Two Strikes on Johnny (3 page)

Davie Randall and Ken Herrick, the
captain of the Rangers, flipped a coin to see who would bat last. Ken won the toss, and the Rangers ran out to the field.

Lead-off man Peter Jergens was walked without taking the bat off his shoulder. Stevie Little tried to bunt the first pitch
to sacrifice Peter to second, but the ball sailed through the air to the pitcher. The pitcher caught it, whipped it to first.

“Back, Peter! Back!” yelled the first-base coach, but Peter had started to run for second. When he raced back to tag up, he
was too far up the base line. The first baseman stretched for the throw from the pitcher and Peter was out by a yard.

“Come on, Peter!” Manager Davis said. “Watch where the ball goes before you run!”

Peter ran to the bench with his head down.

Buddy Greenfield was up next. He hit a line drive over short for two bases, and the Cardinals cheered.

“Come on, Marty!” the boys yelled. “Knock him in!”

Marty's round face spread in a grin. He went to the plate, carrying the bat on his shoulder. He put the bat down, rubbed dirt
on his hands, and lifted his belt. Then he picked up the bat again and waited for the pitch.

Marty took a full swing at the first pitch, lost his balance, and fell.

“That's the way to swing, Marty!” somebody yelled. A loud laugh rose from the stands. The third baseman for the Rangers backed
up a few steps.

Marty let the next pitch go by.

“Strike two!” said the ump. Marty gave him a funny look, but he didn't argue.

The next two pitches were balls. Then Marty swung at a chest-high pitch and knocked the ball high into the air. The center
fielder called for it and took it. Half of the first inning was over.

The Rangers' lead-off man struck out. The next two batters connected with singles, putting men on first and third. The clean-up
man then hit a long fly to right center field. Johnny Doane went after it, the toes of his shoes digging into the soft ground.
The ball was like a white pill against the blue sky. Suddenly it was almost at him. Johnny lifted his glove. The ball hit
the heel of his glove, rolled against his stomach. Johnny tried to catch it, but the ball slipped through his arm and dropped
to the ground.

An error! Johnny was sick. He picked up the ball quickly, heaved it to second
base. Stevie caught it and whipped it home. Too late. The runner on third scored. And while Stevie was throwing the ball home,
the runner on first made it safely to second. So there were still men on first and second.

Johnny kicked the sod with the toe of his shoe. He had given them one run just like that. But even if he had caught the fly
ball, maybe that runner on third would have scored anyway, after he had tagged up. That was something hard to tell. A perfect
peg from the outfield to second, then a perfect peg from second to home could get the runner going home.

The Rangers scored twice more before the Cardinals got them out. Davie Randall, who had switched positions with Butchie Long
today, was first batter for the Cardinals. He doubled on the second
pitch. Freddie Turner grounded out to short, then Butchie singled. Davie ran to third.

Johnny Doane came up. He let the first pitch breeze by for a strike. Men on bases again. There were always men on when he
batted. Or so it seemed.

The next pitch came in. Johnny swung.

“Strike two!”

“Come on, Johnny, or boy, ol' boy! Hit it into the next county!” Marty's voice.

The pitch looked wide. Johnny let it go.

“Ball!” said the ump.

Beads of sweat rolled into Johnny's eyes. He mopped them with the back of his hand, gripped his bat again. He had to hit that
ball. He had to knock in at least one run to make up for the run he had given the Rangers.

A low pitch.

“Ball two!”

Another thing: If he hit a single, or a double, or even a triple, he could tell that to Michael and it would not be a white
lie. It would be the honest truth.

The Rangers' pitcher stretched, pulled back his arm, and threw. The ball came in on a straight line. Johnny dug his right
toe in and swung.

Crack! The ball sailed high into the air toward left field. Johnny's heart leaped to his throat. He dropped the bat and streaked
for first. Everybody on the bench was yelling his head off.

And then a voice shouted above the cries and cheers. “Foul ball!”

Oh, no! Johnny shook his head unhappily.

He stepped on first, circled toward the pitcher's box, and returned to bat again.

“Tough luck, Johnny, boy!” Marty said. “You was robbed!”

“It was foul just by a foot!” Manager Davis smiled at Johnny. “Straighten it out this time.”

Johnny swung at the pitch. The ball bounded across the ground to second. The second baseman fielded it, touched the bag, then
threw to first.

A double play!

Johnny crossed the bag, his heart crushed. He didn't take his eyes off the ground as he kept running toward center field.
He had flopped. What was he going to tell Michael about that?

Suddenly a shout rose behind him. He stopped, looked back. The Cardinals were standing in front of the bench. Marty French
was standing in front of them, leading them with a cheer!

“One, two, three — Johnny Doane! Hooray!”

Then they ran out to the field.

Johnny stared. What was that for? He hadn't done anything but make the third out by hitting into a double. play. Since when
was that something to cheer about?

Then he looked toward the stands. He saw Michael standing up, yelling and clapping his hands. Sand stood beside him, wagging
her tail.

Johnny blinked his eyes and looked away. He found his glove, picked it up, and put it on.

They were not right to fool Michael like that. That wasn't fair at all.

But what am I going to do? thought Johnny. What am I
supposed
to do?

T
HE
first batter for the Rangers smashed a line drive between right and center fields. Both Johnny and Mickey Bonzell raced after
the ball. Mickey reached it first. He picked it up, threw it to second. Peter whipped it to third, but the runner arrived
at the bag in plenty of time.

The second hitter laid down a bunt toward first. Butchie fielded it, threw the ball to first.

“Out!” shouted the ump.

The chatter grew louder in the Cardinals'
infield. “Come on, Butchie, or boy! Get 'em out!”

“Strike 'em out, Butchie! Show 'em that curve! They're scared of 'em!”

Johnny Doane could hear Mickey and Buddy on both sides of him yelling, too. But he was silent. He didn't feel like yelling.

Suddenly a high fly was hit out to center. “Take it, Johnny! Take it!” Buddy yelled.

Johnny ran back. Then he ran forward. The ball was very high, even higher than the one he had missed. Then he was under it.
He held out his glove. For a moment he didn't breathe.

Plop! The ball struck the pocket of his glove and stuck there! He heaved the ball in, but the runner on third had tagged up
and was scoring.

“Thataboy, Johnny!” Buddy yelled. There were shouts from the infield, and Johnny could hear Marty's voice.

He looked toward the stands. Michael was rising to his feet. He was clapping hard. Beside him Sand was barking and wagging
her tail.

All at once Johnny understood what was going on. All that yelling and cheering were done on purpose. The team was doing that
for Michael's benefit. They wanted him to know that Johnny had made a great catch in the outfield.

Johnny tugged at his cap. He bent down, plucked up a handful of grass, and threw it disgustedly at the ground. He wished they
wouldn't do that. They were making fun of Michael and he didn't like it. He would tell them — especially Marty — the first
chance he had.

When the inning ended, though, Johnny didn't tell anybody anything. He was ashamed. The boys praised him for that nice catch,
and he thanked them. But that was all he said, just, “Thanks. Thanks, fellas.”

The score was 4 to 0 in favor of the Rangers. It was the first half of the third inning, and Mickey Bonzell was first hitter.

“Strike!”

“Strike two!”

Mickey acted as if he were frozen at the plate. He didn't swing either time. Then, “Ball one!”

The fourth pitch came in and Mickey swung. The Cardinals gasped. They rose all together, their mouths wide open, and watched
the ball Mickey had hit. It was traveling high toward left field.
The fielder was running back … back. Suddenly the ball dropped behind him. It bounced and rolled toward the tall grass that
grew near the fence way down at the far end of the field.

Mickey touched first, second, third, and then crossed home plate standing up. A home run!

Mickey's face was shining with sweat and happiness as he shook the hand of each boy that came up to him.

“What a hit that was!” Marty French said.

“Thataway, Mickey.” Johnny smiled. “You really hit that ball.”

Mickey panted. He took off his cap and wiped his face with it. “It was the first homer I ever hit in my life!” he said excitedly.
“Wow! I can hardly believe it!”

Johnny sat down again. Why couldn't
I
do that? he thought. But he was glad for Mickey. That home run Mickey had hit made up for a lot of strike-outs.

The score was 4 to 1 now.

Peter came to bat and walked. Stevie poked a line drive over second for a single. Buddy popped one up to the catcher. Then
Marty stepped to the plate and the outfielders backed up a dozen steps.

The Rangers' pitcher motioned to the catcher. They met halfway between the catcher's box and the pitcher's box and talked
something over.

“They're afraid of you, Marty!” Mickey yelled.

Marty grinned as he faced the pitcher. The pitcher stretched, threw. Marty swung. Crack! The ball sailed over short.

Peter scored. The coach held Stevie up on third. It was a single for Marty. The
Cardinals stood up and cheered him.

Davie came to bat and popped out to third. Two outs. Freddie hit a grounder to second. The second baseman fumbled the ball,
then threw to first. But Freddie was safe. Stevie scored on the play.

Rangers — 4, Cardinals — 3.

Butchie walked to the plate, looked over the first pitch.

“Ball one!”

The chatter rose on the Cardinals' bench. “Come on, Butchie! Ducks on the pond! Win your own ball game!”

“Strike!”

Manager Davis leaned over and tapped Johnny Doane's knee. “Pick up a bat, Johnny. Get on deck. What's the matter? Something
bothering you, Johnny?”

“No. I'm all right.” Johnny rose from the bench and picked up a bat.

He was scared, but how could he tell Mr. Davis that? If he batted with men on bases again — He turned his back to Mr. Davis
so that the manager couldn't see his face.

“Ball two!”

Again the pitch. “Ball three!”

A lump filled Johnny's throat. If Butchie walked, the bags would be loaded. He thought he knew then what the Rangers had planned.
They would walk Butchie so they could pitch to
him
. They probably knew, just as he did, that he couldn't hit with men on bases. Johnny swallowed.

The pitch. “Strike two!”

The Cardinals' bench went wild. Three and two was the count. The only unhappy person there was Johnny.

And then, crack! Butchie's bat met the
ball solidly. The ball sailed high into the air toward deep center field. The fielder raced back. He lifted his glove. A second
later the ball lay like a big white egg in it.

A sad groan rose from the Cardinals' bench.

The only happy person there now was Johnny. He didn't have to bat with men on. He didn't have to bat at all.

I
IN THEIR
half of the fourth inning the first batter for the Rangers grounded out to short. The second man walked. Butchie struck out
the next man, which made it four strike-outs for him. Then a Ranger poled one out to center. Johnny ran under it and caught
it.

What he expected to happen happened again. Marty French started it. “That-away, Johnny! Nice catch, boy!”