The Fox Steals Home (10 page)

The sight of them warmed Bobby’s heart. Next to his father, Grandpa Alex was the greatest living man on earth.

The Sunbirds had first bats.

“Look who’s on the mound,” Billy said as Bobby started swinging two bats, each with a metal doughnut around the fat part.

“I see,” observed Bobby, who hadn’t thought much about it. He had other — more important — thoughts on his mind.

“Play ball!” the umpire announced.

The crowd cheered and clapped.

“Get a hit, Bobby! Get on, kid!” a fan yelled.

“Come on, Fox! Start it off!” another fan chimed in.

Bobby tossed aside one of the bats, removed the doughnut from the one he kept, and stepped to the plate. He dug into the dirt
for secure footing,
then held up his bat and looked across the short span between home and the mound at Walter Wilson.

Walter looked big, strong, and menacing. He looked as if he could throw a ball two hundred miles an hour, and was going to
do it with every pitch.

He stepped on the rubber, stretched, and delivered. The ball streaked in, knee-high and a hair inside. Bobby heard it explode
in the catcher’s mitt.

“Strike!” boomed the ump.

Bobby looked back at him in surprise. The ump, busy adjusting his counter, ignored him.

Another pitch.

“Strike two!”

Bobby stepped out of the box. He wasn’t happy about that call, either.

“Come on, Fox!” yelled one of the long-haired fans. “You can’t steal a base if you don’t get on!”

He stepped back into the box. Then Walter proceeded to fire four more pitches, all balls.

Bobby walked.

He looked for the sign from the third-base coach.
Play it safe.

Eddie took a called strike.

Then it came — thumb to cap, to belt, to chest, and back to cap. The steal was on.

B
obby looked up at the crowd and saw his father and grandfather. Both were watching him intently, waiting to see if he would
run. Grandpa Alex then leaned over and said something to Bobby’s father.

Bobby reverted his attention to Walter, who was getting set to pitch.

I wonder if seeing me will make him think about that boat accident,
thought Bobby.
I wonder if he feels sorry at all that he lied to my father

Bobby took his lead.

I’ve got to make this one good,
he promised himself, forgetting Walter and his connection with the boat accident for a minute.
I’ve got to show Dad that all that training paid off.

Walter stretched, brought down his arms. Then, like a shot, he fired the ball to first.

The throw could not have been more accurate, nor quicker. The first baseman caught the ball near the bag and tagged Bobby
on the leg just a fraction of a second before he could get back.

“Ouuuut!” shouted the ump.

Bobby trotted to the Sunbirds’ bench, his head bowed in embarrassment, as hooplas exploded from the Cowbirds’ fans.

Sympathetic remarks came from the two longhaired kids. “That’s okay, Fox. Don’t let it get you down. You’ll be up again.”

They were okay guys. At a time like this he could use all the moral support he could get.

But he had let his father and grandfather down. That’s what bothered him.

Eddie smashed a single to left, only to perish on first as both Hank and Andy failed to connect with safeties.

B.J., pitching for the Sunbirds, gave up a hit and a walk as the Cowbirds came to bat. But that was all.

Billy, leading off in the top of the second, connected
with a high fly that might have landed in the middle of the lake, if it had traveled horizontally. As it was, Nick Tully,
the Cowbirds’ shortstop, caught it just outside of the base path.

Walter rifled in two pitches to Snoop Myers. Both were balls.

Then he accidentally laid one in where Snoop must have seen it hanging like a balloon. Swinging with all his might, Snoop
met the ball right at its equator and sent it out of the park.

Cheers exploded from the fans as Snoop circled the bases. Even the Cowbirds’ fans gave him an ovation. Snoop took off his
cap and politely bowed.

The next two batters, Marv and Sherm, went down without a hit.

Again the Cowbirds, and again the Sunbirds, breezed through their turns at bat without scoring a run. Walter had made a threat
by driving out a long double, but good defense on the part of Eddie and Snoop had kept him from going any farther than second
base.

The big blast happened in the bottom of the third. It started with B.J. walking Jake Hollister,
who went to third on a sharp two-bagger by Larry Jones. Then Adam Hooton singled, scoring Jake.

Bobby called time and trotted to the mound, thinking that B.J. needed a few minutes’ rest to get himself back in order. Andy,
Eddie, and Snoop joined the huddle.

“Take it easy, B.J.,” said Bobby. “You’re working too fast.”

“Keep ’em low,” suggested Andy.

“Just get ’em out,” offered Snoop.

The three infielders returned to their positions, leaving B.J. alone with his problem. Nick Tully swung at B.J.’s first pitch,
a long fly ball to left field. Hank put it away with ease.

“Thataway to go, fella!” exclaimed Bobby.

Up came Foster Moore, the Cowbirds’ burly center fielder, waving his bat over his head like a war club. Everybody backed up,
knowing Foster’s power.

Bang!
He sliced a single over short, and Larry scored.

Walter came up again, keeping the Sunbirds playing deep. Batting seventh meant that he was one of those rare birds, a hitting
pitcher.

He proved it again on the third pitch. The blow looked as if it might be a home run as the ball soared to deep center field.
But it struck the fence and bounced back, and Walter finished up on third. A run had scored on the hit, and the Cowbirds went
out in front, 4–1.

I don’t know why I should feel sorry for him,
thought Bobby.
He hits like a fool on the ball field.

Second baseman Ed Michaels kept up the hitting barrage with a run-driving-in single, and Bobby began to wonder just how long
this merry-go-round would last. There was still only one out, and the Cowbirds were hitting the old apple as if they couldn’t
get out if they tried.

Butch Mortz, the last man on the totem pole for the Cowbirds, then slashed a hot grounder to Bobby. Bobby caught it on a hop,
fired the ball to second, and Eddie relayed it to first. A double play!

“Oh, wow,” murmured Bobby under his breath as he trotted off the field. “It’s about time.”

“Maybe you ought to take me out, Coach,” said B.J., slump-shouldered as he sat back against the dugout wall. “They’re making
mincemeat out of me.”

Coach Tarbell looked at him. “I want you to pitch this game, B.J. Ollie’s only had one day’s rest. Take your time out there.
Don’t rush it, and you’ll come through A-okay. All right?”

B.J. shrugged. “You’re the boss, Coach,” he said.

Leading off, Snoop Myers again surprised everyone by banging out a safe hit, even though it was only a single. Marv walked,
and Sherm socked the first pitch for a streaking double between left and center fields. Snoop and Marv scored.

B.J., whom no one expected to hit safely, didn’t. However, he managed to get on, thanks to an error by Nick Tully, the Cowbirds’
shortstop.

With runners on first and second, Bobby was up again. He thought of his father and grandfather sitting in the stands, watching
him, waiting to see what he would do. He remembered what had happened to him during that first inning when he had tried to
steal. He had certainly flubbed badly then.

What was he going to show them now?

He looked at Walter, and waited for the pitch
he wanted. He got it after three pitches, an over-the-heart-of-the-plate fastball.

But the blow was just a solid smash down to short, and Nick threw him out.

Well, at least he had hit the ball. That was a consolation.

Eddie came through with a single, driving in Sherm. The run brought the Sunbirds up to within one of the Cowbirds, 5-4. The
Sunbirds were back in the ball game.

Then Hank hit into a double play, and the top of the fourth inning was over.

Only Larry Jones managed to get on base as the Cowbirds took their turns at the plate. He died on first, however.

In the top of the fifth, Billy got a single and advanced to second on Nick’s ground-ball error, a grass-streaker hit by Marv.
But they perished on the bases, too.

B.J. mowed down Ed Michaels with a strikeout, then got support from Billy as the center fielder hauled in Butch Mortz’s cloud-scraping
fly. Jake Hollister made the third out.

“Okay, B.J.,” said Snoop as the left-hander headed for the plate. “Start it off. I guarantee something’s going to happen.”

B.J. obliged by dropping a single over first. Then Bobby, his fourth time at bat, came up with his first hit.
It’s about time,
he thought.

He didn’t look for his father and grandfather now. He didn’t have to. Part of that applause he heard must be theirs.

But suddenly, he remembered that his father would be gone soon. And an ache lodged in his throat.

Change your mind, Dad,
he pleaded.
Please change your mind.

Neither Eddie nor Hank was able to hit balls past the Cowbirds. But Andy came through with a smashing drive over short, scoring
B.J. to tie up the ball game, 5–5.

The Sunbirds’ bench went wild. The fans went crazy. You would have thought it was Shea Stadium with the Mets coming from behind
to tie it up with the Phillies.

Billy kept the game rolling with a walk. Then
Snoop smashed one through the shortstop’s legs, scoring Bobby and putting the Sunbirds ahead, 6–5. Marv grounded out.

“We’re in! We’re in!” Snoop shouted wildly as he came running in for his glove.

“The ball game isn’t over yet,” reminded Walter, heading for his bench.

He was right. In the Cowbirds’ half of the inning a single by Ted Lacey, then a triple off the big bat of Jake Hollister knotted
the score again, 6–6.

The moments got hairier when the Sunbirds came up as Bobby, third man in the batting order, watched Sherm go to the plate
and fly out. Next up was B.J., who made it two outs by grounding out to first.

“Take the last one, Walt!” shouted Butch Mortz, the Cowbirds’ catcher, as Bobby stepped into the batting box.

Bobby ignored him. He dug his toes into the dirt and waited for Walter to come to him.

Walter did, on the second pitch. Bobby drove it over second base, a clean single.

He couldn’t believe it. He needed that hit. The team needed it.

He glanced over to the third-base coaching box. The steal sign was on!

He took his lead, careful this time not to go too far. Walter got set, then snapped the ball to first.

Bobby scooted back in time.

Keep throwing them over here, Walter,
he wanted to say.
One bad throw and I’m gone.

As it was, he didn’t have to wait for a bad throw. He went down on the pitch, and made it by a mile.

He could hear his father’s and grandfather’s cheers. And he looked at the crowd and saw them standing up together, clapping
like crazy. His heart tingled.

Again he sized up the situation. There was no steal sign being offered him by the third-base coach. But would that mastermind
on the mound, Walter Wilson, expect him to steal third with two outs?

Walter got set to pitch, and Bobby got set to run. On the pitch, Bobby took off. Eddie’s swing and miss helped, for the catcher
failed to get the ball to third on time, and Bobby was safe.

“Hey, Fox!” yelled one of his long-haired fans enthusiastically. “You made it, man!”

“Steal home, Fox!” shouted the other half of the pair.

Steal home? No way!

But — why not?
Why not?
Who would expect him to steal home with two outs? Maybe those two long-haired fans of his. But who else?

The more he considered the idea, the better it sounded.

He sized up the situation. There was a fifty-fifty chance of Eddie’s getting a safe hit. Maybe less. His failure to hit would
mean that the Cowbirds, taking their last bats, would have three outs to make in their attempt to break the tie.

I’ll have to try it,
decided Bobby.
It makes sense. Thanks, kid!
he wanted to yell to the longhaired fan who had suggested the idea.

He took a lead, standing straight so that Walter would not get any silly thoughts about him. That he catch Walter — and Butch
— off guard was of utmost importance.

Walter stretched, glanced briefly at Bobby, then
started his delivery. At the same time, Bobby started to dash for home.

Running as fast as he could go, he was within a few yards of home when he saw the ball strike Butch’s mitt. There was only
one thing he could do now, and he did it. He hit the dirt. Sliding across the plate, he saw Butch falling over it toward him.

Butch put the ball on him. But the call that boomed from the umpire told the story.

“Safe!”

“Thataboy, Fox!” yelled his long-haired fans. “You did it, man! You did it!”

From the stands came the booming cheers of the other Sunbirds fans. Bobby’s father and grandfather joined in the cheering.
It was the happiest moment of his life.

The half inning ended as Eddie flied out.

Adam led off at the bottom of the seventh with a single. Nick flied out, then Foster hit into a double play, and it was over;
7–6, in favor of the Sunbirds.

Bobby’s father and grandfather came off the
stands. But they had to wait for the mob that surrounded their hero to disperse before they could get to him.

“So they call you the Fox, do they?” exclaimed Grandpa Alex, his eyes twinkling with admiration. “Well, you certainly deserve
it. Guess all that practice that your father and I put you through helped, didn’t it?”

“It sure did, Grandpa!” replied Bobby happily.

His father beamed with pride. “Man, you can
run,”
he said. “And don’t let anybody tell you different!”