All-American by John R. Tunis

Author:John R. Tunis [Tunis, John R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4532-2111-2
Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media LLC
Published: 2011-08-16T04:00:00+00:00

II

Nine more outs. Only nine more outs and they would go against the Academy for the final game of the year, an undefeated team. Nine more outs, Mike, nine more outs, Chester, nine more outs, Jim. That’s what everyone thought to himself when they dashed out for the end of the seventh. While the Bannister batter, tapping the dirt from his spikes, came to the plate.

“Nice and loose there, Jim.”

“Cool and nervous, Jim-boy.”

“Ok, Jim, let’s us get this first man.”

As Ronny trotted back toward his place near second, he could hear the coach yelling at them from the bench through cupped hands. Almost he sounded like a professional ballplayer.

“Lotsa pep out there, boys; lotsa pep alla time, Jim, alla time, Mike; talk her up, Bob....”

“Ok, Jim, old boy, here’s the easy man. This the one we want.”

“Cool and nervous, Jim, alla time, Jim-old-boy-old-kid-old-boy...”

The tall Irishman in the box drew himself up and burned the ball into Mike Fronzak’s mitt. The batter swung clean around, almost hitting the dirt, and drawing a barrage of noise from the entire field. Stacey watched as Mike leaned over, pulling up the tip of his chest protector to his stomach and giving the signals. Then he threw again. This time the batter caught it and hit a slow, dragging roller toward short, a hit that would have been safe on anyone but a fast shortstop with a sure arm. Ned LeRoy came in, perfectly balanced. With one movement he stopped the ball and without pause or hesitation shot it across to Bob Patterson on first. The umpire, still clutching his mask in his hand, ran down the path behind the batsman. Up shot his hand. A howl rose from the Bannister bench, but the man was clearly out.

In several minutes more they were trooping in toward the bench before the start of the eighth. Only six more outs now; six outs, Jim, six outs, Dave, six outs more, Bobby. They didn’t say that because the coach wouldn’t permit it; however, that’s what everyone thought to himself. Only six more outs. While that one-run lead looked bigger than ever. Usually their scores ran into two figures. That day the pitchers were good and the fielding better, so the score was low.

Ronald squeezed in beside the coach on the bench. “No, no, move down one, Ronny. I want LeRoy to sit next to me. And whatever you do, don’t cross your legs.”

Tom Quinn, the coach, was superstitious. He believed it was bad luck to talk about future games, to cross your legs while on the bench, and good luck to sit next to a Negro. When there was no Negro boy on the team, he always picked one in school to act as bat boy. This amused Ronny very much. At the Academy where there were separate coaches for every sport, baseball was coached by Mr. Spencer who taught ancient history. He had no superstitions, but instead a Harvard accent and a college background in baseball. No one ever got familiar with him.

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