Author's note: A specific time period for when Talespin was set is never made clear. In the episode Bygones Baloo states that the Great War was twenty years before. This suggests 1938. The architectural appearance of Cape Suzette would seem to fit. However, Baloo also states in Whistlestop Jackson, Legend that the Sea Duck is twenty years old. She seems to be a hybrid design incorporating aspects of both the Grumman Albatross and the Fairchild Packett, both of which were developed in the mid forties, but 1965 is clearly out of the question. At the earliest, the Superflight engines are derivative of the Wright Cyclone / Pratt & Whitney Wasp designs, developed in the late twenties / early thirties. This points to a setting sometime in the fifties. Khan's fighters most closely resemble the P-39 (1941) and P-47 (1942) and neither would have been available to non-military operators for several years. Additionally, the economic modalities of the show are far more reminiscent of the post-war boom of the late forties and early fifties than of the late thirties when much of the country was still mired in the final years of the Great Depression. I could continue at even greater length, but my point is that in actuality, Talespin seems to be set outside of time, incorporating some of the best elements of several time periods. So my fiction follows. The reason I feel it necessary to explain this is that I know baseball fans all to well. While I know full well that the names and teams contained herein never existed in the combinations I use, they aren't meant to be historically accurate. Like Talespin they are a conglomeration of several time periods. I'm also aware the Cubs and Sox would never have played each other during the regular season. So you can put the torches and pitchforks down! I'm just having a bit of fun. Hope you enjoy!

-GW

The idea for this story originated with the show's several references to baseball in general, "the Sox" specifically, and the scene in "My Fair Baloo" where Wildcat is pitching sandwich ingredients to Baloo through the spinning #1 prop of the Sea Duck.

"Two on, two out, now as Dawson steps in."

"And boy is Leander going to have to be careful here. As much as you would like to, you can't pitch around Dawson because you've got Williams up next and the Cubbies would just love to get him to the plate with the bases loaded."

"Cronin's coming out now, looks like they're going to talk it over. Joined by Fisk, now also by Foxx and Boggs. Harry Doyle with you, alongside Ray Kinsella. Five-two Sox over the Cubs here in the bottom of the ninth. Hartnett led off the inning and reached on the error by Doerr. Leander mowed down Sandberg and Theriot on six straight pitches. Then that great 14 pitch battle with Lange who finally dropped one just over Hooper's head in right. So runners at the corners with two out and Billy Williams representing the go-ahead run in the on-deck circle."

"And Harry, what a game Ben Leander has had today. Drafted number one by the Sox last year out of virtually unheard of Suzette University, he started spring training five and oh with a point nine eight ERA before the big boys finally figured him out. He finished just two and seven and then lost his first three straight regular season starts. His control was so bad the fans started calling him the Wild Cat. So Cronin sent him down to Louisville. And although it took a while, they got him all fixed up and had him on the expanded roster at the end of last year, though his only appearance was a no decision against Brooklyn."

"They did get him fixed up, didn't they, Ray? Seven and two-thirds that day and only gave up one hit. He looked spectacular."

"Right, and he's been in superb form this year. Nineteen and three with a two zero six ERA, he'll bust that twenty win barrier if he can hang on today. The first rookie in history to do so."

"And it would sure be a shame to lose it now. Four hits, one walk, and eighteen strikeouts today against a Cubs team that is leading the majors in batting with a two eighty-eight average. He struck out the side in the third, fourth, and fifth."

"Okay, the home plate umpire out now to break things up."

"I think he gave them a little more time than normal there, don't you Harry?"

"Oh, absolutely, Ray. He knows the importance of this game, with both teams in a close race for the pennant. But you can't give them all day."

"Got to move the game along."

"Okay, back at it as Dawson digs in. Leander shakes off the first sign, then the second. Now he's got it. He winds it up and Dawson is way behind the fastball just on the outside corner."

"Boy, working from the wind up, he didn't so much as even glance over at Lange. Complete indifference towards that runner over at first."

"Leander again with the sign. A long stare in at Dawson after he got set. Now the pitch. Dawson checks his swing, as the ball misses…no! Bucknor called it a strike! And Dawson is not happy! Here comes Pinella out of the dugout like a bat out of you know where!"

"Harry, that fastball looked to me like it was at least six to eight inches off the plate."

"Pinella's certainly got a case, and is he ever giving Bucknor an earful. But C.B.'s not having any of that. He gives Pinella the old heave ho and now Lou's really getting in his face."

"And lost in the background there, Lange just strolled over to second on that pitch. Again, Leander wasn't paying him the least bit of attention."

"Lou's sure giving us a show today. Nose to nose with Bucknor, arms flying, dirt flying, spittle flying, a good number of curses also flying I'm sure, but Bucknor's just standing there with his arms crossed like he can't even hear him."

"Well that ball was definitely outside, like I said, at least six or seven inches. Now it's one thing if you've been calling that ball a strike all day, but Bucknor has had the plate pretty well defined the whole game, and I've seen several pitches right around that area that were all called as balls."

From their seats along the first base line just behind the visitor's dugout, Baloo and Louie watched the unfolding drama in high spirits. They had been to dozens of baseball games. More than a hundred probably, but this was different.

For one, this was the Cubs and the Red Sox. Both fighting for their respective pennants, and the smart money was on them meeting again in the World Series. Games didn't get any better than this. But more importantly, that wasn't just any star pitcher out there. That was Ben. Their Ben. The guy they had grown up with playing baseball on the Cape Suzette sandlots. But now suddenly he was the new star pitcher of the Red Sox. The Boston Red Sox. It was hard to believe.

"Hey Louie, you wouldn't happen to have an egg on you, would ya?"

"Now why on earth would I be carrying an egg? And why on earth would you want one?"

"I wanna crack it over Sweet Lou's head and see if it'll sizzle!"

They laughed heartily. The roar of the crowd rose to full crescendo as Pinella finally turned and stomped off the field.

"Though in his defense, that pitch was clearly outside," Louie said.

"Oh, sure it was. But I'll sure take it."

"So will Ben."

"He only needs one more."

"ONE MORE, BEN!"

Ben took off his cap and wiped his brow as the highly agitated Cubs manager stormed back to the dugout and down the tunnel into the locker room. He bent over, picked up the rosin bag, tossed it lightly in his hand, dropped it back.

"Play ball!" Bucknor called.

He stepped up to the rubber. Pawed at it with his right foot. Dug his spikes in. He bent half over, stared at the rubber, folded his glove against his chest and let his right arm hang free. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, let it out slowly and as he did so the sounds of the ballpark faded away. Everything outside the confines of the foul lines simply ceased to exist. He took his stance and looked in at the plate, looked just at Fisk's fingers. 4-2-1-3 and a tap on his left thigh. The curveball, low and in. He nodded.

"So after all that, we're still looking at Dawson stepping in with an oh two count. Despite all the trouble, Leander's in pretty good shape here."

"Yeah, exactly, Harry. He's been smart the whole game. Now he's got Dawson in the oh two and can really go after him. The key here is to keep it down in the zone to avoid the deep ball."

"Leander looking in. Takes the first sign. Here comes the pitch. Breaking ball low and in! Dawson started to offer at it but managed to hold off and now it's one and two."

"He's got such a tremendous twelve six curve, Harry, it's amazing anyone can lay off of it. Almost three feet of drop sometimes. It starts at your eyes and ends up at your knees. And if he throws it right it drops right through the middle of the strike zone as it passes you."

"Leander again taking the first sign. He's real good about that, knows that Fisk knows a lot more about how to pitch to these guys than he does. Fastball in on the hands and Dawson fouls it sharply to the left."

"Yeah, Leander's a smart kid. Graduated valedictorian with a masters in mechanical engineering. Could've made a heck of a career with that, but chose baseball instead. He knows the value of knowledge, and knows that there's a wealth of experience to be drawn from his teammates, especially with the game on the line."

"Still one and two, Leander, winds and delivers."

CRACK!

"And Dawson smokes one right up the middle! Hartnett will score easily! Lange was running on first motion but he's held up at third and Speaker gets the ball back in in a hurry."

"Great decision to hold Lange at third. That run isn't going to help you here, no need to risk getting the out when Dawson is the one you need to get across to keep things going."

"Man on man was that ball ever hit hard. I don't think Lange would have had the slightest chance, that ball was through the infield before Dawson was out of the box. That makes it five to three now, still two outs in the bottom of the ninth, runners at the corners, Wrigley Field is shaking, and here comes Billy Williams."

"Williams is having an unbelievable season this year, Harry. Batting three thirty three with forty-two home runs. And he's a prime candidate for a golden glove. And against the Red Sox he's even deadlier. Twelve for seventeen in the previous four meetings with three homers and eleven batted in. But only one for four against Leander the one time he faced him five weeks ago."

"Well two for three against him tonight. Struck out in the fourth, doubled Dawson over to third for Banks to bat in after Leander walked him in the second. And then that huge home run out onto Waveland in the seventh. Another shot like that and the Cubs will have stolen this one right out from under him."

Ben watched as Williams dug in. He wanted him. Wanted him badly. Williams had been all over him the whole game. A double and a home run that hadn't landed yet. And even though he got him in the fourth, it took nine pitches to do it.

Fisk called time and trotted out to the mound.

"What do you think, Wildcat?"

"I want him, Pudge. I want him so bad I can taste it. I want to go after him. None of this horsing around with him like we have been up to now. He's been eating that up."

"That's just what I was thinking. Give him one on the chin and then bring the heat."

"You got it."

"Fisk settles back in behind the plate. Whatever that was it didn't take long."

"Harry, I think Fisk just wanted to make sure that he and Leander were on the same page."

"Williams digging back in now. The Sox are still conceding the runner at third, but Foxx is keeping close to the bag over at first. Dawson doesn't appear to be taking much of a lead. Leander back in the stretch. And delivers a fastball way up and in! Williams is on the ground and he had to get out of the way of that one in a hurry!"

"Williams didn't appear to be crowding the plate, that pitch was clearly a message. Leander's trying to intimidate him, but I'm not sure how wise that strategy is."

"Williams is up again, refusing to dust himself off. Leander's already set. Dawson taking his lead and Leander steps off and gives Dawson the stink eye."

"Dawson with 24 stolen bases this year, on pace to break the 30 mark again."

"Leander, set again. Checks over his shoulder at first. Kicks and fires a fastball that was in Fisk's glove almost before Leander let it go and evens the count up at one and one."

"Tremendous speed on that fastball, Harry. It's been estimated at ninety-eight or ninety nine miles per hour. Williams looked really tardy on that pitch but only because of how fast it came in. Leander's going right for the throat."

"He sure is. And he's determined to get him. He's standing on the rubber and is set as soon as Fisk gets the ball to him. He checks over at first again, turns back to the plate and delivers. Fastball again, up at the hands and Williams didn't miss it by much. Fisk warm to Leander's pace and the ball's back at the mound and Leander set to deliver again. Checks Dawson, steps, throws. Some more chin music for Williams. He didn't go down this time, but some harsh words being directed towards the mound."

"Leander's not giving him any quarter. He already has a reputation for being absolutely relentless, some would even say ruthless, on the mound."

"Two and two the count now. Williams standing outside the batter's box, tugging on his gloves, jersey, hat, stalling to break Leander's rhythm. Finally steps back in. Leander checks first, steps, and delivers another fastball right at the belt but juuuust a bit outside."

"He really wanted that K, and I think he probably got it over the plate. Maybe a make-up call for Dawson there, Harry."

"And Leander is really upset with that call, off the mound and pacing, Fisk hurrying out to calm him down."

"That's the one thing working against Leander, his youth. He still needs some seasoning, needs to learn how to shake off a call like that and get right back to business."

"Fisk back to the plate now, Leander still not looking happy. Williams steps up to the plate with a full count, and it all comes down to this folks. Leander ignoring Dawson now, who'll be running on the play. Sets. Deep breath. He winds and delivers."

CRACK!

"And Williams got all of that one! It's headed into left! Ted's giving chase, but I don't think he's gonna make it! Back! Back! And Williams climbs the wall and snatches it out of the basket! Sox win! Sox win! Ted Williams scaled the left field wall and stole a walk off home run from Billy Williams!"

Ben's teammates enveloped him on the mound, burying him in a tangled mass of arms, legs, and torsos, then lifting him up and carrying him towards the dugout. As they set him down, Williams came up to him and exchanged a front hand, and then a back handed five. Ben gave him a bear hug then let him go.

"You really saved my ass there, Teddy."

Williams gave him a light smack across the mouth. "You can cut that 'Teddy' crap right now."

"Yeah, I could. Doesn't mean I'm gonna."

Cronin came up to him and clapped him on the shoulder.

"So, Leander…twenty wins. That's a helluva thing."

"So then this would be an excellent time to renegotiate my contract, huh?"

"Yeah, you head on upstairs with that. Good luck. Seriously though. I think you deserve some kind of bonus. What do you want? Anything within reason."

"Skip, the only thing I want is to get back to Boston and home to my wife."

"Thought you might say that."

He stepped aside, along with the other players blocking the stairs down to the dugout. Standing at the entrance to the tunnel, tall, trim, stately, her shoulder length red hair elegantly styled, was Victoria Leander.

"Vic!"

He ran to her, wrapped his arms tightly around her, lifted her off the ground, and spun her in a circle. She giggled and he kissed her fiercely.

"What are you doing here?"

"Joe had me flown in this morning. Said you were a sure thing to win."

Ben turned to look at him.

"And if I hadn't?"

"Never doubted you." He pushed them apart. "Now save all this mushy horseshit for later." He raised his voice for the rest of the team. "Get your asses in the locker room!"

Ben escorted her to the corridor and gave her a final squeeze. "I'll see you back at the hotel. Don't want you in here." He elbowed her playfully in the side. "Wouldn't want you seeing anything that might change your expectations of our relationship."

Her mouth opened is quasi-mortification. Victoria was a true lady, and such speech in public was strictly taboo. Ben wasn't crass enough to make a comment like that in "proper" society, but in private (or in a place like this) he greatly enjoyed playing on her blue-blooded sensibilities.

"Benjamin!"

He winked at her and shut the door.

That night, they lay in the familiar afterglow, even though the bed was unfamiliar. It hardly mattered. They had each other. It was all they'd ever needed.

Ben's dad drove a mule in a field; his mom sewed dresses in a sweatshop. They both worked tirelessly so Ben could go to school and live a better life. It was by the sweat of their brows that Ben enrolled in Suzette University.

Victoria's dad worked in a brokerage firm, her mom didn't work. Victoria's better life had been served to her on a silver platter. But she somehow inherited a gene for humility that neither parent possessed. She defied them by wanting to go to college, then defied them again by refusing the Ivy League, choosing to stay at home in Cape Suzette.

To say that their relationship was unsanctioned was the greatest understatement since Custer said "uh-oh". Both their families forbade them to be together. Neither was welcomed in the other's home. When they announced their engagement, Victoria's father threatened to disown her. When they married, he did. And although Ben's father attended the wedding, he refused to stand as Ben's best man. His best friend, Baloo, took his place.

Though a promising career was certainly in his future, Ben suddenly found himself with a new wife and a year of college ahead of him. The money would come eventually, but eventually might prove to be too long. Then the Red Sox showed up and offered him the second highest rookie contract in baseball history. He accelerated all of his courses and finished his last year in six months, reporting to spring training only two weeks late. They moved to Boston, and despite the agonizing stretches of separation, were living a fairy tale life.

Ben gazed at his wife, drinking in the sight of her, as much as he could, knowing that the Sox's road trip had only begun. After tonight, he wouldn't see her again for eleven days. He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand.

"Vic…"

"Mmmm?" she mumbled sleepily.

"You know…you know this is all for you, right?"

She opened her eyes and looked at him. "What do you mean?"

"We've been together for five years. Almost two of marriage now. My whole life I've had nothing. Except you. And you're a crown jewel. The Hope Diamond. There's no way a lady like you should ever have ended up with a bum like me."

"Bum? Oh, Benny. You're no bum. You're kind, and intelligent, and funny. Confident but tempered by humility. You're a doting, loving husband. And I love you with every fiber of my being."

"I couldn't live without you, Vic. If something ever happened to you…if you ever got hurt…or…" He cut himself off. "I could do anything, you know. With my degree, being valedictorian…there's a million jobs anywhere in the world I could do. And I wouldn't have to be away from you all the time. But baseball is where the big money is at. It's where I can give you the life you're used to."

"That I'm used to? Ben, the only life I'm used to is life with you."

"You know what I mean. I don't want you to ever want for anything. To be able to have anything you want, whenever you want it, just like if you'd married someone your father would have approved of."

"That man is not my father. His opinion means nothing to me. And I want nothing to do with his kind of people. You'd make good money as an engineer, Ben. You'd be able to provide for me. But I already have everything I want."

"But I'd make a lot more as a baseball player than as an engineer." There was something in his voice. Something else.

"What is it Ben? You love baseball. Why this concern all of a sudden?"

It took him a moment to find his voice.

"It's just…I'm not the same person on the field. It's why I'm so good. I'm mean, ruthless, vicious. I'd bean a guy with my best fastball without a second thought. I about took Williams' head off today. Wouldn't have slowed me down a bit if I had. But it's an act. A character."

"I know that, baby."

"But what if…what if someday…"

"What if someday you'll have played the character so long, he stops being a character?"

"Exactly. Victoria…if I ever hurt you…If I ever mistreated you…I…"

She cupped his cheek with her hand. "Ben, that will never happen to you. Trust me."

"I just love you so much."

They wrapped their arms around each other, kissing, pawing, petting until Victoria rolled atop him.

"Ben…"

He pushed a lock of hair behind her ear.

"What?"

"I was going to save this for our anniversary. But I can't wait."

"What is it?"

"This spring…the Leanders will be signing a new rookie."

"A new rookie?" His breath caught as he realized what she meant. "You mean you're…You're gonna have…"

She smiled and nodded.

"Victoria, that's great!"

They laughed and kissed and soon fell into the rhythms that pleased them most.

Baloo and Louie were standing outside the team hotel the next morning when Ben and Victoria emerged.

"Hey, guys!" Ben exclaimed. "Catch the game yesterday?"

"No, man," Louie said. "We just flew all the way here from Cape Suzette in that sputtering puddle jumper Baloo calls an airplane to cop a slice of deep dish."

"All right, silly question, I deserved that." He looked at Victoria. "Do you want to tell them? Or should I?"

"Ben!" She said sharply, beneath her voice and through clenched teeth. "Not here!"

"We're gonna have a baby!" Ben exclaimed. Victoria yanked on his arm.

"Benjamin! That is not an appropriate conversational subject for this setting!"

"Sorry guys," he said quietly. "We'll have to talk about it later. Haven't got all the aristocrat out of her yet."

"Ah, you wouldn't have her any other way," Baloo said.

A cacophony arose as the rest of the team began clamoring out of the hotel and loading their luggage on the bus.

"You guys coming to Cleveland? Not as big a game tonight, but every one counts right now. Skipper says he might use me in relief if the situation warrants."

"We're gonna catch some sights and head up later," Louie said

"We'll be there before the first pitch."

He shook both their hands. "See you tonight." He turned to his wife, held her close.

"I love you," he said quietly.

"I love you too. Remember, I'm laying over in Pittsburgh to visit Dee. I won't get back to Boston until after the game starts."

"I'll call you when it's over."

"Okay."

He kissed her tenderly on the cheek. "Bye."

"Bye."

She turned as Ben threw his bags into the bus. "Would you fine gentlemen be so kind as to escort a lady to the airport?"

Baloo and Louie both looked around in confusion before finally pointing to themselves.

"You talkin' 'bout us?" Louie asked.

Victoria smiled grandly. "Yes, I am. Now come along."

They waved a last time at Ben and headed off.

"Cleveland tower, Beechcraft NX-63455."

"63455, Cleveland tower, go ahead."

"Cleveland, 63455 is a Beech Staggerwing, one five miles out, inbound for the GA ramp."

"455, Cleveland tower, squawk 2316 and ident."

"2316, ident, 455."

"455, radar contact, 14 miles southwest of Cleveland. Vector zero two zero and assume published hold at one zero miles west of the field."

Baloo groaned. "They can't put me in a holding pattern! The game's starting right now!"

"Not to say I told you so, but it was you that just had to have that extra double scoop of mint chocolate chip."

"455, Cleveland tower, do you copy that hold?"

Baloo keyed the mic. "Roger, Cleveland. Vector 020, establish published hold at ten miles west, WILCO. Any idea how long we'll be holding?"

"455, expected hold time 20-30 minutes. There's a solid line of storms to the east gumming up the whole region."

"Told ya we shouldn't have cut it so close."

"Thought you said you weren't gonna say 'I told you so'."

"Yeah, well, I changed my mind."

They finally landed forty minutes later. They secured the plane and headed through the terminal. As they stood in line trying to get a cab, they noticed a throng of reporters outside the air carrier terminal. One of them noticed Baloo's pilot shirt and came running over.

"Sir, are you a pilot?"

"Why yes, I certainly am!"

"Do you know anything about the crash?"

A couple of the other reporters rushed over.

"Crash? What crash?"

"An Eastern DC-3 outside of Altoona."

"Sorry, don't know nothin' about it."

The reporters briefly glared at them like it was their fault they didn't know anything and wandered off. Baloo turned back to the business of trying to get a cab. After a moment, Louie tugged on his shirt.

"Baloo, wait a minute. Wasn't Victoria flying Eastern?"

His blood ran cold. The cab was suddenly forgotten and they hurried over and grabbed the arm of the man who had questioned them.

"Hey, Mac. What flight?"

"Huh?"

"What flight was it?"

"We're not sure. One guy said it was the 497, from Pittsburgh to Boston. We're trying to confirm that."

They looked at each other. Baloo turned and headed into the terminal. Using his pilot credentials, he bullied his way into the tower and cornered one of the controllers. The man confirmed their fears.

"The line of storms developed in front of them as they departed Pittsburgh. Center was doing its best to vector them around, but it just built up so damn fast. Spread out north and south. Finally called them up and told them they weren't gonna get around it and to get the hell out of there and back to Pittsburgh. Lost the return on them a few minutes later."

"So that was what? Going on two hours ago, now? What's the latest?"

"They found the aircraft, minus the left wing. Must have broken apart in-flight."

Baloo grabbed the man by his lapels and lifted him clean off the floor.

"You know what I'm asking, Mac. Survivors! What about survivors?"

The man couldn't meet Baloo's eyes. He shook his sadly. Baloo put him down.

"Look, I'm sorry. But that information hasn't been officially released yet. I'm going to have to ask you to keep it confidential."

"I won't tell anyone around here. But there's a man sitting in the Red Sox bullpen across town. And his wife was on that plane. And I'm going to have to tell him as soon as the game is over."

"I understand."

Baloo shook his hand. "Thanks for the information."

"Welcome back, Sox fans. Harry Doyle here at Lakefront Stadium, alongside Ray Kinsella, where the Indians are clinging to a seven-six lead with one out in the bottom of the eighth. And if you're just joining us, have you ever missed a heck of a game. The Tribe jumped all over the Sox right out of the box as Willie Mays Hayes hit the first pitch from Dutch Leonard into the left field bleachers and then nearly batted around the order before Leonard pitched himself out of a bases loaded jam. The Sox put two on the board in the top of the second, but that didn't last long as Tomlinson doubled to lead off the bottom of the inning, and was sacrificed over to third by Eddie Harris. Leonard struck out Hayes and Taylor, then Dorn knocked one just over the fence in right.

"Dutch settled down after that, throwing a no-hitter for the next four innings as the Sox plated one each in the third and fourth, and two more in the sixth. But the Indians came storming back again in the seventh, loading the bases before Pedro Cerrano smashed one a mile past the fence in center, and almost became the first player to ever hit one into Cleveland's center field bleachers. Vaughn took over for Harris in the eighth and took down the Sox 1, 2, 3. Dutch then walked the first two batters here in the eighth, and Cronin turned to the hot young rookie, Ben Leander."

"And Harry, Leander is coming off an amazing performance yesterday in Chicago. Pitched a complete game, striking out eighteen and becoming the first twenty-win rookie pitcher ever in the majors. Honestly, I'm surprised Cronin is using him tonight."

"Well, the final score from the Bronx came in about ten minutes ago, and the Detroit win now puts the Sox only two games behind the Yankees. And with the rained out game against the Senators giving Boston a game in hand for the next two weeks, a win this evening can technically pull the Sox to within one. So a win tonight is suddenly a very big deal."

"Okay, Wildcat. None out with first and second full and we're down one. You got this?"

"The question you need to be asking, Pudge, is can you guys get that one back after I mow down these next three mooks?"

Fisk looked over at Cronin.

"I'll take that as a yes."

"All right, kid," Cronin said. "Get it done."

"So Taylor stepping in now in the two spot. Leander takes the sign. Checks second. Sets and delivers a fastball at the numbers that was in Fisk's glove before Taylor even got the bat off his shoulder and the rookie jumps ahead oh and one."

"Vaughn took an awfully big secondary lead after Leander was set. Vaughn not much of a runner, and with the ball moving in like that, he's got absolutely no shot at third. You've got to think he's just bluffing."

"Leander set again. Checks over his shoulder, and snap throws to second. Boy that had some mustard on it and Vaughn just barely got back in time. Doerr gets it back to the mound and Leander just stands there glowering at Vaughn, daring him to take a run at third. No love lost between these two pitchers as Vaughn jaws at him and Leander makes a gesture that was probably accompanied by a rude suggestion. The ump's out now, trying to get things calmed down before they get out of hand."

Baloo and Louie walked into the stadium. They were bombarded by the reporters as they left the terminal and the resulting crowd of people made getting a cab impossible. After several warnings, Baloo finally cold-cocked one of them. The man hit the ground out cold, and the crowd around them rapidly withdrew.

They were delayed more than another hour by a messy traffic accident, and now were nearly three hours late. Normally they would be rushing headlong, trying to get to their seats as soon as possible. But, burdened by their heavy news, they could not manage a brisk pace. They emerged from the concourse and made their way to their seats behind the visitor's dugout. Ben was standing behind the mound jawing at the runner on second, and the 3rd base umpire was ushering him back to his place.

"Boy, he sure looks fired up, doesn't he?" Baloo asked.

"He won't ever play again," Louie said. "Not after…not after we tell him."

"He'll bounce back. Eventually."

"C'mon, Baloo. Don't kid yourself. I know he's like a brother to you, but if you're not straight with yourself, you're not going to be able to be straight with him. That girl was his whole life, everything he lived for. I imagine we'll have to watch him just to make sure he doesn't try to follow her over to the other side."

"I don't know how I'm gonna tell him. Lord help me, Louie, I don't know how I'm gonna tell him."

"So the ump finally got Leander back on the mound and we're ready to get back to it."

"Harry, I think it's a negative that Leander's letting himself get all worked up. If you remember, yesterday he let his emotions get the better of him and very nearly gave up a walk off home run to Billy Williams."

"Maybe. But if you notice, Vaughn's not more than two steps off second as Leander sets. He's got the sign from Fisk. Fires a fastball up in Taylor's face that drives him back a step and the count's one and one."

"And Taylor looks a bit rattled, while Leander looks meaner than a junkyard dog."

"Leander sets again, checks over his shoulder. Vaughn still not taking much of a lead. Kicks and fires another fastball at the belt that just catches the inside corner and the count's one and two. Fisk gets the ball back, and Leander is now ignoring Vaughn. He sets. Here's the pitch, a slider right down the middle, and he got him! Taylor must have been expecting the fastball again because the strike was called before the ball crossed plate."

"Taylor is storming back to the dugout, obviously very upset with himself."

"And he should be, Ray."

"He certainly should. Leander had him totally fooled with the offspeed after three straight fastballs. Taylor was way ahead of that pitch."

"Leander looked over his shoulder after that pitch and said something else to Vaughn, which got the conversation started again. Now the umpire is out again, and now issuing warnings to both benches. Fisk trots out to the mound and is joined by Boggs. Just a quick exchange to settle the rookie down, and now everyone gets back to where they're supposed to be."

"Watching Leander out there, Harry, I'm not so sure all this isn't an act. He's just too worked up for what the situation warrants. I think maybe he's trying to intimidate the Indians, and if that's the case, I think he's succeeding."

"He's certainly gotten under Vaughn's skin. But now turning to the task at hand, which is trying to get Roger Dorn back to the dugout. Leander sets. A long look in at Dorn, just staring him down. Here comes the pitch. Double-play ball up the middle and that…no! It gets by Pesky! He turns, digs the ball out of the dirt and finally gets it over to Doerr, but that's the only one they'll get. Vaughn's at third now with Dorn safe at first."

"And Harry, he just didn't get his glove in the dirt and the ball skipped under it. A basic fundamental fielding error by the normally sure handed Johnny Pesky."

"So Leander should be heading back to the dugout, but instead he now faces off against Pedro Cerrano, one of the best power hitters in the game today."

"And Cerrano has already got one home run today, and two more that drifted just inside the left field foul pole."

"So Pedro stepping in. Leander shakes off the first sign, then the second. Now he's got what he wants. Checks Dorn over at first. Fires it in there and Pedro smokes- Oh, my God!"

"Harry, that was…."

"Ladies and gentlemen…ladies and gentlemen, Cerrano blasted that ball right back up the middle and it caught Ben Leander right in the side of the head. He dropped like a wet sandbag and he is not moving one bit. The whole team is rushing to the mound. Cleveland Municipal Stadium is quieter than a cathedral. The Indians are out of their dugout now, looking on with concern."

"The trainers were motioning for a stretcher as soon as they got to the mound. Harry, that was just gruesome."

"Cerrano is down on one knee at home plate, chin resting on the knob of his bat, a look of abject misery on his face..."

Five months later.

Baloo and Louie hurried through the revolving doors of Cape Suzette Memorial Hospital. Finally, there was news.

The ball scorching off of Pedro Cerrano's bat had shattered Ben's skull. The ER staff at Cleveland General were astounded that he hadn't been killed instantly. It had taken weeks of reconstructive surgeries that included three temporary metal plates, and one permanent plate. After two months, he was finally stable enough to transport back to Cape Suzette. Throughout the entire process, Ben remained comatose. Several doctors had told them it was likely he would remain in a permanent vegetative state. For although the skull had been repaired, the brain was extensively damaged.

But half an hour ago, the hospital had called. Ben was awake. The doctor met them in the hall outside Ben's room.

"So, doc…how is he?" Baloo asked.

"Well, it's amazing that he's awake at all. We can be thankful just for that." His voice had an ominous note.

"But?" Louie asked.

"From what we've been able to gather, he doesn't remember anything from before the accident."

"Well, that's not so bad. I mean it's better that he doesn't remember getting hurt, isn't it?"

"I'm afraid that's not what I mean, Baloo. He doesn't remember anything. Not who he is, where he's from, what's happened to him…complete amnesia. It's all gone. Everything. And his speech patterns indicate cognitive impairment."

"Cog…cogniv…?"

"Cognitive. It means his ability to think and reason has been damaged."

"Will he ever recover?" Louie asked.

"The fact that he's alive at all is utterly inconceivable. There's absolutely nothing to indicate there will ever be any improvement. I'm afraid the person you knew is gone forever."

Baloo and Louie looked at each other in shock.

"There is some hope, though. The nature and location of the injury may allow for the retention of some, or even a great deal of, his technical proficiency. Other side of the head, different part of the brain."

"So then he could still be an engineer?"

"No. His abilities would be akin to those of an idiot savant. He would be able to function in the right setting. But it's doubtful he could ever live a completely normal life. Of course, this is all conjecture at this point. Only time will tell what, exactly, his functional level will be."

"So what have you told him?" Louie asked.

"We haven't told him anything. But naturally, he has a lot of questions."

"What do we tell him?"

"That's entirely up to you."

Louie looked at Baloo. "What do we tell him, cuz?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"What can we tell him? That he's a genius who'll never be smart again? A star pitcher who'll never play again? A husband who's totally in love with a dead wife? The father of a child that'll never be born?"

Louie looked at the floor, seeing Baloo's point. "What if he gets curious? Starts asking around, asking people questions about himself?"

"No one will be able to help him. We're not going to tell him who he was, Louie. Ben Leander is dead."

"So what do we tell him when he asks who he is?"

Baloo thought a moment. And then he realized the answer was obvious.

"Wildcat. From now 'til the end of time, he's Wildcat."

So here are my "shout outs" for this story. Harry Doyle and the Indians lineup are from the movie "Major League". Ray Kinsella is from "Field of Dreams". The story's title is an "X-Men" reference. And even though the parallels are there, no part of this story was taken from or inspired by, that movie. Just coincidence.