In the last part Mrs. Koska attempted to set Ben up with her beautiful granddaughter, Hanna. Ben counseled Angelo to be a policeman. Ben and Tony trek to the Chicago White Stockings baseball park in search of a greater mission field.

“Look, Ben! Clowns! And jugglers! And … What’re they doing?” Tony was dazed by the activities in the ballpark. It was midmorning with the ball game hours away. Actors, games, food vendors, fruits, snacks, and much more that amazed Tony.

Ben, as well, truth be told. Paying double – admission to the fair event, as well as the ball game –Ben and Tony gawked at the acrobatics and rope walks and such. They’d neither one ever even heard of such goings on.

A little further on they found some activities for fan participation. For as little as a penny, a person could knock over a bottle with a baseball and win a prize, a nickel would get more baseballs and greater prizes.

“Look, Ben, over there. Those people are lined up to hit a baseball to those White Stockings players! You could do it, Ben! You could hit it!”

For a dime, you got three swings. If the batter hit the ball, he got a dollar. If he hit a home run, which was any ball over the head of the two fielders, he would win ten dollars.

“You can do it, Ben. I know you can.”

Ben paid the dime and got into line. Soon enough, it was his turn to bat. The first pitch whizzed past him, allowing him no chance to do anything but flinch. The second pitch was a curve ball that twisted Ben into a knot, landing him on his keester as the ball curved over the plate, missing him altogether.

Getting back into position, Ben noticed one of the uniformed fielders assume a batter’s stance, acting as if he held a bat, his hands close together. Ben mimicked his posture. This time, Ben watched the pitcher’s throwing hand, then watched the ball as it raced to the catcher. His eyes still on the ball, Ben swung the bat, meeting the ball. Continuing his swing, he hit the ball in the air toward what he would learn was the right field. The fielder raced to his left and back, barely getting near enough to stop its flight, but not actually catch it.

“You hit it, man, step over there and collect your dollar.” The arbiter was the catcher. “Good hit, by the way. Next batter.”

“It shoulda been ten dollars, Ben. It went past him.”

“No, Tony. He stopped it. Besides, I didn’t do it for the money. The fact is, I feel kind of bad about the whole thing.”

“Why?”

“Preaching the good news, saving people’s souls, helping people is way more important than any game.” Ruffling Tony’s hair, Ben added, “Besides, didn’t you see me fall on my butt?”

They both laughed.

After feasting on a meat pie that Ben had watched being cooked well enough to deem safe, followed by a peach turnover, Ben bought them each a sarsaparilla soda. They were in their seats as the entire affair was dismantled for the upcoming baseball game.

Ben smiled and made an effort not to spoil Tony’s fun, but inwardly Ben felt as if he was cheating God of the time that he could have been outside the park preaching to the thousands of people that poured into the park all around them. Ben imagined everyone of them missing heaven because he wasn’t out there showing them the way to salvation. It made enjoying the game nearly impossible.

+++

“Time to go,” Ben said.

Tony’s expression said it all.

“Tell you what, Tony, with the score five to one, it likely won’t go extra innings. I’m going to be on Harrison Street outside the entrance where we came in. If you get turned around, just walk around the park and listen for my voice. I have to preach.”

“I won’t get turned around. Thanks, Ben.” Tony’s eyes spoke gratitude, as well as dismay. He was grateful to be able to watch the end of the ball game, but was mixed about shirking his duty, his responsibility to Ben… and the ministry that he felt a part of. “We don’t have flyers for me to pass out anyway,” Tony added weakly.

No sooner was Ben out of sight and Tony was following after, mindful of his responsibility.

+++

“Are you on the team?” Ben shouted. “Fear not striking out. Don’t let missing a play keep you from dusting yourself off, reading for the next. Just be on the team! Join the team of Jesus Christ. Everyone who applies gets on the team. No one is dropped, or traded. Get on the team. Are you on the team? Jesus wants you. Don’t just be a spectator sitting in the stands when you can be on the team.”

Ben repeated his spiel until the last fan left. He’d seen Tony working the area from the first moment, proud the lad had considered his priorities. Circling Ben like a border collie trained to herd sheep, Tony pointed toward Ben, while announcing, “There’s Ben Persons. He knows how you can be saved.” Tony used several comments, but was effective in causing many to turn and to hear some of Ben’s delivery.

On the way home, Tony started to ask Ben about the possibility of a repeat of the day. Before he got past “Ben …” Ben replied, "Probably won’t be more festival days, but this is my spot for every home game that God doesn’t send me somewhere else.” He ruffled Tony’s hair.

Tony knew in his gut that Ben would let him watch a game here and there.

That night after the prayer time that usually followed supper, Ben replayed the preaching moments in front of the ball park. He calculated that he could be heard by individual souls for about two minutes as they walked into and through the range of his voice. About half that time, they should be able to clearly distinguish his words.

With pencil and paper, Ben wrote out a dozen two-minute sermons, careful to put in some sort of call to salvation in each minute. He could repeat the two-minute drill, or run through his repertoire with each session. Within days, Ben discovered what time blocks he could preach more lengthy sermons as he saw people lingering prior to the opening of the ticket booths and gates to the park. It was after the games that he most held to his two-minute sermonettes. Ben also familiarized himself with the neighboring churches of the ball park, changing his flyers to include them.

One weekday game about two hours before the first pitch, one of the Chicago White Stockings players noticed Ben approach with his preaching box. The ball player was walking to the park from his nearby rented room.

“Hey! Excuse me,” the player said. “You’re the one got that hit.”

Ben knew what hit he was talking about.

“Only hit all day. You could make it on the team with a little training.”

“You could make it on God’s team with no training at all, friend,” Ben replied. “Hey. You’re the one that caught it. You showed me how to hit. Thanks.”

“Didn’t catch it though. You hit it too hard. But what do you mean, get on your team?”

"Not my team. The team of Jesus Christ, his eternal team. No cuts, no trades, no errors. You accept that you’re lost and need a team. Jesus is the captain of that team. He forgives all your past errors. He doesn’t care what your batting average is, or your fielding percentage. Fact is, he loves you and wants to give you his uniform.

“Look at it like this,” Ben continued, an audience gathering behind the ball player. “You have a ticket for the train by just standing here listening. You accept what I’ve said and believe it, and then confess the truth, and Jesus, the conductor of this train, will punch your ticket. You can’t be kicked off or snatched off his train bound for glory.”

“Look, I wanna …” the player nodded toward the ball park employee’s and players’ gate. “But …”

“What’s your name?” Ben asked.

“Billy, Billy Sunday.”

“Billy Sunday, you see that Presbyterian church steeple right over there?”

Billy looked and nodded.

“You go in there after today’s game. Not tomorrow, Billy. Today. Pastor Welch will be waiting for you. Trust me, he knows his ABC’s and how to help you get on the team and your ticket punched.”

Billy nodded, smiling, and jogged toward the players’ entrance.

Ben gazed after him, a certain premonition registering. He resolved to visit the Presbyterian pastor as soon as the game got started and his congregation made their way into the stands.