Willie & Me (6 page)

Is it right to tamper with history at
all
, I wondered? My thoughts were all jumbled in my head.

I remember reading about something called the “butterfly effect.” It's pretty complicated, but it boils down to the theory that an insignificant little action—like the flapping of a butterfly's wings—could set off a series of events that would cause something really bizarre to happen. A butterfly could flap its wings in Ohio, and it might eventually cause a tornado in Hawaii. Every little moment of our lives might change what happens afterward.

For example, if my dad had driven just a
little
bit slower or a
little
bit faster on the day of his accident, he wouldn't have been hit by that drunk driver. He wouldn't be sitting in a wheelchair today. If the bullets that killed Presidents Kennedy and Lincoln had been a few inches to the left or right, those men would have lived and American history would be totally different.

And if Bobby Thomson had hit that ball just a fraction of an inch lower or higher on the bat, there never would have been a Shot Heard Round the World. Everything would have been different. He
wouldn't be a hero. Ralph wouldn't be a goat. Nobody would have ever heard of either of them. It would be a different future. Maybe it would have been better. Maybe it would have been worse. And the Dodgers, most likely, would have won the pennant in 1951.

Sometimes the simplest thing changes everything. What if every little decision we make matters and changes things that will happen down the line?

My head was spinning. Messing with something that happened back in 1951 was too dangerous, I decided. I would not take the trip after all.

“I'll make a deal with you,” I said to Bobby.

“What kind of deal?”

“I won't interfere with your home run,” I told him. “But you've got to do something for me.”

“What?”

I got out the plaque that my dad had given me for my birthday. I handed it to Bobby.

“Will you sign your card for me?” I asked.

“Sure, kid,” he said, taking a pen off my night table. “If Branca signed his card, it's only right for me to sign mine, too.”

As I went to sleep that night, things were looking good. I got
both
of the baseball cards signed, and I didn't even have to go back in time to do it.

That gave me an idea—now the plaque with the two cards was valuable. It might be worth a few thousand dollars. I could sell it and give my dad the money so he could start his business.

Everybody would be happy.

E
VEN THOUGH BOTH OF THE BASEBALL CARDS WERE SIGNED
and probably worth a lot of money, I was feeling a little depressed after my visit from Bobby Thomson. I didn't know exactly why.

Then, as I looked at Uncle Wilbur's old clothes hanging from my doorknob, I realized what it was. I
wanted
to go back to 1951. After getting permission from my mom and doing all that research and preparation, I was looking forward to this adventure. I felt like I was all dressed up with no place to go.

I pulled out the box score from the game, which I had photocopied at the library. A box score is an amazing little thing, when you think about it. Without a single sentence, it tells the whole story of a game, right down to the attendance and the names of the umpires. Sometimes I go to the library and dig up newspapers on microfilm just to read the box
scores of baseball games from decades past.

I was struck by the names of the guys who played in this famous game. Stanky, Mays, Maglie, Irvin, and Dark on the Giants. Robinson, Reese, Snider, Furillo, Newcombe, and Hodges on the Dodgers. I knew those names better than I knew the names of guys who are playing Major League Baseball
today
. Half of them made it into the Hall of Fame. Then, of course, there were Bobby Thomson and Ralph Branca. And who could forget Leo Durocher, the famous manager of the Giants?

October 3, 1951

A thought popped into my head: What if I went back to 1951 and just
watched
the game?

Up until this point, whenever I traveled through time I always had some mission I hoped to accomplish. I wanted to see with my own eyes whether or not Babe Ruth
really
called his famous “called shot” home run. I wanted to stop Ted Williams from joining
the Marines and missing four years of his baseball career. I wanted to prevent Roberto Clemente from getting on the plane that was going to crash and kill him. I always had an important reason to go back in time.

What if I had no mission at all? What was to prevent me from going back in time just for the
fun
of it? It would be cool to witness the Shot Heard Round the World—the most famous home run in baseball history.

I could be a spectator for a change. A tourist. I could just buy a ticket and walk into the ballpark like anybody else. Nobody would ever know. What would be the harm in that?

I decided to do it. I wouldn't try to interfere with the game at all. I'd just watch. This could be a little birthday present to myself.

It would be unwieldy to take my wooden plaque with the two cards on it back in time with me. What would I do with the plaque when I got to 1951? No, it would be smarter to take a card off the plaque and just bring that one card with me.

One problem—the cards were glued to the wood.

I tiptoed downstairs and rooted around until I found a single-edge razor blade and a pair of rubber gloves. I put on the gloves and carefully—very carefully—separated the Ralph Branca card from the wood. It wasn't easy. That thing had been in place for a long time, probably before collecting baseball cards became a popular hobby. Nobody in their right mind
would glue cards to a wooden plaque today. They'd put them in a plastic holder.

It took about ten minutes of hard work to remove the card from the wood. It was in okay shape. Not mint, but okay. I gathered all the stuff my mom had put on my bed—the umbrella, the food, the Band-Aids, and so on.

I was ready. I knew that soon after I took off the rubber gloves and held the card in my hand, things would start happening. I'd get that tingling sensation in my fingertips.

But wait. I had the vague sense that I was forgetting something. After all the preparation I had done, something was missing. What was it? I searched my memory and scolded myself. I should have made a to-do list.

Oh yeah! A new pack of cards! Just as the 1951 Ralph Branca card was going to be my ticket to the past, I would need a
new
card to get me back to the present day. I went to my desk and fished through the drawers until I found an unopened pack of cards.

Whew! If I hadn't remembered that and went back to 1951 without it, I would have been stuck in the past for the rest of my life.

I gathered the stuff on my bed again and made myself comfortable. This wasn't scary. No, not anymore. I had done this so many times now that I wasn't afraid of what was going to happen. It was more anticipation.

No matter how much I had prepared, no matter
how much I had researched, it was impossible to predict exactly what was going to happen when I arrived at the Polo Grounds. I would have to be ready for anything.

I took a deep breath and removed the rubber gloves. I picked up the Branca card in my right hand. Closing my eyes, I thought about 1951. Mentally, I willed myself
not
to think about the Korean War. I didn't want to end up in Korea, that was for sure. I'd already been there, with Ted Williams, and almost got killed. No, I wanted to go to New York City.

Take me to 1951
, I thought.

I fingered the money in my pocket that my mom had given me.
Maybe I'll buy a candy bar when I get to New York
, I thought. Back in 1951, you could get a candy bar for a nickel. Everything was cheaper back then. I could buy just about anything I wanted.

Soon, I had the sense that something was happening to me. The buzzy feeling came to my fingertips, the way it always does. It was gentle at first, like a cat purring, or a string on a guitar vibrating. It felt nice.

I knew what was going to happen next. The tingling sensation was going to move, to spread. It went from the tips of my right fingers up my hand, across my wrist, and throughout my whole arm. I felt like my arm had fallen asleep because I'd slept on it the wrong way.

And then, while I was thinking about that, I felt my whole chest vibrating. I had reached the point of
no return now. Even if I dropped the card at that moment, it was too late to reverse what I had started. I was going back in time whether I wanted to or not. I hoped that I hadn't screwed anything up in my preparation.

What if the Branca card wasn't really from 1951? What if I arrived in January instead of October? There were so many things that could go wrong.

Too late to worry about that stuff. My whole body was tingling now. What a feeling! Suddenly it was like I was twenty pounds lighter, and then
fifty
pounds lighter. It was as if I was becoming weightless. I felt like I could just rise up off the bed like a balloon and float around the room, the way astronauts do in zero gravity. That's how light I felt.

I fought the temptation to open my eyes and watch what I knew was going to happen next. It would be so cool to watch myself disappear, but maybe a little frightening at the same time. So I kept my eyes closed.

Take me to 1951
, I kept repeating to myself.
Take me to 1951.

And then, I vanished.

W
HEN
I
OPENED MY EYES
, I
WAS HIT BY A BLAST OF BRIGHT
sunlight that forced me to squint and turn my head away. It was morning, that was for sure. I could tell by the angle of the sun in the sky. It was probably around nine o'clock, maybe even earlier.

I checked to see if all my body parts were in the right places, and that I had all the stuff I had brought with me. Check, check, check. Nothing missing.

I looked around. Ticket booths. Gate D. So far, so good. I was at the Polo Grounds.

The Branca card was still in my hand, luckily. It was worth a lot of money, and I didn't want to lose it. I slipped it into my shirt pocket for safekeeping. The umbrella and the other stuff, I didn't need. I left it all on a bench for somebody else to pick up. Mom might be mad, but I like to travel
light. I'd tell her I lost it.

For once in my life, it looked like I had landed
exactly
where I wanted to be. Usually, when I went back in time, I landed someplace
near
where I wanted to be. Then I had to find the way to my destination. Time travel would probably never be an exact science. But this time, things were looking better than usual.

There weren't any people around, but that didn't surprise me. Day games usually start around one o'clock in the afternoon. The players wouldn't be arriving for a few hours. I knew that they had night games in 1951, but most baseball games still took place during the day.

I was pretty sure I had the right year, but I wanted to make sure I had arrived on the right
day
. The easiest way to find out was to look at a newspaper.