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We won our first three games, but the fourth game was not the walk-over that the other three had been. Our normal Thursday starting pitcher had not been on his game and had given up four runs in the first inning. Yes, we had a couple of relief pitchers, but the runs had been scored before anybody was out, and the relief pitchers had not had time to warm up. I had already done my allowed nine innings on Monday, so all I could do from the pitching point of view was just to watch the agony.
The score was 7:5 against us in the 8th inning, but we had the bases loaded. Our shortstop was a great fielder, but a piss-poor hitter, so I was sent in to pinch hit. There was already one out, so my main job was not to hit into a double play. The opposing pitcher was good for the standards of our league, but he had a terrible time fielding bunts. I talked Mr. Johnson into letting me try for a safety-squeeze bunt. At least, that was not likely to result in a double play.
I took the first pitch, and it was called a ball. Frankly, I thought that the umpire had missed that call, but I sure was not going to argue with a call in my favor. I could tell that the pitcher was feeling rather smug because he was facing a GIRL. He was also pissed off because of the missed call on his first pitch. This one was going to be a fastball as near the middle of the strike zone as the pitcher could manage; therefore, it was the one I was going after.
The third-base coach had flashed the call, so I assumed that the base runners knew what I was going to do. The pitcher rared back to throw his fastball, and I squared around to bunt it. Oh, NO! The runner at third had misread the sign and was coming with the pitch. That turned it into a suicide-squeeze bunt, no matter what everybody else had in mind.
The pitch was a good one and coming fast. If I didn't hit it, at least to foul it off, the catcher would be standing there with the ball in hand to tag out the runner. Okay, it was all on me. I had to live up to my reputation as the best bunter in the league! I stuck out the bat with it as loose in my hands as I could still control it and let the ball bounce off it.
The moment I felt the bat and ball make contact, I dropped the bat and ran toward first base. Thank God, I had not hit a popup. The ball fell to the ground almost immediately and rolled to the right—its direction split the difference between the pitcher and first base. The catcher had to guard home plate, so he could not field the ball, and that put the onus on the pitcher.
The pitcher ran to the ball, which had stopped dead, and reached for it. It was decision time! Did the pitcher throw the ball to the catcher to try to prevent the runner from scoring, did he throw the ball to second base to start a double play, or did he concede the run and throw the ball to first base to put me out. Well, the decision was kind of made for him—he dropped the ball in his excitement!
Not only did the runner on third score with no problem as a result of the dropped ball, but the kid who had been on second base ignored the third-base coach and kept running. He scored, and the game was tied! Oh, I was safe on first when the smoke cleared.
Darn it, the pitcher was charged with an error, and I did not get credit for either run. The two RBIs (Runs Batted In) would have been nice, but the point was that we were no longer trailing in the game. The score was now tied, we had runners on first and third, and there was only one out. If we could score one more run, we were likely to win the game.
The poor pitcher was so shook-up that he had to be pulled from the game. Fortunately for them, the opposing manager had been preparing for the fact that his pitcher was getting tired, so their closer was warming up. The change in pitchers was good for them, and we did not score any more runs.
There was a back-up shortstop for our team, so I was out of the game, but I was happy with what I had been able to contribute. It was now the top of the 9th inning, and the other team was at bat. They did manage one hit, but no runs were scored. Now, all we had to do was to score a single run to win the game.
Tommy was batting fifth in the line-up, so he would be the third batter in our half of the 9th inning. As we feared, the closer for the other team was on his game and managed to strike out the first batter and the second batter popped up. That left it to Tommy to win it for us if he could. I say it that way because he was our power hitter and the one most likely to hit a homerun.
I never understood why our manager didn't have Tommy hitting fourth, the traditional place for the clean-up hitter. But that was just the way he wanted to manage the game. Anyway, we were all happy to see Tommy at bat.
The first pitch was so far inside that Tommy was almost hit. We didn't think that the pitch was a deliberate effort to hit Tommy, but we did scream at the pitcher. He was kind of shaken by that pitch, and his next pitch was well outside. That was no good from our point of view because we all wanted Tommy to get a chance to swing at the ball.
It looked like the pitcher finally had himself under control, and here came a fastball. The problem from the pitcher's point of view was that the ball was headed for the middle of the strike zone. BANG! Tommy couldn't resist this one and swung as hard as he could at the ball. He met it perfectly, and there was no doubt that it was a homerun from the moment it left the bat. Tommy trotted around the bases and our bench exploded the moment his foot touched home plate. We had come from way behind to win the game! Our excitement and joy was a sight to see.
After things settled down, Mom and Dad were able to congratulate Tommy, and he glowed under their praise. I was kind of disgusted that Mrs. Craft had not bothered to come to the game and see the heroics exhibited by her son. Oh, well, I hoped Mom and Dad made up for her absence. She was somewhere playing cards with her friends and had stashed Sid with her mother. Tommy ate supper with us that night, and it was pizza. Tommy and I celebrated in my bedroom that evening before he went home.
That was our most exciting game so far that season. The next two games were more or less routine with us winning without ever being behind. Our next game was a bit different. I was pitching, and my knuckleball was spectacular. My other pitch was still my fastball that I used for my changeup. By this time, our manager, Mr. Johnson, had enough confidence in us that he let Tommy call all of my pitches unless he had something special in mind.
We were in a scoreless tie going into the 7th inning, and I had given up only one hit so far. Unfortunately, the other pitcher was having a good day, and he had a no hitter going. Tommy, our best hitter, had hit a couple of long fly balls deep into the outfield, but they had been caught, so they were no better than strike-outs as far as we were concerned.
Mr. Johnson always let me bat for myself and saved the DH for the shortstop. I was really pissed off on my hitting because I had struck out once and hit a popup my other time at bat. We were probably too anxious to win this game because the rules for the playoff for the city championship had been changed. Now, the season was divided into two parts, and the league leader at the end of the first eight games played the team with the best record for the last eight games.
So far, we were one of the two undefeated teams, and we were playing the other undefeated team. Therefore, if we won this game and the following game, we would be in the running for the championship. Of course, the opponents this day were in the same boat.
This inning, I was able to hold the other team without scoring, though I did give up two more hits. Darn it, this was the wrong time of the month for me, and my stamina was not where it usually was. Well, I managed not to give up any runs, but I told Mr. Johnson that he had better have Jack Olsen, our closer, ready for the 8th inning. I was just running out of steam in my right arm.
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