World Series (11 page)

On third base Al Schacht began clowning around, running for a ball, falling on his face, trying to catch one with his silk hat, and generally drawing laughter from the crowd. Then suddenly the clown disappeared and there was that tense moment before the start, each man in both dugouts thinking of one thing—the difference between $6,400 and $4,400. As the papers had announced that morning, this was the difference between the winner’s and the loser’s share. And nearly every player had the same thoughts at the same time: my misplay may make that difference.

They swarmed from the dugout. In just a minute their voices chattered across the field from every position.

“Atta boy, Elmer....”

“Okay Elmer-boy, le’s go....”

“Here’s the easy man, Elmer....”

The big pitcher smoothed the dirt from the front of the rubber and burned in his first pitch. Lanahan, the batter, hit it, a fast grounder which Harry scooped up and shot across to Allen. So the Indians weren’t going to take the ball either! They were out to win from the start, too.

In the field the Kid watched Dave adjust his mask and go to work with Elmer on McClusky. They pitched carefully, and finally he popped to Ed Davis back of second. Old Gardiner came loping to the plate. Gardiner, the Kid remembered, except in the second game, had been taking all through the Series, wearing down the Dodger pitchers as much as he could. Elmer would recall this also and would try to sneak over a first strike. Elmer did exactly that. And the veteran, catching the ball squarely, drove a hot liner over third for a clean single.

Crossed him up! That’s the reason he’s such a grand ballplayer, that man.

Two down, Kenny Rock at the plate. May be a hit-and-run. The Kid pulled the dirt from his spikes, adjusted the sunglasses pushed back over the visor of his cap, and stood ready for anything. On a ball team every man expects every ball to be hit at him and the Kid was no exception to this rule. He tried to figure what to do and where to throw on any kind of a hit ball.

A run sure would be bad for us now, he thought. It sure would.

Rock hit a rasping grounder to the left of first base. Red was over, reached it, knocked it down, and threw to McCaffrey covering first. But the pitcher, always a slow starter, lost the race for the bag.

Shoot! Two on and two out. Now that’s bad! Why, we practiced that a million times. I’ve seen the pitchers practicing that play by the hour. He recalled the time in Clearwater in spring practice which they had devoted to that simple play. He could see Dave batting grounders from the box, the pitcher wheeling, running to first for the ball. This error might mean an important run because Hammy was at the bat; Hammy, the powerhouse of the Cleveland team. Fat Stuff would have had that man. Fat Stuff was heavier than McCaffrey, but he never made slips of that kind. No use worrying. No use thinking over others’ mistakes. Let’s go to work on Hammy.

Elmer pitched to him with care. He smoothed out the dirt before the rubber, hitched up his pants, and looked round the bases.

A strike, high inside. That’s a good sign, thought the Kid. Shows Elmer’s ahead of the hitters today. A ball, wide. He wound up; another ball wide of the plate, in fact very wide, yet Dave was ready for it. Without even shifting his stance he shot it to first. Rock was caught by a foot sliding back to the bag and the side was out.

Say what you like, Dave Leonard was a great ballplayer. He sure pulled Elmer out of that hole. “He certainly picked Elmer up that time, didn’t he, Red?” Yessir. No wonder they all liked to pitch to Dave. He was always in there trying to help out his pitchers, to keep them in a good frame of mind.

“Nice work, Dave.”

“Nice throwing there, Dave.”

“Snappy work, Dave.”

“All right now, gang, le’s go.”

But they couldn’t seem to get going. Red Allen grounded to the shortstop, and the Kid stepped to the plate. He caught the first pitch on the nose and drove it back hard at the man in the box who stuck out his glove and grabbed the ball before he could even get away from the plate. Hang it all! A little higher and it would have been a clean single.

“Shoot,” he said, bouncing his bat on the plate. “Aren’t we ever going to get any breaks at all?”

“It’s not how hard you hit ’em, it’s where you hit ’em in this man’s game, sonny,” said McCormick, the catcher, as he turned away.

“Yeah? All right, baby, we’ll get to you guys yet; see if we don’t.”

Then Swanny flied to center and the inning was over.

McCaffrey was pitching well, but Dave continued to pull him out of holes. In the third Lanahan led off with another single, his second of the game. Elmer threw a wild pitch at McClusky, the next batter, that Dave knocked down. On first Lanahan was dancing away, not daring to risk the throwing arm of the old catcher. That would have meant another base if West had been in there, thought the Kid. It gave him confidence to see the fear Dave commanded in the opposing team.

On the next pitch McClusky grounded to Ed Davis who was obliged to throw to first to get the runner, with no chance of catching Lanahan at second. Old Fox Gardiner came up. He hit a looping ball...the Kid raced in....

Can’t make it. Too late ! Over the crowd’s roar he heard Red and Davis both yelling at him. “Home...home! Home, Roy!” He took the ball on the second hop, all poised for the throw. From his place in short right he decided to throw all the way. The ball went on a line exactly where the veteran catcher straddled the plate. Lanahan, seeing the ball was waiting, made no effort to slide but struck Dave with the full force of his right shoulder and knocked him spinning in the dirt. Dave fell, still clutching the ball, and the runner was out. Some players might have dropped it; not Dave Leonard. The next batter flied to Karl and again Elmer was out of a bad hole. The Kid felt better as he came trotting into the dugout.

“That was the right throw on him, wasn’t it, Dave?”

Cleveland finally managed to put a run over in the fourth, a run which kept looking bigger and bigger as the game progressed. A two thousand dollar run, it was. The way Thomas was pitching, that run was as good as ten. The Dodger batters were swinging ahead of the ball, sending easy grounders to third or short balls which the pitcher nabbed in time to get them at first. Dave tried not to fret. Surely they’d get one run. One run wasn’t asking much. Then in the Cleveland sixth, Hammy got a curve on the business end of his forty ounce club and smashed it to deep center. When Swanny at last relayed it to the infield the big first baseman was puffing on third.

Bruce Gordon swinging three bats in his hand came to the plate. He fouled one into the stands and the Kid watched Dave take a new ball from Stubblebeard and throw it over to Jerry Strong on third. Jerry rubbed it up well before tossing it to Elmer. Jerry was the team’s official rubber-up. They always threw him new balls.

Two strikes. Then two and one. Gordon hit the next, an easy grounder to Harry. Before his eyes the Kid had the whole panorama: Hammy cautiously retreating to third, Gordon straining for first, Harry at short set for the ball and all ready to throw.

Then! It struck a pebble, took a bad hop, and bounced over Harry’s head into center field. Hammy scored standing up and the count was two to nothing.

My gosh, don’t we ever have any luck? Don’t we ever get any luck at all? A run like that, a scratch hit on what should have been an easy out! Two to nothing. Now the pressure will be on Elmer. One run is bad, two runs to get with only three innings left is tough. And this isn’t over yet. There’s Gordon on first and Painter, a dangerous man, at bat.

Dave and Elmer conferred together. Then they separated. A hit-and-run, possibly.

Yes, it was a hit-and-run. A clean hit, too. No! Eddie had the ball, way back of second. How the heck did he manage to get over there? He was on one foot, off balance, all tied up in knots, but somehow he got the ball away with that split second quickness so vital in doubleplays. Harry had it just as Gordon slid into the bag in a vain attempt to upset him. The little shortstop deftly sidestepped the spikes of the runner and burned the ball into first. Up went the hand of the umpire on second. Up went the hand of the umpire behind first. And up went the roar from the throats of thousands of fans. It was the first time the Dodger crowd had really had a chance to yell since the game began and they made the most of it. This was the Dodgers again.

End of the seventh. Those two runs looked big on the scoreboard over the Kid’s head in right. Two runs; we need three but we’ll settle for two. Who’s up? Bottom of the batting order. Ed Davis at the plate. Here’s hoping the boys save me a rap. Gee, I hope they save me a rap. My last rap of the game, maybe. Perhaps the last of the Series, he thought. Then with every other man on the bench he leaped to his feet. Ed was slinging his bat away. The first base on balls Thomas has given. He’s weakening.

Dave at bat. A man on first and no one out. He touched his cap, wiped his right hand carefully on his trousers. The entire Cleveland team, knowing how badly a run was needed, were looking for anything. So on the pitch, as Ed dashed for second base, Gardiner went over to cover the bag. Dave, an experienced batter, waited until from one corner of his eye he saw Gardiner break. Then he cracked a lazy bounder straight through the open position between first and second. It was a clean hit. Ed slid easily into third and Dave planted himself on first. Now the entire dugout was on the step, yelling. Two men on, no one out. Two runs to make up!

The Kid went over to the bat rack for his stick. Yep, I’ll get my rap all right. And if that old bird Leonard can hit this pitcher, by ginger I can. Here’s our chance. This is our inning, fellas.

“W
IN YOUR OWN
game, Elmer.”

“All right, now, Elmer, you can do it.”

“Just a single, that’s all we need, Elmer, old-boy-old-kid.”

The dugout like the stands was in delirium. Every man was on his feet roaring from the step. Two runs behind. A hit meant a run this time. The Cleveland catcher and pitcher stood with their heads together in the middle of the path. Two runs behind. A hit would mean a run and another hit would tie the score. It was a bad situation for a pitcher.

Come on there, Elmer. Win your own game. He gripped the bat, attempted a bunt to score the man on third, but missed the ball completely. Shucks! Strike one. It silenced the dugout temporarily. Now he’ll have to hit. A ball! More chatter from the dugout. Then a mighty shout in the bleachers. Two balls. Yessir, Thomas was weakening. The pitcher smoothed the dirt back of the rubber, hitched nervously at his pants, and passed his arm over his forehead. The battery was working carefully on Elmer, trying to get him to hit into a doubleplay, and the Kid, watching from the dugout, realized the two forces contending, each attempting to outguess the other. For a second he forgot the thousands of spectators above, the thousands of extra dollars at stake, forgot winning even, in watching the play and interplay which made baseball the game it was.

Suddenly there was a yell from the Cleveland dugout. He saw Dave and a cloud of dust arrive together at second. The old man had actually stolen a base with the Indian catcher completely napping. Dave had swiped second! What do you think of that? The idea that a slow, forty-year-old manager with, as they supposed, two charley horses, would dare go down, seemed impossible. The Cleveland team had been crossed beautifully. Men on second and third now. That’s better still. In the excitement he had failed to notice the pitch. A glance at the scoreboard showed the count 3-1. It was a ball.

All through the Series Dave had refused to allow his pitchers to hit the 3-1 throw. This, he felt, was percentage baseball. The man who wasn’t going to take could hit, but he ordered his pitchers to take. The Kid watched him flash the signal for Elmer to hit. It was a set-up play if, as seemed probable, the catcher called for a straight ball. He did. Elmer cracked it with all the force of his powerful body deep into right field. Gordon went back for the catch but didn’t try for the throw-in. One man down, a runner on third, and one run across. Now they only had one run to get. One run worth two thousand dollars to every player on the team.

Big Red Allen strode to the plate. He hit the first ball sharply to the right of the second baseman. Old Gardiner was slow getting across, reached it late, stooped to pick it up, threw, and the runner was safe. And Dave was over with the tieing run!

There’s our break! There’s the break we had coming. “Ed Davis would have had that one in his pocket. Sure he would, wouldn’t he, Karl?” Never mind, we needed that break; it came just at the right moment. Boy, if I can only hit one now we’re really set.

He watched one pitch and caught the next. But he failed to meet it squarely. It struck the end of his bat and the ball looped over Painter’s head for a scratch single into left field. Red Allen streaked to second.

A base on balls! Swanny trotted to first while out in the bullpen the two Cleveland pitchers stopped watching and began to concentrate earnestly on their warm-up throws.

Three on and only one out! They weren’t done yet. Now, Karl! C’mon there, Karl! The Kid stood on second, watching Karl come confidently to the plate.

A hit! Oh, that was a hit! A clean liner into deep center. That ball is traveling. McClusky couldn’t get that one with a motorcycle.

The Kid, head down, rounded third and dug for home, while Karl planted himself defiantly on second base. As Roy trotted across the plate, he observed the hot, disappointed face of the Cleveland catcher. He was holding his mask in his hand, shaking his head. The Kid couldn’t resist jabbing him.

“It’s not how hard you hit ’em, Mac, it’s where you hit ’em, hey?” The catcher heard but paid no attention whatever.

Behind the plate, over opposite in the rear of the Dodger dugout, in the stands in deep center, the fans were on their feet, giving the raspberry to the visiting team. This was something like! The Cleveland players, their confidence gone, their noisy chatter now subdued, stood watching as a relief pitcher hurried over from the bullpen.

Harry Street hit the first pitch between short and second, a sizzling grounder no one could reach. Why, everyone was hitting at last. Then Jerry Strong got a single and Ed Davis came to bat for the second time that inning. When it was over they had scored seven runs, eventually knocking the Indian relief man from the box and coming into the ninth with a safe lead. Elmer allowed another run, but working carefully he and Dave always had the situation under control. There were two out and a man on second when Hammy came to the plate in the ninth.