Mystery Coach Page 4

  “Start it off, Spike,” said Coach Edson.

  Steve looked at him in surprise, then at Chris. Hey! He’s alive! his expression seemed to say.

  Spike cracked out a double and the Blazer fans cheered. “Keep it going, Blazers!” yelled a fan.

  They didn’t. Ken, pinch-hitting for Chris, grounded out, Jack fanned, and Frank hit an easy grounder to first.

  The Scorpions managed to put two hits back to back at their turn at bat in the top of the sixth, resulting in another run. That was all, but it was plenty. The Blazers drew a goose egg and the game was over, the Scorpions winning it, 10 to 4.

  “You still think we have a chance?” Steve asked bitterly as he walked off the field with Chris, Ken and Tex.

  “Yes, I do,” replied Chris. “I haven’t changed my mind.”

  That evening the phone rang, and Chris jumped with a start from his chair. His first thought was that the caller was the mystery coach.

  It was Tex and his voice was quivering with excitement.

  “Chris! Spike Dunne just called me! He got a call from the coach, too!”

  “The mystery coach?”

  “Right!”

  “What did he say?”

  “He told Spike to move over about ten feet toward center field on a right-handed hitter and closer toward the right field foul line on a left-handed hitter. Apparently Spike always played in the same spot regardless of who batted.”

  Chris pondered a thought, then said, “Tex, do you think he’d coach us if we asked him?”

  “That’s an idea. But we don’t know who he is, and who he’s going to call next. How can we ask him?”

  “I know,” admitted Chris. “But that’s only one problem. The other problem is Coach Edson himself. He’s not doing the team any good, and we can’t tell him to leave. If he’s sick now he’ll be sicker if we tell him how we feel.”

  “Maybe he’d get the hint if we picked up another coach,” said Tex.

  “Maybe he would. I don’t know, Tex. I hate to agree with Herrick and Antonelli, but I’m afraid we are falling apart.”

  “Yeah. Me, too,” said Tex sadly.

  The second league game was against the Gators, a team considered the one to beat if the Blazers expected to stay in the league and climb to the top of the heap.

  The chief worry now wasn’t the Gators, however. It was Coach Edson. He might as well have stayed home rather than sit on the bench and just be a spectator. Even some of the spectators were offering more advice than he was.

  But who, among the Blazers, would tell him to quit?

  Chris glanced at the team members sitting with him on the bench. All of them seemed as empty of spirit as a deflated balloon was of air. And what put them in such a mood? Not having a coach who cared!

  “Is the lineup the same as it was before, Coach Edson?” asked Steve Herrick, swinging a bat with a “doughnut” on it.

  “No change,” answered the coach quietly.

  Tex Kinsetta led off. He went the full count, three-two, then walked. Mitch Rogers, the Gators’ tall, red-headed pitcher, kicked the dirt in front of the rubber as if that were where his problem was, then got into position as Wally Munson came to bat.

  Wally took a two-two count, then blasted a pitch to short center. The fly was caught and Tex trotted back to first.

  Steve Herrick, in spite of drilling two foul balls over the fence, flied out to left for the second out. Mick Antonelli socked Mitch’s first pitch through the hole between third and short for a single, then Spike Dunne walked, filling the bases.

  Chris stepped to the plate, welcomed by a thunderous cry from the Blazer fans.

  He took a called strike, then two balls. The next pitch was in there, and he swung. A pop-up to second base.

  Disgusted, he tossed the bat aside and started to walk toward first. He watched the ball descend, the second baseman waiting for it. The ball struck the player’s glove —then dropped to the ground!

  In a flash Chris spurted for first base. At the same time the Gator second baseman picked up the ball, and fired it. The throw beat Chris by three steps.

  “Out!” yelled the ump.

  Chris, head bowed, walked back to the dugout, got his glove and ran out to his position at second. A fan yelled, “Always run ’em out, Chris!”

  He hoped he’d never forget that advice.

  The Gators got, onto Abe Ryan’s pitches for two hits and two runs to go into a quick lead, 2 to 0.

  “It could’ve been two and two,” said Steve as he ran in with Chris at the end of the first inning.

  Chris looked at him but said nothing.

  Jack Davis started off the second inning with a single over second on Mitch Rogers’ first pitch. Frank Bellows flied out, then Abe Ryan singled through short, advancing Jack to second.

  Tex was up next. Chris saw him glance at the coach for a sign, but the coach was sitting with his arms Crossed over his chest, his head back against the dugout wall and his eyes, of all things, closed!

  He’s asleep! thought Chris disbelievingly. But, as he looked closer, he saw that the coach’s eyes were really open.

  Crack! A hard grounder to second. The Gator second baseman caught the hop, dropped it, picked it up, and shot it to first. Out!

  Men on second and third, and Wally Munson came to bat. He belted a soft pitch over short, and Spike Dunne, coaching at third, windmilled Jack in. The throw-in from left field was late and Jack scored. Steve, swinging for the fence, flied out to left. Three outs.

  Blazers 1, Gators 2.

  The Gators’ leadoff man drilled a pitch directly at Chris. The ball never climbed more than six feet and. Chris nabbed it for the out. Abe mowed down the next Gator on strikes, then spoiled matters by hitting the next batter on the thigh.

  A soft grounder to short, which the shortstop muffed, advanced the runner to second and scored a hit for the batter. That was the extent of it. The next Gator bounced a pitch back at Abe and Abe fired it to first for a fast out. Three outs.

  Mick led off in the top of the third and flied out. Spike struck out, and Chris stepped to the plate, wondering if he was to be the third victim. He took a ball, then two strikes, then blasted a hit to deep left. He rounded first … second … and started for third. Steve, coaching there, waved him back.

  Jack Davis grounded out, and that was it.

  The Gators came to bat. The leadoff man, a lefty, bunted safely down to third, then advanced to second on a sacrifice bunt. Two consecutive hits put two runs across, and the Gators led, 4 to 1.

  Frank Bellows, leading off for the Blazers, belted the first pitch for a long triple. Abe grounded out. Frank stayed on third, not daring to take the chance to run in.

  Mitch Rogers wiped his face with the back of his glove, then breezed in a low pitch to leadoff hitter Tex Kinsetta. Smack! A single through short, and Frank scored.

  Wally fouled three pitches, then flied out to left, and up came Steve Herrick. He drilled a long foul to left, then uncorked the big one—a long home run over the left field fence.

  “Thatta way to go, Steve!” yelled Ken Lane as Steve trotted around the bases.

  Mick Antonelli kept up the rally with a single. But Don Mitchell, pinch-hitting for Spike, flied out and the big half-inning was over.

  Blazers 4, Gators 4.

  “Okay, guys!” cried Steve as the team ran out to the field. “Let’s hold ’em!”

  Hold ’em they did. But the Gators held the Blazers from scoring in the fifth too, and came to bat in the bottom of the inning with their big guns leading off. The bats of the big guns boomed to the tune of one run, putting them ahead, 5 to 4.

  Tex beat out a scratch hit to short, but both Wally and Steve got out, leaving the Blazers a very slim chance of winning. Mick walked, and Don came up, anxiously swinging his bat at the first pitch. Crack! A long fly to center. It was caught and the game was over.

  Blazers 4, Gators 5.

  “That’s three games in a row we’ve lost, Coach Edson,”
said Chris.

  “The first was a practice game,” countered the coach, popping the baseballs into a blue bag. “Don’t worry. We’ll get going.”

  “When?” asked Steve.

  The coach looked at him. He zippered up the bag and rose to his feet. He was just a couple of inches taller than Steve.

  “Steve, you think I don’t know what you and the rest of the boys have been saying about me?”

  Steve blushed. So did Chris. They looked at each other, then at the other boys standing nearby, then at the coach.

  “I know,” said the coach, “and I can’t blame you. I know I’m not doing the job I should, but I can’t help it. I haven’t felt well, but I didn’t want to quit coaching.” He paused as he looked at the faces around him. “My doctor told me to take it easy. I guess I have been. Too easy.”

  A smile cracked Chris’s face, and then Steve’s.

  “Get another coach if you can,” suggested Coach Edson. “But it’s not easy. I know. A lot of men were asked to coach before me. Perhaps things have changed in the last three years. I don’t know. But try. Don’t worry, I won’t get sore. I’m all for it. I just didn’t want you boys to play without a coach, that’s all. It’s my job. I promised you I’d do it, but I didn’t know my health was going to go bad. That’s something no one knows.”

  The boys looked at him solemnly.

  “Git, now,” he ordered. “You look sicker than I do. And don’t worry. Losing another game won’t stop the world.”

  10

  THE PHONE rang at seven-thirty that evening and Chris’s heart jumped as he ran to answer it.

  “Hello?”

  “Chris?”

  Chris relaxed, disappointed. He had hoped it would be the mystery coach.

  “Hi, Wally.”

  “I just got a call from that guy you said had been calling up you and Tex and other guys on our team,” said Wally nervously.

  “What did he say?”

  “He said that I should’ve bunted in the first inning to get Tex on second base in position to score. I told him that Mr. Edson was our coach, and he didn’t tell me to bunt or not to bunt, so I hit. He said he understood, and then he apologized.”

  “His idea makes sense,” said Chris, recalling the situation. “Tex could’ve advanced to third on Steve’s fly and scored on Mick’s single. We would’ve had a run in that first inning.”

  The line was silent a moment, then Wally exclaimed, “Hey, that’s right!”

  Ten minutes later the phone rang again. This time it was Tex. He, too, had received a call from the mystery coach.

  “He said I played too deep on that left-handed leadoff man in the third inning,” said Tex. “If I had played in, the guy wouldn’t have bunted. Remember? He got a hit out of it, then advanced to second on the next batter’s sacrifice bunt.”

  “I remember,” replied Chris. “That’s all he told you?”

  “Well … he said I was hitting pretty good.”

  Chris could picture Tex smiling proudly as he said that. “Good,” he said, grinning. “See you, Tex.”

  He had hardly hung up when the phone rang again. He picked it up, thinking it was still another member of the Blazers. It wasn’t. The sound of the soft, deep-throated voice made his heart pound.

  “Chris? This is Coach again. Tough game to lose, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” said Chris, breathing hard. “It sure was. Did … did you see it?”

  “Oh, I saw it, all right. And I know how you must’ve felt when you didn’t run out that pop fly that the Gators’ second baseman missed.”

  Chris nodded, admitting his laziness to the unseen speaker. “I’ll never let that happen again,” he promised.

  The mystery coach chuckled. “I’m sure that’ll stick in your mind for a long time,” he said. “By the way, that was a nice catch you made.”

  “Thanks, sir.”

  “Good night, Chris.”

  “Sir!”

  “Yes, Chris?”

  “Sir, Coach Edson isn’t well. He’s coming to our games only because he feels he’s obligated to. But he’s not telling us what to do, and we … we’re lost, sir. He said he’d quit if we can get another coach.” Chris paused and lifted his glasses slightly on his nose. “Would … would you coach us, sir?”

  There was a long silence while Chris waited patiently for the mystery coach’s answer.

  Finally it came. “Thanks, Chris, but I can’t. Good night.”

  The phone clicked on the other end and Chris hung up, his heart heavy. There, down the drain, went the best possibility for a coach.

  He sat there a long while, thinking of the men he knew who could be available as coaches. There seemed to be a lot of them, but nearly all of them were already involved in other youth projects. Then he thought of Steve Herrick. Had Steve asked his father yet? He decided he’d call.

  He looked up the Herricks’ number in the directory, then dialed it.

  “Hello?” said a woman’s voice.

  “Mrs. Herrick?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Chris Richards. Is Steve there?”

  “Just a minute, please.” There was a pause, then Steve’s voice answered. “Hello?”

  “Steve? This is Chris. Have you asked your father yet about coaching us?”

  “No.”

  “You going to?”

  “No, because I’m sure he won’t. Is that all you want to ask me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. Good-bye,” said Steve, and hung up.

  11

  TEX CAME to the house the next day on his bike, bringing along his swimming trunks. Chris got his and together they rode to Dutchmen’s Creek. Patches, as usual, trailed along.

  They had been swimming for almost half an hour when Ken Lane stopped by. Chris frowned. “Where’s Steve?” he asked.

  “He and his mother went to Knoxville,” replied Ken. He dropped on the grass, broke off a blade and stuck it between his teeth. “Hear the news?”

  The boys looked at him. “What news?”

  “Coach Edson was taken to the hospital.”

  “Oh, no!” cried Chris. “What happened?”

  “He has a kidney disease. His wife called my mother and told her.”

  “No wonder he wasn’t well!” said Tex. “What’re we going to do now? Fold up?”

  Ken shrugged. “Might as well. We’re just making chumps of ourselves, anyway.”

  Chris stared at him. “Is that what Steve says, too?”

  “Sure. And I agree with him.”

  Chris looked at him awhile, and finally asked, “Ken, have you ever tried to think for yourself?”

  Ken’s face reddened. He yanked a handful of grass out of the ground and stared at Chris. “Steve and I are friends. We think alike. Okay?”

  He got up, started to leave, and looked over his shoulder. “I didn’t want to tell you this yet, but now I will. Besides a coach, you’ll need a new infield sub and a guy to fill in the third spot in the Blazers’ batting order. See ya.”

  With that he ran off, singing some rock tune.

  “He’s lying,” said Chris, watching Ken vanish behind the trees. “He made up that lie on the spot.”

  “But what’re we going to do about a coach, Chris?” Tex sounded worried. “Ken’s right when he said we’d be making chumps of ourselves.”

  Chris shook his head. “I don’t know what we’re going to do, Tex,” he said dismally.

  The next morning they picked up the baseball equipment from Coach Edson’s house, but when the game was supposed to start the following afternoon, Chris wasn’t sure whether the Blazers would be able to field nine men. After that angry remark Ken had made to Chris at Dutchmen’s Creek yesterday, it was just possible that both he and Steve wouldn’t be at the park.

  And they weren’t. Every single Blazer was present except Steve Herrick and Ken Lane.

  The rats, thought Chris. The crummy rats. They had let Coach Edson down.

  Wel
l, they still had enough men to field a team. But who was going to run it? Somebody had to.

  “Chris, it looks like you’ll have to be our captain,” said Tex. “I’ve talked with the guys and they’ve agreed that you’re the only one who can do it.”

  Chris looked at the faces around him. Long, sad faces. They know we don’t have a chance of winning, he thought. They’re only here because of Coach Edson.

  And then Tex let out a wild yell. “Hey, Chris! Look!”

  Chris looked, and so did everyone else. There, coming through the gate at the left of the grandstand, were Steve Herrick and Ken Lane—pushing a man in a wheelchair!

  “Who’s that?” Chris asked.

  “I don’t know!” Tex answered.

  Steve and Ken pushed the man towards the dugout. A silence hung like a heavy veil as the man smiled and looked at the boys facing him. He was in his late fifties, gray-haired, and wore a white, short-sleeved shirt.

  “Hello, boys,” he said in a soft, moderate voice. “I’m Mr. Herrick, Steve’s father.”

  Chris stared and exchanged a look with Tex. No wonder Steve hadn’t wanted to ask his father to coach the team. He was probably embarrassed to let anyone know that his father was an invalid and unable to coach!

  And then Steve said quietly, “My father said he’d coach us.”

  The words hung in the air a moment, thickening the silence. And then everything shattered as a loud, happy shout exploded from the boys. Chris felt his heart melt, and he threw his arms around Tex.

  “Oh, boy! Finally!” he cried.

  “Well, at least till you get another coach,” Mr. Herrick said.

  The boys looked at each other, their faces shining with a glow that Chris hadn’t seen in a long time. Another coach? Now that they had Mr. Herrick why would they want to look for another one?

  “Well, let’s get cracking,” Mr. Herrick exclaimed, taking a pencil and pad out of his shirt pocket. “Is all the equipment here?”

  Chris was staring at him—and thinking hard. Something was nudging at his mind, causing a bubbling inside him.

  “Well?” Mr. Herrick grunted, his eyes sweeping the boys.

  “Yes, sir, it is!” said Chris, his heart pounding.