Epilogophilia – The Game You Learn from Your Father
College star baseball player Duke McGuire is framed for murder and not released until a deathbed confession from his framer. Hardcastle is the judge who originally sentenced McGuire and feels, in his guilt, responsible for getting Duke another chance at playing pro baseball. McCormick takes Duke to a charity function featuring baseball player Ron Cey, where Duke strikes out the major leaguer on three pitches. McGuire then gets a chance to pitch for the California Stars, but drugs are found planted in his locker. Hardcastle and McCormick investigate and find the original murderer, who then tries to shoot Duke. McGuire recovers but his pitching career is over and he becomes the Stars new pitching coach.
Epilogue – by Owlcroft
"But I don't understand," said Frank, "how you knew Cey would strike out against McGuire. Thanks, hon." He smiled at his wife, Claudia, as she poured re-fills of iced tea for everyone.
"Well, you have to know a little about the game. Thanks, Claudia." McCormick picked up his glass and took a sip. "You have to know the batter and the abilities of your pitcher. It's all a matter of experience," he said with a modest shrug.
"Hah!" Judge Hardcastle nodded his thanks to Mrs. Harper. "Experience! You were just betting the farm on a long-shot. As usual." He turned to Frank to add, "And as usual, he got luckier than he deserved."
"Luck? That wasn't luck. That was a calculated gamble on known odds and a carefully figured risk strategy." Mark was irate. "You just can't stand to think I know more about something than you do. Well, let me tell you something. Playing stickball in the streets of New Jersey teaches you something about looking into a guy's eyes and seeing what he's got." McCormick sat back, confident he'd made his point.
"Oh, sure. It teaches ya to swing and miss when there's a runner on third and nobody out, that's what." The judge was leaving irritated behind and heading for irascible. "If Duke'd given up a hit to Cey, you'd've been so far up the creek, you'd never find your way back!" He also leaned back, then preened slightly. "Now, where I grew up, playing in the fields, using the glove your Dad had used . . . that's the way you learn to play the game right."
McCormick whooped. "Play the game right? You have got to be kidding me!"
Frank shot a glance at Claudia, who mimicked a telephone at her ear and left him to sort out their guests.
"Yes, play the game right. I played in college, ya know, and I can still hit the ball a lot further than most fences in these things they call ballparks these days." Hardcastle scowled at Frank. "What're you laughing at?"
"Nothing," grinned Frank. "Nothing at all."
"Oh, really. Oh, really," gibed McCormick. "Well, I'll just bet you twenty that I can hit a ball further than you can, with one hand!"
"You're on!" shouted the judge. "Frank! Where's that bat you were showing me? And get a baseball. You can pitch to both of us. There's a minor leaguer here who needs to be shown what a real hitter can do!"
"Oh, boy," muttered Harper. He did, however, collect the bat from behind his lawn chair and collected a ball as well.
The trio went into the Harper backyard, where Frank flipped a coin to see who'd bat first.
McCormick won the toss and graciously allowed Hardcastle to receive the first pitch. Harper took a few swings to loosen up his arm; the judge scraped a patch on the ground for traction, and then Frank threw a looping pitch right down the groove.
Hardcastle swung mightily, connected squarely with the pitch and launched it high into the air. The threesome stood watching it soar majestically through the neighbor's window, then, looking at each other in dismay, they ran.