Satch & Me (10 page)

The batting practice pitcher wound up and threw. Josh didn't bend his back or knees, and he didn't take a big stride forward. He stood flat footed. He waited until the ball was almost on him. Then he lifted his left foot up very slightly and at the last possible instant attacked the ball with his arms and wrists.

A hush fell over the crowd.

It was a quick, fluid, compact stroke, a classic swing. It almost seemed like he took the ball out of the catcher's mitt.

There was a distinct
crack
when Josh's bat made contact with the ball. It was a crack I had only heard once before, when I went back to 1932 to see
Babe Ruth's famous “called shot” home run. The sound that Ruth's bat made hitting a ball was the same sound that Josh's bat made. I'll never forget that sound.

The ball whistled out of the batting cage on a low trajectory, barely over the pitcher's head. But the spin on it must have been tremendous, because then the ball hopped up and soared like a golf ball. It was over the centerfield fence almost before you could snap your fingers.

“Oooooooh!” moaned the crowd.

“Maybe he
will
shut Satch's mouth,” Flip said.

Josh pounded about a dozen balls over the fence, one after the other. Then he signaled to the pitcher that he was done, as if he wanted to save some of those long balls for when they would count.

“You're gonna break that bat, Josh,” one of the Grays said.

“I don't break bats,” he replied before going to the dugout. “I wear 'em out.”

The players cleared the field. Satch grabbed his glove and was getting ready to pitch the first inning when his manager called him back to the dugout.

“You ain't startin', Paige,” he said.

“What?!”

“You showed up late. So you sit.”

Satch threw his glove down and sulked in the dugout. The announcer introduced the Monarchs as they ran out on the field. A guy named Hilton Smith was their starting pitcher.

He was good too. Smith retired the Grays in order in the first inning. Josh Gibson didn't get the chance to hit, because he was fourth in the batting order.

When the Grays took the field, Josh came out with his catching gear on. Buck O'Neil led off for the Monarchs. When O'Neil stepped up to the plate, Josh started in trash-talking loud enough for the first few rows to hear.

“So this is the famous Mr. Buck O'Neil,” Josh said. “I been readin' a lot 'bout you in the papers. You didn't do too good last Friday, did you? Well, you're gonna do worse today.”

“Oh, hush your mouth, Josh,” O'Neil said.

The pitcher, Roy Partlow, pumped in strike one.

“Oh, you missed that one,” Josh said. “Too bad. Now, Mr. Buck, here comes one right down the middle. See if you can hit it.”

Buck O'Neil took a big swing and fouled the ball off to the right. Strike two.

“What? Only a foul?” Josh said. “Okay. Don't go swinging at the next one, 'cause we're gonna waste it outside.”

The pitch came in and O'Neil leaned over the plate to foul it off.

“Oops!” Josh said. “Sorry. My pitcher messed up and hit the corner. Let's do that one over.”

This time the pitch was way outside, but Buck O'Neil took a wild cut at it anyway and missed everything.

“That would be three strikes, Mr. Buck,” Josh said
as the umpire called O'Neil out. “You are excused for the time being. Perhaps you'll do better next time.”

It went on like that. Loud, fast, exciting baseball. The players didn't hide their emotions, the way they seem to in major league games. When a guy struck out, he got mad, and he showed it. The players took more chances, running the bases recklessly and diving for any ball within reach. The fans really got into the game too, heckling or shouting funny remarks as the mood struck them.

Hilton Smith breezed through the first eight innings. Josh didn't get a hit and the Grays couldn't score on Smith. It looked like he might pitch the whole game, and Satch would never even get the chance to face Josh.

But the Monarchs had a 2-0 lead going into the ninth when an announcement came over the public address system.

“Coming in to pitch for Kansas City, LEROY…SATCHEL…PAIGE!”

EVEN BEFORE SATCH PUT A FOOT ON THE FIELD, THE
crowd was roaring. Some of the fans loved him, and some hated him. With every slow-motion step he took toward the mound, the noise level rose. It didn't quiet down until the batter, Boojum Wilson, stepped up to the plate. Satch got set to pitch the ninth inning with a two-run lead. “Ain't no need for signs,” he yelled to his catcher. “Just show me the glove and hold it still. I'll hit it.”

Satch struck out Boojum Wilson, and the next batter, Jelly Jackson, grounded out to short. It didn't look like we'd have the chance to clock Satch's fastball against Josh. A few fans started making their way toward the exits. I guess they figured a two-run lead was safe with Satch on the mound, and they wanted to beat the traffic out of the parking lot.

I noticed Satch kept looking into the Grays'
dugout. He was looking at Josh. There were two outs now, and Josh wasn't due up for three more batters. It wasn't likely that he was going to get another chance to hit.

“When do I get my five bucks, Satch?” Josh shouted out to the mound.

The next batter, Jerry Benjamin, didn't look intimidated by Satch. He took a strike and a ball, and then lined a single to left. The tying run was at the plate now, with two outs. A guy named Howard Easterling was announced, and he stepped up to the plate.

Satch looked at Josh in the dugout again, and then he called time-out. He motioned for first baseman Buck O'Neil to come over to the mound. The two of them looked like they were arguing about something. O'Neil called for the manager, Frank Duncan, to come out to the mound.

The crowd was starting to buzz now as the three men seemed to be having a heated discussion. The catcher came out to join the chat too.

“What's going on?” I asked Flip.

“I guess they're talkin' about how they're gonna pitch to Easterling,” he replied.

O'Neil finally went back to first base, the catcher went back behind the plate, and Duncan went back to the dugout. Satch got set to pitch. Easterling pumped his bat back and forth.

Then the catcher stuck his glove all the way out to the left. I knew that signal. It meant they were
going to walk Easterling intentionally. Satch threw ball one all the way off the plate.

“Why is he walking Easterling?” I asked Flip.

“Beats me,” he replied. “That puts the tyin' run on first. Nobody does that.”

Satch kept looking in the dugout for Josh.

After taking four balls way off the plate, Easterling trotted to first. Runners on first and second. Still two outs. Buck Leonard came up to hit.

As soon as Leonard settled into the batter's box, the catcher stuck his left arm out again to signal
another
intentional walk!

A buzz swirled around the ballpark as Josh Gibson came out to the on-deck circle, and we all realized what Satch was up to. He was walking those two batters so he could pitch to Josh with the bases loaded!

You just don't
do
that! You don't put two guys into scoring position and give the best hitter in baseball the chance to drive them in and win the game! It's just not
done
. Especially in the World Series!

“He's crazy!” Flip said as Leonard watched ball four go by.

Leonard jogged to first. Bases loaded. Two outs. Ninth inning. 2–0 game. The tying run was on second, the winning run on first. Josh had a little smile on his face as he walked up to the plate. Everybody in the bleachers edged forward.

“Hey,” I told Flip. “Get out the radar gun! Satch is gonna give Josh all he's got.”

Flip pulled out the radar gun, putting his coat over the top of it so the fans around us wouldn't get suspicious.

“Hey, Josh!” Satch hollered as Josh got into the batter's box. “I hear you're gonna shut my mouth!”

“That's right, Satchel!”

Josh stepped up to the plate with the bases loaded.

Flip pointed the gun toward the mound and fiddled with the buttons on it.

“Josh,” Satch called, “remember when you and me were on the Crawfords and you said you were the best hitter in the world and I said I was the best pitcher?”

“I sure do.”

“And I said one day we'd face off against each
other in a big game with the bases loaded?”

“Yeah, Satchel. I remember that.”

“Well, it looks like today's the day,” Satch said.

Flip was still fooling with the gun when Josh took his stance.

“What's the matter?” I asked Flip.

“Something's wrong,” he replied. “The thing won't turn on!”

“Maybe the batteries are dead,” I said.

“They're new batteries!” Flip replied, hitting the gun with the side of his hand.

Flip was working frantically on the gun. The runners took their leads at first, second, and third base.

“Now listen, Josh,” Satch hollered. “I'm not gonna trick you. I'm gonna throw you a fastball letter high. You better swing, 'cause the ump's just gonna call it a strike anyways if you don't.”

“Show me what you got,” Josh yelled back.

“This thing is busted!” Flip said. “The coach is gonna kill me!”

“You gotta make it work!” I yelled at Flip.

Satch went into his windup and threw a fastball that hissed on its way to the plate. It was probably the fastest pitch I'd ever seen. Josh took a good rip at it and fouled it off to the left side. Strike one. The crowd roared.

Disgusted, Flip put the radar gun away.

“Look at you,” Satch yelled at Josh. “You ain't ready up there.”

“I'm ready,” Josh replied. “Throw it.”

“Now look out, Josh, 'cause I'm gonna throw you one a little faster and belt high. I'm not gonna trick you.”

No pitcher in his right mind tells the batter what he's going to throw next. And if the batter is Josh Gibson and the bases are loaded, it's just insane! I was sure that Satch was going to fake Josh out and throw a changeup.

But he didn't. He threw an even faster fastball, and he threw it belt high, just like he said he would. Josh swung at it and tipped it back to the catcher's glove. Strike two. The crowd roared again.

“Now I got you 0 and 2, Josh,” Satch hollered. You probably think I'm gonna knock you down now. But I ain't gonna throw smoke at your yolk. I'm gonna throw a pea at your knee. Get ready, now.”

Flip pulled out the gun again, but it still wouldn't turn on. Why didn't the stupid gun work?! If Satch was
ever
going to throw his hardest pitch, this was the time to do it.

Josh got ready. Satch wound up. He let it fly. Josh swung.

“Strike three!” called the ump. “Yer out!”

“How's that, big man?” Satch yelled as the crowd went crazy. “There ain't a man alive who hits my fast one! There ain't a man alive who shuts my mouth! And you owe me five bucks!”

The game was over. Josh threw his bat all the way into the outfield and stormed to the dugout.

Flip and I made our way toward the exit and out
to the gate near Boquet Street, where Satch had told us to meet him. We knew it would be a while, so we waited patiently. We were still standing there after most of the crowd had left the ballpark.

Flip was still bummed out because the radar gun had gone on the fritz at the exact moment we needed it. While we waited at the corner, I asked him if I could look at the gun.

I opened the battery compartment and took out the batteries. They looked okay. Maybe there was some dirt in there. My dad once told me that if you wet both ends of a battery and clean off the two contacts, that will sometimes make it work. I did that, and then put the batteries back into the gun. When I pushed the Power button, the light flashed on.

Flip slapped his forehead. If only we had done that earlier! Satch probably threw a 100-mile-an-hour fastball to Josh. Maybe 105!

A bus was coming down the street, and Flip pointed the gun at it. He pushed the button, and the screen flashed “42.” The gun worked perfectly.

The bus pulled up in front of us and a bunch of people got off. We didn't pay much attention to them. We were talking about how frustrated we were that we hadn't clocked Satch's fastballs to Josh. That's what we were doing when somebody tapped Flip on the shoulder.

“Remember me?”

We turned around.

It was Laverne.