Southern League by Larry Colton

Author:Larry Colton [COLTON, LARRY]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Sports & Recreation / Baseball - History
ISBN: 9781455511877
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Published: 2103-05-13T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 29

Haywood Sullivan

A Baseball Ritual

No sport embraces its eccentricities as much as baseball, with its seventh-inning stretch, ubiquitous spitting, interminable statistics, and the time-honored skirmish between manager and umpire, aka the rhubarb: two grown men face-to-face, jaw-to-jaw, chest-to-chest, mere inches apart as they unload verbal tirades and sprays of spittle, the veins in their necks pulsing with rage. They kick dirt, madly gesticulate, and throw hats, performing the signature gestures of ritual tantrums whose sum effects are zero.

Should behavior such as this happen in a corporate office, a courtroom, or a university lecture hall, the involved parties would be unemployed the next day, if not arrested. Yet within baseball, a failure to argue against any perceived injustice is seen as a sign of weakness, revealing a lack of passion for the game. Fiery managers and players are beloved by hometown fans. With children, temper tantrums beget scoldings, time-outs, and in the days of yore spankings. In baseball, they are celebrated, encouraged, demanded. If a player pitches a fit at the ump, he needs to know the skipper has his back. Sullivan was about to state his case.

A tension had been building between the Barons and Lynchburg, the team Sullivan was on record as saying would be the Barons’ toughest competition, even though the Lynsox trailed second-place Macon by three games. In the first game of the series, won by the Lynsox, there had been an episode near the end of the game. Lynchburg’s pitcher, Manly “Shot” Johnston, hit Tommie Reynolds in the ribs with a pitch. Nobody on the Barons’ bench thought it was by accident. Johnston, an Alabama native who had starred at Auburn in football and baseball, was six foot five, 220 pounds, and a very intimidating figure on the mound. He was also imposing at the plate. In a previous outing against Asheville, he hit three homers, including two in one inning. After he drilled Reynolds, Sullivan approached umpire Nick Colosi. “Somebody’s going to get hurt,” he complained. Colosi turned his back.

In the second game of the series, with the Barons trailing 4–2 in the third inning, Dick Kenworthy of Lynchburg hit a grounder to deep short. Ranging to his right, Campy made a backhand grab and gunned a bullet across the diamond to Rosario. The throw pulled him off the bag. Rosario turned and tagged the sliding Kenworthy.

“Safe!” yelled the ump, Nick Colosi.

“I tag heeem,” shouted Rosario.

Colosi ignored him.

“Buuullllsheeeet!”

Colosi glared, waiting for more, like a parent ready to ground a teenager if she dares utter another word. Instead, Rosario turned and bounced the baseball off the ground, snatching it barehanded. Colosi thought he’d just been shown up.

“You’re gone!” he snapped, pointing Rosario toward the dugout.

As Rosario rushed in to protest, Sully paused briefly at the top of the dugout’s steps. Normally a calm, deliberate man, he now dashed toward Colosi. He hadn’t forgotten how Colosi had summarily dismissed him the previous night, and although the incident hadn’t escalated into a beanball war, Sullivan thought Colosi had failed to take charge.

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