!

“Owwww!” Flip hollered. “Who left these damn bats here?”

Flip was moaning in pain. A bunch of the Dodgers came running over. I recognized Jackie Robinson and a few of the others. They all gathered around Flip, who was writhing on the dirt.

“Somebody get a doctor,” Ralph Branca shouted.

The national anthem was delayed. An umpire came running over to see what was going on. So did the Dodgers' trainer. He sliced open the leg of Flip's uniform with a pair of scissors and touched the skin on Flip's left leg. Flip yelled in pain.

“I think it's broken,” he said, grimacing.

“We need to get you to the hospital so they can set this,” said the trainer.

A few of the Dodgers groaned. Baseball players tend to be superstitious. This could not be a good omen.

Ralph Branca and Jackie Robinson helped Flip get to his feet and hobble gingerly off the field. I opened the door for them so they could bring Flip into the clubhouse while he waited for the ambulance to arrive. They put him down on one of those training tables they use for massages.

“Joe Stoshack!” Jackie said, noticing who I was for the first time. “I haven't seen you in years, Stosh!”

Jackie gave me a hug and told me it was good to see me again. Once again, I did the math in my head. I had visited him in 1947. To him, it was four years ago.

“Kid, you're pretty popular around here,” Branca told me.

“We better go,” Jackie said. “The game is gonna start any minute.”

“Wait!” Flip said, grabbing Jackie's sleeve. “Stosh and I have to tell you guys something. Tell 'em, Stosh.”

I wish Flip had done the talking, but he was in a lot of pain and clearly wanted me to do it. So I did. I told Jackie and Ralph exactly what was going to happen in the ninth inning. The score would be 4–2. Ralph would be brought in to face Bobby Thomson. He would slam Ralph's second pitch into the left field stands to win the game and the pennant.

They listened to me carefully, their eyes getting wider with every word I said.

“That's crazy,” Ralph said. “Are you
sure
?”

“The kid knows,” Flip said. “He's from the future.”

“Durocher is stealing your signs,” I told Ralph. “He's got a telescope in his office in center field.”

“Why, that dirty rat!” Branca said. “I should go over there and—”

“Fuhgetaboutit,” Flip said. “All you gotta do is ignore the catcher's signs and throw a different pitch to Thomson. That'll throw him off stride.”

“It sounds crazy,” Jackie said.

“I know,” said Flip. “But it's gonna work.”

“Okay, if you say so.”

“Trust us, Ralph,” Flip assured him.

Ralph and Jackie said good-bye and ran back out on the field. Flip lay back on the training table, still grimacing in pain but also breathing a sigh of relief.

“We
did
it, Stosh,” he told me. “If Ralph does what we told him to do, everything's gonna be different when you get back home to Louisville. The record books will say that we won the pennant. There'll be no Shot Heard Round the World.”

I heard the national anthem playing out on the field.

“The ambulance will be here soon,” I told Flip. “Is it okay with you if I go watch the game?”

“Sure, Stosh,” he said. “You go have fun. Get yourself a bag of peanuts or somethin'.”

“. . . for the land of the free . . . and the home . . . of the . . . brave.”

The crowd let out a cheer and I heard the umpire shout, “Play ball!”

I was about to open the door when somebody pounded on it from the other side.

“Who's in there?” a gruff voice shouted.

I backed away from the door, almost falling down. The Giants! They must have found out that I escaped from the supply room and they were looking for me. I signaled to Flip to let him know I wasn't supposed to be there.

“Me!” Flip shouted. “Flip Valentini.”

“Is there a kid in there?” the voice shouted. “About thirteen years old? I heard somebody.”

“No!” Flip shouted back. “Just me.”

“Open the door!” the voice shouted. “This is the police!”

“I gotta get outta here!” I whispered in Flip's ear. “Is there another door?”

“No! Why are the cops chasing you?”

“No time to explain,” I whispered. “I'm going to go home. Are you sure you don't want to come with me?”

“Nah,” Flip replied. “My broken leg is gonna heal.
But I don't wanna get home and find I'm dead. You get outta here.”

“Open the door or I'll bust it down!” the voice on the other side shouted.

“I'll be right there!” Flip hollered. “I hurt my leg. I gotta hop.”

Flip motioned for me to hurry up. I pulled the pack of new cards out of my pocket and ripped the wrapper off. I took one of the cards at random. It didn't matter who was on it. The card would take me back to the present day.

“Good luck, Flip,” I told him as I pulled up a folding chair and sat down.

“You too,” Flip replied. “Don't you worry about me. I'll be fine.”

There wasn't a lot of confidence in his voice. I knew Flip was suffering going through his life again in the past. But I also knew he was going to suffer in the future. There was nothing I could do about it.

“I'll give you ten seconds,” the voice shouted. “Then I come in there.”

It didn't take long. I began to feel the tingling sensation in the tips of my fingers. It was like the purring of a cat, almost. Buzzy. It was a pleasant feeling.

“Ten! Nine! Eight!” the voice shouted.

I thought about what I had accomplished. I had busted up Leo Durocher's little cheating system and told the Dodgers about it. The Giants could still possibly win the game and the pennant, but they would
have to win it fair and square. I had done the right thing. And I had even met the great Willie Mays. The Branca card had been destroyed, but all in all it was a good day. The tingling sensation was getting stronger. I could feel it all over my hand, and it gradually crept up my wrist, arm, and shoulder. I thought about what it would be like to go home.

“Seven! Six! Five! Four!”

The feeling swept across my body. Everything was vibrating now. I had reached the point of no return. It wouldn't be long.

“Three! Two! One! Okay, I'm breakin' down the door!”

That was the last thing I heard, except for a whooshing noise. Then I was gone.

“W
ATCH OUT
!”
MY MOTHER SCREAMED AS
I
CAME SAILING
across the living room.

My foot hit the little step at the edge of the doorway and I tripped. I dodged the wing chair and swerved around the bookcase, but fell on the coffee table, landed on the wood floor with a thud, and almost rolled into the fireplace.

“Ooof!”

“Were you in the past, Joey?” my mom asked as she rushed to my side to check for bumps and bruises. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Can't talk now, Mom,” I said hurriedly as I got up to brush the ashes off my pants. “It's a long story! I'll be right back to tell you all about it.”

With that, I rushed upstairs to my bedroom and turned on my computer. It's an old machine, but I use it only for writing school papers and looking stuff up
online. It took forever to boot up, but finally I was able to get on Google.

I typed “Shot Heard Round the World.” That ought to do it.

There were
millions
of results. That didn't surprise me, or bother me. You type just about
anything
into Google and you get millions of results.

The first one that came up was the Wikipedia entry about the gunshot in Concord, Massachusetts, that supposedly touched off the Revolutionary War in 1775. Then there was this poem about it by Ralph Waldo Emerson. . . .