King of the Mound: My Summer With Satchel Paige by Wes Tooke

Author:Wes Tooke [Tooke, Wes]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4424-3348-9
Publisher: Simon and Schuster
Published: 2014-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

Nick awoke the next morning with a smile on his face. Every day that he got to see Satch pitch felt like Christmas, but today was particularly special, since the flyer had promised that Satch was going to strike out the first nine men or the fans would get their money back. His father left for the ballpark right after breakfast, but Nick still had to do the chores, so he rushed through sweeping the cabin and cleaning the ash from the stove. When he was done, he sat on his bed with his pants rolled up staring at his brace. Fragments of his doctor’s orders echoed through his head: “The correction will happen gradually. . . . It’s important to stick with the program. . . . Don’t push yourself too far or too fast. . . .”

Nick undid the straps of the brace, tore it off his leg, and shoved it deep under his cot. He rolled down his pants to disguise his decision and then limped out of the cabin before he could second-guess himself. For the first half of the walk to the ballpark he was too excited and nervous to really notice how his leg felt, but as the adrenaline gradually wore off, he began to pay attention. It was kind of like the sensation you got when you’d been carrying a heavy bag for a while and then put it down—good, but also weird. As he got close to the ballpark, Nick stumbled a few times as his knee got tired, but he didn’t mind. The feeling of freedom was worth it.

Mr. Churchill was standing by the door of the office when Nick arrived, a big smile on his face as he looked at a line of people that had already formed in front of the ticket booth.

“Standing room only today,” he said as he gleefully rubbed his hands together. “I can feel it.” He glanced at Nick. “You think you can match what you did with the programs last time?”

“I’ll try,” Nick said.

Nick got the programs from the office and then returned to his previous position near home plate. By the time the team finished batting practice, the stands were already full and he’d sold most of his thick stack. Nick had occasionally glanced at the bull pen next to the home bench, where Satch was warming up, and he’d noticed that Satch seemed more serious than usual today—he wasn’t joking with the other players or focusing on anything other than Quincy Trouppe’s mitt.

As Satch walked out to the mound at the top of the first inning, a buzz ran through the ballpark. Nick squatted next to the railing, as close to the field as he could get, the programs once again forgotten by his side as the leadoff batter settled into a crouch. The first strike was a blur of a fastball on the outside corner. The second strike was a curveball that broke so sharply that the batter ducked out of the way before the ball nicked the inside corner of the plate.

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