Lawrence Block - Enough Rope

I didn’t say anything, and he said, “Hard to believe. I mean, how could a human being get tired of baseball? But she does. She even gets tired of the Bobcats.”

They were the defending world champions, and a good bet to repeat this year, and our attendance was never higher than when they came to town. So his remark was natural enough, but it had a little extra on it, and I wondered about that. But not for any length of time. We were just minutes away from the first pitch, which he’d be throwing and I’d be catching, and I was more interested in whether his fastball had a little extra on it, and how his curve was breaking.

Introductions went like they always do, with cheers for us and boos for the Bobcats, with the loudest round of boos for Wade Bemis. He had two strikes against him, as far as our fans were concerned. Number one, he was hitting .341, and neck and neck with Clipper DeYoung of the Orioles in the home-run race. Number two, he played for us for four years, jumping to the Bobcats as a free agent. That’s fans for you. The better you are, the more they hate you, and it goes double if you used to play for their team. It never made sense to me, but there’s not much about fans that does.

After Bemis was introduced, the boos dropped to a more cordial level, and Pud Hairston came over and asked how Tommy was throwing. “He should be fine,” I told him.

But we both knew you could never tell for sure. Not until the game got started, and even then you might not know right away.

Early on, Ithought fine was the one thing Tommy wasn’t going to be that day. His first three pitches to their leadoff batter, Jeff Coleman, were all off the plate, all in the same spot, and each one a little farther from being a strike than the one before it. I was calling for inside pitches, and he was missing away, and that’s not a good sign. The next one was right down the middle, with Coleman taking all the way. If I’d been coaching the Bobcats I’d have had him take the next pitch, too, the way Tommy had started him off 3–0, but he swung at a bad pitch and popped to short.

Tommy went to 3–1 on the second batter. The biggest mistake a pitcher can make is to get behind in the count, and that’s especially true for a hard-throwing kid like Tommy, who can have a problem with control. His next pitch caught the corner. The batter lined the next one, really got good wood on it, but it went straight into the third baseman’s glove like it had eyes.

Tommy started the next hitter off with two balls, the second one in the dirt, and I dug it out and walked it back to the mound. Bemis was in the on-deck circle, looking eager, and he’d be batting from the right-hand side of the plate today, since Tommy was a southpaw. His on-base average was about the same lefty or righty, but he had more power as a right-hander.

“Let’s get this guy,” I told Tommy.

“Piece of pie,” he said.

He’d say that, piece of pie, where other people’d say piece of cake. Other hand, he’d say something was easy as cake. I was never sure if he got the expressions mixed up accidentally or on purpose.

I went back and gave the sign — the hitter was McGinley, their left fielder, and the book on him was give him nothing but fastballs. The next two were straight heat, right where I wanted them, outside and down. The next pitch was in the same place, and I thought it got the corner, but it was ball three. The next one was down and in, probably off the plate but too close to take, and McGinley got a piece of it, but I got my glove up and held on to it, and we were out of the inning.

We went downone-two-three, with two of our outs coming on the first pitch. There was just enough time for Pud to ask me how Tommy was throwing. I said I thought he was settling in. Pud said he hoped so.

Wade Bemis led off, and he did everything but tip his hat to the fans who booed him. He stood in there like he was waiting for someone to take his picture, and maybe he was. Bemis likes to crowd the plate, and the only way to get him out is to pitch him inside. Tommy almost hit him with the first pitch. Bemis went into the dirt to get away from it, and he had a smug look on his face as he brushed off his uniform. I called for heat and Tommy gave it to him. Bemis took it for strike one, swung at the next one and missed it, and looked silly swinging at a splitter that bounced on the plate.

That got a hand from the crowd. They cheered some more when Tommy struck out the side.

I don’t knowjust when it was I realized something special was going on.

Oh, I knew he had his stuff when he fanned Wade Bemis. His fastball was really popping, and his control just got sharper and sharper. It got so I’d just stick the mitt out and he’d hit it. And his curve was breaking real good, and his change had the Bobcat batters digging for balls in the dirt.

And we were in sync, too. He wasn’t shaking off my signs hardly at all, and the few times he did I was already questioning the sign in my own mind. It was like we had our minds hooked up, and we were going over the batters together, figuring how to move them back off the plate, then get them to chase stuff they couldn’t hit. When it’s like that, I sometimes lose track in my own mind as to who’s catching and who’s pitching. It’s like we’re both part of the same machine, with the gears meshing just right.

Bemis led off the top of the fifth. We’d left the bases loaded in the bottom of the fourth, and you hate to see that, and Bemis had a cocky smile on his face when he stepped in. Like we’d had our chance, and blew it, and it was his turn now.

Tommy got the first one in — he was throwing nothing but first-pitch strikes by now. His next delivery was low, but didn’t miss by much. Next was a curve, and Bemis swung late and fouled it back. I called for a fastball down and on the outside corner, and Tommy got it where I wanted it, but Kalman called it ball two. I’d swear it caught the corner, but my opinion doesn’t count. It was too close to take with two strikes, but Bemis stood there and took it. He’s got a good eye, but he was plain lucky to get the call.

He fouled off about four pitches, or it could have been five, and checked his swing on a curve that he couldn’t have reached with a broom. I checked with the first base umpire, but he said he didn’t go around. I’d have sworn he did, but you see what you want to see, and anyway no one was asking me.

Next pitch we challenged him with a fastball, high and tight, and he fouled it off. I called for another in the same spot, and he was just the least bit late in his swing, and that’s what saved us, because he really tagged that one. But instead of pulling it he lifted it to the gap in right center, and Justo Chacón floated under it and took it at the warning track.

Bemis was halfway to second when the catch was made, and he turned and trotted back to the Bobcats’ dugout. I happened to notice the expression on his face, and he didn’t look frustrated or disappointed, mad at himself or at Tommy or Justo. He looked all pleased with himself, which wasn’t what you’d expect from someone who was oh for two for the day.

Maybe it was the look on his face that made me turn around and look over to the stands, where the wives were sitting. Kathy was there, of course, and I caught her eye when I turned around, and she gave me a wave. I grinned back, happy because we’d just dodged a bullet, with Bemis’s shot nothing but a long out, happy too because there was my wife waving at me.

I looked for Colleen, too, but of course she wasn’t there, and I reminded myself that Tommy had said she wasn’t coming. I hadn’t exactly forgotten that, but Bemis’s expression made me look for her even though I knew she wouldn’t be there.