81 – The Seventh Inning
By Aramis Thorn
Here is the seventh installment of the short story
as promised, Enjoy
Tonight is game three of the World Series between
the Cardinals and the Red Sox. Neither
of these are the teams I wished for but I am hoping for a Red Sox win. People who matter to me will be pleased by
this. The chill of October has set in
and by the time we finish our journey through this game Baseball will be in its
long winter’s nap. Enjoy Dear Reader.
Seventh Inning
Warm-up
Jack can tell that Joe is aware that his catcher is
hurting. His fastest pitch during the
warm up is a crawling 72 mph. To Jack’s
relief the bandages and lidocain seem to have stemmed the demanding scream for
attention from his hand. The part of his
hand that does the catching is working just fine. If only he did not have to open and close his
hand. The catcher is anxious to get
things moving.
55
Stretch Franklin, the top of the order takes his
stance in the left batter’s box this time.
He is a good switch hitter. Jack
presumes they will find out just how good any moment. He needs to let everyone know he is able to
do everything his job requires. He calls
for the heat, inside.
Joe does not smile.
Jack almost panics. He cannot
afford for the young pitcher to be shaken because of his hand. He signals again.
Zander hesitates.
Franklin steps out of the box.
Morris calls time and trots out to the mound.
As he arrives Joe starts the conversation, “Your
hand.”
Jack grins a sun weathered grin the makes his eyes
dance and his face crinkle under his greying goatee. “My hand is fine. You throw what I tell you to so we can go
celebrate this night. If you just keep
doing what you’ve been doing we will be fine.”
Joe lets out a small grin, “If you say so
Jack. I’ll throw what you tell me to
throw. “
Morris trots back to home plate where Garner Patch
waits with extreme patients. Stretch
Franklin, however, is anxious. “We gonna
play or what,” asks the batter?
Joe looks him in the eye before taking his
crouch. “Oh we are going to play. As a matter of fact since you are in such a
hurry, we are going to give you all heat.
How do you feel about that?”
Franklin has seen the heat. Jack takes his position and Patch signals for
play. Joe signals for heat. Joe does not smile but he nods and sets.
The truth of pitching is that when the batter knows
what he is getting it is only a slight advantage. There is still timing, doubt, and physics to
consider.
Joe deals and the pitch screams toward the plate.
Franklin swings too late. Slap then swoosh.
“Steeerike one,” calls Garner Patch.
“So all you need is timing now Stretch,” remarks
Jack. He is relieved that the waffle,
bandages, and medication seem to be working.
The pitch clock smiles a knowing 102 mph.
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“Here is some more of the same so you can work on
that timing” quips Jack as he signals for the heat again.
Joe nods and grins.
He winds and throws.
This time the pitch is inside but still moves like
a bolt from the hand of Zeus. Stretch
over corrects and swings too early.
Swoosh then slap.
“Steeerike two,” intones Patch.
Stretch is visibly shaken.
Jack chooses silence. He feels a twinge in his hand but it passes
quickly.
The pitch clock speaks volumes: 103 mph.
57
Jack worries that he is testing fate. He calls for the changeup but Joe shakes it
off. He calls for heat and Joe negates
that as well. Irritated Jack gives him
the universal sign to pitch whatever he wishes.
Joe nods and grins. Jack expects
heat even though the kid shook it off.
Joe winds and deals.
The pitch looks like another fastball. It is lying.
The is screaming in and seems to be cutting the
same furrow through the air as the previous two pitches. Stretch thinks so and had the timing
right. He swings.
The pitch slides down and away from him.
Jack reacts in time to catch it. Had he signaled slider he would not have been
set up to catch the pitch. He sees the narrowness of the light between bat and
ball.
The swoosh and slap are simultaneous.
“Steeerike three and you’re out batter,” calls
Patch.
The ball boy marks the ball 19.
The pitch clock marks it 98 mph.
58
Paul Simmons saw the pitch and is baffled by
it. He has never seen a left to right
slider from a right handed pitcher.
Theoretically it is impossible.
Practically it just struck out his team mate. Paul steps in to the right side cautious and
wary.
Looking down at Jack he queries him, “Is your kid
practicing voodoo out there?”
Jack looks up at the worthy opponent and offers
some philosophy. “Now Paul, you and I
both know that baseball is the never land of sports. Grown men get to play at being kids in the
sandlot forever. There has to be a
little magic for that to work.”
Paul only nods and steadies his stance but too
close to the plate. This may be never
land and they are all lost boys but right now Paul is Captain Hook. Jack calls for the hook; inside.
The ball moves in and curves toward the batter.
He backs away and the ball eclipses the inside
corner just above the knees. The pitch
is impossible to hit but still in the strike zone.
“Steeerike one,” calls the umpire.
The pitch tripped the clock at 88 mph.
59
“OK I get it.
I’m too close to the plate. Just
don’t let your kid hit me with one of those heaters. I still have some good years left,” pleads
Paul Simmons.
“We all have to grow up some time Paul,” rejoins
Jack. He signals changeup and
inside. In that moment Crackerjack
Morris realizes that he is ready to leave the sandlot.
Joe gets what is going on and obliges. He grins and delivers.
The pitch swears it is a fastball. It looks like a fastball at first. It looks too far inside to the rattled
batter. He steps back again.
“Steeerike two,” calls Garner Patch.
Paul looks back at the umpire and catcher in
disbelief.
“He put fairy dust on that one Paul,” quips Jack.
Patch points to the pitch clock. “He did something.”
The clock twinkles a magical 59 mph.
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Jack decides it is time to put Captain Hook to
bed. There are no crocodiles so he
decides to give Hook the hook with the hook.
He signals curve inside and hot.
Joe nods and winds.
The ball sails right down the pipe toward the plate and at the same
moment that Paul pulls the trigger it begins to curve inward. Paul interrupts his swing to dodge the
pitch. He hits the ground and curses.
Garner Patch says he swung.
Paul appeals to first.
The first base umpire signals him out.
As Paul stands and collects himself he thinks to
argue the call. He has second thoughts
and makes his way to the dugout. Under his breath he mutters, “This ain’t no
never land.”
Jack hears this and thinks his friend is wrong. At the moment Jack Crackerjack Morris is
feeling younger than ever.
The pitch clock is feeling that the curveball
passed at 92 mph.
61
As Jack passes number strikeout ball 20 to the ball
boy Vick Houseman moves to the plate. He
cannot help but smile at his friend Jack.
“This is something else we got going.
Have you noticed that the fans are all mesmerized?”
Jack looks around at the crowd. “We will fix that when I do my song and dance
during the stretch.”
Jack crouches and signals. They will work his friend Vick smart. The first pitch is a curve outside. Vick obliges by chasing it. He barely misses it. Once again the light is too narrow for Jack’s
comfort.
“Steeerike one,” signals Garner.
“Should not have swung at that,” offers Vick.
“Glad you did,” counters Jack.
The pitch passes at a respectable 88 mph.
62
Vick had been watching Joe Zander carefully. He adjusts his stance in a way that says, “I
am getting a bat on anything close.”
Jack knows they cannot fool him so they have to beat
him. The seasoned catcher signals
slider. Joe nods, winds, and delivers.
The pitch is coming in very hot. Vick has the timing right and pulls the
trigger at just the right time. Jack is
sure the perfecto is over.
At the last possible moment the ball dives down and
away from its path toward the intersection of swing and perfecto shattering
hit. Instead it slides into the zone of
swing and miss, but just barely. The tense
and riveted crowd issues a collect groan of relief. Jack wants more light. It seems silly that it comes down to that but
it is all he wants in the moment.
“Steeerike two,” yells Patch almost sounding
relieved.
Vick looks back at Jack, “That may be the best
slider I have ever seen.”
Jack looks pale and in great pain, “It may be the
best one ever thrown.”
The pitch clock winks in angry red 101 mph.
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Jack tosses the ball back to Joe and wonders what
they will use to get his friend out. On
one hand he feels that if anyone can beat Joe today it should be Vick. On the other hand, the aching bleeding hand
he wants a full set of fans for the fans.
Crackerjack is out of ideas. He knows that Vick will hit the
fastball. He knows he will wait on
anything that looks outside. Before the
game Joe and he had agreed that if it came to this he would let Joe make the
call. Jack signals with a closed
fist. This means for Joe to choose. Jack feels he is passing the buck and he
knows, as they have agreed, it will not be heat.
Joe nods.
Joe takes a moment and sets at the waist. He winds as if he is throwing any of the big
four and releases. Vick is stumped. He waits, thinking the ball is drifting
outside but that is not the whole story.
The ball is moving too slowly. Jack is actually concerned it is going to go
into the dirt but it dances its way across the plate and into his glove.
The crowed erupts drowning out Garner Patch as he
calls “Steeerike three.”
It takes Jack a moment to realize that the young
pitcher has just ended the inning with a perfect knuckleball.
As the dumbstruck catcher passes the baseball for
out 21 to the ball boy he relives the pitch in his mind. He is wearing the waffle but for hand
protection. The pitch floated to the
glove. He recovers enough to look over
to his friend Vick who has already taken up his position at third base. Vick sees the confusion in Jack and merely
shrugs equally bewildered.
Jack sees past him to the pitch clock. It reads an amazing 51 mph. While he is standing there one of the support
crew takes his mitt and puts a large box in his hand. Jack is brought back to reality as he is
guided over past the backstop to the stands.
The crowd is on their feet and the intro notes are playing.
Snapping back to the present Jack indulges in a
ritual he has celebrated during every home game in which he has played. As the crowd sings “Take Me Out to the Ball
Game” the catcher tosses boxes of Crackerjack into the stands. The difference is that each of these has a
hastily scrawled “81” on the box. 81 is
Joe Zander’s number. As soon as the
first case of Crackerjack is gone Jack passes out another, and then two more.
The bottom half of the seventh is almost shorter
than the seventh inning stretch. Boggs
and Ken both go down swinging. Ravenelle
McCracken smashes a line drive right into the glove of Vick Houseman at third
base. The eighth inning looms large with
a tie score and the fans sensing the mounting tension.
I care deeply about the lives of those around me but I care
more about what comes next. All of my
attempts 
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