The Year Mom Won the Pennant Read online

  “Remember that incident,” Mom said. “If that ever happens to you, someone call for the ball. Don’t let it drop between you.”

  The two runs were all the Thunderballs scored that half-inning. In the top of the fourth Mike Todey, batting for Scotty Page, walked. Then Gale, pinch-hitting for Pat Krupa, walloped a home run over the left-field fence. Two singles and an error accounted for another run and the Thunderballs went into the lead, 5 to 3.

  Nick smiled as he trotted out to short, replacing Jim Rennie. It looked as if Mom’s Thunderballs were heading for their second straight victory.

  The Zebras squeezed in a run in the bottom of the fourth, but the Thunderballs got it back in the fifth. And then, in the bottom of the fifth, the Zebras pulled out all stops and really poured it on the Thunderballs. They collected five hits and four runs for a total of eight runs. The Thunderballs drew a goose egg in the sixth and that was it. The Zebras won 8 to 6.

  “Well,” Mom said, heaving a sigh, “we can’t win them all.”

  “We were just lucky to win the first one,” muttered Wayne Snow.

  Mom stared at him. “Lucky, did you say?”

  Wayne’s face turned cherry red. “Well, maybe we weren’t.”

  He climbed out of the dugout, picked up the catcher’s mitt, and shoved it inside the canvas bag where the other baseball equipment was kept. Then he hung around, cleaning his fingernails, while the color of his face gradually returned to normal.

  Mom looked at Wayne as if trying to figure him out. She told the boys to put the bats and balls into the bag and then put the bag into her car.

  “Come on, Wayne,” Mom said, when they were ready to leave. “You can ride with us as far as our house.”

  He seemed reluctant at first. Then he shrugged and got into the car. Nick thought that Mom would say something more to Wayne, but she didn’t. And he was glad. Wayne looked as if he didn’t care to talk about anything.

  Wayne helped Nick lift the equipment out of the car when they reached home. Wayne spotted the tent Dad had put in the yard for Nick. “That’s a beauty. Ever spend a night in it?”

  “Oh, sure,” said Nick. He met Wayne’s eyes. “Wayne, you’re not very happy about my mother’s coaching us, are you?”

  Wayne’s lips twitched. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “No. But that’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it? I wasn’t too happy about it at first, either. But nobody else will coach us. If she didn’t coach us, we wouldn’t have a team. Did you ask your dad if he’d like to coach us?”

  Wayne didn’t answer for a while. At last he said, “Your mother’s okay. I’m just not crazy about baseball. I’ve even thought of quitting. I don’t know. Maybe I will or maybe I won’t.

  He walked away. When he was halfway to the sidewalk, he turned and said over his shoulder, “So long. And thanks for the ride.”

  Nick frowned after him. Wayne quitting? Did he really mean it? He really was a strange kid. Why hadn’t he answered those questions about his father? What did his father do that made him unable to coach the team? Was it because he didn’t know enough about baseball? Or was it some other reason?

  Nick went into the house and saw that Dad was home. He certainly was putting in some long hours lately.

  “Dad, do you know Mr. Snow? Know what his job is?”

  Dad shrugged. “He’s an importer, I think. Brings goods in from abroad. Why?”

  “Wayne never talks about him.”

  “Maybe Wayne doesn’t know exactly what he does,” answered Dad.

  It sure seemed funny. He knew what his dad did.

  On Saturday afternoon Gale and Scotty came over and the three of them rode their skateboards down to the corner. They stopped in the drugstore for ice-cream cones and rode on the sidewalk on Columbus Street till they were opposite Wayne Snow’s house.

  Nick heard sharp, cracking sounds coming from the place, and saw baseballs flying through the air on the other side of the garage.

  “How do you like that?” he said. “He’s practicing batting! And the other day he said he didn’t like baseball!”

  8

  The boys picked up their skateboards and walked over to the other side of the garage.

  Johnny Linn, with a half dozen baseballs at his feet, was pitching them in to Wayne, who was standing with his back to the garage.

  “Hi!” greeted Nick. “Getting in some practice?”

  “Hi,” said Johnny.

  “Hi,” said Wayne, and shrugged. “I need it, don’t I?”

  “Thought you said you might quit baseball,” said Nick. “You wouldn’t do this if you were going to quit, would you?”

  Wayne shrugged. “I said it because I can’t hit. Then Johnny said he was willing to pitch to me.”

  “He said I could ride his horse,” Johnny said.

  “Let’s quit.” Wayne tossed his bat to the ground. “I’ve had enough, anyway.”

  Nick noticed a swimming pool to the left of the garage, encircled by a high wire fence. There was a small, child-size rowboat in the pool with oars inside it. There were several canvas lounging chairs and a sun umbrella, folded down over a table, along the side of the pool.

  This Wayne kid has everything, thought Nick. And what he didn’t have, he probably could get. All he had to do was ask for it. What a life!

  A car turned into the driveway. A long black sports car so clean and shiny you could see your reflection in it. It stopped and a young man in khaki shorts and a black T-shirt hopped out of it.

  “Hi, gang,” he called cheerfully, and looked at Wayne. “Sorry to bust up your fun, brother, but we’re driving up to the cottage.”

  Wayne frowned. “Now?”

  “Now. Get Mrs. Lane to pack your clothes. Make sure there’s enough for two weeks.”

  “Two weeks?”

  “Two weeks,” repeated his big brother. “Come on. Let’s go.” He bounded to the house in his white sneakers. Probably, thought Nick, they had a tennis court next to their cottage. And if the cottage was beside a lake, they probably had a boat, too.

  “Your mother and father, are they at the cottage?” Nick asked.

  “Just my mother,” replied Wayne. “She went there —” He faltered and swallowed. “Well, she’s been away a couple of days on business and went to the cottage when she got through. Dad’s going there later.”

  He didn’t seem impressed about going at all.

  “Wayne!” shouted his brother from the side porch of the house. “Are you coming or aren’t you?”

  “I’m coming,” said Wayne, not enthusiastically. “Nick, will you tell your mother that I won’t be at the games for the next couple of weeks? I hope she won’t have trouble getting somebody to catch.”

  “I’ll tell her,” said Nick.

  Suddenly he thought: Who else could catch for the Thunderballs? Boy! Mom’s headaches in coaching a baseball team were just beginning!

  9

  I think you’re the man to do it,” Mom announced after she and Nick had talked about the catching position for a while. “You’re strong and you have a good arm. A good arm’s a major ingredient for a catcher, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but I’ve never caught before, Mom. I don’t know anything about signals.”

  “One finger’s for a straight ball, two fingers for a hook,” explained Mom. “You don’t have to worry about that anyway. Johnny will be pitching against the Tornadoes. He knows the batters pretty well. If he doesn’t like what you’re calling for, he’ll shake it off.”

  She smiled as she said it, as if Johnny Linn were a big-leaguer or something. He didn’t say any more. Fact was, he could not think of anyone else on the team who had caught before either. And Wayne was going to be gone for two weeks. That meant that Nick would have to catch about four games.

  Jim Rennie, who was going to play shortstop, was a weak infielder, too. So there were two positions that had been weakened because of Wayne’s not playing. Nick shook his head sadly. He could see the Thunder-
balls coming out on the tail end of the next three or four games.

  Poor Mom! She’ll probably wish she hadn’t volunteered to take on a coaching job.

  Burt Stevens, the Tornadoes’ coach, hit hard grounders to his infielders and kept them hustling every minute. Nick knew what he must be thinking. Mr. Stevens had won the pennant the last two years and he wasn’t going to let a greenhorn coach stop him from winning it again this year.

  The Tornadoes, batting first, got on to Johnny’s pitching almost immediately. They chalked up two runs before the Thunder-balls could get them out.

  “That’s the way we’ll be getting them!” Bugs Wheeler yelled loud enough for everybody to hear. “Two runs at a time!”

  Nick felt his neck burn. How he hoped he could make Bugs eat those words!

  Bill Dakes walked and Jerry Wong singled to get them off to a good start. But Nick hit into a double play, and Tom Warren flied out to left, ending the half-inning without a run.

  In the top of the second, the Tornadoes didn’t score either.

  “Where are those two runs, Bugs?” Nick yelled across the diamond.

  “We’ll make it up the next time!” Bugs yelled back.

  The Thunderballs picked up one run on Mike’s single and a triple by Pat Krupa. The Tornadoes came back with a run in the top of the third. But it was only one run, not two. And then there was a shout from one of the guys and Nick saw Wayne Snow come trotting around the corner of the dugout.

  “Wayne!” he shouted, followed by a similar chorus from the other guys. “Am I glad to see you!”

  Wayne was in uniform, ready to play. His face beamed. “My brother drove me down,” he explained. “He’s going to do it every time we have a game. He doesn’t mind. It’s only sixty miles to our cottage.”

  Only sixty miles, thought Nick. Ron probably covered it in no time in that sports car of his.

  “I’m glad to see you, too, Wayne,” said Mom. “When this half-inning’s over, take over the catching job from Nick. I’m sure he won’t mind.” She looked from Nick to Jim, as if trying to decide which to let play shortstop. Then she said, “Jim, let Nick take over short, will you?”

  “Sure, Coach,” Jim said.

  Nick knew that making a decision between him and Jim was tough. Mom didn’t want anyone to feel that she was favoring him. But in this game, it seemed best that he play.

  Bill Dakes led off with a single over second and Jerry advanced him to third on a double to left center field. It seemed that their hitting streak ended right there, for Nick grounded out to first and Tom Warren fanned. Then Russ walked, loading the bases.

  “You want Wayne to bat for me?” Jim asked Mom. He had his helmet on, ready to go to the plate.

  “With the bases filled?” Mom smiled. “No, Jim. You get up there and hit the ball. Drive in those runs.”

  Jim walked to the plate, settled his helmet better on his head, and waited for the pitch from Bob Kreel, the Tornadoes’ tall right-hander.

  “Strike one!” yelled the ump as Bob breezed the ball past Jim.

  The next was a ball. So was the next. Then Jim tagged one. A long high fly toward the left-field fence. The Tornadoes’ outfielder ran back after it, but it was no use. It went over the fence for a grand-slam homer.

  Everyone, including Mom, jumped out of the dugout and slapped Jim’s hand as he trotted in. And the Thunderballs’ fans yelled as they had never yelled before. Mike flied out, ending the rally. Tornadoes 3-Thunder-balls 5.

  Then the Tornadoes started rolling. They didn’t stop until they had collected three runs, surging ahead of the Thunderballs 6 to 5.

  “Hey, Thunderballs! We’re just kidding with you!” yelled a Tornado sitting on the bench. “Watch what happens the next two innings!”

  “You watch, too!” snorted Gale. “Because you’re not going to do anything!”

  Mom smiled at him. “Thataway, Gale. Let’s show them that we’re not kidding.”

  10

  Cyclone batted for Pat in the bottom of the fourth and slammed a two-one pitch to deep center. It looked good until the center fielder reached up his gloved hand and pulled it out of the air.

  Johnny Linn grounded out on the first pitch and Bill Dakes flied out to right. It was a fast half-inning.

  The Tornadoes connected with two clean hits through the infield. Then Nick made a nice stop at short and threw the ball to Bill to start a double play. Too wide! One run scored! Scotty Page, who had taken Mike’s place in right field, retrieved the ball and pegged it in.

  Nick tightened his lips with disgust. He had been too hasty and not careful. There were still two men on — one on first, the other on third. “C’mon, Johnny! C’mon, kid! They won’t do it again, Johnny!”

  A long fly to deep center. Jerry Wong caught it, pegged it in. Bill caught the peg and relayed it home, but not in time. The runner had tagged up at third and scored. Johnny fanned the next two batters to retire the side. But the Tornadoes had chalked up two runs to boost their total to 8.

  Jerry, leading off in the bottom of the fifth, received a nice ovation as he strode to the plate. That was a good catch he had made in center field. He took a called strike, a ball, then belted a hard grounder through the pitcher’s box for a single. Nick, up next, socked a hard grounder to second. The second baseman fumbled it and Nick was safe at first, Jerry safe at second.

  Gale, batting for Tom Warren, blasted a double between left and center, scoring Jerry. But the fielder retrieved the ball quickly and the coach held Nick up at third.

  No outs so far. Nick wished that somebody would hit him in. But Russ struck out, Wayne popped to short, and Scotty flied to left. Dismally Nick shook his head, picked up his glove, and ran out to his position.

  In the top of the sixth, the Tornadoes picked up another run to help make their lead more secure — 9 to 6. It was the Thunderballs’ last chance at bat. Their last chance to overtake the Tornadoes.

  The Thunderballs’ bench was silent as Cyclone put on his helmet, picked up his bat, and went to the plate.

  “What is this?” said Mom. “A funeral wake? Let’s hear some chatter. Come on. Look alive!”

  Across the way, on the Tornadoes’ bench, Nick saw a smug look on Coach Stevens’s face, as if the coach was having the time of his life. If only the Thunderballs could do something to wipe that smile off, thought Nick. If only he could do something. But he was fifth to bat and might not get his chance.

  The first pitch to Cyclone. He swung. A single over short! Then Johnny belted a low pitch that glanced off the pitcher’s left foot and sailed through the space between first and second. Bill Dakes hit a grounder to the shortstop’s right side. The shortstop fielded it and threw to second, getting out Johnny. The second baseman pegged to first to try for a double play, but Bill Dakes beat the throw by a step. One away, runners on first and third.

  The Thunderballs’ fans were roaring now. “Keep it up, Jerry!” one of them yelled. “Let’s turn this game upside down!”

  Nick, on one knee in front of the dugout, hoped Jerry would get a hit. A double play would end the game, and Nick wanted so much to bat again and have a chance to wipe that smug look off Coach Stevens’s face.

  Bob Kreel stretched, delivered. Ball one. The next was a strike. Then Jerry swung at a high one and popped it up. Two outs. Winning sure looked impossible.

  “Tag it, Nick,” said Gale. “Save me a rap.”

  Nick tugged at his helmet and stepped to the plate. Bob Kreel stretched, pitched. “Strike!” yelled the ump.

  Then, “Strike two!” Nick stepped out of the box and glanced at the umpire. He didn’t like that call but he said nothing.

  “Ball!”

  One and two was the count. The next pitch came in and Nick swung. Crack! A long, high fly heading for the left-field fence! The fielder ran back . . . back . . . Over the fence it went! A home run!

  Nick circled the bases, a grin on his face as he crossed the plate. The whole gang, including Mom, rushed from the d
ugout to give him high-fives.

  “It’s all tied up!” Mom exclaimed. “One more run to go!”

  “There you are, Gale!” Nick said with a smile.

  Gale grinned. “Thanks, Nick.” He took a called strike, then smashed a searing double to left field!

  Russ Gray was next up to bat.

  “Drive him in, Russ!” yelled Mom. “A single will do it!”

  Bob Kreel took his time. He threw nothing good in his first three pitches. Then he poured in a strike, then another for a three-two count. His next was good, too. Russ belted it. A clean single over short! Gale scored and the game was over. Thunderballs 10 — Tornadoes 9.

  Coach Stevens came over and shook Mom’s hand. “Congratulations, Coach,” he said, smiling broadly. “You came through like a veteran.”

  Mom smiled pleasantly. “Thank you, Coach. Maybe we were a little . . . lucky?”

  Nick felt that Mom was really enjoying the moment, paying back Coach Stevens a little of the needling he and his team had been giving her and the Thunderballs.

  Coach Stevens cleared his throat. “Well, I can’t say that. Your boys were hitting very well toward the end. But don’t worry,” he added, chuckling, “you don’t think for a minute that I’m going to let you beat me out of another pennant, do you?”

  Mom shrugged as if the idea had not occurred to her before. “It would be something to remember, wouldn’t it?” she said.

  11

  A thought occurred to Nick right after dinner the next day. It was a hot, sticky night. Nobody was home at the Snows. Nobody would know . . .

  “Hey, guys,” he said to Gale and Scotty when they came over. “Let’s go swimming in Wayne Snow’s swimming pool. Nobody’s home there. Why let that big beautiful pool go to waste?”

  “How about their housekeeper?” questioned Scotty. “Isn’t she there?”

  “She lives in her own home. She wouldn’t be there now.” The idea appealed to him more and more.