Baseball Card Adventure: Satch And Me Part 14

Flip turned it up a notch, throwing a couple of pitches in the mid-70s.

"Okay, give it a little gas now," Satch hollered.

Flip went into his windup, throwing one pitch at 84 miles an hour and the next at 87.

"Is that as hard as you can throw it?" I asked.

"Just about," Flip replied.

"Gimme some smoke," Satch said. "Gimme all you got."

Flip nodded, and threw the ball so hard he nearly toppled off the mound.

"93 miles an hour!" shouted Laverne. "Yahoooo!!"

"And he's still a growin' boy," Satch said. "Gettin' stronger every day. I couldn't throw nearly that hard when I was your age."

"Hey," Flip said, "remember that Hesitation Pitch you told us about? Can you teach me how to throw that?"

Satch walked out to the mound.

"A guy named Plunk Drake taught me the Hesitation back in 1930," he said. "When you're windin' up, you gotta pause a second with your arms up in the air. Then you throw your foot forward, but don't come around with your arm right away. You put the foot down, and then release the ball. Your arm moves slow but the ball moves fast. Throws batters way off stride. Here, lemme show you."

It looked like the perfect opportunity for me. The three of them would be occupied for a while. I decided to make my move.

"I gotta pee," I said.

I ran to the dugout. There were a few doors in the back. I pulled them all open until I found the bathroom.

Quickly, I sat down and pulled out my new baseball cards. I stuffed them all back in my pocket except for one. I didn't even bother looking to see who was on the card. Any new card would get me home.

I closed my eyes.

Sometimes it's hard to know what the right thing to do is. Maybe it was crazy to go back home and leave Flip in 1942 to live his life over again. Maybe it wasn't. Flip always said you should do the right thing. I felt like this was the right thing to do. There was only one way to find out. Sometimes you just have to take a chance and hope you made the smart decision.

I pinched the card between two fingers and thought about going home. Louisville. The twenty-first century. Soon, I started to feel the slightest tingling sensation in my fingertips. I knew that in a few seconds, I would be going back.

And that's when the bathroom door opened.

18.

The Moment of Truth "WHAT ARE YOU DOING, STOSH?" FLIP ASKED.

I dropped the card. There was nothing I could say. He caught me red-handed.

"Iuh"

"You were going to go home without me!" Flip said, his voice rising in anger.

"But, Flip," I said desperately, "it would be perfect! If you stay here, you'll have Laverne. You can live your life all over again. Maybe you can even try out for the Dodgers this time. It would be for the best, Flip! You always said youth is wasted on the young. You wished you knew back when you were young what you know now. Remember? You said you would do things differently. You can take all that knowledge you acc.u.mulated in 72 years and start over as an 18-year-old. That would be so cool! I really think you should stay here, Flip."

Flip sighed.

"Stosh, ever since we got here and I saw I was young, I've been thinkin' the same thing," he said. "I've been thinkin' of tellin' you I might stay here."

"So do it!" I said.

"I can't," Flip said. "I got the store to take care of, and the team."

"The team?!" I couldn't believe he was worried about my team. "It's just a Little League team, Flip! It's not important. You'll have a new life here. A better life."

"I've lived my life, Stosh," he said. "I don't want to live it all over again. Once is enough."

I wasn't going to talk him into staying. He was set in his ways. That's one thing about old people. They can be so stubborn. So I thought of the next best thing.

"Then let's take Laverne back home with us, Flip!" I said. "If I can take one person with me, I can probably take two."

"I thought of that," Flip said. "But she's 18 years old, Stosh. When we get back home, I'm gonna be 72 again. She's not gonna want me in our time. And she wouldn't go with us anyway. If we told her we're from the future, she'd think we were crazy. You're a great friend, Stosh. I really appreciate you tryin' to help me. But it just wouldn't work."

"Hey!" Satch yelled from the field. "Will you two hurry it up? My arm's gettin' stiff from lack of grease."

Flip and I went back out to the field. Satch had taken off the chest protector and the catcher's mask. Laverne helped Flip put them on. He crouched behind the plate and Satch went out to the mound.

"Be ready now," Satch said, "'cause I'm throwin' hard."

He buzzed the first pitch in, and it slapped into the mitt with a loud pop.

"90 miles per hour," Laverne called out.

"Now watch this," Satch said.

He threw again, and the gun clocked the pitch at 91. The next two pitches were 92 and 93.

Laverne said the gun was getting a little bit too heavy for her to hold. I took it from her and she moved off to the side.

"Can you throw that fast consistently?" Flip asked.

"Nope, I do it all the time," Satch replied. Then he threw the next pitch 94 miles per hour, and the one after that was 95.

"Ya-hoooo!" shouted Laverne, "If you were white, you would be in the majors for sure."

"Yeah," Satch said, "if."

She meant well, but Laverne's comment seemed to take something out of Satch. I could see his shoulders sag and his head hang a little. I guess he had forgotten about his situation for the moment. Laverne had reminded him that he was the best pitcher in baseball but he was banned from playing at the highest level because of the color of his skin.

"Maybe I should hang 'em up," Satch said. "Only guy I can't strike out is Jim Crow. You don't keep swingin' when a fight's all over."

Flip pulled off the catcher's mask and ran out to the mound.

"Satch, quitting would be a big mistake," he said seriously. "You gave me a lotta advice. Now lemme give you some. You're gonna make the majors. You're gonna be very famous one day. You'll be in the Hall of Fame. You gotta believe me. You can't give up now."

"No kiddin'?" Satch said softly. "Hall of Fame?"

"I shouldn't have told you," Flip said. "But it's the truth."

"Then get back behind the plate," Satch said, more confidence in his voice. "Let's see how speedy I can wing this thing."

Flip put the catcher's mask back on and took his position. I aimed the gun. Satch wound up again and burned one in.

"97 miles an hour," I hollered.

The next one clocked at 98, and the one after that was 99 miles per hour. I'm sure Flip's hand was killing him, but he wasn't complaining.

"Okay," Satch said, "I'm gonna cut one loose now. Be ready."

Satch went into his windup. He kicked that leg way up high. He brought that slingshot of an arm down and let it fly. It was the moment of truth.

The instant the ball slammed into the mitt, there was a crack. It sounded like a gunshot.

In fact, it was a gunshot. Suddenly, the radar gun just exploded in my hand. I mean, it disintegrated. Pieces of plastic went flying everywhere. I closed my eyes so they wouldn't blind me. When I opened them again, the gun was gone. All that was left in my hand was the handle.

"Laverne!" a voice shouted from across the ballpark. "Get over here!"

"It's my father!" Laverne shrieked.

"Uh-oh," Satch said as he ran off the mound. "We better do some fast steppin'. He sounds mighty perturbed."

What happened next was a blur. The four of us went running in different directions. I heard Laverne screaming and her father yelling at her. There was another gunshot.

The lights in Forbes Field suddenly went out. I couldn't see three feet in front of me. I tripped over something and fell down in the dark. I was afraid to make a noise.

"Where are you, boy?" Laverne's father shouted. He was somewhere in the infield now, walking around. "When I find you, I'm gonna kill you."

I didn't know if the "boy" he was talking about was me or Flip or Satch. I wasn't going to take any chances. I crawled down into the dugout on the first base side and took a baseball card out of my pocket. In the distance, I heard an engine start and a car peel away. It was probably Satch, making a getaway.

"Where are you, Laverne?" her father said. "I ain't gonna hurt you, sweetheart. I just want him."

Wherever Laverne was hiding, she didn't answer. Her father's voice was closer to me now. He was right outside the dugout. A few feet away. If he came into the dugout, he could trip right over me. Then I'd really be in trouble. I wondered where Flip and Laverne were. I hoped they were together.

I could hear my heart pounding in my chest. His footsteps were on the dirt right outside the dugout now. I held the baseball card in my hand and tried to keep my breathing quiet. I had no choice. I had to get out of there. I just wanted to go back to Louisville. I had to leave Flip behind.

Soon the tingling sensation came. It started in my fingertips and moved up my arm. Across my body. Down my legs.

He was in the dugout now. I could hear him breathing. I smelled alcohol. And just before he would have b.u.mped into me, I disappeared.

19.

Another Life I WAS AFRAID TO OPEN MY EYES. I WAS AFRAID OF WHAT I might see. Or what I might not see.

What if I arrived back in the twenty-first century and Flip's Fan Club was gone? What if Flip Valentini had died years earlier and he never opened up the store? Or what if he settled down in Atlanta or Los Angeles or someplace other than Louisville? What if I did something or simply said something back in 1942 that changed history forever? It would be my fault. Whatever good or bad that had resulted from my actions would be my responsibility.

I opened my eyes.

I was in Flip's Fan Club. I breathed a sigh of relief.

There was good old Flip behind the counter, wrinkled and stooped over. Everything in the store looked just the same.

A little girl and her mother were talking to Flip. I remembered them. They had been asking about Barbie cards the last time I was in the store. The girl wanted to buy new Barbie cards, but Flip only had some old ones to sell.

"Can I have your autograph, Mr. Valentini?" the girl asked. "It's for my cousin's birthday. He's a big fan."

A big fan? Of Flip? That was strange. Why would anyone want Flip's autograph?

"How much do you charge?" the girl's mother asked, opening her purse and taking out her wallet.

This was too weird. Somebody was willing to pay Flip for his autograph? I must have been hallucinating.

"Fuhgetabout.i.t," Flip said. "What's your cousin's name?"

"Steven," the girl said.

Flip reached under the counter and took out a black-and-white photo of a baseball player who looked a lot like Flip. He wrote across the bottom with a black marker: I looked at the photo. It was a guy in a Brooklyn Dodgers uniform. He was winding up to pitch. Now I was sure I was hallucinating.

Flip handed the photo to the girl, and she held it like it was a treasure. She and her mom must have thanked Flip about ten times before they finally left the store.

"Stos.h.!.+" Flip said after the door jangled shut. "How ya doin'?"

"Youyou played in the majors?" I croaked.

Flip looked at me strangely.

"You know I played in the majors," he said. "Are you okay, Stosh?"

"I think I need some water," I replied.

While Flip went to get me a drink, I looked around the store. At first it looked like everything was the same. But then I looked at the photos of the old Brooklyn Dodgers on the wall. Jackie Robinson, Pee Wee Reese, Duke Snider. I'd seen those photos a hundred times. But there was something different about them now. I went over for a closer look.