The Year Mom Won the Pennant (3 page)

Knicks 4–Thunderballs 2.

It was the Knicks fans’ turn to yell now. “How do you like them apples, Coach Vassey?” one of them said.

“That’s right,” Wayne said softly. “That’s just the beginning.”

Nick stared at him. “That’s a fine thing to say, Wayne.”

Mom, standing nearby, smiled. “That’s being a defeatist, Wayne. We won’t win if you feel that way.”

Wayne’s face turned beet red.

N
ick led off in the bottom of the third.

“A home run, Nick!” Jen yelled in that soprano voice of hers. “Over the fence!”

Monk Jones rubbed the ball, nodded with satisfaction at the signal from his catcher, then stretched and delivered. Nick pulled
back his bat, saw that the pitch was going wide, and held his swing.

“Ball!” yelled the ump.

Monk drilled the next pitch across the inside corner for a strike. Nick cut at the next one and heard the ball plop into the
catcher’s mitt.

“He’s your man, Monk, ol’ boy!” shouted the Knicks’ catcher.

Nick stepped out of the box, rubbed the bat gingerly, and looked at Monk. Monk might try to fool him with a curve this time.
He stepped back into the box.

The pitch came in close, then curved away. Nick swung.
Crack!
The ball struck the ground in front of Monk, bounced high over his head and then over second base for a single. The fans
yelled as Nick stood on the bag at first and looked at Mom for a bunt signal. But she gave none.

Gale, up next, blasted the first pitch in a line drive over second. Nick swept around second base and headed for third.

“Go! Go! Go!” third-base coach Tom Warren shouted, swinging his left arm like a windmill.

Nick rounded third and raced for home. As he got close to it he heard Mom and
some of the guys yelling to him, “Hit it, Nick! Hit the dirt!”

Nick did. The catcher caught the relay and put it on Nick, but Nick was already across the plate. “Safe!” cried the ump.

Nick got up, brushed off his pants, and saw Gale trotting back to second base for a clean double. “Nice running, Nick,” Mom
said. “Okay, Russ! Let’s keep it going!”

Russell Gray fouled the first two pitches to the backstop screen, let an inside pitch go by, then went down swinging. Next
batter was Wayne Snow. He walked to the plate, dragging his bat over the ground.

“Look at him,” muttered Scotty disgustedly. “How are we going to win with him acting like that?”

“Look alive, Wayne!” snapped Cyclone. “This is a ball game, not a funeral!”

“All right, all right,” cautioned Mom. “Cut out the remarks.”

Wayne swung at a high pitch and drove it in a line over the fence. It went foul. He swung at the next pitch and sent it a
mile into the sky. This one dropped behind the home-plate stands.

“Straighten it out, Wayne!” Mom shouted.

There was a chuckle in the stands and Nick looked over at Mom. Either she had not heard it or she wasn’t letting on she had.
After thinking about it, he felt a funny sensation — a sensation of pride. It took a lot of nerve to do what Mom was doing.

Monk’s next three pitches were balls. Then Wayne stepped into a sidearm pitch, swung hard, and missed completely. He walked
back to the dugout, dragging the bat, not looking anywhere except at the ground.

“Forget it, Wayne,” said Mom. “You’ll be up again.”

Scotty waited out Monk’s pitches and got a free ticket to first. Pat came up, took two
balls and a strike, then laced a drive to deep center field. It sure looked as if it were heading for the Great Beyond. But
the Knicks’ center fielder, running back as hard as he could, reached up his gloved hand and nabbed it.

The Knicks came up and put across two more runs to give them a 6 to 3 lead. With two on and two out, the Knicks’ batter drove
a hot liner directly at Nick. It was high. Nick leaped, stretching as far as he could.
Pop!
He had it!

He ran in from short, sweat dripping off his face. A few inches higher and that ball would have gone over his head and two
more runs would have been scored.

He looked sorrowfully at Mom. Her first game, he thought, and they were going to lose it. She caught his eye and smiled.

I don’t know, he thought. We’re losing the
game and she looks as happy as if we were winning it. If Dad were in her place,
he
wouldn’t be smiling. You could bet your life on that.

J
ohnny Linn led off in the bottom of the fourth inning with a colossal triple to left center field. It sure looked like a good
start. But Bill Dakes, batting for Cyclone, grounded out to third and Jerry Wong bounced one back to the pitcher for the second
out.

“Oh, no!” Mom moaned. “Jim, bat for Nick! Wait for a good one! Tom, get ready to bat for Gale.”

Nick tossed his bat onto the pile fanned out on the ground and returned to the dugout. He wasn’t happy about being replaced,
but knew that Mom wanted every player on the team to play at least three innings. It was a league rule that every player had
to play at least two innings. Mom preferred to be a little more generous whenever she could.

Jim Rennie drew a walk. Then Tom Warren walked, filling the bases!

The Thunderballs’ dugout buzzed like a beehive. “A grand slammer, Russ!” yelled Nick. “Clean the bases!”

Russ wiggled the toes of his sneakers into the soft, dusty earth, tugged at his protective helmet, then got ready for Monk’s
pitch. The ball came in slightly high. Russ swung, and missed.

“Too high, Russ!” Cyclone shouted.

The next was high, too. Again he swung and missed. The Thunderball fans groaned. Monk pitched another high one. This one Russ
let go by. Ball one.

Monk threw two more balls for a three-two count, then rifled the next one in knee-high. Russ swung hard and missed for strike
three. Three away. Russ tossed his bat angrily toward the dugout and ran out to his position at first base. Nick knew exactly
how he felt. He had struck out with the bases loaded a few times himself.

“Scotty,” said Mom, as Scotty started out of the dugout, “wait. Mike, take right field.”

“Yes, sir,” said Mike Todey. “I mean, yes, ma’am.”

Nick grinned. Guess it was going to be a long while before most of the boys would be calling Mom “Coach.”

The Knicks picked up a run in the top of the fifth with a double and then an error by Jim Rennie. He had made a neat catch
on a fast bouncing ball, but pegged it too high to first base. The runner on second scored on
the overthrow. The run was the only one the Knicks got.

The Thunderballs started off like a straw fire during their turn at bat. Wayne Snow belted a hot grounder that zipped over
the third-base bag for a double. Mike Todey singled him in and Pat Krupa drew a pass.

“Look at Pat,” said Scotty. “He wobbles like a duck. I can’t see how he can run as fast as he does.”

“He pulls back all levers and goes when he has to,” Nick said, grinning.

Johnny Linn, up next, also drew a walk, filling the bases. Again the Thunderballs’ fans grew excited and began to yell for
a hit. Any kind of hit.

Bill Dakes tapped the tip of his bat against the plate, lifted it to his shoulder, and waited for the pitch. It was high.
Ball one. He swung at the next pitch and laced it to left
field. The fielder hardly had to move. Mike Todey, on third, stayed on the bag until the ball was caught, then bolted for
home. He made it easily.

Jerry Wong took a called strike, then belted a searing grounder directly at the shortstop. The guy fielded it, snapped it
to second. Second to first. A double play. Three outs.

“We picked up two, anyway,” said Mom. “Now get out there and hold them.”

Hold them they did. Johnny struck out the first man and the next two grounded out. The Thunderballs came up for the last time.
They were trailing 7 to 5. Fat chance we have of winning this ball game, thought Nick. It would have been a good start to
have won the first league game for Mom.

Jim Rennie led off and smashed the second pitch for a clean single over second. Then Tom Warren popped out to put a
damper on the Thunderballs’ hopes of getting a run. Russ, having struck out the last two times at bat, didn’t raise anyone’s
hopes as he strode to the plate. He took a called strike, a ball, then hammered a solid drive to right center field! Jim raced
all around to home and Russ took second on the play on Jim.

Wayne went down swinging. Two away. And two runs from winning the ball game. It still seemed hopeless.

Then Mike walked. Pat hit a grounder to short. It was fumbled! Russ held up at third, Mike at second. Pat was on first. The
tying run — and the winning run — were on base!

“Win your own ball game, Johnny!” yelled a fan. “Chase home those ducks!”

Johnny Linn waited out the pitches. Then, with the count two and two, he swung at a chest-high pitch.
Crack!
A line drive over the shortstop’s head! Russ scored. Mike
scored. Pat halted on third, leaving Johnny with a double.

The game was over. The Thunderballs were the winners, 8 to 7. Mom had won her first league ball game.

T
wo days later the Thunderballs tangled with the Zebras. Mom had Bill Dakes and Jim Rennie start in place of Cyclone and Nick.
The Thunderballs had first raps, but in the first two innings they could do little against their opponents. Eddie Cash, the
Zebras’ little right-hander, didn’t seem to have much on the ball, yet no Thunderball could hit him.

Frankie Morrow, pitching for the Thunderballs, was tagged for four hits and three runs in the two innings. He led off the
third with a single, though, and Bill sacrificed him to second on a bunt. Then Jerry Wong
tripled, scoring Frankie, and Jim hit a high fly that landed between three fielders for a freak double, scoring Jerry. It
was funny the way the three Zebras stood there, each expecting the other to catch the ball.

“Remember that incident,” Mom said. “If that ever happens to you,
someone call for the ball.
Don’t let it drop between you.”

The two runs were all the Thunderballs scored that half-inning. In the top of the fourth Mike Todey, batting for Scotty Page,
walked. Then Gale, pinch-hitting for Pat Krupa, walloped a home run over the left-field fence. Two singles and an error accounted
for another run and the Thunderballs went into the lead, 5 to 3.

Nick smiled as he trotted out to short, replacing Jim Rennie. It looked as if Mom’s Thunderballs were heading for their second
straight victory.

The Zebras squeezed in a run in the bottom
of the fourth, but the Thunderballs got it back in the fifth. And then, in the bottom of the fifth, the Zebras pulled out
all stops and really poured it on the Thunderballs. They collected five hits and four runs for a total of eight runs. The
Thunderballs drew a goose egg in the sixth and that was it. The Zebras won 8 to 6.

“Well,” Mom said, heaving a sigh, “we can’t win them all.”

“We were just lucky to win the first one,” muttered Wayne Snow.

Mom stared at him. “Lucky, did you say?”

Wayne’s face turned cherry red. “Well, maybe we weren’t.”

He climbed out of the dugout, picked up the catcher’s mitt, and shoved it inside the canvas bag where the other baseball equipment
was kept. Then he hung around, cleaning his fingernails, while the color of his face gradually returned to normal.

Mom looked at Wayne as if trying to figure him out. She told the boys to put the bats and balls into the bag and then put
the bag into her car.

“Come on, Wayne,” Mom said, when they were ready to leave. “You can ride with us as far as our house.”

He seemed reluctant at first. Then he shrugged and got into the car. Nick thought that Mom would say something more to Wayne,
but she didn’t. And he was glad. Wayne looked as if he didn’t care to talk about anything.

Wayne helped Nick lift the equipment out of the car when they reached home. Wayne spotted the tent Dad had put in the yard
for Nick. “That’s a beauty. Ever spend a night in it?”

“Oh, sure,” said Nick. He met Wayne’s eyes. “Wayne, you’re not very happy about my mother’s coaching us, are you?”

Wayne’s lips twitched. “I didn’t say anything.”

“No. But that’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it? I wasn’t too happy about it at first, either. But nobody else will coach us.
If she didn’t coach us, we wouldn’t have a team. Did you ask your dad if he’d like to coach us?”

Wayne didn’t answer for a while. At last he said, “Your mother’s okay. I’m just not crazy about baseball. I’ve even thought
of quitting. I don’t know. Maybe I will or maybe I won’t.

He walked away. When he was halfway to the sidewalk, he turned and said over his shoulder, “So long. And thanks for the ride.”

Nick frowned after him. Wayne quitting? Did he really mean it? He really was a strange kid. Why hadn’t he answered those questions
about his father? What did his father do that made him unable to coach the team? Was it because he didn’t know
enough about baseball? Or was it some other reason?

Nick went into the house and saw that Dad was home. He certainly was putting in some long hours lately.

“Dad, do you know Mr. Snow? Know what his job is?”

Dad shrugged. “He’s an importer, I think. Brings goods in from abroad. Why?”

“Wayne never talks about him.”

“Maybe Wayne doesn’t know exactly what he does,” answered Dad.

It sure seemed funny.
He
knew what
his
dad did.

On Saturday afternoon Gale and Scotty came over and the three of them rode their skateboards down to the corner. They stopped
in the drugstore for ice-cream cones and rode on the sidewalk on Columbus Street till they were opposite Wayne Snow’s house.

Nick heard sharp, cracking sounds coming from the place, and saw baseballs flying through the air on the other side of the
garage.

“How do you like that?” he said. “He’s practicing batting! And the other day he said he didn’t like baseball!”