The Diamond Champs (5 page)

Kim, starting for the plate, saw the coach swing around and kick angrily at the sod. But he quickly turned back, apparently
composed again, and began clapping his hands. “Okay, Kim!” he yelled. “It's never too late! Get your hit!”

Kim did, smashing a single over second base. Nick followed suit, driving a single through short that advanced Kim to third.
Kim slid into the bag on the throw in from center, safe by a yard.

“Drive 'em in, Jo!” yelled Moe Harris, the third-base coach.

Crack
! It was another single, a high hopping grounder through second. Mick, making a dive for it, almost caught it. The ball bounced
out to left center field and Kim ran in to score. Nick started for third, but Moe held him back.

Doug, up next, walked, loading the bases.

Excitement bubbled among the players on the Steelheads' bench. The top of the batting order was up: Eric, Brad, and A. J.
They were the best hitters on the club. But there were two outs. Eric, even though he hadn't hit safely yet, had been meeting
the ball. This could be his right moment.

It was! He laid into Steve's first pitch and lambasted it for a double between left and center fields! Nick and Jo scored.

“Keep it up, Brad!” yelled Coach Stag. “Just meet the ball!”

Brad met the ball, but it was a line drive directly at Joe Fedderson. Three outs.

“That's all right!” cried Coach Stag happily. “We've picked up three runs! We'll pick up more!”

Again the Red Arrows failed to score, not even getting a hit as Doug mowed down the batters, one … two … three.

A. J., leading off in the top of the fifth, pulled a walk, and Kim's heart began to pound.
Is this going to be a repetition of the fourth inning
? he thought excitedly.

Larry powdered a fly to left field. It was caught.

“Darn!” said Kim under his breath.

Cathy took a ball, a strike, then belted a low pitch through the hole between first and second bases. Like a frightened rabbit,
A. J. bolted to second, then to third.

“Keep up the rally, Kim!” Moe yelled from his third-base coaching box.

Kim took two called strikes, then struck
out. He returned to the dugout, his heart sick.

“Chin up, Kim,” said the coach. “We're still in there.”

Nick dodged a close pitch, falling down to get out of its way. Glaring at the pitcher, he got up and stood with his bat held
high, waving it like a club.

“He didn't like that close pitch,” said Kim. “If Steve puts one in there, it's good-bye.”

Steve put one in there. And it was goodbye. The long, solid drive carried far over the left field fence for a home run, and
Nick trotted around the bases with an ear-to-ear grin on his face.

The whole team met him at the plate and shook his hand.

“What power, man!” Kim smiled at him.

Jo flied out to center to end the half inning—6 - 4, Steelheads.

Mick Davis, leading off for the Red Arrows in the bottom of the fifth, latched onto a high pitch to deep right. The ball bounced
in front of Kim, slipped through his legs, and rolled to the fence.

“Rats!” he fumed, spinning on his heels and sprinting after the ball. By the time he whipped it to the infield, Mick was safe
on third.

Doug struck out Hank Stone, then walked Jim Kramer, who had already accumulated two safe hits. Fred singled, scoring Mick,
putting the Red Arrows just one run behind.

Then Duke Pierce popped out to short and Ken Dooley fanned, bringing the threatening half inning to an end—6 - 5, Steelheads.

“Our last time up,” reminded Coach Stag. “Let's chalk up a few more runs, shall we?”

Doug waited out Steve's pitches, finally flying out to center field.

Again the top of the batting order was up.

“Don't get too anxious now, Eric,” cautioned the coach calmly as the left-handed third baseman and hitter stepped to the plate.
“Wait for the one you like.”

Eric nonetheless seemed nervous as he waved the bat back and forth, his legs spread wide, his attention riveted on the pitcher.
He took two called strikes, fouled a pitch—and then blasted a line drive over short for a clean single!

The whole team shouted their approval, then shouted even louder as Brad stepped to the plate and lambasted a fence-hitting
triple, scoring Eric.

A. J., with just a walk to his credit so far, cracked a streaking single through the mound. Steve made a vain effort to catch
it, but the hit was clean, and another run scored.

Larry lifted a long fly to left that Jim Kramer pocketed in his glove. Two outs.
But that didn't seem to dim Cathy's hopes as she swung at a waist-high pitch and rocketed it for a long double to right center,
scoring A. J.

Kim, hoping he could continue the hitting spree, managed to make first all right, but it was due to an error by shortstop
Joe Fedderson. Cathy advanced to third on the play, but perished there as Nick flied out to left.

Trailing 9 - 5, the Red Arrows made a bold attempt to catch up as Eddie Noles cracked Doug's first pitch for a double. Joe
flied out to left, but Larry's strong arm kept Eddie from advancing.

Steve, considered to be one of the league's best hitting pitchers, proved his worth as he laced an outside corner pitch for
a single, scoring Eddie.

The Red Arrows were closing the gap, 9 - 6. And the top of their batting order was up.

M
ICK DAVIS, THE RED ARROWS
'
leadoff batter, stood at the plate and watched three pitches zip by him without taking the bat off his shoulder. All three
pitches were balls.

Nick called time and ran out to the mound. He talked with Doug a bit, then returned to his position behind the plate.

Doug removed his cap, brushed hack his hair, pulled his cap back on, and stepped on the rubber. He stretched, checked the
runner on first, then breezed in the pitch.

“Strike!” cried the ump.

“Nice pitch, Doug!” Nick shouted.

Doug pitched again. “Strike two!”

Doug put the next one in there too, and Mick swung.
Crack
! It was a blazing shot to right field, curving toward the foul line!

Kim bolted after it. At the last instant he stretched out his gloved hand to catch it, but the ball hit the tip of his glove
and bounced to the outfield. Kim chased after it, realizing that it was the second time he had missed a ball in this game.
He picked it up near the fence, turned, and heaved it in. Steve was running in to score, and Mick was sprinting to third.

Slapping his fist disgustedly into the pocket of his glove, Kim told himself again that he had no business being here. He
was no outfielder. He wasn't even a baseball player. Coach Stag had been trying to mold him into one, and was failing at it.
He could never mold me into a baseball player
, Kim
reflected.
Never. So missing that fly wasn't really
my
fault
.

He pushed his thoughts aside as Hank Stone stepped to the plate. Hank waited out Doug's pitches too, then slammed a hot liner
toward short. The ball started to zoom over Brad's head, and Brad leaped, his gloved hand held high. The ball smacked into
its pocket for an out.

Quickly he whipped the ball to third as Mick, about five steps off the base, tried to get back.

Eric caught the ball in time, and Mick was out. Three outs. The ball game was over, and the Steelheads took it, 9 - 7.

Relieved, Kim ran in and joined in congratulating Brad for the play that saved the game for the Steelheads.

And for Coach Stag.

“Great catch, Brad,” he praised. “That's another one in the bag.”

Kim looked at him, and saw the coach's intense gaze. “You made a real gallant
effort on that hit, Kim,” said the coach. “Almost had it, too. Good hustling.”

Kim frowned. “It was an error, wasn't it?”

“Error nothing. It was a genuine hit. And we won despite it.”

Kim felt a little better, but what really began to lie heavily on his mind was the coach's attitude about winning. Nothing
else seemed to be more important to Coach Stag, as if he were trying to get his name, and the names of the Steelheads, in
the record books.

Why was he so fanatic about winning, anyway? It was the umpteenth time that the question stood so uppermost in Kim's mind.

Late the next afternoon he was making a peanut butter sandwich when Mr. Rollins called to him from the living room. Kim went
out there, pressing the two slices of bread tightly together.

“Yes, Dad?” he said as he saw his father sitting in an armchair, reading the
Blue Hills Citizen
.

“I was reading about the game,” he said, turning to Kim. “I notice by the names of the kids who play on the Steelheads team
that some of them don't live in the neighborhood. Isn't there a ruling that says they should?”

“I don't know. But I guess not, Dad. Just like a few of the other teams, some of our team live in other parts of Blue Hills.”

“I see that,” replied his father. “The Forsons and the Wellses live on the north side. I used to play ball with their fathers.
And this A. J. Campbell. He's probably Tony Campbell's son.”

Kim shrugged. “Could be, Dad.” Then he frowned. “Did you play baseball with his father, too?”

“I sure did. He was tall, left-handed, and played first base.”

Kim's eyebrows knitted. “So does A. J.”

“I see that,” said his father. “And he's right-handed.”

He read further and chuckled. “Well, how about that?” he said. “Rollins, right field; Forson, catcher; Franklin, second base;
Barton, pitcher.”

“Do you recognize those other names, Dad?” Kim inquired curiously.

“I sure do,” answered Mr. Rollins. “Dominic Forson was our catcher, Andy Franklin our second baseman and Junk Barton one of
our pitchers. We called him Junk because of the junk he threw.” He glanced over the lineup again. “Very interesting,” he added
thoughtfully.

Kim stared at him. “What do you mean by that, Dad?”

Mr. Rollins shrugged. “Just what I said. Very interesting.”

“That Franklin is a girl, Dad,” explained Kim. “Her name's Jo.
J-o
. We've got two girls on the team. The other girl is Cathy Andrews.”

Mr. Rollins lowered the paper and frowned. “I haven't seen Andy Franklin or Don Andrews in five or six years,” he said. “Do
Jo and Cathy have any brothers?”

Kim thought about it a moment. “Not that I know of,” he said.

His father, still frowning, glanced hack at the paper. “That sure is something, all right,” he said.

The phone rang. Seconds later Mrs. Rollins called from the kitchen. “Pat! It's for you!”

“Coming!” Mr. Rollins said. He folded the paper and placed it on the coffee table. Rising, he looked at Kim.

“What's the name of your coach? Stag?”

“Yes. Gorman E. Stag,” answered Kim.

“Him,” replied Mr. Rollins, heading for the kitchen, “I've never heard of.”

Kim didn't play in the game against the Fire Fighters. He coached first base during
the first three innings, then was relieved by Cathy.

For the first two innings the Steelheads outhit the Fire Fighters and led 4 - 0. But by the fifth inning the Fire Fighters
had climbed out of their slump and tied the score. It wasn't till then that Kim saw a change in Coach Stag. The coach was
standing by the side of the dugout, dabbing his perspiring face with a handkerchief. Even then the coach didn't remove his
glasses.

But he looked more nervous now than Kim had ever seen him. Was it because the Fire Fighters were gaining on the Steelheads?
Kim wondered. Was it because the season was drawing swiftly toward its conclusion, and the Steelheads had to keep winning
in order to win the championship?

For the first time since the baseball season had started, Kim felt angry with the
coach.
So what if we lost
? Kim told himself. The game was supposed to be for fun first of all, wasn't it? Coach Stag only seemed concerned about one
thing. Winning.
He's unbelievable
!

And for that matter, why doesn't he take off those sunglasses? What's behind them that he doesn't seem to want anyone to see
?

Russ, on the mound for the Steelheads, kept the Fire Fighters from scoring again. Then he corked a double with one on in the
sixth to win the game for the Steelheads, 5 - 4.

Kim couldn't help but notice the relief that came over the coach.

“Nice game, gang!” the coach said proudly. “That's another hill we've conquered! Just three more to go!”

Kim watched him turn to help Don Morgan pile the bats and balls into the equipment bag. He caught Eric's eye and motioned
to him.

“Yeah?” said Eric as he came forward.

“Want to come with me to see where the coach lives?” he asked quietly.

Eric looked at him. “You still have that crazy idea that maybe he's a criminal?”

“I don't know. But there is
something
different about him, that's for sure.”

Eric hesitated, then finally nodded. “Okay. I'll go with you.”

S
IX-SEVENTEEN BEAVER STREET
was at the opposite side of Blue Hills from where Kim lived. He and Eric took a bus there, arriving on the corner of Beaver
and Ford streets shortly before eight o'clock.