FanStory.com - What We See - Chapter 20by Jim Wile

Chapter 20

Today I worked until 2:00 PM, when I closed up shop and headed straight to Tommy’s game. I got there earlier than I’d said—at 2:15—and found Ginnie in the bleachers. She had saved me a seat at the end of a row.

“You made it.”

“Of course. How’s it going so far?”

“They just started about five minutes ago, and Tommy’s team hasn’t come to bat yet. He’s on the Jolly Rogers. The other team is the Panthers.”

We watched as the first half-inning was over and the Jolly Rogers came off the field. Tommy looked into the stands and saw me. I waved to him, and he waved back.

The first two batters both made outs with a ground ball to the second baseman and a strikeout. Tommy came to the plate. He had a good stance and a good eye as he let the first two pitches pass for balls. He then tagged a line drive to left and went into second base with a standup double. A good, clean hit.

“Woo-hoo! Yay, Tommy,” Ginnie shouted, and I applauded loudly. We could see him beaming out there on second base. The next batter popped up a high fly ball just beyond the second baseman, who got himself tangled up trying to back up and catch it and ended up dropping it. Tommy, who had taken off at the crack of the bat, rounded third and easily beat the throw to the plate for the first run. More cheers and applause. I put my thumb and forefinger in my mouth and made a loud whistle.

“Wow! You’ll have to teach me to do that. That’s handy.”

“Sure, another time maybe. It takes a lot of practice before you can make a sound.”

The next player struck out to end the first inning, and the Jolly Rogers took to the field again, with Tommy jogging out to take his position at second base.

“Here comes Tommy’s friend to the plate,” said Ginnie.

I looked closely at him. He was a stout kid, and sure enough, it was Artie Intintoli. I realized then that he was the Panthers' catcher.

“Let’s go, Josh. Strike that tub a lard out!” I heard the third baseman call to the pitcher. Artie scowled at him. The Jolly Rogers coach didn’t say anything to his third baseman, so the kid continued to insult Artie, who ended up striking out after all.

“I knew you’d strike out, Ten-ton-toli,” hollered the third baseman as Artie was walking back to the Panthers bench. He turned around and said, “Shut up, asshole!” to which his coach told him he wouldn’t tolerate bad language and to sit down and keep quiet. Not another word to him. I felt kind of sorry for Artie.

Tommy got two more hits in the game—a triple and a single—and was 3-for-3, coming to the plate in the bottom of the 5th inning. The Panthers pitcher, who was tired of Tommy hitting off him every time, threw a hard one right at Tommy. He tried to back out of the way and turned his body away, but he was struck in the side of the ribs by the ball. He went down hard, rubbing his side.

The game came to a halt as Tommy didn’t get up right away. Ginnie said, “I’m going to go see if he’s okay. Excuse me, Alan,” as she got up to pass me at the end of the row of seats. I came with her. Tommy started to rise then. I watched Artie reach down and give him a hand up. Then Artie charged out to the mound, and I heard him say to the pitcher, “Cut that shit out, Bartlett. That’s my friend you just tried to kill. This is Little League, you dumb shit; it ain’t the big leagues.”

The kid tried to argue with him, but Artie wouldn’t have it and went back to his position, shaking his head in disgust. I was very impressed with that, despite the bad language.

Ginnie made sure Tommy was okay before he jogged down to first base. He rubbed his side some more, but he’d be alright. The Panthers coach never said a word to the pitcher. It may even have been he who suggested throwing at Tommy.

When the inning was over, they switched sides for the final inning. Tommy’s team was ahead 6-3. Tommy had knocked two of those runs in. The first two players made outs, but the next one hit a ground ball in the hole between short and third for a single. Artie then came to the plate. The Jolly Rogers third baseman continued with more taunts, but Artie ignored him now. He was concentrating hard on the at-bat.

On the third pitch, Artie smacked a long flyball to center field, and the center fielder couldn’t get there fast enough to catch it. The man on first scored easily, as Artie, who was rather fast for a chubby kid, came around second and headed for third, going a little out of his way to run over the third baseman’s foot with his spikes before he rounded third at full speed and barreled for home. He beat the long throw from center by a mile for a 2-run homer. His teammates were all over him with shouts of “Way to go, Artie” and claps on the back. I felt happy for him, and I heard Tommy shout, “Great hit, Artie!” from second base. Indeed, it was.

The score now stood at 6-5 with Tommy’s team still holding a 1-run lead, and that’s how the game ended when the final batter struck out. It really was a good game, especially for Tommy, who had three hits and made a couple of good plays at second.

Ginnie and I went over to congratulate Tommy on playing his best and hanging in there, even though he was pretty sore from that pitch to his ribs.

“Anyone feel like going out for ice cream?” I suggested.

“Cool! That sounds great,” said Tommy, and Ginnie agreed.

“Could I invite Artie too?” asked Tommy. “His parents didn’t come to the game. I think he was going to get a ride home with another kid, but would it be alright if he came with us?”

I looked at Ginnie, who said, “Sure, Tommy. I like the way he stuck up for you. Maybe he’s a better friend than I thought.”

“Thanks, Mom. I’ll go ask him.”

“That was nice,” I said to Ginnie. “I was very impressed with Artie by that too. I also felt a little sorry for him after all the taunts. Maybe he isn’t such a bad kid.”

Artie finished packing up his catcher’s gear and came back with Tommy. “Thanks for letting me come with you, Mrs. Boardman.”

“That’s okay, Artie. We’re happy you can come. We’ll drive you home after.”

I met them at The Cone Zone, where we put in our order for ice cream. Artie said he didn’t have any money with him, but I offered to pay for everyone. They all thanked me. We sat down at a 4-top table outside, and I ended up sitting next to Artie, while Ginnie and Tommy sat opposite us.

I turned to Artie. “That was a powerful hit you had, Artie, and a great home run. You’re pretty fast.”

“For a fat kid, right?”

“Let’s call you husky. You look like you’ve got some muscle too.”

“Yeah, I’ve started lifting weights.”

“I like the way you stood up for Tommy at the game today,” I added.

Tommy said, “Yeah, Artie. You’re a freight grend… I mean—"

“A what?”

Tommy looked embarrassed, but then he recovered and said, “You know, a freight grend. Of all the grends I’ve got—all two of them—you’re the freightest. Isn’t he a freight grend for what he did, Mom?”

“I’ll say.”

“You’re weird, Boardman,” but Artie was laughing as he said it. We all got a good laugh out of that. I winked at Tommy.

Tommy and Artie gobbled down their ice cream quickly, then got up to go sit with a few other kids from the game. Ginnie said, “You taught him that, didn’t you?”

“That’s what I used to do when I was a kid. Own it, and then start laughing when they laugh. It’s a great way to defuse the situation.”

Ginnie just shook her head and smiled as we finished our ice cream. “Thanks for coming today, Alan. Tommy loved that you were there. He told me so in the car as we drove here after the game.”

“Well, I really enjoyed it. I love being around you guys. You’re fun.” I reached for her hand, and we held hands over the table. “Maybe tomorrow, if you feel like it, the three of us could have a little batting and fielding practice together? What do you think?”

“I love it. I’m sure Tommy will too. Maybe we should invite Artie?”

“Sure, why not?”

Sunday afternoon, I picked everyone up, and we headed to the ballfield. I had a bagful of used baseballs, which I brought, and a bat and glove. Tommy and Artie both owned bats, which they brought too. We rotated positions with a pitcher, a batter, and two fielders positioned in the shallow outfield. Artie hit first while Tommy pitched to him, and Ginnie and I played the field. Then Tommy took a turn at bat while Ginnie pitched to him.

She threw the first pitch underhand, as she was used to doing. It didn’t have much zip to it.

“C’mon, Mom. Throw it overhand, wouldja? And a little harder too. It’s too easy to hit.”

“I’m not as accurate overhand.”

“That’s okay. Do your best.”

She threw a couple of wild ones before she finally found the plate, and Tommy smacked a hard grounder when she did.

“Good job, Mom. Keep it up,” he told her.

Ginnie looked at me, and I grinned and gave her a thumbs-up. She did pretty well after that, and Tommy hit some beauties off her.

Then it was Ginnie’s turn to bat, and I pitched to her. I started to throw it underhand, but she said, “Oh, no. If I’m going to play with all you guys, I’ll play the same way. Throw it overhand.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I tossed her an overhand lob.

She frowned and said, “You can throw it harder than that to me.”

“Alright, then.” This time I threw her a bullet.

In mock anger, she said, “Alan! That’s too hard. Can’t you find a happy medium?”

“Picky, picky, picky,” I said, grinning at her. She smiled back.

“Hey, you guys wanna quit messin’ around? It’s gettin’ boring out here!” hollered Artie from right field.

I turned around and faced him. “Dreadfully sorry, old boy. Won’t happen again,” in a faux upper crust accent.

Artie just shook his head in disgust, but he was smiling. The rest of us cracked up.

After that, we settled into a nice routine, and we all took many turns at the different positions. It was a fun afternoon and good practice for Tommy and Artie, who seemed like a pretty good kid after all.