Mystery Coach (6 page)

“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.”

T
HE 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.

T
EX 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
.

Well, 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.

“Fine,” replied Mr. Herrick. “As soon as the Pipers get off the field, take over. We’re scheduled to take our raps last.”

He looked around at the boys, all of whom were just standing about, thrilled that at last they had found a new coach.

“Hey, what is this?” he shouted. “A picnic or a baseball game? Play catch! Warm up! The picnic’s over!”

Chris smiled at Tex. “We’ve got ourselves a coach!” he cried.

He wanted to say something else, but Tex was running off with a ball, eager to play catch and loosen up his throwing arm.

T
HE FIRST THING
Mr. Herrick did was change the lineup. He shifted Chris to second in the batting order and Wally to sixth. He also shifted
Frank Bellows from eighth position to fifth and started Don Mitchell at right field instead of Spike Dunne. Don was eighth
in the batting order. Bill Lewis was pitching.

“Batter up!” yelled the ump.

The sky was gray and there was a light breeze blowing. The stands were packed.

The first Piper stepped into the batter’s
box and Bill Lewis stepped onto the mound.

“Play in closer, Tex!” yelled Mr. Herrick. Chris looked over at third and saw Tex take a few steps in closer toward the basepath.
Now that’s coaching
, he thought happily.

A blast over short! Then a bunt to third that Tex fielded nicely and pegged to second. A wide throw! The runner raced to third
and the hitter to second.

“Watch your throws, Tex!” shouted Steve.

Tex was hurt. You could tell by the way he kicked at the dirt.

“Tough luck, Tex!” said Chris. “Get the next one!”

A long, shallow drive over second! Both runners scored, and the hitter came to rest on second base. A clean double.

The next Piper drove a hot grounder to Chris. He fielded it and pegged it to first for the out. A grounder through short scored
another run. A strikeout and a fly to center
fielder Mick Antonelli ended the Pipers’ big inning.

“All right. Now it’s our turn,” said Mr. Herrick. “Tex! Chris! Steve! You’re the first three hitters!” He lowered his voice.
“Now, listen. I don’t know if Coach Edson ever gave you any signs, but I will. Two’s enough. When I touch the brim of my cap,
that means the batter bunts. But the runner must make sure the ball is on the ground before he takes off. Understand?”

The boys nodded.

“Good. The other sign is for a hit and run. I’ll give it only when a man’s on first and only in certain situations. That sign
is crossing my arms. Got it?”

The boys nodded again.

“Fine. Okay, Tex. Start it off.”

Tex did, with a walk. Chris glanced at Mr. Herrick and saw him touch the brim of his cap. The bunt sign was on.