Second Chance at Bat, page 36
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Joe was privy to the coaches confab before Hot Shot started the ninth.
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"Why this kid doesn't have a 10 run lead is beyond me." Vic said. "Their arms are hanging on by a string."
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Lowery was next. "They need 2 runs to beat us, Joe and Hot Shot have put it together 8 strong ones. I kinda like the kid finishing what Joe started."
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"1-2-3 and we leave Bruiser on the bench holding his wood while we celebrate. That would be sweet." Roy Hoak said as he talked about his favorite Met.
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Harmon said, "You've gotta like youth. The kid's dealing and he's gotta plenty of gas left. It's all about his head. If he can stay focused, we'll be fine."
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Doc took it in and looked at Joe,"What do you think?"
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At a time like this, he's asking my advice? Joe thought. "Leave him in, but pull him if you get a runner in scoring position with less that two outs" Joe said without hesitation.
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"Why?" Doc came right back.
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"Power on power with a drawn in infield could get ugly. Bring in a junk baller and you change the whole situation. Bottom of the ninth they will chase pitches that aren't in their zone". Joe said it without thinking. It didn't matter if it was Hot Shot or Tommy on the mound that he was talking about or if it was Howie Hunter or Doc Barnes that he was talking to, the answer was the same. Joe could be looking out at a diamond on a cold rainy April day in Reading, a sun-bathed field in Clearwater in January with his Bay Sox or the final game of the regular season for the Philadelphia Phillies, the answer was the same.
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Doc nodded and so did the other coaches. These guys weren't about playing it safe, they were about playing it smart.
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Out of the full wind up, Hot Shot came the Mets like a hurricane. A harmless fly ball for out number one got the crowd yelling and screaming. An easy two-hopper to Weinstein made for the second out. Now the crowd was drowning out the jets flying overhead.
They were down to their final out. Both dugouts were up at the railings. Nobody was going anywhere. His pitch count was well in the comfort zone. Clay was firing the ball back to Hot Shot on every strike. The chatter around the horn was loose and easy.
The last out hopefully would be the number three hitter, leaving Lee on the bench to begin planning his off-season.
Hot Shot stared in for the sign and wound up. He unleashed a low fastball that made the radar gun spit out a number with three digits. Clay held the mitt for the call and he lingered in holding the mitt there. Slowly, he stood up and looked toward the bench before throwing it back to Hot Shot. "Atta boy kid, way to bring the heat". Clay was giving Blue a short leash. He never argued balls and strikes, but that pitch was a dandy.
He froze the mitt on the black for the curveball that didn't yield a call either. Hitters count and instead of having a frozen Metropolitan in the hole. Joe knew that the professional hitter could be more selective. The bench was barking at Blue and it got a sideways glance as everyone settled in for the next pitch.
Strike one was another fastball that would get your license suspended if the gun was pointed at your car.
Strike two was a foul back that he barely connected with.
Ball three was a nasty slider that took all of the hitter's effort not to offer at. So far Joe felt that the pitch selection and placement was perfect and yeah he was rooting for big kid just a little bit.
Nobody except the ump could believe that the hitter laid off the belt-high middle of the plate fastball. Everybody on the Phillies bench was thinking about how not to get hurt in the celebration. National League belt high fastballs fell into the 'it depends' category. Clay slumped behind the plate and slowly walked the ball to the mound.
Doc was out of the dugout and glared into the batter's box while the umpire smoothed out the imaginary dirt. Both Clay and Doc made their way to the mound. Joe knew that this was about keeping Hot Shot focused.
So what if the winning run was at the plate on the person of Hank "Bruiser" Lee. So what if he led his team in home runs and RBIs. Lee had a great on base percentage and didn't strike out much except against Joe and Hot Shot. Oh yes, he held a grudge too.
Joe wanted to be out there now too. Strange, he wanted the ball, he wanted to go head to head with The Bruiser. Didn't matter that his best pitch had eluded him this day. He wanted to finish what he started, but rules being what they are, he would have settled to be just part of the conversation.
Hot Shot listened while they talked. He nodded his head and stretched his formidable wing span above his head and rotated his shoulders to open up the chest. Finally the umpire made his way out to the mound. As if on cue, Clay dropped the ball in Hot Shot's glove. Doc patted his pitcher on the backside and without uttering a word or making the slightest eye contact with the caller of balls and strikes, they made their way back to their positions. Message delivered. Nice.
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Bruiser took his time settling in. What a drama queen. Joe thought. He ain't catching up with what Hot Shot is bringing.
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Bruiser was taking and watched a 100 m.p.h hour fastball at the knees. He stepped out like it was just any day, like any other game. Clay fired the ball back with a head nod. The stadium was rocking. Hot Shot looked in for the sign, checked the runner and pulled the string on a perfect change-up. Bruiser was fooled and fooled badly. He cursed himself and stepped out once again.
Only two guys in the America knew what the next pitch was supposed to be. Everybody could guess, but it mattered the most to the guy who had to stay alive in this at-bat. Joe began rocking with a mantra. Do what he tells you. Do what he tells you. Joe flash-backed to Billy in Boyertown and Hot Shot in Williamsport. Do what he tells you. Now is not the time to be a hero. Do what he tells you.
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Vic's hand slipped over to Joe's throwing hand. They held hands. It was appropriate. This is what the game is all about. This time. This moment.
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Hot Shot looked in, nodded (good sign Joe thought) and checked the runner. It was a pitch that Bruiser couldn't lay off of. It was not in his wheelhouse, but he made the adjustment in a micro-second and the ball lifted off his bat.
The crowd rose to their feet. Vic and Joe in tandem and the rest of the Phillies on the bench strained to see if the ball had enough on it. Bruiser started out of the box like a sprinter after hearing the gun go off. Covington was playing Bruiser deep, but straight away. He acquired the ball right off the bat and was moving to the fence just to the left field side of dead center. He drifted back, long graceful strides until his cleat tapped on the warning track. He reached out with his bare hand and like an olympic swimmer touched and crouched at the wall. Joe was watching Tony Covington as Hot Shot left the mound to go back up third. Weinstein moved out to cut off the throw. Gonzalez raced from left to intercept a hard rebound, just in case. Joe was not processing all the sights and sounds but kept watching Covington who leapt and stretched his glove up over the fence.
EPILOGUE
Joe loved playing catch with Joey. It was one of his favorite things. Someday he would have grandchildren and he would play catch with them too. There were only a few times when his own father had time to play catch. Joe cherished those memories and held them in a special place in his heart. Even before Joey was standing up, Joe would roll the ball across the floor and Joey would roll it back. Later on, they would toss the ball for hours. Linda would threaten to give their dinners to the neighbor's dog if they didn't come in to eat. The soft easy tossing and the pop of the mitt made it possible to talk about anything it seemed and today was no different.
"I don't want to declare a major yet but I am leaning towards engineering. I like making things."
Joey had been accepted to Penn State and would begin his freshman year in the Winter session. He was following his two loves to Happy Valley.
"Just don't make any babies up there." Joe tossed a fast one purposely between Joey's knees and bellybutton.
"Not to worry dad, Pam and I are being careful. We're taking precautions." He picked the ball cleanly, before it could do any birth control.
Pam was wonderful and steady influence on his son. Joey seems very calm yet very alive around her. The DiNatale men then talked about Joey's harrowing heroin experience.
"After I get situated on campus I'm going to join the student intervention hot-line. Its my way of giving back while at the same time staying close to the program. It gets easier but it never really goes away."
Joe nodded. Joey certainly had the experience and the youthfulness to be able to connect to kids away from home and free from parental control.
As if on cue, Pam walked out the back door and into the small yard with a couple of hot chocolates. "Janice said the bird will be ready for carving in about twenty minutes and wants to know which of you turkeys want to carve it."
Life was good, they both agreed while toasting the hot mugs.
There was a time not too long ago when they toasted with goggles while spraying fake Champagne. Right after Covington's catch at the wall, the Phillies celebrated like it was New Years, because it was. It was a new season, the post season. Clay confirmed for Joe who relayed it immediately to Joey, Howie and the Callahans that Hot Shot put the curve ball exactly where he wanted it and it caused Bruiser to just get under it. The ball stayed in the park and the monkey was off Blake's back. With Joe's name on the post-season roster, one of the Mayor's last minute incentives added to Joe's contract, put another seven figure amount into his bank account. Joe also got the nod for the National League Cy Young award. He promised every penny from that incentive in the contract to the Reading Little League Players Fund which now bore his name.
The Phillies season was extended, but not for long. Artie pitched well enough to win at Chavez Ravine, the hitters hit the ball well enough to score runs, the defense held up and everyone hustled, but in the end, the Dodgers brought more. Didn't matter that they got smoked by the Braves who went on to win the whole enchilada. The one game wild card playoff was a bitch, but on that day they won and the Phillies didn't. The boys from Reading had got the boys of Broad Street into the post season.
On the day following the loss, Joe had Linda served before she walked into her morning step-aerobics class. In the privacy of the parking lot next to her vehicle, the process server offered to show her a compilation video on his iPad why her husband was divorcing her. She ungracefully declined using language usually heard on the Philadelphia docks.
Joe did meet often with his divorce lawyer, a shark recommended by Terry Briggs, while making several appearances in the Reading area as a new celebrity spokesman for Toyota. There would be no fight after he agreed to pay off the mortgage and turn over the deed. He provided for her with an "undisclosed amount of cash". The divorce would be quiet, but she would not get a dime of his baseball earnings.
He was committed to his new sponsorship and traded in his Escalade for a Phillies Red Prius touting gas efficiency. Her Honor and Joe unveiled plans for downtown where "green" cars would be exempt from parking meters.
State road construction started on the highway in front of "Honest John's" Cadillac Dealership and proceeded at the pace of most state highway projects. Between Joe's face being plastered on TV and billboards all over the area touting gas-savers and the impossible traffic snarls, John Fabrizzi's business dwindled to a trickle.
Joe was a third wheel in the office that Marge had running like a well-oiled machine. She was taking it to the next level as Joe became the national spokesman for the Independent Agents of America and he only stopped by the DiNatale Insurance Agency for autographs, mostly on renewal policies.
About the same time as Joe and Joey were finishing their mugs, Hot Shot was sitting in the parking lot of his father's apartment. He had gotten his pick-up fixed with the post-season bonus. He had earned his 90 day chip, but was feeling a let down now that his magic carpet ride season was completed. An un-opened six-pack of Yuengling was warming on the floor as his calls to Tom went to voicemail.
Stew Menke was helping Ellis Long serve Thanksgiving dinner at homeless shelter that worked with Vets. True to his word, he started working the crime beat in Philly and had a new lease on life. He had planned after the New Year to visit with his daughter in Santa Monica before hooking up with Doc Barnes on their bucket list trip back to Vietnam.
Ellis Long and Oscar Stemple were making cooing sounds and new contract was in the works. Clay was working out with a professional trainer and was slotted to be the back-up catcher the next season.
Mandy called out to say that the brussels sprouts weren't quite ready and to come in soon. Joe found that this little patch of Queens was heaven. He and Janice were keeping things low-key but a leaf-peeping weekend in Vermont and another weekend apple picking in the Catskills proved fruitful. As they finished their tosses, Joe was feeling very especially grateful on this chilly November day. Life was good.
"Hey, throw that again". One said to the other.
"Wow, that is downright nasty." The other DiNatale replied.
"Time to come in and carve the turkey, boys." Janice yelled from the porch.
The End
Want more Joe, FBI agent Marsha O’Shea and Stew Menke? Odessa on the Delaware is next. Joe plays a cameo. www.JohnHoda.com
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Marsha is a young newly-married FBI agent in Miami. Liberty City Nights is FREE when you sign up for my newsletter at www.JohnHoda.com
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To my 2012 Phantasy Baseball Camp teammates. Go Bay Sox. You inspired me.
To Freddy Berowski, Reference Librarian at the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum, Cooperation, NY. Thank you for being patient and gracious.
To Tara Austen, my editor for helping me polish my lump of coal into a diamond.
Best Page Forward Plus for a lovely cover.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
John A. Hoda is a real-life PI, author and podcaster. He is the author of the FBI agent Marsha O’Shea six-book series, four books on the business of private investigations and a creative non-fiction, Mugshots: My Favorite Detective Stories. He is a life-long Phillies fan and lives in Connecticut with his wife Gloria
visit his website at www.johnhoda.com
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John A. Hoda, Second Chance at Bat
