World Series by John R. Tunis

Author:John R. Tunis [Tunis, John R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4532-2120-4
Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media LLC
Published: 2011-08-16T04:00:00+00:00

READY SAVE FOR the last thing of all, lacing his shoes, the Kid sat on a four-legged stool beside his locker. That catch in foul territory and the three-bagger of the previous afternoon made him happier. Once again he felt he might get into his stride, might live up to his nickname. But the Casey business was tough. Sure enough, that was tough. Ever since he had turned over in bed and seen the October sunshine streaming in the window that morning, he had been saying to himself that he would never apologize. Nope, he wouldn’t apologize. Yet all the time he knew he would.

Staring gloomily at the wooden floor, pockmarked by the scars of thousands of spikes, he listened to the shouts and laughter across the way. A hot game of cards was in progress, with three or four kibitzers watching. Dave was walking around, a word here, a word there, talking to this man, giving advice to another, listening to someone’s comments on the Indian batters. But the Kid kept his gaze away from the old catcher. He didn’t want to talk to him.

At last, however, Dave reached his locker, pulled up a stool, and sat down. The Kid felt that the mere mention of Casey’s name would make him burst. There was none. Instead, the manager sat there saying nothing for a moment, with a ball in his hands. He passed the ball from one hand to the other.

“Roy...what did you hit against him yesterday? That three-bagger, I mean. A slow one by the letters? I thought so. You didn’t hit it hard, either, but it sure traveled.”

It sure did. Dave’s confidence made him feel better. His resentment vanished. Eagerly he explained. “No, it wasn’t a hard hit ball, really, just met squarely, that’s all.”

Dave nodded, listening. “Good. Go in there this afternoon and play for me like you did yesterday. That’s all I ask.” He rose, the ball under one armpit, and clapped his hands together.

“All right now, boys.”

The card game ceased. The players looked up from their lockers and formed a circle round the old catcher. Razzle came in from the washroom where he had been putting ointment on his black hair and slicking it down. Dave, a toothpick in his mouth, sat across a chair with his arms as usual over the back. While he talked he slapped the ball from one hand to the other.

“Well, boys, what say we go out there and grab off this game? We’re back on the old home grounds at last, with our fans behind us, and you all know what a difference that can make in a tight place. This-here ballpark suits us much better than that stadium in Cleveland. Some of those hits that were caught there are going into the stands here. If he pitches Thomas, don’t worry; he can’t beat us this time. And don’t take anything off him. Go up there and hit him hard whenever you get a good one.

“I feel this is in the bag.

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