"Their pitcher's a girl and their 'coach' is in diapers!" laughed Fox as he
picked up his bat.
"It speaks," young Judy Parker thought aloud as she stood on the mound, ".and it's a moron."
She concentrated hard and threw the first pitch of the game, inhaling the summer air as she released the ball from her hand.
Fox took a mighty swing.and missed. Pale-faced, he gazed at the girl in awe. The girl smiled and opened her mitt so Lou could toss the ball back to her. Things were starting well for what Roy had named The Chippewa Nine.
Despite the positively beautiful impact the strike out had had on Fox, the second pitch did not yield the same results. With a crack of the bat the ball went soaring into left field, unfortunately our little outfielder, Milo was all ready in right field.
"Jack, you're centerfield! You get it!" Milo yelled.
"But you're right and left field!"
"You're closer!"
Fantastic. The one time Jack decided not to go out on a limb and follow instructions clean. But Jack was weird when it came to baseball. Hey, it was baseball. It was another, holier plane of existence.
He saw the ball flying into left and ran as fast and as hard as his pudgy legs would take him. Come on, Milo, run. You can do this. You can get it, he told himself. Harder and harder, he pushed himself and the ball bounced off the grass with Milo a mere ten feet away. I can still do this. He ran hard towards the ball calling to him on the ground. He grabbed that baseball with such fervor and conviction like he'd never had in his life. He threw it to Jim at first base.but Fox was already passing first. Jim threw to Roy, Roy to Tobey. Here's where Tobey tried to tackle Fox and beat him up after he scored at home plate.
There was no particular penalty for that save for more yelling between the two teams. It might have been stopped, but Pete arrived about fifteen minutes after the fight to hide under a bush. Jack told him not to come.
As it turned out, Jem and Fox's team did not have a long stroke of luck either. Judy struck out Casanova and Righty, and Jack caught Job's fly ball.
If the little band of brothers (and sisters) gained a little more confidence it was all in false hope. By the ninth inning the only score between either of the teams was Fox's initial home run. And whenever Milo was in right field the ball was in left field. Whenever Milo was in left field the ball was in right field. Jack eventually just went after any balls that came to the outfield.
Now everything had started to fall apart within the Nine. The summer heat was taking a toll on their tempers.
Milo was never in the right place at the right time because he 'didn't know what the hell he was doing' but it wasn't his 'God damn fault'. Judy's winning arm was starting to wear. She'd been 'throwing grapefruits' since the seventh inning and 'it was a miracle' the field kept the other team from scoring. Tobey 'didn't know how to spell "Toby"'. Emily was getting peevish because no one was listening to her sage advice and they were all 'stupid!'.
It was now bottom of the ninth with two outs against them and Jimmy was on second. They needed a homerun.their last chance would be stepping up to the plate in moments.
"We can't send Milo up, he's finished.look at him." Judy sighed, Milo didn't argue.
"How about Brent?" Tobey suggested.
"Not a snowball's chance in hell!" Emily snapped.
"What?!" Brent sneered.
"Peewee likes to throw highs balls. You couldn't hit a high ball if your life depended on it.but you always swing at them 'cause you wanna prove you can."
"Em, you're not even playing. Don't talk like that." Her cousin reprimanded her.
"Jackie honey," said Emily a la Maggie, "you may be my big cousin anywhere else in the whole world, but on this field I am your coach. I maybe the little one to all of you anywhere else in the whole world but here I'm coach. Jack, tell me what I am today."
Jack was on the verge of telling her the real reason why she was 'coach,' but refrained. "Coach." He mumbled.
"I CAN'T HEAR YOU!"
"Coach!" he shouted.
"What was that?!"
"COACH!" Everyone shouted back.
"That's better.Jack you're in." Emily waved her hand.
"What?" he asked.
"You go bat.I'm coach and that's final." Emily crossed her arms. Everyone was stunned. If anyone could pull it off it would be Jack. Fluke or not, she was as right as anyone could be.
"Alright," Jack bent down to get his bat, "I'll tell 'em we're ready."
"And let's not turn on each other anymore." said Judy to everyone, putting a reassuring hand a Jack's shoulder. "If we're going to scream at anyone it should be the future cellmates over there."
"If Fox ever got arrested his dad would pay somebody to get him off." laughed Jim.
"Yeah, I know it's been said before, but what the hell kind of stupid name is Fox?" asked Tobey. "Like I said before, the kind of name Jem Black's aunt and uncle like." Milo smiled, wiping the dirt and sweat from his glasses.
"All and all that kid's gotta be put in his place. He can't charge around here like he owns the place. Who does he think he is? It's time for the sincere people of Chippewa Falls to rise! .Or completely kick their sorry asses in the most pure and holy of challenges." Tobey smiled.
"Amen to that." Jack put his hands in the middle of the circle. Everyone else put their hands in together, too. "To hell with Fox. It's not about him.or the rest of those goons for that matter. It's about us.ready guys?"
"As ever!" Emily chirped.
"VIVA LA WISCONSIN!" They threw up their hands cheering. Jack was the body going up to the plate, but they were all ready to hit.
Jack made his way to the mound and dragged his bat across the ground, hearing only the scraping of the wood on the dirt. He twisted his grip on the bat as a single droplet of sweat fell on his brow, running down from his nose to his cheek, making the side of his nose itch a little, but he didn't move to scratch it. He didn't so much as twitch. He was ready. He was focused. He was determined.
Breathe, Dawson, breathe.
Peewee released that faithful ball. The Jack was going to hit that baseball far across the field, it was the one that was going to win this game. He swung his bat hard in one smooth, graceful movement, and waited for a resounding crack.
"That's strike one, Dawson!" he heard Marty Martin laugh. His heart sank, his swing empty.
It wasn't for Jack to dwell on the bad, but somehow he couldn't get those familiar words out of his head. They plagued him.
The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day; The score stood four to two with but one inning more to play; And then, when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same, A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
A straggling few got up to go, in deep despair. The rest clung to that hope which 'springs eternal in the human breast'; They thought, If only Casey could but get a whack at that, We'd put up even money now, with Casey at the bat.
But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake, And the former was a lulu and the latter was a cake; So, upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat, For there seemed but little chance of Casey's getting to the bat.
But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all, And Blake, the much despised, tore the cover off the ball. And when the dust had lifted and men saw what had occurred. There was Jimmy safe at second, and Flynn a-huggin' third.
Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell, It rumbled through the valley; it rattled in the dell; It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat, For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.
There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place; There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile on Casey's face, And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat, No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat. Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt; Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt. Then, while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip, Defiance gleamed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip. And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air, And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there. Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped -- 'That ain't my style,' said Casey. 'Strike one,' the umpire said.
From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar, Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore. 'Kill him; kill the umpire!' shouted someone from the stand -- And it's likely they'd have killed him had not Casey raised his hand.
With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone; He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game on; He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the spheroid flew; But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, 'Strike two.'
'Fraud,' cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered, 'Fraud,' But one scornful look from Casey, and the multitude was awed. They saw his face grow stern and cold; they saw his muscles strain, And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again. The sneer is gone from Casey's lip; his teeth are clinched in hate; He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate, And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go, And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.
Oh! Somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright; The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light. And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout; But there is no joy in Mudville -- mighty Casey has struck out.
But he hasn't struck out yet. He won't be buried till he's dead. Damn Ernest Lawrence Thayer for putting such bad words in his head!
You can do it again. The last one didn't happen. You can do it. This is our moment, baby. Jack thought to himself.
"Any day now, Dawson." Fred the catcher gave him a nudge in the ankle.
"I'm ready." Jack nodded. His team nodded with him.
He could hear his father telling him to keep his eye on the ball. It didn't take long for him to realize this voice wasn't coming from his own memory, but from the nearby bushes.
I told him not to come! Damn it, Dad! He breathed again. Alright, concentrate. You can do it.
Just as before, he concentrated on the incoming ball. It looked in range. He gave another hard, graceful swing.
This time he heard that faithful crack. Mighty Jack had struck back.
The white orb shot out into the sky and landed far in the field where it would further reside.
Jack sprung from home and ran towards first. Jim ran after third. The children were silent, not speaking a word. Mark Gunderson ran through the field to an impossible goal. Now Jack rounded seconded and Jim lusted for home.
Fox yelled from the field and Peewee from the mound. There was a thud at home plate as Jim's body hit ground.
One more to go, all eyes were on Jack. Mark held the ball in his hands ready to throw: first to Jem at second, and then to Duncan at third. Even Peter could be heard from the bushes yelling 'Go! Go! Go!'
Duncan caught the ball as Jack left his base. He drew his arm back aiming for home plate. 'Slide! Slide!' screamed little Em and her cousin dove to the ground. And what a game, what a hit, for the ball had missed Fred Dawsen's mitt.
***
It's just a favorite memory now for those who are still around to remember it. But what a memory it is. There was such a great energy like one rarely finds. The Nine charged the field in an incredible rush. They lifted Jack up and paraded him around. Pete was so excited he came out from the bushes and ran up to his son-who was no longer angry he came.
They went back to town skipping and whooping and cheering. Emily was high above all them as she was seated on her uncle's shoulders, clapping and giggling.
Throughout the next year there were many rematches between Jem's team and the Chippewa Nine. The Nine lost every one of them.
"It speaks," young Judy Parker thought aloud as she stood on the mound, ".and it's a moron."
She concentrated hard and threw the first pitch of the game, inhaling the summer air as she released the ball from her hand.
Fox took a mighty swing.and missed. Pale-faced, he gazed at the girl in awe. The girl smiled and opened her mitt so Lou could toss the ball back to her. Things were starting well for what Roy had named The Chippewa Nine.
Despite the positively beautiful impact the strike out had had on Fox, the second pitch did not yield the same results. With a crack of the bat the ball went soaring into left field, unfortunately our little outfielder, Milo was all ready in right field.
"Jack, you're centerfield! You get it!" Milo yelled.
"But you're right and left field!"
"You're closer!"
Fantastic. The one time Jack decided not to go out on a limb and follow instructions clean. But Jack was weird when it came to baseball. Hey, it was baseball. It was another, holier plane of existence.
He saw the ball flying into left and ran as fast and as hard as his pudgy legs would take him. Come on, Milo, run. You can do this. You can get it, he told himself. Harder and harder, he pushed himself and the ball bounced off the grass with Milo a mere ten feet away. I can still do this. He ran hard towards the ball calling to him on the ground. He grabbed that baseball with such fervor and conviction like he'd never had in his life. He threw it to Jim at first base.but Fox was already passing first. Jim threw to Roy, Roy to Tobey. Here's where Tobey tried to tackle Fox and beat him up after he scored at home plate.
There was no particular penalty for that save for more yelling between the two teams. It might have been stopped, but Pete arrived about fifteen minutes after the fight to hide under a bush. Jack told him not to come.
As it turned out, Jem and Fox's team did not have a long stroke of luck either. Judy struck out Casanova and Righty, and Jack caught Job's fly ball.
If the little band of brothers (and sisters) gained a little more confidence it was all in false hope. By the ninth inning the only score between either of the teams was Fox's initial home run. And whenever Milo was in right field the ball was in left field. Whenever Milo was in left field the ball was in right field. Jack eventually just went after any balls that came to the outfield.
Now everything had started to fall apart within the Nine. The summer heat was taking a toll on their tempers.
Milo was never in the right place at the right time because he 'didn't know what the hell he was doing' but it wasn't his 'God damn fault'. Judy's winning arm was starting to wear. She'd been 'throwing grapefruits' since the seventh inning and 'it was a miracle' the field kept the other team from scoring. Tobey 'didn't know how to spell "Toby"'. Emily was getting peevish because no one was listening to her sage advice and they were all 'stupid!'.
It was now bottom of the ninth with two outs against them and Jimmy was on second. They needed a homerun.their last chance would be stepping up to the plate in moments.
"We can't send Milo up, he's finished.look at him." Judy sighed, Milo didn't argue.
"How about Brent?" Tobey suggested.
"Not a snowball's chance in hell!" Emily snapped.
"What?!" Brent sneered.
"Peewee likes to throw highs balls. You couldn't hit a high ball if your life depended on it.but you always swing at them 'cause you wanna prove you can."
"Em, you're not even playing. Don't talk like that." Her cousin reprimanded her.
"Jackie honey," said Emily a la Maggie, "you may be my big cousin anywhere else in the whole world, but on this field I am your coach. I maybe the little one to all of you anywhere else in the whole world but here I'm coach. Jack, tell me what I am today."
Jack was on the verge of telling her the real reason why she was 'coach,' but refrained. "Coach." He mumbled.
"I CAN'T HEAR YOU!"
"Coach!" he shouted.
"What was that?!"
"COACH!" Everyone shouted back.
"That's better.Jack you're in." Emily waved her hand.
"What?" he asked.
"You go bat.I'm coach and that's final." Emily crossed her arms. Everyone was stunned. If anyone could pull it off it would be Jack. Fluke or not, she was as right as anyone could be.
"Alright," Jack bent down to get his bat, "I'll tell 'em we're ready."
"And let's not turn on each other anymore." said Judy to everyone, putting a reassuring hand a Jack's shoulder. "If we're going to scream at anyone it should be the future cellmates over there."
"If Fox ever got arrested his dad would pay somebody to get him off." laughed Jim.
"Yeah, I know it's been said before, but what the hell kind of stupid name is Fox?" asked Tobey. "Like I said before, the kind of name Jem Black's aunt and uncle like." Milo smiled, wiping the dirt and sweat from his glasses.
"All and all that kid's gotta be put in his place. He can't charge around here like he owns the place. Who does he think he is? It's time for the sincere people of Chippewa Falls to rise! .Or completely kick their sorry asses in the most pure and holy of challenges." Tobey smiled.
"Amen to that." Jack put his hands in the middle of the circle. Everyone else put their hands in together, too. "To hell with Fox. It's not about him.or the rest of those goons for that matter. It's about us.ready guys?"
"As ever!" Emily chirped.
"VIVA LA WISCONSIN!" They threw up their hands cheering. Jack was the body going up to the plate, but they were all ready to hit.
Jack made his way to the mound and dragged his bat across the ground, hearing only the scraping of the wood on the dirt. He twisted his grip on the bat as a single droplet of sweat fell on his brow, running down from his nose to his cheek, making the side of his nose itch a little, but he didn't move to scratch it. He didn't so much as twitch. He was ready. He was focused. He was determined.
Breathe, Dawson, breathe.
Peewee released that faithful ball. The Jack was going to hit that baseball far across the field, it was the one that was going to win this game. He swung his bat hard in one smooth, graceful movement, and waited for a resounding crack.
"That's strike one, Dawson!" he heard Marty Martin laugh. His heart sank, his swing empty.
It wasn't for Jack to dwell on the bad, but somehow he couldn't get those familiar words out of his head. They plagued him.
The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day; The score stood four to two with but one inning more to play; And then, when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same, A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
A straggling few got up to go, in deep despair. The rest clung to that hope which 'springs eternal in the human breast'; They thought, If only Casey could but get a whack at that, We'd put up even money now, with Casey at the bat.
But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake, And the former was a lulu and the latter was a cake; So, upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat, For there seemed but little chance of Casey's getting to the bat.
But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all, And Blake, the much despised, tore the cover off the ball. And when the dust had lifted and men saw what had occurred. There was Jimmy safe at second, and Flynn a-huggin' third.
Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell, It rumbled through the valley; it rattled in the dell; It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat, For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.
There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place; There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile on Casey's face, And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat, No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat. Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt; Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt. Then, while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip, Defiance gleamed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip. And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air, And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there. Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped -- 'That ain't my style,' said Casey. 'Strike one,' the umpire said.
From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar, Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore. 'Kill him; kill the umpire!' shouted someone from the stand -- And it's likely they'd have killed him had not Casey raised his hand.
With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone; He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game on; He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the spheroid flew; But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, 'Strike two.'
'Fraud,' cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered, 'Fraud,' But one scornful look from Casey, and the multitude was awed. They saw his face grow stern and cold; they saw his muscles strain, And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again. The sneer is gone from Casey's lip; his teeth are clinched in hate; He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate, And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go, And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.
Oh! Somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright; The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light. And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout; But there is no joy in Mudville -- mighty Casey has struck out.
But he hasn't struck out yet. He won't be buried till he's dead. Damn Ernest Lawrence Thayer for putting such bad words in his head!
You can do it again. The last one didn't happen. You can do it. This is our moment, baby. Jack thought to himself.
"Any day now, Dawson." Fred the catcher gave him a nudge in the ankle.
"I'm ready." Jack nodded. His team nodded with him.
He could hear his father telling him to keep his eye on the ball. It didn't take long for him to realize this voice wasn't coming from his own memory, but from the nearby bushes.
I told him not to come! Damn it, Dad! He breathed again. Alright, concentrate. You can do it.
Just as before, he concentrated on the incoming ball. It looked in range. He gave another hard, graceful swing.
This time he heard that faithful crack. Mighty Jack had struck back.
The white orb shot out into the sky and landed far in the field where it would further reside.
Jack sprung from home and ran towards first. Jim ran after third. The children were silent, not speaking a word. Mark Gunderson ran through the field to an impossible goal. Now Jack rounded seconded and Jim lusted for home.
Fox yelled from the field and Peewee from the mound. There was a thud at home plate as Jim's body hit ground.
One more to go, all eyes were on Jack. Mark held the ball in his hands ready to throw: first to Jem at second, and then to Duncan at third. Even Peter could be heard from the bushes yelling 'Go! Go! Go!'
Duncan caught the ball as Jack left his base. He drew his arm back aiming for home plate. 'Slide! Slide!' screamed little Em and her cousin dove to the ground. And what a game, what a hit, for the ball had missed Fred Dawsen's mitt.
***
It's just a favorite memory now for those who are still around to remember it. But what a memory it is. There was such a great energy like one rarely finds. The Nine charged the field in an incredible rush. They lifted Jack up and paraded him around. Pete was so excited he came out from the bushes and ran up to his son-who was no longer angry he came.
They went back to town skipping and whooping and cheering. Emily was high above all them as she was seated on her uncle's shoulders, clapping and giggling.
Throughout the next year there were many rematches between Jem's team and the Chippewa Nine. The Nine lost every one of them.