The Submarine Pitch (3 page)

They picked up two more runs when Fred belted a double, scoring both Rudy and Chuck, who had walked on four straight pitches.
Then Bernie popped out to second and Bill fanned to end the top half of the second inning. Rangers 3; Atoms 0.

Bernie’s second time on the mound was almost a replica of his first, except that he
had only one strikeout instead of two. The pitches that were hit were a pop fly to Fred and a dribbler to the pitcher’s box.

It was weird. The pitch was turning out a lot better than Bernie had expected. When he came off the field he looked up and
saw a beaming smile on Dave’s face — and of course on Frankie’s, too. He was sure that there weren’t any guys more proud of
him at that moment than those two.

The Rangers garnered four runs during their trip at the plate, then went out on the field, bolstered with the confidence that
a seven-run lead can inspire. Bernie wondered how Dave was enjoying it. Of course he had to be. This was what he expected,
wasn’t it?

Jim Hayes tried to slaughter the first pitch and tripped over his legs.

“Strike one!” boomed the ump.

Jim tried it again. “Strike two!”

And again. “Strike three!”

The ball made its quick rainbow hops around the horn.

“What’s he throwing?” Bernie heard Jim say as he returned dejectedly to his bench.

“You just batted against him,” replied one of his teammates. “You saw it.”

“Yeah, but…” That’s all Jim had to say.

Mark Pine, the Atoms’ center fielder, seemed to have a better idea. He waited out Bernie’s pitches, but at the two-two mark
he swung and managed to meet the ball. It was a skyrocketing blow. If it had gone as far horizontally as it did vertically,
it might have disappeared over the fence. As it was, it dropped down just outside of the third-base foul line and Chuck caught
it.

Third baseman Dick Stone waited out Bernie’s pitches, too, but with no better
luck. He popped up a three-two pitch to Fred to end the bottom of the third inning.

“Okay, Bernie,” said Coach Salerno as Bernie came in and laid his glove on top of the dugout. “You can rest for a change.
I’ll have Jeff finish the game. You did all right, kid. You’ve really got a mean pitch there.”

“Thanks, sir.”

“You really changed your delivery from last year, didn’t you?” the coach observed, his eyes shaded by the long brim of his
cap.

“Right.”

The coach peered at him, his thick eyebrows lowering till they came together at the bridge of his nose. “That pitch your own
idea, or did somebody tell you about it?”

Bernie looked at him, surprised. “Somebody told me about it.”

“What I figured,” replied Coach Salerno, grinning. “Your father?”

“No. A friend.”

“He must’ve known Dusty Fowler,” said the coach. “Dusty’s the only guy I can remember who used to pitch like that. I was just
a kid, but I can remember. A lot of guys tried to imitate him, but nobody ever could hold a candle to him. He was the best.”

“I read a newspaper clipping about him,” said Bernie. “That’s what it said.”

The coach chuckled. “You keep it up, maybe you’ll be the first who can really pitch like him,” he said. “But be careful. Don’t
twist your wrist too much or it’ll get sore and you’ll have had it. Throw it without too much effort. You’re big and strong,
but you’re still a kid. Your arms aren’t too well developed yet. Know what I mean?”

Bernie nodded. “Yes, I do. I’ll be careful.”

“Good boy.”

The top of the fourth zipped by quickly as Chris had the Rangers ground out to the infield. Then, with catcher Nick Collidino
on
first base by virtue of a scratch single, Chris came up and scored him at the end of a long triple. The Atoms had their heads
out of the water.

Jeff settled down after that and, with some help from his fielders, got the Atoms out. The game went to the sixth inning with
both teams scoring two more runs each, ending up with the Rangers winning, 9–3.

It wasn’t until Bernie was alone and walking off the field that Frankie and Dave came running up to him, both slapping him
enthusiastically on the back.

“You did it, Bernie!” Frankie cried. “You had those Atoms biting the dirt!”

“He did it because he’s got it!” said Dave. “And you know what, Bernie? You’ll get even better!”

“Don’t be so sure,” said Bernie pessimistically.

“Why not? There’s no other way to go, Bernie, but up.”

Down too
, Bernie wanted to say.
For crying out loud, Dave, this was the first time I threw that pitch in a game. It was new to the batters. They could blast
me out of the lot the next time!

The Rangers’ first league game was against the Coronas on Thursday, July 6, at four o’clock. Instead of starting on the mound,
Bernie found himself on the bench. He couldn’t believe it. After his excellent performance the other day, you’d think the
coach would pitch him again. Instead, Jeff Eastman was pitching.

The Coronas, batting first, had trouble lining up their swings with Jeffs throws and went down — one, two. The third batter,
however, Bobo Johnson, leaned into Jeff’s first pitch and poled it for a long home run over the left-field fence.

The slam was a shock. An electric jolt. It seemed to sap the strength — the will —out of Jeff and the other players. Bernie
looked at Coach Salerno and saw the thick eyebrows lower with worry.

Ron Coletti, the Coronas’ really big gun, then pounded out a double. His teammates cheered like mad. The Corona fans joined
in. The combined sound was a symphony that made it seem as if every person there were for the Coronas.

Then Harry Perkowski walked, Angie Bruno singled, and Tom Bowman doubled, giving the Coronas an indisputable hot lead of four
runs. Red Parker ended the, merrygo-round by flying out to Ed in right field.

“C’mon! C’mon! C’mon!” yelled the coach, clapping his hands fast as if to pump life back into the guys as they came trotting
in like robots. “Get your chins off your chests! Look alive! C’mon! C’mon!”

Maybe the encouragement helped, because Bill Conley, leading off, belted Dick Lunger’s first pitch for a double over second
base. But that was it. Ed, Deke, and Buzz got a piece of the ball, but no hits.

The top of the second inning started off as if it were a new ball game, and Jeff a new pitcher. He faced only three batters,
striking out one of them, Jim Black.

As if that scoreless half had had an effect on Dick Lunger, he walked the first man to face him, Tom McDermott. Tom raced
to second on Rudy’s sacrifice bunt, then scored on Chuck’s two-bagger. Fred singled, scoring Chuck, and died there on first
as Jeff struck out and Bill grounded out to short.

Bernie saw that the coach’s eyebrows had returned to where they belonged and a smile warmed his face; he couldn’t help but
share the coach’s enthusiasm. Now if only
Jeff could repeat his pitching prowess of the second inning.

He didn’t, though. Both Bobo and Ron singled. Then, after both Harry and Angie went down swinging, Tom smashed a triple to
the left-field fence and both runners scored.

Bernie saw Jeff’s shoulders droop as if a heavy weight had been dropped on him. He looked at the coach. This time not only
were the man’s eyebrows lowered, but he was muttering to himself, too.

W
arm up, Bernie,” said Coach Salerno quietly.

Putting on his glove, Bernie stepped out of the dugout and went behind the stands with Dick Singer, the utility infielder.
He started to throw the submarine pitch, aiming it for the target that Dick held up for him. Sometimes he hit it, sometimes
he didn’t. He was nervous and hot; he was thinking of that long home run that Bobo had belted off Jeff, the two-baggers off
the bats of Ron and Tom, and of Tom’s long triple.

Those guys can really hit
, he thought. My
submarine pitch could be right up their alley
.

He didn’t realize he had two interested spectators until he heard one of them say, “Nothing to worry about, Bernie. Just pitch
it to ’em.”

He looked at Dave, who had an infectious smile of confidence on his face. Frankie was with him, sharing the same expression.

“I’m nervous,” admitted Bernie. “Do I look it?”

“No.”

Somebody chuckled from a seat over his head. Bernie glanced up and saw Vincent Steele leering down at him. Next to Vincent
was Mick. They looked like a couple of alley cats.

“Now we’ll see what that mighty secret pitch can do,” said Vincent. “Right, Bernie?”

His face flaming, Bernie turned away, not
answering. From the field he heard loud shouting, and Mick saying, “Hey, man! You guys just scored a run!”

A few minutes later he heard his name called. “Bernie! Let’s go!”

“Go chuck ’em, Bernie,” teased Vincent. “Give ’em that old secret pitch.”

Bernie ignored the banter as he tossed the ball to Dick and started to head for the pitching mound. He was still hot, still
nervous.

“Bernie.”

He glanced at Dave and saw the serious, proud look on his friend’s face.

“Don’t pay any attention to Vince and Mick,” said Dave. “You can take care of them when the time comes. Just throw that pitch
over the plate. Once you let it go, it’ll take care of the batter. You’ll see.”

He’s so sure of me
, thought Bernie.
So darn sure
.

“You’re really something, Dave,” he said softly.

“You’re my pal, Bernie. You’re my best friend. My only real friend. That’s why.”

“Come on, Bernie!” sounded the coach’s voice from the other side of the stands. “Let’s get a move on!”

He started to run then and caught the ump’s toss as he went by home plate. He got on the mound, threw Fred half a dozen pitches,
then watched Dick Lunger step up to the plate to start off the top of the fourth inning.

Dick, one of the tallest guys on the Coronas’ team, looked dangerous as he held his bat high off his shoulder and waited for
the pitch. Bernie delivered it to him, bringing it up from his knees and releasing it when his hand was directly in front
of him. At the last instant he gave the ball a slight twist, barely enough to feel it, for he knew now that too
much of a twist might eventually make his wrist sore.

“Ball!”

The Corona fans cheered. “Wow! Look at that pitch!” one of them yelled. “Where did you find that one, Bernie?”

“Ball two!”

The cheer again.

And then, “Strike!”

He wasn’t as nervous now.

Dick swung at the next pitch, and also the next — striking out.

Ken Fuller bit the dust, too, striking out on a two-two pitch.

Jim Black stood tall and straight as he watched the pitch come in. He made no attempt to take the bat off his shoulder until
after the second strike pitch. Then he, too, whiffed.

Three strikeouts in a row. The Ranger fans cheered now, letting Bernie know how
they felt. He went to the dugout, the guys slapping him on the back, praising him. From the stands directly behind the dugout
came the expected cheers of Dave and Frankie. He looked up briefly and saw Dave give him a thumbs-up sign.

“Nice, Bernie!” Dave shouted happily. “Real nice!”

It was the bottom of the fourth now, and Chuck led off. He stood at the plate with his knees bent and his bat held just below
his shoulder. Coach Salerno had told him a dozen times to keep his bat up high, but Chuck felt he couldn’t hit a barn door
that way, so he held the bat the way he felt best. He took two pitches, both strikes, then pounded the third one out to center
for an out.

Fred punched a grounder to third for out two; then Bernie came up and took two
He was no hitter. But he had fouled two pitches. He was doing
something
right.

He took two balls, then, disappointingly, popped out to short.

The first man Bernie faced in the top of the fifth was Bobo Johnson. Bobo had already uncorked a home run and a single. Bobo
was a big kid and had a lot of power. The thought clouded Bernie’s mind as he stepped on the rubber, wound up, and delivered.
Bobo reared back as the ball swept up toward him. He brought the bat around in a hard, vicious arc and ended his swing sitting
down on the dirt.

“Steerike!” boomed the ump as the ball smacked into Fred’s mitt.

The second pitch was a wee bit outside. Bobo took another mighty swing.
Crack!
A blast to deep left! But it was curving… curving…

“Foul ball!” yelled the base umpire.
Bobo took another mighty swing.
Crack!
A blast to deep left! But it was curving… curving…

“Foul ball!” yelled the base umpire.

Bernie breathed a sigh of relief. That ball had looked like a goner.

Then Bobo popped out to first.

Ron stepped to the plate. He was big, too. Bernie had heard that Ron had already started to shave, but he didn’t believe it.

Pow!
Ron belted Bernie’s first pitch to third. Chuck couldn’t get his tail down fast enough, and the ball streaked through his
legs. The yell from the Corona fans sounded as if Ron had powdered one over the left-field fence.

Bernie couldn’t get one over the plate against Harry, so he walked him. He walked Angie too and began to wonder if that’s
what he was going to do the rest of the game —walk the entire Corona team.

Tom Bowman changed the scene for him. Tom swung at two pitches, then boomed one over second that drove in two runs. Red Parker
couldn’t even get a piece of the ball and struck out. So did Dick. Three outs.

The two runs put the Coronas in front, 8–3.
What is Dave thinking of me and that submarine pitch now?
thought Bernie.
Is that pitch really as good as he thought it was? Is it as good as I had hoped it would be?

Dick Singer, batting for Bill, led off in the bottom of the fifth with a walk. Then Arnie Coles, pinch-hitting for Ed, hit
a two-two pitch through the shortstop’s legs, which helped Arnie a lot, because he had lost his right shoe halfway to first
base. Time was called till he got the shoe back on.

Deke poled out a long foul ball, then went down swinging.