Mystery Coach Read online

  Ken hit another, this time directly at him. Chris caught it easily, snapped it to Steve, and Steve fired it home.

  The next time around, Ken again hit to Chris’s right side, and again Chris failed to snare the hop.

  “Knock ’em to him nice and easy, Ken,” chided Steve.

  Chris blushed. Ken, a friend of Steve’s, was the Blazers’ infield substitute. I wonder if he’s working on my weakness so that he can ease me out of the starting lineup, thought Chris.

  He wasn’t surprised when, at last, Steve yelled, “Okay, Chris! Let Ken take your place for a while and you hit ’em!”

  By the time practice ended, Chris was exhausted. He went home, showered, got into fresh clothes, and took Patches with him to Dutchmen’s Creek.

  He sat under a shady tree and watched the fish swim in the clear water. Later, he lay back and wrestled with Patches, his happy laughter mixing with the dog’s low, steady growl.

  Suddenly Patches bounced back and froze. His eyes looked up and beyond Chris. The growl started again. This time it had a definitely strong, angry sound to it.

  Chris turned and saw Steve Herrick and Frank Bellows standing not ten feet away. And breaking loose from Frank’s grasp was his German shepherd, Starky. The big dog bolted for Patches.

  “Starky!” yelled Frank. “Get back here! Get back!”

  But Starky paid no attention.

  4

  STARKY and Patches met head on. The bigger dog was twice the size of the smaller one, but size apparently meant nothing to Patches. He nipped at Starky, tangled with him, fought desperately, and seemed to be holding his own.

  But even so Chris was afraid for him. The brave little animal couldn’t possibly continue like this for long.

  “No, Patches!” he yelled. “No more fighting!”

  Frank rushed forward and grabbed Starky’s leash. “I’m sorry, Chris,” he apologized. “He broke away from me.”

  Chris rushed forward too and picked Patches up in his arms. Then Frank looked at Steve and anger flashed in his eyes. “No wonder you wanted me to bring Starky. You wanted him to get in a fight with Patches.”

  Steve stood staring at the ground, his face red, his lips pressed firmly together.

  “Why?” cried Frank. “Why did you want them to fight?”

  Steve turned away, not answering.

  “Patches ripped his pants when Steve took off on my bike yesterday,” explained Chris. “He wanted to get even.”

  “Oh, man,” said Frank. “No wonder he wouldn’t tell me. He just said let’s go for a walk to the creek and bring Starky along. He knew Starky doesn’t get along with most other dogs.”

  They watched Steve walking away, his hands in his pockets.

  “It was partly my fault,” confessed Chris. “I could’ve stopped Patches if I’d yelled at him. I just let him go.”

  He felt Patches’ heart beating hard as he held the little animal close to him. The dog’s body felt hot. “Wonder if Coach Edson will be at practice tomorrow,” he said, changing the subject.

  “I don’t know. Steve said that we have a scrimmage game, with the Pipers. I hope Coach Edson will be there. I’m not crazy about playing under Herrick.”

  “Neither am I,” admitted Chris.

  When he got home he found that Mom had packed a picnic lunch. When Dad came home and washed up, the four of them (Patches was included), went to Rock Center Park and had their supper. Then they all went swimming and didn’t get home till after nine o’clock.

  Chris was glad to see Coach Edson at the scrimmage game the next day, Friday. But the coach was as quiet as he had been at the practice sessions, and Chris wondered how long it would be before he’d quit coming altogether.

  The coach selected Steve as captain. A man who had come to watch the game agreed to act as umpire and flipped a coin to see which team would bat first. The Pipers’ captain won the toss and chose to bat last.

  The teams went through their usual warm-ups. Then the Pipers ran out to the. field, and Tex Kinsetta, the Blazers’ leadoff hitter, stepped to the plate.

  Harvey Keller, the Pipers’ tall right-hander, breezed in his pitches with ease and ran the count to three balls and one strike. Then Tex socked a long ball to center, which the fielder nabbed for an easy out.

  Wally Munson grounded out on the first pitch, and Steve Herrick belted a pitch through short for a neat single. Steve had been avoiding Chris, as if he were ashamed of yesterday’s incident.

  Mick Antonelli, the powerhouse, came up. He tugged at his sleeves and dug his toes into the dirt; then popped up to the pitcher.

  Bill Lewis, pitching for the Blazers, seemed frightened when the first two Pipers hit safely. Then a strikeout and two grounders hit to the infield pulled him through.

  Spike Dunne, leading off in the top of the second inning, struck out; bringing up Chris. Chris was about to swing at Harvey’s first pitch, then decided against it. Strike one.

  Harvey couldn’t find the plate after that, and Chris walked. He perished on first, though, as Jack Davis flied out to left, and Frank Bellows grounded out to third.

  The Pipers’ leadoff man blasted a hit through second base, just a bit to Chris’s right side, which he missed by inches. The hit turned into the Pipers’ first run.

  “Just can’t field the balls hit on your right side, can you, Richards?” said Steve. His words felt like needle jabs. “You know what I’d do if I were coach, don’t you?”

  He didn’t say what he’d do, but Chris knew. He’d play Ken Lane at second, that’s what.

  Bill Lewis led off in the top of the third, and Harvey Keller again had difficulty getting a pitch over the plate. Bill walked.

  “Lay it down,” the coach advised Tex.

  Tex bunted the first pitch towards third, and Bill galloped to second safely. Tex was thrown out by four steps. Wally Munson tied his shoelaces before stepping into the batting box, then cracked a double, scoring Bill. The Blazers’ bench went wild.

  Steve stepped cockily to the plate, swung as hard as he could on two pitches, missed them both, and fell on his, rear after the second one.

  Nice show, thought Chris. Steve was always swinging for the fence.

  He corked the third pitch almost a half-mile into the sky. It paused, came down, and the third baseman caught it easily.

  Steve returned to the dugout, ignoring the snide remarks from the fans.

  Mick Antonelli took the “doughnut” off the fat part of his bat and walked up to the plate.

  “Drive me in, Mick!” Wally yelled from second base.

  Mick dropped to the dirt on Harvey’s first pitch, dusted himself off, and faced Harvey again. He looked determined not to let a good pitch go by him.

  And none did. Harvey’s next pitch, a chest-high fast ball, was met by Mick’s bat with a resounding whack and went singing over the shortstop’s head for a cool single. Wally scored, running well ahead of the ball the left fielder pegged in.

  Spike flied out, ending the top of the third inning.

  “Let’s hold ’em, Bill!” yelled Chris.

  The Piper leadoff drove a hot liner directly at Chris. It was like a rifle shot. Chris lifted his glove and boom! he had it.

  “Look what I’ve got!” cried Steve Herrick.

  Chris saw the grin on Steve’s face and grinned back. He had to force it; he couldn’t let Steve get under his skin all the time. Nothing would please the guy more.

  Two successive pop-ups quickly ended the Pipers’ half of the inning.

  In the top of the fourth Chris belted a single through short, then scored on Jack Davis’s triple to deep center field, putting the Blazers in the lead, 3 to 1. He headed for the dugout and plunked himself down beside the coach.

  “We missed you yesterday, Coach,” he said, not able to keep silent any longer. “Didn’t you feel well?”

  “No. And I don’t feel great now, either.” Coach Edson paused and began rubbing the thumbnail of his left hand. “I don’t know, Chris. I may
have to give up coaching. But I can’t just quit. I can’t let you guys down like that. No, sir. I’m not that sick.”

  “Can’t you get somebody to help you till you’re better?” asked Chris.

  “Who? I should have an assistant, but I can’t find one. Everybody seems to be too busy with his own work to give me any help.”

  Chris shook his head in sympathy for the coach, then turned his attention back to the game. Frank Bellows and Bill Lewis both grounded out. Tex singled, driving Davis home, and Wally struck out, ending the half-inning.

  The Pipers came to bat and really broke loose. The first batter hit a sizzling grounder through Chris’s legs that drew a groan from the Blazers’ fans. It also drew a snide remark from Steve Herrick.

  “Coach, when are you going to put Lane in there?” he yelled.

  The coach seemed not to have heard, but he must have.

  The second batter hit a slow grounder to short, which Jack Davis caught and pegged to second in an attempt for a double play. Chris missed the throw, drawing another yell from the fans—and from Steve.

  The next Piper cracked a hot grounder to second, which, this time, Chris caught. He pegged it home. Too high! A run scored, and the other two runners were safe on third and second.

  Successive hits brought in three more runs. When the wild bottom half of the inning was over, the Pipers were leading, 5 to 4, and Chris wished he had never seen a baseball.

  5

  STEVE HERRICK was first man up in the top of the fifth. He was chewing gum like crazy as he stood in the box, facing Harvey Keller.

  Keller wound up, delivered, and heaved a pitch so wild that not even the catcher could reach it.

  “Ball!” boomed the ump.

  The Pipers’ catcher trotted to the backstop screen, retrieved the ball, and pegged it to Keller. Keller’s next pitch cut the inside corner for a strike.

  His third pitch was about to groove the plate when Steve swung. Crack! The ball sailed out to deep left field and dropped over the fence for a home run. The Blazers’ bench whooped and hollered as Steve ran with long, easy strides around the bases.

  “Nice hit, Steve,” said Coach Edson softly.

  Steve touched hands with those extended to him, but he never looked up. Boy! thought Chris. What a peacock!

  Cleanup hitter Mick Antonelli tried to duplicate Steve’s clout but succeeded only in hitting the ball to the center fielder. Don Mitchell, batting for Spike Dunne, struck out.

  Chris, up next, wished that Coach Edson would suggest what to do. Hit away? Wait out the pitches? But the coach was silent, leaving the decision up to him. Chris decided to “wait ’em out.”

  The strategy worked. He walked.

  The coach then had Ken Lane bat for Jack Davis. Chris looked at Steve for his reaction and saw the tall, dark-haired boy looking directly at him. It was obvious what Steve was thinking. Why not substitute Ken for Chris? What was Chris doing that he should be kept in there?

  I’m hitting the ball, that’s what, thought Chris. But I wouldn’t expect Steve to consider that.

  Ken seemed nervous at the plate and whiffed on three straight pitches. Three outs.

  “Wonder why he had Ken bat for Jack?” said a disgruntled-sounding voice behind Chris as he trotted out to the infield.

  Chris looked around at Steve. “He wants to give every guy a chance, that’s why.”

  “I know,” said Steve. “But why Jack and not you? That’s what I’d like to know.”

  Chris blushed. “Mr. Edson is still coach, Herrick. Not you.”

  Their eyes caught and held for a moment. Then Steve looked away and ran to his spot at first base. Chris grinned to himself. It was seldom that he had the last word with Steve.

  The Pipers’ leadoff man fouled the first two pitches, then let the next three go by him. All were balls. He then hit the three-two pitch directly at Chris. The ball was a soft, high-hopping grounder. Chris ran in to the edge of the grass, fielded the hop, pivoted on his right foot, and pegged to first.

  A low throw! “Stretch!” yelled Chris. Instead, Steve waited for the ball to bounce to him. He missed it, and the hitter was safe.

  “Throw ’em up, will you?” yelled Steve angrily.

  “You should’ve stretched!” replied Chris.

  “Oh, sure!”

  Chris turned and kicked the dirt at his feet. He had to agree partly with Steve. The throw was poor but it wasn’t that bad. If Steve had stretched, he could have caught the ball.

  A double sent the runner around to third, putting the Pipers in excellent position to break the 5–5 tie.

  A hard, grass-cutting drive to Chris! He hardly had time to think about it as he reached for the hop, glanced at the runner on third, then whipped the ball on a bead to first. This time the throw was perfect. One out.

  “Nice play, Chris!” cried Tex Kinsetta from third. Sometimes, thought Chris as he pushed his glasses up on his nose, I have the feeling that Tex is the only friend I have.

  The next hit was a hard blow to short. It was in the air and Ken caught it without moving a step. Two outs.

  “He’s your man, Bill!” cried catcher Frank Bellows as another Piper stepped to the plate.

  “Strike!” yelled the ump as Bill grooved the first pitch.

  He delivered his second almost in the same spot. This time the batter swung. Crack! A devastating blow to right center! One run scored and then another. The hit was a three-bagger. And that was it for the Pipers as Bill fanned the next hitter.

  Frank led off in the top of the sixth, the last inning. Keller walked him. Bill bunted the first pitch down the first base line, advancing Frank to second, and Chris frowned disgustedly. The coach hadn’t signaled Bill to bunt.

  Why did he take it onto himself to do it? Even though the coach hadn’t advised the boys what to do more than two or three times during the game, that still didn’t give Bill the right to bunt on his own.

  Then Chris remembered that he had waited out Keller’s pitches when he had batted. Had he been right in doing so? He felt that that situation was different, though. He wasn’t sacrificing himself as Bill had done.

  Oh, man, they needed a good coach, all right. Needed one badly!

  Tex took a strike, then lambasted a pitch to center. It was caught for out two. Wally Munson hit the first pitch to short and was thrown out by a step. The game was over. Pipers 7, Blazers 5.

  “You and old buddy Herrick exchange a few words?” smiled Tex as he and Chris walked off the field together.

  “A few,” admitted Chris. “He thinks Ken should’ve taken my place instead of Jack’s.”

  “So what? Maybe the next time Coach’ll have Ken take your place. We’ve only got one sub infielder.”

  They reached Florida Avenue. “Did Mick tell you about his phone call last night?” asked Tex.

  Chris stared at him. “That guy called him, too?”

  Tex nodded. “Except that Mick hung up on him. He thought it was one of those crazy calls.”

  “What did the man say?”

  “He started to tell Mick how to improve on his outfield position. When Mick asked him who he was, he just said ‘Call me Coach,’ as he’d said to me, and Mick hung up.”

  “Isn’t that something?” said Chris. “I wonder who he is.”

  “What would you do if he called you?” asked Tex.

  “Me?” Chris thought a moment. “I don’t know.”

  He felt a shiver run up his spine. It must really be something to receive a call from a man who wouldn’t tell his name except to call him Coach, and to listen to him explain your mistakes playing baseball. It was more than something. It was weird.

  Then, at seven-thirty that evening, that was exactly what happened.

  “Just want to offer a couple of suggestions on how you can improve yourself at second base, Chris,” said the mild, pleasant voice. “Do you mind?”

  “Who—who is this?” asked Chris, his heart pounding.

  “Just call me Coach,”
came the gentle reply.

  6

  WELL … I … I don’t know,” answered Chris, his hand tightening on the receiver. “If you don’t tell me who you are …”

  “Well, I know how you feel about an anonymous call, Chris,” the voice broke in. “But this isn’t a call to scare you. I happen to be a baseball bug and all I’d like to do is offer you some pointers on how to improve your fielding skill, something your coach should be telling you, but isn’t. If you don’t want to listen, okay. I’ll hang up.”

  The line was silent as Chris pondered what to say. The man’s intention seemed sound and honest. Tex had said, too, that the only thing the man had talked about was his mistakes. And every bit of it had made sense.

  “Well …okay,” agreed Chris.

  “Thanks. Chris, you’re always playing in the same spot whether a left-handed hitter or a right-handed hitter is batting. Play about halfway between first and second base and deeper on a left-handed hitter. On a right-handed hitter play closer to second base. You’ll find that you’ll be catching a lot of balls that have been going for hits.”

  Chris listened attentively, realizing that there was a lot of sense in that.

  “One other thing for now, Chris. Bend your knees on low, sizzling grounders and get your glove down close to the ground. There you are, Chris. Work on those two pointers. You’ll not only be a better ball-player, but the teams you’re playing against won’t be scoring so much, either.”

  “Thanks, sir.”

  “Good night.”

  “Good night, Mr. …” He heard the phone click on the other end and remembered that he didn’t know the man’s name.

  “Who was that?” asked Dad. He was standing in the doorway, holding a newspaper.

  “I don’t know,” said Chris. “He wouldn’t tell me his name.”

  “Oh?” Dad frowned. “A stranger?”

  Chris looked at his father. “You and Mom warned me against talking to strangers, Dad, even over the telephone. But this was different.”

  “In what way?”