Long Stretch At First Base

by Matt Christopher

  Copyright

  Text copyright © 1960,1993 by Matthew F. Chistopher

  Illustrations copyright © 1993 by Karen Meyer

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Hachette Book Group

  237 Park Avenue

  New York, NY 10017

  Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com

  First eBook Edition: December 2009

  ISBN: 978-0-316-09573-0

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  1

  BOBBY stood in the pitcher’s box in the pasture field where the kids played scrub baseball. His older brother Kirby was batting. Bobby took his windup, stretched, and threw a looping ball toward the plate. The grass-stained baseball arched like a rainbow.

  Tall, dark-haired Kirby yanked his bat back upon his shoulder with disgust.

  “Come on, Bobby!” he shouted. “Throw that ball faster, will you?”

  “You can’t hit it if I do!” Bobby cried.

  Kirby’s face turned red. And Bobby knew that he had said something he shouldn’t have. Kirby was older and a lot taller than Bobby. He played first base for the Redbirds in the Grasshoppers League. But he was a poor hitter. He always took a hard cut at the ball, and almost always missed it.

  “Oh, all right,” said Bobby. “I’ll throw it faster.”

  Catcher Dave Gessini returned the ball to Bobby. Dave was the regular catcher for the Redbirds. He was wearing his mask and chest protector. The only three other players present were in the outfield. One of them was Ann, Bobby’s sister. She was in between Bobby’s and Kirby’s age, and liked baseball just as much as most boys did. She could throw as well as a boy, too.

  Bobby wound up again, stretched, and delivered. He had a side-arm delivery. The ball raced for the plate and curved in just a little.

  Kirby stepped into it, took a hard cut.

  Plup! The ball landed solidly in Dave’s mitt.

  “Let somebody else bat for a while!” one of the boys in the outfield shouted.

  “Sure! He’s been up there an hour now!” the other said.

  “He has not!” Bobby heard Ann say. “He needs practice just like the rest of you do!”

  Bobby turned and looked at them. The boys didn’t say anything back to Ann. They never did dare say much back to her. She always had a good answer for them.

  Bobby pitched another straight ball over the heart of the plate. This time Kirby hit it on the ground. The ball hopped out to the outfield. One of the players fielded it and pegged it in to Bobby.

  There, thought Bobby. Finally Kirby had connected. Bobby could not understand it, though. He himself didn’t have much trouble hitting the ball at all.

  A boy in the outfield ran in to bat. Kirby replaced him. As Kirby ran past Bobby, Bobby saw the disappointed look on his face. Terry, their black Scottish terrier, chased and barked at Kirby’s heels.

  “Come on, Terry!” Bobby yelled. “Get back here!”

  Terry hopped around Kirby’s feet for a while, then trotted back, his inch-long tail wagging hard.

  Bobby pitched to the batter. After a while he batted and another boy pitched. He pounded out three grounders and four flies to the outfield. One was a poke that would have gone for a home run in a real game.

  “For a little guy you pack a lot of power,” Dave said, grinning behind his mask. “What a difference between you and Kirby!”

  Bobby didn’t say anything.

  Ann batted next. After she hit a few, they quit practicing.

  “Who do we play this afternoon?” asked Bobby, who seldom kept up with the schedule.

  “The Yankee Clippers,” answered Kirby, who always kept up with the schedule. He had on his first-base mitt, and was tossing a baseball in the air and catching it. Bobby had never seen anybody who loved baseball as much as Kirby did. He’d play every minute of the day if somebody played with him.

  “They’re in second place,” said Dave.

  “If we beat them, we’ll be in second,” said Kirby. “And if we win Friday, and the Seals lose, we’ll be in first place.”

  One thing about Kirby: He knew the records of the teams, and even of the players, better than anyone.

  The game with the Yankee Clippers began at six o’clock. Curt Barrows, the coach of the Redbirds, hit grounders to the infielders just before game time. Then he gave a short pep talk to his team while the Clippers had the field.

  “Cappie Brennan will start pitching,” Mr. Barrows said. He had a piece of paper in his hand on which was written the line-up. “Dave will catch. Kirby, you start at first base. Catch those throws and let’s see you get some hits at the plate. You haven’t been hitting at all. And we need hits. The Clippers are a tough bunch. The rest of the infield will be the regular starting line-up. Al Dakin at second, Bobby Jamison at short, and Mark Donahue at third. In left field is Toby Warren, in center Jim Hurwitz, and in right Jerry Echols.”

  The Redbirds, with their name printed in red on the front of their white jerseys, took the field first. Kirby started the chatter. It was quickly taken up by the other infielders.

  “Come on, Cappie! Come on, boy! Get ’em out!”

  “Whip it past ’em, Cappie!”

  2

  CAPPIE stepped on the mound. He was built like a young tree. His arms were like long, slender branches. He yanked on his red baseball cap and waited for the signal from Dave.

  A Yankee Clipper stepped to the plate. The Clippers wore white jerseys and blue caps. He cut at the first pitch and missed.

  “Strike one!” said the umpire behind the plate.

  Cappie breezed another past the batter for strike two. Then he threw two straight balls. The batter cut at the next one and grounded it to Bobby at short. It was a high bouncing ball. For a moment Bobby was afraid that it might bounce over his head if he didn’t get in the right spot. He ran in a little, caught the ball as it hopped up just after hitting the ground, and pegged it to first.

  His heart rose to his throat. The ball was sailing wide of the base! Kirby stretched far out, the toe of his sneaker just touching the bag. The ball smacked into the hollow of his mitt an eye-winking second before the runner touched the bag!

  “Out!” yelled the base umpire, throwing up a thumb.

  Car horns tooted and people in the bleachers shouted their approval.

  “Nice catch, Bobby!”

  “Nice stretching, Kirby!”

  Boy! thought Bobby. It’s a good thing that Kirby’s playing first base. Tony would never have caught that ball. Tony Mandos was their other first baseman.

  “One out, Cappie!” yelled Kirby, who was always the first to shout anything. “Let’s get two!”

  The second Yankee Clipper knocked a hot grounder to second. Al Dakin fumbled it. He picked it up finally and threw it wildly to first. Kirby stepped off the bag. By the time he caught the ball and touched the bag the runner was on.

  Now the Yankee Clippers fans yelled and tooted their horns.

  Cappie made his stretch and threw. Crack!
A high fly to center field. Jim Hurwitz ran back, got under it, and plucked it out of the air. The runner on first stayed on the bag.

  The next man hit a high foul ball straight above Dave Gessini’s head. Dave flung off his mask, circled under the ball like a nervous tightrope walker. No one made a sound as the ball sailed as high as it could, then started coming down.

  For a while it looked as though Dave wouldn’t catch the ball. Then suddenly plop! He had it!

  Three outs!

  “Nice going, boys,” Curt Barrows said as the team ran in and stumbled into the dugout. “Now for some bingles.”

  Bobby led off. He was the smallest man on the team and managed to get on base more often than the others. He put the protective helmet over his cap and stepped to the plate.

  Tom Kohn, pitching for the Clippers, looked like a giant on the mound. He got his signal from the catcher, wound up, and delivered. He threw overhand. The ball sailed in as if from a great height. It headed for the heart of the plate like a white rocket. Bobby swung. Tick! The ball fouled to the backstop screen.

  The next two pitches were high. Strike one, ball two.

  Then, crack! A line drive over third!

  Bobby dropped the bat and beelined to first. He made the turn, ran to second as the left fielder picked up the ball. A two-bagger!

  Bobby pulled off his protective helmet and threw it to the first-base coach. Then he stood on the bag with his hands on his knees and waited for Al Dakin to do something.

  Al was a funny batter. He kept wiggling his body like a worm and moving his bat back and forth.

  “Hey, Wiggles!” somebody yelled. “Let’s see you hit that apple!”

  Al took two strikes and then two balls. Then he hit a high fly to center. Bobby held his base as he saw the center fielder run back. For a moment he thought that the ball was going over the center fielder’s head. But suddenly the player stopped, reached up his glove and picked the ball out of the air. Quickly Bobby pushed himself from the bag and tore for third. As he reached the third-base sack he saw the coach hold up both hands, which meant that he didn’t have to slide.

  Left fielder Toby Warren hit a blooping fly to the pitcher for the second out. Jim Hurwitz, the tall, skinny center fielder, who wore dark-rimmed glasses, took the first pitch for a called strike. Then he drove a hard grounder to third. The ball struck the third baseman’s arm and glanced off to the outfield. Bobby scored.

  Then Dave Gessini poled a long fly to left field. The ball was high. The Clippers outfielder got under it in plenty of time and caught it for the third out.

  “All right! Hurry in, hurry out!” shouted the plate umpire.

  The second inning went scoreless for both sides. In the third, the Yankee Clippers lead-off man singled through short. A triple over the head of right fielder Jerry Echols scored him. 1-1.

  Cappie bore down. He struck out the next two batters. The next Clipper walked. Now there were men on first and third.

  Cappie stepped off the mound, stooped and picked up some dirt in his hand. He rubbed it between his fingers a little and then let it filter back to the ground. He’s nervous, Bobby thought. Every time a man reached third Cappie got nervous.

  Cappie gave the batter a free ticket to fill the bases.

  “All right, Cappie, boy!” Kirby shouted from first base. “Settle down! Bear down and get ’em out!”

  Cappie stretched and delivered.

  “Ball one!”

  The chatter in the infield grew louder and louder. “C’mon, Cappie! Give ’im that sinker!”

  “Ball two!”

  Again Cappie backed off the mound, picked up some dirt, and dropped it.

  “Strike!” A beautiful pitch over the heart of the plate.

  “Thataway, Cappie!”

  Then, “Strike two!”

  Bobby’s heart pounded. That batter was a big kid. If he connected solidly with one of Cappie’s fast pitches he’d knock it over the centerfield fence and clean the bases.

  Cappie stepped on the mound. He toed the rubber, stretched, threw.

  Crack! A line drive to short! Bobby raised his glove. Smack! The ball stung the palm of his hand, but he held it.

  Three outs!

  “Nice catch, Bobby!” Coach Barrows said, smiling broadly. “That would have gone for two or three bases for sure!”

  Bobby grinned as he sat down. “I hardly knew I had it!” he said.

  Kirby patted him gently on the knee. “Beautiful catch, Bobby. I wish I could hit as good as you can catch.”

  “You will,” said Bobby. “Just get up there and swing.”

  Kirby put on the protective helmet. He waited till the Clippers pitcher threw his three practice throws to the catcher and for the umpire to yell “Play ball!” Then he walked to the plate.

  Kirby swung hard at the first pitch. Strike one. He swung hard again — so hard he fell to the ground. Strike two.

  “He tries to kill it,” said Coach Barrows. “I’ve told him a hundred times not to swing too hard.”

  Bobby looked at Kirby and wished for a hit. A heaviness came over his heart. He just couldn’t understand it — Kirby being so big and not being able to hit. At least, he was a good first baseman. Nobody could beat him at that position.

  “Strike three!” yelled the umpire.

  Kirby turned away from the plate, his eyes toward the ground. His bottom lip was curled up. He tossed the bat aside, walked to the end of the dugout and sat down.

  “You’re still swinging too hard,” said Curt Barrows. “Swing easy. Just meet the ball.”

  Kirby acted as though he didn’t hear.

  Bobby was up next. He belted a line drive over third for two bases. Then Al stepped to the plate. He knocked a hot grounder to short. Bobby started for third — and got caught in a hot box! The Clippers shortstop and third baseman threw the ball back and forth between them as Bobby tried hard to keep from being tagged. Suddenly he slipped. The third baseman touched him with the ball.

  Two away.

  Toby Warren drove a single over short, sending Al to second. Then Jim Hurwitz hit a two-two pitch for a triple between left and center fields. Two runs crossed the plate. Dave Gessini grounded out to end the inning.

  Score: Redbirds — 3, Yankee Clippers — 1.

  In the top of the fourth the Clippers scored twice, tying the score. The Redbirds got two men on base at their turn at bat, Cappie and Dick Carachi. Dick was replacing Jerry in right field. The batter was Kirby.

  I hope he hits, Bobby said to himself. He can break the score, and perhaps win the game. He’ll feel awful good if he does.

  Kirby hit the ball all right — but directly into the pitcher’s hands. Bobby flied out to left, ending the inning.

  The Clippers came to bat, sparkling with the hope to pile up a lot of runs. They pushed one across to break the tie and go into the lead, 4–3.

  The Redbirds failed to get a man on base.

  In the sixth and final inning the Clippers were held scoreless. The Redbirds, trailing by one run, came to bat with their last chance looking slimmer than a lizard’s tail. Don Robinson, batting for Dave, knocked out a single, followed by a single by Mark Donahue. Cappie flied out. Dick blasted a line drive directly at the shortstop. The shortstop caught the ball, doubled up Don, who didn’t tag up in time, and the game was over.

  “Well,” said Dave, as he rode home with Bobby and Kirby in Mr. Jamison’s car, “guess we stay in third place.”

  “Or maybe we dropped to fourth,” said Kirby. He shook his head sadly. “Boy, that ball looks so easy to hit.”

  “You swing too hard,” his father said. “You’re trying to hit home runs.”

  “That’s what Mr. Barrows told me,” Kirby said. “Guess I just don’t know how.”

  Bobby looked at him, then looked away. Kirby loved baseball a lot more than he ever would. Why hadn’t Kirby gotten those hits instead of him? It wouldn’t have bothered him if he hadn’t gotten any. Guess that was something he would never f
igure out.

  That night at the supper table Mrs. Jamison acted all put out about the beans and the lettuce in their garden.

  “Something’s been eating them,” she said. “I don’t know what it is, but I think we should do something or all our work will go for nothing.”

  “We’ll camp up there under the trees tonight, Mom,” suggested Kirby. “Maybe we can find out what it is.”

  “Oh, boy!” cried Bobby. “That’ll be fun! Maybe it’s a skunk or something.”

  “More likely a woodchuck,” said Mr. Jamison.

  Just before dark Bobby and Kirby put up their tent under the trees that grew along one edge of their large vegetable garden. Ann helped them to hold up the center poles while they drove in the stakes. Then Kirby and Bobby dug a shallow ditch around the tent in case of rain.

  That night they slept in their sleeping bags. They listened to the crick! crick! crick! of crickets, and talked about baseball until Bobby got sleepy and didn’t want to talk any more.

  Suddenly he awoke. Somebody was pushing his shoulder. He rose on his elbow, blinked open his eyes.

  “Bobby! Come here, quick! Look what’s out there!”

  Kirby’s excited voice took all the sleepiness out of Bobby. He crawled to the opening of the tent. Kirby held the flap open while they both looked out.

  Against the moonlit darkness a shadow was moving in the garden. A big shadow — even bigger than a man.

  3

  BOBBY trembled. He was scared. He took hold of Kirby’s pajamas and clung to them tightly.

  “What — what is it, Kirby?” he whispered tensely.

  “I don’t know!” Kirby whispered back. “But it doesn’t look like a man, unless he’s a giant!”

  “It can’t be a giant, could it, Kirby?”

  “Nah. There aren’t any giants. Except in circuses.”

  Bobby was glad that Kirby was beside him. Kirby didn’t seem scared at all. He would know what to do.

  Kirby pulled the flap open wider and began to crawl out.

  “Where are you going?” asked Bobby breathlessly.