Catcher with a Glass Arm

by Matt Christopher

  I don’t believe it! thought Jody. And he’s the one who keeps telling me not to be afraid!

  “Rabbit,” said Jody, “everyone calls him Jim. What’s his last name?”

  Rabbit looked at him. “You don’t know?”

  “No, I don’t,” said Jody.

  Rabbit jerked his thumb at the boy beside him. Jody leaned forward and looked at Moonie Myers—Moonie, whose face was red as a beet, and who was the only boy on the top seat besides Jody who wasn’t laughing.

  “That’s Mr. Myers,” said Rabbit. “Moonie’s father.”

  11

  Jody was stunned. Moonie’s father … no wonder he came to all the games! No wonder he always had a carload of kids with him. Jody had never really thought much about who he was. He had just figured that he was a good Dolphins’ fan.

  “Strike three!”

  Mr. Myers went down swinging. It was an awkward swing, as if he had decided to cut at the ball at the very last moment.

  The crowd roared. A lot of the fans poked fun at him. It was happy fun. Nobody was serious. But still, the way Mr. Myers turned away from the plate and walked to the dugout, anybody could tell he was far from happy.

  Jody took another look at Moonie. Moonie was sitting like a statue. He was staring straight ahead, his arms crossed. A couple of other kids looked at him, too. But Moonie didn’t move a muscle.

  Two innings went by, and Mr. Myers was up again. There was a man on first base, and no outs.

  “Let’s get two!” Jody’s father yelled as he stood in front of the first-base bag, holding the runner on.

  The first pitch breezed in, and Mr. Myers moved back from it.

  “Strike!”

  The fans laughed and poked fun at Mr. Myers again. Jody looked at the faces around him. Some of them looked sorry for Mr. Myers. But most of them just thought it was very funny that Mr. Myers was afraid of the pitches.

  “Stay in there, Jim! Hit it!”

  The folks sitting in front of Jody looked around at him and smiled. Rabbit grinned at him, too, and poked him lightly in the ribs. His face turned red a little. He really hadn’t meant to yell out like that.

  He saw Mr. Myers dig his toes into the dirt, tap the bat against the plate, and then hold it above his shoulder. The pitch came in, and Mr. Myers didn’t move his feet an inch.

  Two more pitches whipped in and Mr. Myers just stood there watching them.

  “What’re you waiting for, Jim?” somebody yelled. “Get that bat off your shoulder!”

  “Hit it, Mr. Myers!” Jody whispered to himself. “Hit it! Show ’em you’re not afraid!”

  The pitch came in. Mr. Myers moved his foot forward and swung. Crack! The ball sailed out like a ship over the second base-man’s head for a clean hit. The runner on first went around to third. Mr. Myers made his turn at first, then went back to the bag, a happy, proud smile on his face.

  The fans cheered. It was the loudest noise they had made since the game had started. Jody, Rabbit, and all the kids on the top row stood up and clapped thunderously. All… except Moonie.

  “Come on, Moonie!” cried Rabbit. “Give your dad a hand! That was a beautiful hit!”

  Moonie’s face colored. His eyes blinked a couple of times, and then a smile burst over his face. He stood up and began to clap as hard as he could.

  “Thataboy, Dad!” he shouted. “Thataboy!”

  The game ended with the Blues winning, 7-6.

  The boys walked out of the ballpark and began to talk about Mr. Myers’s being afraid of a pitched ball and about that nice single he had hit.

  “He’s just like you, Jody,” Frank York said. “Maybe that’s why he always tries to help you when you bat. You’ve been awful scared of those pitches, too, ever since you got beaned.”

  Jody nodded. “Could be,” he said.

  “Did your dad get beaned sometime when he was playing baseball, Moonie?” Frank asked.

  Moonie shrugged. “I don’t know. If he did, he never told me.”

  They kept talking about their fathers. Jody learned some things he had never known before: that some of them had played with teams in the International League, which was just one jump below the major leagues. His own dad had played semipro.

  They were approaching Jody’s house when he heard a dog barking loudly nearby. The boys stopped talking and looked for the dog.

  “There he is,” Johnny Bartho pointed. “At the bottom of that pole.”

  They saw a German shepherd standing at the foot of the light pole in front of Jody’s house. He was looking up at something on the pole and barking his head off.

  Jody looked up to see what he was barking at. A cry started in his throat, then stuck there.

  Sitting on the very top of the pole was Midnight!

  12

  The German shepherd belonged to the Slater family, who lived two blocks away. He was kept in their yard most of the time, but sometimes he would leave and roam the neighborhood. His name was Firpo.

  “Firpo!” Jody shouted. “Get away from here! Go on home!”

  The big dog merely looked at him, then kept barking at Midnight.

  Johnny Bartho picked up a large stone and threw it at the dog. It missed Firpo by inches.

  “Don’t!” said Jody. “You might hurt him. I’ll get him away from here.”

  Cautiously, he started walking toward the big dog.

  “Careful, Jody,” warned Rabbit. “He might bite.”

  “He’s not dangerous,” said Jody. “I’ve been close to him before.”

  Slowly he walked up to the dog, talking softly all the while. “Come here, Firpo. Come here, boy.”

  Firpo stopped barking and looked at him. As Jody approached him, Firpo stepped away. He barked a few more times, but now his bark was only half as loud as it was before.

  “Come here, Firpo,” said Jody quietly. “Let me take you home.”

  Firpo stopped moving and began to wag his long tail. His ears stood up straight and his tongue hung out of his opened mouth. He was looking directly at Jody, and he didn’t seem dangerous at all. Jody took hold of his collar and gently led him down the street.

  Behind him he heard the boys laughing. “Well, how do you like that?” said Johnny. “Who said Jody Sinclair hasn’t got nerve?”

  Jody took Firpo home, then ran all the way back. Midnight was still on top of the pole. He was like a fluffy black ball. Only his head and his shining eyes moved.

  “We tried to call him,” said Moonie, “but he won’t budge.”

  Jody looked up. There were six wires on the crossbars of the pole, just a couple of feet under Midnight. Dangerous wires that could mean death. Jody was reminded of the trip back from Lincoln Park when they were trapped by the same kind of electric wires. The thought made him shudder.

  “Jody,” Johnny Bartho said suddenly, “Moonie’s dad works for the telephone company. He has climbers. He can bring Midnight down. Can’t he, Moonie?”

  Moonie shrugged. “He doesn’t climb poles any more.”

  “But he can still get a pair, can’t he?” Johnny said.

  Jody wiped sweat from his brow. “Maybe he wouldn’t want to climb that high up,” he said. “And those wires. They could be real dangerous. Maybe he wouldn’t want to take a chance.”

  “Oh, sure, he will,” said Johnny. “I’ll go ask him. Okay, Moonie?”

  Moonie stood there a moment, chewing on his lower lip and thinking. “I’ll go,” he said then.

  Just then Jody’s dad and mom stepped out of the house. Mr. Sinclair’s hair was uncombed, and he was wearing only his pants and a T-shirt. Jody knew he must have just finished taking a shower.

  “What’s going on, boys?” he asked.

  “Midnight’s on top of the pole, Dad,” Jody said. “Firpo chased him up there. Moonie was just going to call his dad to bring some climbers.”

  Mr. Sinclair came off the porch and looked up the pole at Midnight. “Can you beat that?” he said.

  “Meow!” said Midni
ght.

  “That’s a job for the SPCA,” suggested Mr. Sinclair. “They have experts who handle jobs like this. No need to bother Jim. Anyway,” he chuckled, “after that hit he got he wouldn’t feel like climbing a light pole!”

  “That’s right! The SPCA!” said Jody. “I’d forgot all about them!”

  Mr. Sinclair put in a call to the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. Within an hour a man drove into the driveway in a pickup truck. The boys pointed at Midnight, sitting on top of the pole. They watched the man put on his climbers and a long pair of gloves and climb up the pole. Nobody made a sound as the man put his gloved hand around Midnight, clutched him by the back of his neck, and lifted him off the pole.

  Midnight let out a loud “Meowr!” and started to claw at the air with his paws. But the man had him well under control. He climbed down the pole with Midnight. When he reached the ground, he handed Midnight to Jody, and Jody hugged him fiercely.

  Jody thanked the man, who smiled and left. Mom and Dad went back into the house. Johnny Bartho and the other boys departed, too. Only Jody and Moonie remained.

  “Moonie,” Jody said. “I want to thank you, anyway, for wanting to go after your father.”

  Moonie shrugged. “That’s okay, Jody. I think he would have been glad to rescue Midnight for you. He likes you a lot.”

  “I know,” said Jody. “I like him, too.”

  “Jody, how about playing catch?”

  “Okay. I’ll go in and get a ball and a couple of gloves.”

  He brought out his own glove and the one Dad had. They started playing catch.

  The very first ball Jody pitched was a looping throw that barely reached Moonie.

  “Oh, come on, Jody. Throw ’em up, will you?”

  Jody tried again, and again Moonie had to rush forward a few steps to catch the ball before it hit the ground.

  “I don’t know, Jody,” said Moonie, shaking his head. “I don’t think you’ll ever be able to throw.”

  Jody had forgotten all about his poor throwing. Now that he was reminded of it, he became worried all over again.

  He had twice the problem Mr. Myers had! Mr. Myers was only afraid of a pitched ball. He, Jody, was afraid of a pitched ball—and he couldn’t throw.

  13

  Throw that ball! Hit me on the head with it! What are you afraid of? Hurting my hand?”

  It was Jim Myers talking. He was on the mound, Jody was behind the plate, and Moonie was on second. Jody didn’t have his catching equipment on. All they were doing was throwing the ball. Jim would hurl it to Jody, and Jody would either throw it back to him or to Moonie.

  He was doing better than he had all season. The ball snapped from his hand like a shot. He was throwing accurately, too, right at Jim Myers’s head. And, when he pegged it to Moonie, the ball whipped through the air directly into Moonie’s glove almost every time.

  After a half an hour of this throwing practice, Jim and the boys pulled the batting cage up behind the plate. Then Jim Myers had Jody put on a helmet and pick up a bat.

  “Stay in that box and don’t move,” said Jim Myers. “Watch some of those balls go by. Look them over as well as you can.” He grinned. “Remember what you yelled to me at the Old-Timers’ game? ‘Stay in there!’ you said. Well, I stood in there. Now let me see you do it… . Okay, son. Pitch ’em in.”

  Moonie pitched them in. Jody stood in the batting box, his bat held high over his shoulder. He watched the first ball come in and goose pimples popped out on his arms. But he stood there, and the ball zipped by and hit the batting cage. Moonie pitched in a dozen balls. Twice Jody was tempted to dodge back. But the ball breezed by him, missing him by almost a foot.

  “Fine!” said Jim Myers. “Okay, now. Let’s see you hit it, Jody. Just take a short step forward.”

  A half a dozen neighborhood kids were in the outfield. They all had gloves. Jody began swinging, taking a short step forward as Jim Myers had advised him to do. Gradually he began to hit the ball. Gradually he began to feel more comfortable at the plate. He kept hitting until he was tired, then he pitched to Moonie for a while.

  “Okay,” said Jim Myers. “We’ll do this every day between practices and games. Can you be here tomorrow evening, Jody?”

  Jody thought a little. “We play the Bears tomorrow,” he said.

  “Okay. Make it the next day, then,” Jim Myers said with a grin.

  Jody smiled. “Okay!” he said.

  He felt good. Mr. Myers was sure a great guy! Imagine him taking such an interest in a boy that he was willing to sacrifice a lot of his time just to make this boy be a better thrower and hitter.

  On August 2, just before the Moose game, Coach Jack Fisher called his team together.

  “We have one more game to play after today’s,” he said. “If we win today, we’ll have a good chance to be in the play-off. We’ve been doing quite well all season, considering that most of you boys have played little before.”

  He cleared his throat and looked at Jody. “Jody, we’ll start Rabbit at catching today. You’ve been starting to hit again, but the Moose have some good hitters who are fast on bases. They’ll take advantage of you every time they get on. You are throwing better than you did at the start of the season. Don’t get me wrong. But against these boys you must do even better. I think, with Rabbit catching, they won’t dare to run as much.”

  “Who’s playing short?” Moonie asked.

  “Joe Bell,” said the coach.

  “Isn’t Jody going to play at all?”

  “Not today.”

  Jody looked across at Moonie. Their eyes locked. Then Jody looked down at the ground. He thought about all the hours he had spent practicing batting and throwing. He had improved a lot. He was sure of it. It wasn’t fair that Coach Fisher wasn’t letting him play today.

  “Infielders, hustle out there. Rabbit, warm up Moonie. We have only a few minutes left.”

  14

  Moonie took his time on the mound. He pitched hard and had the Moose swinging and missing. He mowed down the first two with strikeouts. He was a little wild on the third hitter, and walked him. Then the Moose cleanup man, Mel Devlin, stepped to the plate, and the Moose fans began giving him support from the bleachers.

  Mel was tall and thin. He held up his bat as if it were a toothpick. He had five home runs this year so far. One of them had been against Moonie during the early part of the season.

  From the bench, Jody watched eagerly. He remembered those pitches Mel had hit. They had been high ones, right across the letters of his shirt.

  Keep them low, Moonie, Jody thought. Right around his knees.

  Moonie toed the rubber and pitched. The pitch was high—straight across the letters on Mel’s shirt. Mel swung with all his might. Crack! The bat met the ball solidly. The white pill streaked like a missile to left field.

  But it was curving! It was going …

  “Foul!” cried the umpire.

  The Moose fans groaned.

  The Dolphins’ fans cried, “Just one long strike, Moonie, ol’ boy!”

  Jody’s heart thudded. Man, that was close. Come on, Moonie! Keep them low!

  Moonie kept working hard on Mel. He gave no more high ones. But neither did he throw him another strike. Mel got a free ticket to first base.

  Moonie had trouble with the next batter. The hitter fouled three pitches in a row. Then Moonie curved him, and the batter swished out.

  “Nice going Moonie,” said the coach. “Three strikeouts that first inning. Keep it up. You’re doing fine.”

  The Dolphins didn’t get a hit during their turn at bat. The Moose came back and threatened again. They got a man on. A sacrifice bunt put him on second. A long fly to right field was caught, but the runner tagged up and made it safely to third.

  Two outs. The Dolphins’ infield played deep. Moonie stretched, delivered, and a grounder was hit to short. Joe Bell charged in after it. He fumbled it! The ball skittered behind him. He picked it up, fired it to
first.

  Safe! And the runner scored.

  The next hitter popped to first, and the side was retired.

  The innings moved quickly. The Moose put two more runs across in the top of the third. In the bottom of the fourth Roddie tripled, and Duane drove him in with a hard single over second base.

  Moonie then stepped to the plate and pounded a smashing drive to right center field. Duane raced to second, to third, and then tried to score.

  “Hit it!” Frank York, who was next batter, yelled at him.

  Duane slid. The throw from deep second base was almost perfect. The catcher caught the ball, put it on Duane, and the umpire yelled, “Out!”

  Moonie took his turn at second and then returned and stayed there.

  “Let’s keep it going!” yelled Coach Fisher. “Swing at ’em, Frankie!”

  Frankie waited for the pitch he wanted. He swung. A single! Moonie came all the way in to score, making it two runs for the Dolphins.

  Then Arnie struck out to end the rally.

  Score: Moose 3; Dolphins 2.

  The Moose lead-off man pulled a surprise. He dragged the first pitch, bunting it down the third-base line. Duane ran in, tried to field the bunt, and slid. He got up disgustedly, tossed the ball to Moonie, and returned to his position. Only now he played in close, on the grass, in case the batter tried a sacrifice bunt.

  The batter did! But he bunted the ball down the first-base line. It looked as if he, too, would get a hit out of it.

  Birdie, also playing in close, charged in after the bunt. He fielded it, turned, and whipped the ball to Moonie, who was running to cover first.

  Out!

  The Dolphins’ fans cheered. “Nice play, Birdie!”

  “That’s the way to play heads-up ball, Moonie!”

  One out, man on second.

  Moonie stepped on the rubber. He took a quick look over his shoulder at the man leading off second, then delivered. Crack! A hard blow just over Frank York’s head. Frank leaped. The ball barely grazed his glove. The runner on second made it to third and then bolted for home.