T.V. Adams came through with a long triple to left center field, scoring both Barry and Turtleneck, and tying the score, 4 to 4.
The Mudders’ infield played some strong defense in the top of the fourth inning. Not a Stinger reached first base.
José sat glumly in the dugout as he watched Alfie step to the plate in the bottom half of the fourth. Alfie took two pitches, then flied out to left.
Sparrow got on when he drove one to center field and Hogie Mitchell, the Stingers’ centerfielder, dropped it.
“All riiiight!” José cried. “Come on, Barry! Get on!”
Barry doubled to right center, sending Sparrow all around to third.
José’s heart pounded as he got his bat and knelt in the on-deck circle. This was his third chance to bat. If Turtleneck didn’t knock in at least one run, it would be up to him.
Turtleneck flied out.
José groaned softly as he got off his knee and went to the plate. He’d better hit, he told himself, or expect to warm the pines the rest of the game.
He powdered the first pitch. It went high and deep to center field, and for a moment he felt good. That ball was going over the fence.
It didn’t. It was too high and not out far enough. Hogie Mitchell caught it just inside the fence.
José could hear the Mudders’ fans moan as he hopped over the first base bag, turned, and headed back to the dugout for his glove. He waited for Coach Parker’s voice, telling him to cool it for the next two innings. Instead, Coach Parker had Tootsie Malone take Alfie’s place in right field and Jack Livingston take Bus Mercer’s place at shortstop.
Lefty Burk singled to start off the top of the fifth. Then Nick Long popped up to third, and Henry Shaw grounded out to second, almost hitting into a double play.
“Play deep, José,” T.V. said as Ted Shoemaker stepped to the plate. “This guy’s got power.”
Sometimes T.V. suggested where the guys should play a batter, and he was usually right. This time he was neither right nor wrong. Ted Shoemaker walked.
“Don’t have to tell me about this guy, T.V.!” José yelled as Russ Coon stepped to the plate. He’d gotten a home run his last time up.
This time Russ swung at the first pitch and drove it a mile high and almost a mile deep. It was going over José’s head.
José ran back . . . back . . .
7
The ball was dropping several feet behind José. He ran harder, stretched out his glove — and caught it.
The Mudders fans cheered, clapped, and whistled.
“Beautiful catch, José,” Coach Parker praised him as he came trotting in to the bench. “Just beautiful.”
“Thanks,” José murmured.
“Show-off,” Barry said, grinning.
José laughed.
The whole team gave him high fives before he could sit down. He smiled. He hadn’t felt so good in a long time.
But it was at bat where he wanted to pull off the big play. His father would want to see him hit better than anyone else.
T.V. led off the bottom of the fifth with a single, and scored on Rudy Calhoun’s long double to left center field. That was all the Mudders could do that half-inning, but the run put them in the lead, 5 to 4.
“Hey, can you believe it?” Barry said as he and José ran out to the outfield together. “We’re leading the champs!”
José shrugged. “Yeah, but remember the saying, ‘It ain’t over till it’s over’?”
“Right. Yogi Berra!”
José laughed.
Jack Taylor led off the top of the last inning for the Stingers and socked the second pitch to deep left. Barry ran back and stood against the fence, watching the ball sail over his head for a home run.
Oh, man! José thought. A tied-up game! Yogi was right, he mused. Maybe — just maybe — they’ll go on to win it.
Hogie Mitchell smashed out a double, and José felt that his intuition was right. Then Frankie Newhouse flied out, and Sparrow mowed the next two down with strikeouts. José breathed easier. Now it was 5 to 5.
“You’re up, Sparrow!” James Boles, the Mudders’ scorekeeper cried. “Break the tie! Win your own ball game, kid!”
Sparrow popped out.
Then Barry singled to left, Turtleneck popped a single over second base, and José came to bat.
“Do it now, José!” Barry yelled at first, clapping his hands. “Drive it to San Francisco!”
José took three pitches, two balls, and a strike, then belted it. The hit was one of the longest he had ever made. It sailed over the left field fence for a home run, winning the game, 8 to 5.
José rounded the bases, listening to the whoops and applause of the Mudders’ fans. I sure wish Dad could have seen that hit, he thought, even though it was the only one I made today. Maybe it would have made up for my other foul-ups at bat.
He was happy that his homer had led the Mudders to victory, but it didn’t boost his average up any higher than if he had gotten a single. One hit out of four times at bat was only .250. That was a long way from .375. How he was ever going to reach that average?
It was two days later, while he was riding his bike down Main Street, that he spotted a bat in the window of Al’s Secondhand Shop. Suddenly he had an idea.
Maybe a new bat could help him reach .375!
Excited, he rode up to the window and saw that the bat was the right size. Then he saw the price: eight dollars. He had saved up some money, but not that much.
He took out his wallet and counted the money he had in it. Four dollars and twenty-eight cents. Would the shop owner hold it for him? he wondered.
He left his bike on the sidewalk and went into the shop.
“That bat in the window,” he said to the owner, a short man with glasses. “I’ve only got about four dollars. Would you hold it for me till I get the rest of it?”
“Sure, kid,” the man said. “I’ll hold it for two days. No more.”
José stared at him. Two days? Where was he going to get four dollars in two days?
8
I might be able to borrow the money from Dad, José thought, and pay him back later. But he didn’t want to. He wanted to earn it on his own.
He wasted no time getting his father’s rake and going from one house to the next on the street he lived on. “Hello,” he said to each person who answered his ring. “I’m José Mendez. I’ll rake your lawn if you want me to.”
But after calling on six homes and getting a polite “No, thank you” from each, he became discouraged and wanted to quit.
Then he decided he’d go for ten. If he didn’t get a “Yes, thank you” by then, that was it. He wouldn’t even ask his father for the money. He’d forfeit the four dollars he’d given to the shop owner — and wish he had never seen that bat.
He turned left on the next block, and his hopes faded almost instantly. Every lawn that he could see looked as if it had been raked just yesterday.
Then he walked half a block farther and spied a lawn that looked as if it needed raking badly. I should definitely get a “Yes, thank you” here, he thought hopefully.
He didn’t get any reply at all. No one answered the door.
Three more to go, he thought, discouraged once again.
He got a “No, thank you” at the next house and a “No, thank you, kid. I’m sorry” from a man on a crutch at the next.
One more home to go. It would be a miraele if he were hired there. He might as well kiss that bat good-bye.
He was just about ready to knock on the door when he heard a shout. “Hey, kid! Come back here!”
He whirled. It was the man with the crutch. He was motioning to José.
José’s heart leaped. Had the guy changed his mind? He raced back across the lawn and paused in front of the stoop.
“Yes, sir?” he said, breathing hard.
The man smiled. “I’ve changed my mind. I’ve sprained my ankle, and I don’t know when I’ll be able to rake my lawn. Or even mow it. What’s your
rate?”
“Four dollars, sir.”
“Fair enough,” the man said.
José took half an hour to rake the lawn. The man gave him a five-dollar bill and told him to keep the change. José’s eyes shone like stars as he pocketed the money.
On his way home with the rake, José passed Mrs. Dooley’s house. Her car was parked in the street, hidden from her house by a row of hedges. He noticed a gleaming new window in place of the one he had broken, and he stopped. Even though he had paid for the damages himself, he still felt bad for the trouble he had caused Mrs. Dooley. Looking at the shining glass gave José an idea.
He quickly ran to his garage and replaced the rake. Then he hunted around in his father’s car supplies until he found what he was looking for — a couple of old rags and a can of car wax. After carefully reading the directions twice, he hurried back to Mrs. Dooley’s car.
A few hours later, he stood back and surveyed his work. Mrs. Dooley’s car shone like new! José picked up the dirty rags and walked back to his house, tired but happy.
While he was putting the car wax away, he glanced at his watch. If he hurried, he could still make it to Al’s Secondhand Shop. He grabbed his bike and sped off.
José reached the shop just before it closed. He paid the four-dollar balance due on the bat and walked out with it slung over his shoulder. When he got outside, he took a few practice swings. The bat felt just right. José could almost hear the solid crack of the bat meeting the baseball. He was sure he had the answer to his hitting problem in his hands.
But I should practice hitting with it for real, he thought. He still had a dollar left from raking — just enough for fourteen balls at the batting cage.
As he headed toward the cage, he heard the whack! whack! of balls being hit. He paused and looked to see who was doing the hitting.
It was Carmen, and from the number of baseballs in the net in front of her, he could tell she had been there for a while. As he stood there, he watched her make contact with nearly every ball that was pitched to her.
He couldn’t believe it! Then he remembered what she had said about boning up on softball. From the looks of things, she had either done a lot of reading or inherited their dad’s hitting ability.
Okay, bat, José thought, swinging one more time. Now it’s our turn to shine!
Two minutes later, he was batting in another cage.
Crack! Crack! Crack! He hit the balls against the jet just as fast and hard as they shot out of the pitching gun.
Then there was another crack! But this time it wasn’t the bat hitting the ball.
It was the bat breaking in two.
9
“Don’t feel so bad. It’s just a bat,” Carmen said as she rode her bike alongside José on their way home.
“Sure, it is,” he said. “But it felt perfect. Did you see how I was hitting that ball? Like . . . like a big leaguer.”
He wanted to say “like Dad used to hit ’em.” But he didn’t want her to know why he was so anxious to be a good hitter. A real good hitter. She’d probably laugh in his face. He would never be as good a hitter as their father used to be, she might say.
José and Carmen stowed their bikes in the garage and walked across the lawn to the house. Warm smells of spaghetti sauce greeted them as they entered the kitchen. Suddenly José slapped his forehead.
“Tonight’s my night to fix the salad and set the table for dinner! Oh, man, how could I forget?” he cried.
“I was just wondering the same thing,” said his father, walking in from the dining room. He noted their grubby appearances, shook his head, and said curtly, “Looks like I’ll have to do it. You two get washed up before we eat. Dinner in fifteen minutes.”
José and Carmen hurried to the bathroom and soaped their hands and faces. Carmen smiled encouragingly at him in the mirror.
“Don’t worry about Dad. Just tell him you were at the batting cage. He seemed pleased when I asked if I could go there to practice,” she said.
“Maybe,” José replied glumly. He remembered his father’s reaction the last time. Even though he wasn’t grounded now, his father might be angry he hadn’t asked permission to go, as Carmen had.
When they sat down to dinner, their father turned to Carmen and asked, “So, how’d my little slugger do at the cage? Your softball coach tells me you’ve sent the ball over the fence at least a dozen times so far. I’m impressed. We’ll have to catch one of her games, won’t we, José?” He ruffled Carmen’s hair and smiled.
José nodded stiffly and concentrated on twirling his spaghetti onto his fork. He listened in silence as Carmen described her last homer. He was glad she was playing so well, but the sudden lump in his throat made it difficult for him to swallow the forkful of spaghetti.
I’ve got to start hitting better, he thought fiercely. I’ve just got to.
* * *
Tuesday was perfect baseball weather. The sun was shining brightly, it was hot, and there was just enough breeze to make it comfortable.
The Peach Street Mudders were playing the Stockade Bulls, a team that averaged at least six runs a game. With his new bat broken in two, José had little hope that he would raise his batting average to anywhere near .375. He would never gain back the respect he wanted so badly from his father.
The Mudders batted first. Barry led off with a double, and Turtleneck popped out, bringing up José. Okay, José thought, tapping the plate with the end of his bat. I’ve got to start off with a hit. I might be up only two more times. Three, if I’m lucky.
He waited until he got a two-and-two count, then walloped Eddie Mosk’s knee-high pitch to deep right field. His heart leaped for a moment. Go over. Go over, his mind screamed.
Phil Koline caught it about ten feet in from the fence. Two out. José sighed as he saw his chances of even hitting .333 getting slimmer.
T.V. Adams, batting fourth, singled through short, scoring Barry. Then Bus struck out, ending the top of the first inning.
“You really laid into that one, José!” Barry yelled as he and José ran out to their positions. “I thought sure it was going over!”
“But it didn’t,” José said, disappointed.
The Stockade Bulls started off strong their turn at bat. The first two guys singled. Then, with two out, Chet Barker doubled, scoring both runs.
“Bear down, Sparrow!” T.V. Adams shouted from third.
“Not too easy on those guys, Sparrow!” José yelled from center field.
Eddie Mosk grounded out.
“Let’s go!” Coach Parker cried as he headed for the third-base coaching box. “Give ’em all you’ve got, Rudy!”
Rudy flied out. Nicky Chong singled, then got out on Alfie’s double-play hit to shortstop. It was a fast half-inning. Mudders 1, Bulls 2.
Not until the third inning did the Mudders begin to threaten again. Sparrow led off with a sizzling single through short, Barry walked, and Turtleneck bounced one over the second baseman’s head, filling the bases.
José came up to bat, and his heart had never beat faster or harder.
The crowd was yelling, “Drive it out of the lot, José!”
He took three straight pitches, all inches away from the plate, and stepped out of the box. A walk would put him on base., but it wouldn’t help his batting average. C’mon, Eddie, he thought. Give me something good to swing at.
He stepped back into the box and watched as Eddie wound up for the pitch.
10
“Steeerike!” yelled the ump.
Then, “Steeerike two!”
“Belt it, José!” cried the coach.
José’s heart pounded like crazy. This was it.
Crack! His bat met the ball head-on. The white sphere took off like a rocket for left field and sailed over the fence for a home run!
The Mudders’ fans screamed their heads off. “All right, José!” they shouted as he dropped his bat and trotted around the bases.
Bus singled that inning, too, but the M
udders failed to score him. Mudders 5, Bulls 2.
The Stockade Bulls came to bat blowing through their nostrils. After two outs and a man on third base, Adzie Healy lambasted one. It had a home run label on it as it zoomed toward the center field fence. José started to run back the instant he had seen it hit.
He was almost up against the fence when the ball came flying down over his head. He jumped — and caught it!
“Yes! Great catch, man!” Barry yelled. “Saved us a run!”
José smiled and tossed the ball to him as they ran in together. “Just lucky,” he said.
“Sure.” Barry laughed.
Alfie singled, and Turtleneck walked, bringing José up to the plate. I’ve got to get a hit, he thought. I’ve got to, or Y m sunk.
He grounded out.
Good thing Dad isn’t at the game, he thought as he returned to the bench. At least he’s got Carmen.
The Mudders kept the Bulls from scoring in the bottom of the fourth, then went to town at their turn at bat, scoring two runs. Mudders 7, Bulls 2.
In the bottom of the fifth, the Stockade Bulls showed the real power they had, as if they had purposely kept it hidden until now. They pounded Sparrow for five runs, tying up the score, 7 to 7.
In the top of the sixth, Barry singled, then Turtleneck flied out. José slowly stepped to the plate. This could be it, he thought. A hit now could break the tie. And it would mean a .500 average for him.
He flied out.
José’s heart sank into his stomach. He wished he could vanish.
Then T.V. struck out, and the Bulls were back up to the plate.
The first two guys got on. Then Ted Jackson popped up to the pitcher, and Adzie blasted a line drive to center field. It looked as if it were going to hit the ground halfway between second base and José.
Centerfield Ballhawk Page 2