81 – Warming Up and First Inning

81 – Warming Up and First Inning

By Aramis Thorn

Here is the first installment of the short story as promised, Enjoy

Warming Up

The kid, number 81 had done well in the bullpen.  He had thrown soft easy stuff just to get his arm warm and loose. It was time to head out to the field.  Crackerjack tucked the dangling leather lace on his catcher’s mitt into the worn loop above it.  He had been doing this since his first season in peewee league when he had only a third hand catcher’s mitt.  Jack knows that he needs a new catcher’s mitt.  This one is beaten and battered.  The padding has worn thin.  He was unwilling to part with one that had seen him through the last two seasons.  Gone were the days when Rawlings, Wilson, and Spalding sent new ones to him at spring training.  Gone were the endorsements of his youth.  Jack “Crackerjack” Morris had begun to live up to his nickname.  He still liked to hear kids call it from the outfield stands as he made his way to from the bullpen to the bench. 

In his rookie year he had earned the name because his mother had sent him a case of Crackerjack to give to the children during his first professional game.  The tradition had lasted for twelve years.  At about the same time as the fans lost interest in the snack giveaway the Crackerjack people lost interest in Morris, and the loud crack in his knees had begun.  Many doctors and trainers had concluded that the cause was inconclusive.  There was no pain or limitation of movement bur there was much rumination and speculation over the odd loud sound. The sound and the nickname endured.

These days Jack always secreted a couple of balls away from the pitching bucket and threw them to kids in 

the outfield stands.  He knew that he was playing in the September of his career.  He wanted to give away baseballs to every kid who knew his name.  He still caught well and had a cannon shot to second base.  He could calm a pitcher who was rattled before the umpire got impatient and made some wise crack about finishing the game before breakfast.

He had not been tagged to start a game since before the all-star break.  Long gone were also the years where he had been a sure thing on the all-star card.  Those were the days of high summer in his career.  He had spent six consecutive summers as the starting catcher in the National League.  He had enjoyed two more as the second choice and another three as the guy nobody wished to leave out of the all-star balloting.

He had eleven carefully preserved all-star jerseys in his storage room at home.  They were not treasured for their value. Jack did not even know that the second one was worth thousands of dollars to collectors.  His wife, Nancy would learn that when she held an estate sale just a couple of years hence.  Jack loved baseball and each of those jerseys reminded him that for a season the fans loved him.

Tonight, however, his mission was clear.  He had been started to keep a rookie pitcher calm and productive.  This was to be Joe Zander’s first start as a major league pitcher.  Joe was brought up from Durham to fill out the card for the final week of the season.  It looked like the team could clinch their first division pennant in six years.  The fans were happy.  The calls were going their way.  Even Jack had hit solidly his last two pinch hits.  A double and a game winning single.

This game held that rare and untested quality so loved by those who love baseball.  A brand new rookie was going to face real batters in the show.  Word was that that kid had a screaming two seam and four seam fast ball, a demure slider, and a shameless inside curve.  Jack had also heard that Joe seemed aloof when it came to the big show.  Pete Timmons, the usual starting catcher had worked with the kid since he came up from Durham last week.  The younger catcher observed that Joe showed the same emotion over pitching as he did eating or riding on the bus.  He was mostly unflappable.  It was Jack’s job to see there were no flaps for the next nine innings.

Jack settles in behind the plate after passing the kid at the mound.  His only words as he passes are simple, “You’re already warm.  Just toss the eight and make the last one some heat.  Get used to the noise and the clamor.”  The two had reviewed signals and strategy in the bull pen.

It was Jack’s ritual to muss the back inside corners of the batter’s boxes before he took the final eight.  He knew that doing this was a part of the batting ritual of many players.  He did to tamper with their routine.  He would muss the corners, take the eight, move over to the sidelines for the National Anthem, and then take his place at the plate.  He hunkered down and gave the signal for the slider.  The ball came in hot and on ta

rget.  It looked like it would not break until it did.  Pitching is beautiful in that you make the ball lie about what it is doing.  This ball lied all the way to the glove.

Crackerjack just happened to glance at the speed clock in center field.  It registered 96 mph.  From behind him Jack heard the unmistakable sound of Garner Patch.  Garner was the most deep fried, cat headed, grits in his mouth southern umpire the league had ever seen.  He also had the most predictable strike zone in baseball.  Garner’s thick voice echoed Jack’s thoughts, “Your new boy is likely to throw it all away before the chickens wake up.”

Jack turns to the giant man in black.  “If he does I am likely to end up back in Durham with him.”

Garner nodded. “It would be a shame to see that.  You’re one of the only catchers I like.”

Jack turned back around and signaled for a curve.  He set up as if catching a right handed batter and barely had time to react as the ball looked outside and then shot in and across the plate.  So he had a screwball in his pack as well. 

Quietly Garner quipped, “That was a Steeerike son, but I did not think a ball could move that fast and move sideways.”

Jack looked at the speed clock on purpose this time.  92 mph.  The big red letters explained the movement and the surprise. The next five pitches were equally fast and accurate.  As planned he signaled 1 for the fastball on the eighth pitch.  The time from pitcher’s hand to catcher’s mitt was almost irrelevant. The red clock in center field told the tale.  102 mph.

Jack Morris worried all through the anthem.  He sang from his heart as he always did.  He did not hear the cheers at the end.  The chant of the crowd was lost as he focused on how to keep this kid from ruining his big break by burning up in the first two innings.

First Inning

Pitch 01

“Play ball,” bellows Garner Patch.  Jack can feel spittle hit the back of his neck.

Frank “Stretch” Franklin steps into the batter’s box.  He has the biggest Steeerike zone in the major leagues.  That makes it necessary for him to be an aggressive hitter.  This makes him an often time success.  He holds the record for the most lead off hits in baseball.  Jack nods to Zander and signals the curve.  The right handed first baseman sees the ball release and relaxes to take the pitch.  The ball obeys the pressure of physics caused by air, velocity, and seams.  It sails sideways dissecting the plate in a prefect deceptive arc.

“Steeerike One!” calls Patch applying more spittle to Jack’s neck.

“What was that?’ quips Stretch.

“A curve ball,” Rejoins Jack.

Pitch 02

Jack catches the pitch clock as he lobs the ball back to Joe.  90 mph.  Maybe the kid does not have a low speed pitch.  To Jack this  means that Joe will soon be a one or two inning closer if he stays in the majors at all. Jack signals the curve again, but to the outside.  Joe nods his understanding.  The catcher sets up for the outside pitch

Stretch sees the release again and gives his tell.  He thinks a fastball is headed straight down the pipe.  His back foot moves to the back of the box.  Tension flows through his body and courses toward his shoulders.  The veteran player pulls the trigger and swings.  The ball obeys the laws of the universe and sails sideways and downward moving right to left.  Stretch swings a full quarter second before the curve ball hits Jack’s mitt.

“Steeerike Two!” yells Patch.  Both batter and catcher remain silent.  Only Jack is smiling. 

Pitch 03

The red LEDs in the outfield read 91 mph.  Consistent on both sides of the plate is good.  Jack knows what Joe wants.  He wants to finish him with the heat.  The veteran catcher ponders a moment before he throws back the ball.  Should they wait a batter or two? 

Jack settles on his haunches and signals a changeup.  Joe nods.

“Time for the heat,” observes Stretch.

Jack grunts and sets up for the pitch.  Joe winds up and delivers.  Stretch completes his swing a full half second before the ball reaches the plate.

“Steeerike three.  You’re out batter,” spits the umpire.

Jack simply smiles as he tosses the ball to third base sending it on its traditional journey “around the horn.”  He reads the speed clock.  78 mph is a perfect changeup.  One batter down and Joe Zander looks as if he has just ordered pizza and a Coke.  He takes the toss from first base with barely a look in that direction.  Zander smiles back at Jack briefly and then watches Paul Simmons approach the batter’s box.

Pitch 04

Paul Simmons is a great right fielder and consistent hitter.  He crowds the plate and also has trouble with the curve.  Jack ponders the Clint Eastwood movie for a moment then signals curve to the mound.  He wants to start Simmons inside and back him off from the plate.

Zander winds up and delivers.  Simmons is sure the pitch is outside.  Then too late he realizes the ball is moving toward the plate.  It is said that only umpires and catchers see the millimeters that separate the distance between ball and bat on a swing and miss.  Crackerjack sees the light between white leather and tan wood and knows the ball will land safely in his well-worn catcher’s mitt. 

“Steeerike one,” barks Patch.

Simmons merely grunts. “I’ll get the next one.”

Jack smiles. The red lights mutely report 90 mph.

Pitch 05

Jack smiles again and signals for the same pitch.  Simmons is back from the plate this time just as is intended.  Jack gives the secondary signal that means to put something on it.  Joe nods and allows the barest trace of a smile to race across his countenance.  Joe winds, pauses, and delivers.

Again the ball lies and lies.  It promises to go wide.  It swears it is a fastball outside the strike zone.  It tells Simmons to wait for the next pitch.  Simmons believes the lie and waits as the ball curves inward and dives into the strike zone.

“Steeerike two,” Yells Patch.  He mumbles, “That one almost fooled me.”

Simmons wants to argue the call but knows the ball crossed the plate.  He just does not understand how the first baseman threw it without being seen.

Patch notices the pitch clock.  “I have never seen a 96 mph curve ball.  I think I just saw a miracle.”  Jack squats and nods.  He knows it is time for the heat. He knows it is not time for all of it. 

Pitch 06

Returning the ball to Joe, Morris nods slightly.  Batter and catcher adjust their positions around the plate.  He notices that Simmons has crowded the plate again.  Crackerjack Morris holds a holy belief.  It is this:  in a team’s home stadium that plate belongs to two people; the pitcher and the catcher.  Batters are just visiting and should be more polite.  Jack signals number one; the fastball.  He signals for inside and for the low end of the speed. 

Simmons tenses.  Zander deals.  Jack notices that the kid is grinning as he releases.  The ball traverses the distance between pitcher and catcher in just under half a second.  Simmons thinks the ball will hit him. He scoots back dramatically hoping the umpire will call it a ball. 

“Steeerike three; you’re out,” calls the umpire.  Garner Patch uses his grand out call gesture.  He hates when batters try to bait him.

Ever the arrogant arguer Simmons questions the call.  Garner warns him that he does not want to start things this early.  Simmons retreats to the dugout mumbling in disgust.  Jack is both pleased and worried. As Jack fires the ball to Stan Jones at third he sees that the kid’s slow fastball reads at 100 mph.  The kid also has a tell.  He grins when he throws the heat.

Pitch 07

Victor Allen Houseman makes his way to the plate.  He is a power hitter.  Over the years Jack has seen Vick crush dozens of baseballs from world class pitching.  He loves the fastball.  Vick is also a player with character.  He is a gentleman and good sport.  At the moment, however, he is the enemy.

Jack wants to work Vick fast.  He knows how a cagy hitter can work out a pitcher.  Jack signals changeup.  Joe nods and produces another 108 stitch lie.  The changeup looks just like the release of the last pitch.  It demurely whispers fastball.  Vick believes fastball.  Vick swings and misses far too early. 

The sound a batter wants is swoosh and crack.  That is the sound of a hit.  Catchers like the sound of swoosh and slap or slap and swoosh.  Those are the beautiful sounds of a swing and a miss.  They are always followed by the same sound…

“Steeerike one.”

Pitch 08

Jack tosses the ball back quickly, settles, and signals.  He calls for another changeup but outside.  Joe moves through the pitch as if he is an instant replay.  So does Vick; swoosh, slap.

“Steeerike two.”

Pitch 09

Twenty years have taught Jack many things. There are excellent ways to discourage the other team.  The demoralization of striking out the first three leadoff batters is one of them.  He decides it is time to show everyone what the day will look like.  The kid is doing fine.  Jack signals for a one.  He also closes his fist calling for the full heat.

Joe grins broadly.  The grin informs Jack that Joe has waited his whole life for this moment.  Jack sees the tell again and worries.  A veteran catcher knows what a veteran hitter can do to a fastball.  He is also touched by the hubris of youth.  Zander winds and fires.  This pitch will be spoken of for the next news cycle.  It will always be seen as the beginning of things.  The sound is slap then after what seems like a full minute swoosh.

“Steeerike three.  Batter you’re out,” quips Patch.

It takes Jack a moment to recover.  He has never felt such a painful fastball.  As Joe moves toward the team dugout Jack reads the pitch clock.  The pain in his hand becomes a badge of honor as her reads the numbers a second time: 104 mph.  The standing record is 105.  Something else occurs to him.  Joe has just thrown an immaculate inning.  Only forty nine others exist in baseball history.  Jack refuses to count any chickens lest he end up with egg on his face.

The bottom of the first is almost uneventful.  Parson Hamilton, an accomplished leadoff hitter hits a squib right to first base.  JJ Clover walks but is left stranded when Ricky Boggs pops out to left and Griffon Kent grounds out to second.

THE NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE POSTED NEXT FRIDAY