by Guy Franks
Every player got up and formed a circle around Luis. One by one, starting with Ron Deer, each player turned away until all twenty-four of his teammates stood with their backs to him. They held it a moment for affect and then calmly dispersed to get undressed and hit the showers. Luis Santiago sat where he was for a while before slowly getting up and going over to his locker.
The end of August brought the end of the regular season. On the Friday before the final home stand, Shake got official word on September call-ups and he summoned each player into his office to let them know the good news. Basset and Cappadona were going along with Hank Prince and Jose Estrella. Despite his lobbying, Dane didn’t get the nod but there was one delightful surprise—Ron Deer. When Shake told Ron he was called up, the veteran at first stared at him in disbelief, quickly came unglued, then cried for joy and repeatedly hugged Shake, thanking him profusely. They both knew it was a “good guy promotion” and that Ron would probably be a hitting instructor somewhere in the system next year but it didn’t matter. He was off to the bigs and walking on air. Shake got a kick out of it.
Shake had put the pieces together regarding Faust and Estrella and steroids. He and Rick confronted Faust about it and at first got denials and then excuses. Yeah, okay, Faust said, he was helping a few players improve strength and stamina but it was ultimately their decision to make—not his—and he merely made it safer for them. What was the big deal anyhow? It wasn’t a banned substance and it was very likely the wave of the future. Shake found the man’s rationalizations to be a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. No more, Shake told him in no uncertain terms, and made it clear that his tenure as team trainer was over at the end of the season. He passed on everything he knew to the front office, even the scoop on Estrella, and the GM thanked him and said they would “address it in the off-season.” Rick scoffed at that but he tended to be more cynical about the business of baseball than Shake was.
Shake and Dane had their long talk and began the process of settling in as father and son. They knew it wouldn’t feel genuine until their families, the team, and the whole world knew they were father and son, but in the meantime they could share a look or share a nod and know it was more than just between a player and his coach. Mimi was in town for the home stand and she and Shake were looking around for a house to buy. (How swiftly love re-united transforms its once lonesome shack into a cottage built for two.) There was no going back for them or any hesitation at a future together. It was like finding a precious thing thought lost long ago and picking it up right where you left it, only with the knowledge that you’re a little older and wiser for the wait. It inspired Shake to his core, so much so that he found himself carrying out the vow of Don Armado in Love’s Labor’s Lost:
Be still, drum, for your manager is in love: yea, he loveth. Assist me,
Some extemporal god of rhyme, for I am sure I shall turn sonnet.
Sunday was a busy day. It was Fan Appreciation Day and lots of cool gifts would be given away. It was also the day for call-ups to catch their flight from Harford to the West Coast. Steve, Phil, Hank, Jose and Ron all met up at the airport with packed bags and grins of excitement. Back at Beehive Stadium, the Kingsmen won their last game of the season 4-1. Mimi sat in the stands wearing her floppy sun hat and kept score.
Papi Stallworth, Busta, and La-Ron sat in a corner booth at Denny’s eating a late breakfast. Spread out before them were plates of bacon and eggs, stacks of pancakes, and glasses of orange juice which they spiked with a bottle of cheap vodka.
Papi
A toast ta Busta. To the man wid the scrillah. Health an’ long life, brotha’.
Busta
Whatever ya wants. Enjoy. It’s on me.
(Enter Fo-Five)
La-Ron
Yo, there’s Fo-Five. How’s he know we here?
Papi
Fo-Five, my man. Wat up. Nigga? Wat wind blew u-in? Take a seat an’ have’a gran slam on us. Have’a drink. We’re oil’n the O.J.
Fo-Five
Yo, wat up Chief? Where’s Sweetness?
Papi
U-tell me. I haven’t seen ’em in weeks. I’m kinda worried ’bout ’em. Busta went by his crib only he wouldn’t let-em in. Sumthins up. Maybe gotta wifey.
Fo-Five
Nah, that ain’t it. I got the straight dope. Ur-Sweetness bin promoted. Ur-Prince issa king. He got call’d up—goin to the big leagues. He’s flyin’outta Hartford ta-day.
Papi
No shit? Fo’ reel?
Fo-Five
Legit. Yo’a big man now.
Papi
I’s always been a big man, case u-didn notice… But that’s wat I’m talkin’ ’bout. We gonna be rich, my homies. Rich. I gots fam-ly in Oak Town. We’ll set up shop there. I’ll be pers-nal trainer ta Sweetness. And, Busta, you’ll be my assistent.
La-Ron
How ’bout me?
Papi
Assistent to the assistent. We’ll have free runna the clubhouse, come and go like royal-tee. We’ll only deal to the super bloods and make a forchun… Come on, we gotta-git to the airport ta see ’em off. Hurry up. Chow down and let’s git-goin.
At Bradley International airport, Papi and Busta and La-Ron (minus Fo-Five who said he had better things to do with his time) sat in the terminal waiting on Hank to appear. A group of young men approached carrying their bags, surrounded by a retinue of wives and girlfriends, as well as fans who had recognized them as Kingsmen on their way to the big leagues. Hank Prince walked next to Ron Deer as they made their way to their gate.
Busta
There he is! Wat-ju gonna say?
Papi
Stan next ta-me. La-Ron, git behind me. Jus’ watch his face when he sees me.
Busta
Here he comes.
Papi
Yo, Sweetness! Hank! Yo, my boy! Prince!
Ron
(to Hank)
You know that dude?
Hank
Him? … No.
Papi
Wat the dilly, yo! Hank, wassup? It’s Papi!
Ron
(to Papi)
Back off, friend. We’re trying to catch our flight.
Hank
(to Papi)
I don’t know you, old man. Let us through.
(The players and their retinue pass by, leaving Papi and his two friends alone.)
La-Ron
Wat he say? That he didn’ know you?
Busta
That’s wat he said. I heard ’em.
Papi
Ahh, he hadda say that. He can’t have no big reunun out here in front’a ev’rybody. He’s too smart fo’that. He’ll call me late’a and git it all set up. Jus-u wait an’ see. He’ll call me late’a and make it up. He’ll make it reel. Jus wait an’ see.
(They exit)
Orson, Tiago, Papi, one and all—each got their due from the God of Baseball.
27
CHAPTER
So foul and fair a day I have not seen.
Macbeth
Playoffs started on Saturday, September 6th and the Kingsmen steam-rolled over the Vermont Reds three games to none to take their divisional series. The New Haven Admirals finished off the Glens Falls Tigers three games to one to take their divisional series. That set up the championship rematch between the two archrivals in a five-game series starting in New Britain on Friday night.
With the loss of his ace Basset as well as Cappadona, Shake and his pitching coach Larry Benedict went with a four-man rotation—Ellsworth-Santiago-Davis-Curry—and would rely primarily on Scott Stewart and Tito Romero out of the bullpen to bail them out of trouble or nail down a win. Burks shifted to center and Svoboda slotted into left field in place of Prince, and back-up catcher Curt Manning ably replaced Estrella behind t
he plate. Matt Horn was back at first from his hamstring injury and brought his big, beautiful left-handed swing with him.
Across the diamond, Bennie Jonson would be playing with a stacked deck. There had been no call-ups from the Phillies Double-A affiliate, and rumor had it that Bennie was the reason for it. Rick Burton had it “on good authority” that Bennie stymied any call-ups, thus leaving his roster intact for the playoffs. This included his top two pitchers and one of the best center fielders in the league in Hank Percy. Shake knew that Rick was a conspiracy nut but he half-believed the rumor to be true. There was no doubt in his mind that Bennie wanted to dethrone him in the worst way. The Phillies were also twenty games out of first place, so it was very possible that their front office was more interested in the prestige of an Eastern League Championship than in calling up their Double-A players to pitch a few innings or get a couple at bats.
Conspiracy theories aside, Shake and his coaching staff had a job to do and the Kingsmen had a championship to win for their New Britain fans. Andy Ellsworth took the mound in the first game against the Admirals and pounded the strike zone all night, completing a 2-0 shutout and putting the Kingsmen up one game to none. Shake sent Luis Santiago to the mound for game two. He hoped that the one-two punch of Ellsworth-Santiago would get them up two games to none but it didn’t work out that way. Santiago gave up three runs in the first, and though he settled down nicely, the Admirals ace hand-cuffed the Kingsmen all night long and they ended up losing 3-1.
Game three was in New Haven and Chuck Davis pitched a gutsy game. He left in the bottom of the seventh with the score tied 2-2 and Romero got the Kingsmen out of a bases-loaded jam to take them into the eighth still tied. In the top of the ninth, with the score still knotted-up at 2-2, Matt Horn (who was on fire and hitting .625 in the play-offs) hit a three run jack to put the Kingsmen up 5-2 and Stewart came in to shut the door in the bottom of the ninth for the win. The Kingsmen went up two games to one.
Game four in New Haven was a tragedy all its own. Kid Curry’s curveball was dropping off the table until the fourth inning when it stopped dropping off the table and flattened out. In the science of cause and effect, a curveball that stops curving means only one thing—base hits—and the Admirals knocked out seven of them in the fourth to go up 4-2. Shake took Curry out to limit the damage and from there on in it was a bullpen game for the Kingsmen. But in the top of the fifth Matt Horn went yard again with another three run homer, putting the Kingsmen up 5-4.
A certain stress had been building throughout the series. Part of it was natural—two talented and highly competitive teams going at it with good old-fashioned hard-nosed baseball—but there was an undercurrent of nastiness that festered and was due to pop. These two teams didn’t like each other and the managers were old adversaries. Their history was one of brush-backs, beanballs and bench-clearing brawls. In the fourth game the nastiness began to seep out and reveal itself in the bench chatter. Usually biting and sarcastic to begin with, the chatter took on a ruthless tone as players denigrated their opponent’s play and threw out catcalls and horse laughs at every strike-out or error. Even the umpires felt something coming on and kept a wary eye out for it.
In the bottom of the fifth, an Admirals player grounded to short for what looked like a routine out. As Matt Horn stretched for the throw, the runner came across the bag and stepped on Matt’s heel with his cleats. It was Enos Slaughter spiking Jackie Robinson all over again, only the Admiral runner wasn’t white and Horn wasn’t black. Horn yelled out in pain and immediately fell to the ground grabbing his ankle. The runner was out, and as he made his fish-hook turn to go back to the dugout, Dane came up into his face and yelled at him. They pushed one another. The umpire quickly got between them and the two teams came up onto their dugout steps. But the Kingsmen stayed put. Their focus was their first baseman who sat next to the bag rocking back and forth and holding his bleeding ankle.
Shake ran out to Horn along with Rick Burton and their trainer Mike Faust. He kneeled down next to Matt and saw that his sock was soaked in blood. The back of his heel and part of his Achilles tendon (they learned later) was sliced open. The fielders collected around Matt, throwing out words of encouragement, and watched as the trainer examined Horn’s ankle. As this was going on, Shake glanced over at the Admirals dugout and witnessed Bennie shake the hand of his paid assassin. The trainer tied a towel around Matt’s ankle to stem the flow of blood, and Shake and Rick helped him off the field. Two bench players took it from there and helped him into the clubhouse. Shake signaled for Rosecrans to go in for Horn.
Every Kingsmen out in the field or in dugout or out in the bullpen—coaches and players alike—knew the spiking was intentional. They didn’t need Don Vito Corleone to tell them it had been a hit job. Rick and Bob yelled accusations across the diamond at Bennie. Mike Goff at third pointed angrily into the Admirals dugout and told the third base coach they were “a bunch of chickenshits!” The bench chatter became blood-thirsty. Shake stood in his spot next to the bat rack and stared across at Bennie. The son-of-a-bitch smiled at him. Shake knew it was intentional—he’d seen the handshake—and he was hot, but his natural equilibrium overrode his emotion and told him to wait. Now was not the time, he knew. Not when they were hot with anger. But the time would come, maybe in the later innings of this game or maybe the next game, but it would come. Afterall, revenge was a dish best served cold (which sounds like a quote from the Bard but isn’t).
The loss of Horn turned the tide. Twice Rosecrans came up in Horn’s spot with runners on base and struck out. Twice Rosecrans failed to dig out a low throw to first and each time it led to a run. Even at that, the two teams were tied 7-7 going into the bottom of the ninth. It was then, in the ninth, that Hank Percy (who was playing like a man possessed) hit a walk-off homer to the delight of the home crowd. Percy flipped his bat in triumph, stood and watched the ball sail into the bleachers, then took a leisurely stroll around the bases with one flap down to rub it in. He was mobbed by his teammates at home plate.
The loss made Shake sick to his stomach and he didn’t feel any better when he learned that Horn was out for game five. He was stuck with Rosecrans (whose play had fallen off since his hip infection), but they had Ellsworth and his splitter going for them in game five. The championship game would be in New Britain and the stands would be packed. Manager Glover and his team filed onto the bus for the ride home grim-faced and determined.
It was Friday night and the Kingsmen were on the field taking batting practice. Shake stood next to his coaches and watched his hitters take their swings. Shake could feel it—the mood. It was one of somber anticipation, like before a heavyweight bout. He scanned the stands and saw that they were filling up quickly. A sight caught his eye. Dark Lucy was standing at the rail next to the Admirals dugout talking with Bennie. The sight was just too odd to ignore and Shake walked towards them.
As he approached, Lucy noticed him and handed Bennie something that he took from her and placed around his neck. It was a chain. She turned her back and walked up the stands in her purple, medieval dress as though she was ascending the steps of an ancient tower. Bennie waited for Shake to walk up.
“You and Lucy an item now?” Shake asked him with an amused smile.
“An item? Nah,” he replied. “She was just giving me a good luck charm.”
“You think you need one?”
“Can’t hurt, right?”
“Either can wearing a red nose or big floppy shoes.”
“You’ve always been a witty fool, Shake.”
“Better a witty fool than a foolish wit.”
“Well said, but then you say a lot of things that were said by other people.”
“Ah, you’re right, I do. So then I’ll leave you with one more, and from an old relative of yours: ‘Ambition, like a torrent, never looks back’. Never look back, Bennie.”
“I don’t plan to… Good luck, Shake.”
“Good luck, Bennie.”
Shake walked away and headed towards his own dugout. He fingered the small gold crucifix that rested around his own neck. A present from Mimi. He looked up to her seat but she wasn’t there yet. Someone yelled “Heads up!” and Shake turned in time to see a foul ball heading his way. He fielded it with his bare-hand and tossed it to a young boy in the stands.
“Nice play, Shakespeare,” said the P.A. Announcer over the speakers. Shake saluted up to him and the song “The Best Is Yet To Come” by Frank Sinatra started to play in the stadium. That was Shake’s favorite Sinatra song. It used to be “Summer Wind” but now it was “The Best Is Yet To Come” but he had no idea how the P.A. Announcer knew these things.
Batting practice wrapped up and the Kingsmen returned to their clubhouse. Shake passed the umpires in the tunnel, exchanged greetings, and he heard one of them say to himself, “It’s a nice night for a prize fight.” It caught Shake’s ear and he repeated it—“It’s a nice night for a prize fight”—and found that it tripped nicely off the tongue. He would say it to Rick and get a laugh, and the melodious line would roll around in his head for most of the night.
He ran into a very busy Corey and they briefly played baseball trivia together—then she bounced off like a pinball to get her stadium ready for a standing-room-only championship game. It would be a lot of hot dogs and beer. The groundskeepers Doug and Barry let him know that the field was “Pimped and proper” and he listened to them drop a few more malapropisms before thanking them for their diligence and returning to his office. At the door to his office he happened to glance down the hallway that led to the parking lot and saw Balt Porter, the journalism student, kiss Orson Kent on the cheek. They parted and Orson walked towards Shake with a big smile on his face and wished him the best of luck as he passed by. Shake rubbed his chin in thought then shrugged and went into his office.
Shake didn’t give many pep talks but he was going to give one tonight. The situation called for one. He picked up the Sports section of the New Haven Register, found the plastic bag he was looking for, and waited until his players were dressed and ready to go. When he walked into the locker room, Rick saw him and on cue yelled, “Listen up!”