81 – The Eighth Inning
By Aramis Thorn
Eighth Inning
Warm-up
Crackerjack Morris ponders the top of the
eighth. Spark, Span, and then Seagan are
due up. Seagan replaced the ejected Bob
Cranes. To Jack’s recollection Seagan is
a fair hitter. Jack realizes he is
getting ahead of himself. As if in celebration
of his nickname his knees crack loudly as he settles in for Zander’s
eight.
Joe delivers them while Jack ponders the
knuckleball. He hates catching the
knuckleball. He knows it is a valid
pitch but catching it makes the job of catcher infinitely more work. He wonders what other pitches the kid has in
his pocket. He also wonders how long the
game will go if there is no score. Coach
will likely pull Zander after nine if there is no score. It is not the choice Jack would make. It is, however, the choice most coaches make. He concludes that the kid has only thrown
sixty-three pitches plus the eight. Zander
finishes the eight with a changeup that is clearly in the strike zone.
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Jack thinks through Sparks’ last two at bats. Last time they pitched him two-seam heat,
changeup, and screwball. The screwball
surprised everyone involved except for Joe.
Since Jack had no idea that that Joe could throw a screwball there is no
signal for it today. He tries signaling
slider but inside. Joe grins and adjusts
his stance as he had done in the fifth inning.
Jack is relieved because Zander got his signal.
The pitch leaves Joe’s hand wooing Sparks into
believing that it will scream safely outside of the strike zone. Sparks settles back allowing the pitch to
pass. It slides down and in crossing the
plate at the batter’s belt line.
“Steeerike one,” calls Patch.
Batter and catcher remain mute.
The pitch clock says nothing but reports 91 mph.
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The quiet of the crowd has descended again. They are locked on every pitch. Jack calls for the curve. Joe nods.
The ball makes its way in and the universe applies the physics. Sparks swings in prefect timing as the ball
dives under the arc of the swing.
“Steeerike two,” calls Garner Patch.
Sparks barely whispers, “Man that was fast.”
The pitch clock agrees…92 mph.
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“OK,” thinks Jack, “Let’s finish him with
heat.” He signals for fastball.
Joe grins and delivers a four seam that screams its
way to the plate right down the middle of the strike zone.
Sparks swings hours too late. Slap…swoosh.
“Steeerike three batter,” calls Garner Patch.
The waffle helps Jack but the pain in his hand
returns.
103 smiles the mute red pitch clock.
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The ball boy retrieves the ball from Jack and
scrawls 22 on it. Patch gives Jack a new
ball and he tosses it to Joe as Willy Span journeys to the plate. Jack notes the extreme quiet of the
crowd. There is not silence. The natural din of baseball: beer vendors,
peanut barkers, and the cacophony of the crowd is muted in the moments of
magnificence being offered up by young Joe Zander of Tiger, Georgia.
Span steps in and readies himself. Span has succumbed to witchcraft and slight
of ball. Jack calls for a slider to
start him up.
Joe winds and the ball lies. It looks to be headed straight through the
pipe just like last time. It appears to
be moving slower. Span swings and the
pitch slides. Jack can see the beautiful
space between ball and bat as the swing goes high.
“Steeerike one,” calls Garner.
“That ain’t right,” offers Span.
Jack chooses silence. He wants to keep his concentration.
The pitch clock speaks for him…89 mph.
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Jack focuses on Span’s stance and signals changeup. Span is falling for the voodoo.
Joe winds and delivers. It is such a good delivery that for a moment
even Jack thinks it is heat. The ball
deceives. The batter swings too
early. Just a hair later the pitch
passes through the exact plane where the bat had been.
“Steeerike two,” calls the umpire.
Jack whispers, “That was sweet.”
The pitch clock reports 78 mph.
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Span digs in as Jack signals for the changeup
again. They finished him with heat and
they finished the last batter with the same. Any thinking hitter will expect heat.
Joe takes his pose and winds. As he deals Span changes his stance. He is going to bunt. So many thoughts clamor for Jack’s attention
that he must shut them all out and react.
Twenty years of experience have given him great instinct. Span squares as the ball comes in. He thought it was a fastball. His timing is broken and he thinks the ball
will drop low. Span backs off. The ball floats true across the plate.
“Steeerike three, you are out batter,” calls Garner
Patch.
Jack can feel his heart racing in his chest as he
gives the ball to young Tom. Tom writes
23 on it and hands the umpire three new baseballs.
The pitch clock beacons to be noticed and noted as
it blinks 51 mph.
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Carl Seagan, in for the ejected Bob Cranes takes
his place in the left hand batter’s box.
He looks back and Jack, “Long time, no see Jack. How have you been?”
“I've been fine Sci-Fi,” returns the catcher. “I’m just enjoying the evening. I have not seen you hit in quite a while.” Jack knows the hungry look in the hitter’s
eyes. He is getting heat and tight. Things will be set in order.
Seagan has long accepted the jokes made around his
name and his nickname. He looks down and
Jack, “I realize what’s happening here.
I am in the Twilight Zone and you guys have turned into the Hoboken Zephyrs.”
Jack signals fastball and inside.
Joe nods.
Joe grins. Joe fires.
Again comet fastball burns its way to the
plate. Carl’s timing has not had two
previous at bats to learn the reality of Joe’s pitching. Carl swings a full third of a second too
early.
“Steeerike one,” calls Garner Patch.
Jack lets out a painful humph. No one notices the trickle of blood that
drips into the sand at his feet.
The pitch clock reads 106 mph.
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Jack is back in the pain zone. His hand tingles and the shot of pain runs
all the way to his elbow. He knows that
the kid has to take this new batter to school.
He calls for the heat again and inside.
Joe grins again.
Joe delivers the heat.
This time Carl steps back. The ball does not miss the plate.
“Steeerike two,” calls Patch.
Carl looks back at the umpire politely. “That was narrow but I agree. The next one is mine.”
Jack feels nothing but pain. As he tosses the ball back to Joe he feels
that every movement will now be pain until the night is over. He looks at the pitch clock as he ponders the
next pitch.
Red dots read out 104 mph.
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Jack is sure more heat will kill him. Then it occurs to him that he is up third in
the bottom of the eighth. He gives the
signals the open palm to indicate he will catch whatever Joe throws.
Joe nods his understanding and sets at the
waist. Jack prays for something
slow. He gets his wish. The wind looks just like the heat. The release looks awkward. The ball looks high and slow.
As the ball dives it crosses directly through the
strike zone.
“Steeerike three,” calls Garner Patch. He continues, “I have not seen an eephus
pitch in a few years. We may really be
in the Twilight Zone.”
As Jack turns toward the dugout the crowd breaks
its silence giving Joe a standing ovation.
Jack passes 24 to Tom and begins to undress for his impending at bat.
Bottom of the Eighth
After removing his catcher’s gear Jack ices his
hand while Stanly Jones makes his way to the plate. The water in the bucket turns pink from Jack’s
blood. The train dries and dresses the
split palm with a new bandage.
Jack, who is a praying man, prays for hit for
Jones. More because he wishes more time
to cool the fire in his hand and elbow. Stan
is not much help. He grounds out to
second on the first pitch. Paige Brewer
lasts longer. He takes the count to full
on eight pitches including four foul balls.
He drops his elbow chasing a low pitch.
He pops out to the shortstop.
Jack makes his way to the plate. The simple act of gripping the bat is
agony. He can see a slight trickle of
blood making its way to his wrist band.
His team needs a hit. The pain
will have to wait. As he steps into the
box Span looks up at him.
“Back so soon,” asks the opposing catcher?
“Yes I am,” answers Jack. “I don’t plan on staying long though.”
Jack sees Andy Vine nod in to Span accepting the
sign. The lanky pitcher deals. It is a curveball but it hangs. Jack swings, almost too late. The bat catches the ball at the end of the zone
for possible fair hits. This results in
the ball being driven down the right field line. It is one of those hits that rises as it
flies. By the time it passes first base
it is already twelve feet in the air. It
keeps rising. Garner Patch straddles the
foul line watching the ball; triangulating it with the line and foul pole. The hit keeps rising. It has awakened the stadium and the fans urge
the ball to stay fair and keep climbing.
The ball stops abruptly. Jacks
hit has collided with the inward side of the foul pole and hung in the netting.
Garner Patch signals home run and the fans explode
into thunderous waves of applause. As
Jack rounds the bases he has time to consider the pain in his hand. He looks down and sees that blood already
seeping through again. As he heads home
he high fives his team mates with his good hand. Without pause Jack goes directly to the
trainer.
The trainer sprays the hand with the ice then with
more spay on bandage. Zander is already
in the batter’s box so the trainer works quickly while his assistant and the
ball boy dress Jack. He looks at Jack,
“Can you take three more hitters?”
Jack blinks at the assumption. An assumption born
of the last seven innings has taken root.
They all believe that no one on the other team will touch the ball
today. Jack realizes that he has been
fending off this thought for a long time.
He allows it to live and give him courage. He allows the possibility of baseball magic
to heal his wound. “I can do it,” he
answers.
The trainer and Tom the ball boy help him into his
gear. The last shin guard goes on just
as Joe sends a long fly ball into left field where it is caught for the third
out.
Jack grabs Joe’s glove and meets him at the
plate. The young pitcher takes the
offered glove and speaks, “I am sorry I did not get a hit. I swung a bit too early.”
Morris looks Zander straight in the eye. “You are doing just fine. What do you say we get this done and go
home?”
Joe merely nods and then trots out to the
mound. The crowd is awake now. The cheers roll through the stadium in waves
of pride and marvel.
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