Clark shook his head confidently. 'The system is foolproof, so no one even bothers to try anymore. At least they didn't. This is why it's so vital we find out what's happening now, because the slippage in performances could jeopardize Seattle's playoff hopes.'
'Got it.' Despite the urgency in Clark's voice, I sensed a distancing between the two points in that statement: he wanted to know why Seattle's players were slipping, but he really didn't care that they were. Seattle had never been one of the strongest draws in the game. As far as merchandising went, they really bit; which was why the team's faux franchise stuff did so well. The San Diego Jaguars, for example, had a much better logo and better- looking uniforms that brought lots of added revenue for the team and the league. Clark, looking at things from a league perspective, wanted to stop the tampering, but perhaps only after things got to the point where Seattle would finish behind the Jags on their way to the pennant race.
I gave Bobby and Clark a smile. 'I'll keep my eyes open, see what I can see.'
Clark nodded solemnly. 'Good. We need to stop this before any real damage is done.'
Sitting in the dugout had me full of all sorts of conflicting emotions-all of them good and crawling through my brain like toddlers wanting to be in the front seat of a car. Lining up on the third base line for the national anthem was a real kick, especially with Valerie and Lynn sitting in Val's box and waving at me. I didn't see myself on the Megatron screen out in center, but I knew I could the replay of the game later at home. Being there was a thrill, the fulfillment of a dream I never really knew I had. Just knowing that something I might do on the field would rivet the attention of thousands of people all at once, well, that's really heady stuff.
Ken's always slotting the Babe Ruth statsoft began to make more sense.
Technically speaking Icould enter the game. Because we were in September, the teams carried an expanded roster and they had me on the active list to explain why I was practicing with the team and why I'd go on the road with them when we went to play for the Coastal League Pennant. The actual chances of my playing were nil, of course, because I couldn't really hit and, even if Idid get my glove on a ball, I didn't know enough strategy to know what play to make where. I had, however, paid close attention and mastered all the signs, so I had a vague idea what was going to happen in the game6.
We were even with the Jaguars and if we could get ahead of them, we'd have homefield advantage through the series, which would be a great advantage. We were up against the Portland Lords-our downcoast nemesis. Even though they were at the bottom of the league, they thrilled at the idea of playing the spoiler. On the mound they had an elf who was slotting Rosy Ryan, using his stats from the 1923 New York Giants. Rosy had given us trouble earlier in the season and tonight was no exception.
The seventh inning came and went with no score on either side. Our pitcher, Pete Weatheral, was playing Nomo from '03 and had a two-hitter going. Ryan had a five-hitter and hadn't been scored upon because of some great fielding by his third baseman. Bottom of the eighth Ryan began to tire, so Bobby Kane had someone pinch-hit for Weatheral, with one out and one man on. Sacrifice moved our runner to second, then our leadoff guy hit a double into the gap in right center, scoring the runner. Next batter up hit a worm-burner to third and the hitter was thrown out at first to retire the side.
Our 1-0 lead evaporated with a single and a homer to lead off in the top of the ninth. That left us down one after our reliever struck out one batter and walked the next, then caught out the fourth man in a double play. We were really lucky to get out of that inning so easily, and we all knew it.
Bobby Kane stalked through the dugout, clapping his hands. 'We have a chance to win this one in regulation, men, so let's do it. Babe, you're up. Jimmy, you're on deck. Nothing fancy, just get on board and come home, got it?'
Babe winked at Bobby and donned his batting helmet.
6Actually, Val had told me I'd better do at least that much, and I didn't see giving her any reason to be angry at me as a survival trait.
'Better put it out, Jimmy. I don't want to have to run fast to score.'
'Yeah, just get on, Showboat.'
I smiled as Jimmy came over to the bat rack and selected his bat. 'You're handling the pressure well.'
Jimmy shrugged. 'Can't let little things get to you.'
'Winning's a pretty big thing, isn't it?'
'Yeah, but the details are all small. For example, you check the Scoreboard recently?'
I glanced out at it there in center, beneath the Mega-tron screen. Save for a single, burned-out bulb, everything looked fine, then I saw that the Dodgers-Jaguar game had ended with the Dodgers winning by a run. 'We take this game, we have a full game lead going into the game on Monday night.'
'Yeah, that's one thing.' Jimmy settled his helmet over his head and his voice became muffled. 'Their pitcher is another.'
The Lords had put an ork on the mound, and the Scoreboard reported he was slotting Fat Freddie Fitz- simmons from the 1939 Brooklyn Dodgers. The stats displayed weren't all that great, but Freddie had won about three times as many games that year as he lost. Since he dropped the last two games he'd played for the Lords, statistically speaking, he was due for a win.
I frowned. 'Ruth ever face Fitzsimmons in real life?'
Spike shook his head. 'Careers overlapped, but Ruth was mostly American League and Fitzsimmons was entirely National. Only place they could have faced each other was in the World Series, but they missed each other by a year. That's what's so sharp about how the game's played now-greats and near greats can face each other again, to decide what might have happened once upon a time.'
Kane spat brown juice into a corner. 'Ruth would have creamed him. Fitzsimmons never did well in series play.'
'Let's hope that's true, statistically speaking.' I watched Babe stalk toward the plate. He had the tight little walk down and seemed as natural there as the shouts of hotdog vendors and the smell of popcorn in the park. A couple of Lords' fans-standing out easily in their kelly green and teal jerseys, yelled insults at Babe as he gently tapped dirt from his spikes with his bat.
'Fat suet-sack, you couldn't hit if they delivered the ball on a tray!'
Ken smiled the way Babe Ruth would have, then pointed his bat toward centerfield. That brought a cheer from our fans and derision from the Lords side. Then Ken set himself, drew the bat to his shoulder, raised it a bit, and waited.
Bobby swore and kicked the bench beside me. 'No! No, no, no! Of all the stupid…'
'What?' I looked at Jimmy, but he just pointed at the Megatron. It showed Ken's face as big as could be and his eyes were plainly closed. 'What's he doing?'
Jimmy shook his head. 'It's how he shows contempt for the pitchers.'
'It's how he shows contempt for the manager.' Bobby spat more tobacco juice into the corner. 'Fine to do when we're a dozen runs ahead and he's hitting into a stat curve, but now?'
Jimmy shrugged. 'Gotta believe, skipper.'
Kane growled. 'I believe I'm going to kick his butt over the fence if he strikes out.'
The first pitch came in and Babe swung at it. He didn't get all of it, but he got enough to foul it off into the stands. He smiled serenely and got set again, then took a pitch that came in high. A second pitch was outside and he didn't go for that one either, which puzzled me.How does he know?
The Old One growled deep within me.It is his nature to know, Longtooth. As you know when trouble comes, he knowswhat is good and what is bad.
Somehow I doubted that. 'He must be peeking.' Jimmy turned and winked at me. 'Doesn't see much through those lashes of his, but sees enough.'
The fourth pitch came in and Babe nailed it pretty hard. It skipped off the infield between short and third. The leftfielder picked it up and threw to second, but Ken had barely rounded first and danced back to the safety of the bag. There he raised his hands and accepted the adulation of the crowd, tossing his batting helmet to the first- base coach and pulling on his uniform cap. He continued to smile and wave, then turned toward his image on the Megatron, doffed his cap, and began a bow complete with cap flourish.
He never straightened up from the bow and instead plowed face first into the infield dirt. Laughter started as if this were some joke, then his body twitched as if he'd landed on a high-power cable. He flopped over onto his back, his cap flying from nerveless fingers. Froth formed at the corners of his mouth, then another seizure shook him and he lay still.
