until the other players started to arrive. As Timothy and I strolled back in toward the infield, I asked him, “Does it feel comfortable on your hand?”
“Oh, yes. It’s a very good glove, Mr. Harding. Thank you. Thank you. I’ll do better now, you wait.”
“Day by day …, Timothy?”
He grinned and nodded enthusiastically.
After a scoreless first inning our guys jumped on three Cub pitchers for eleven runs, and when I sent in my three substitutes in the fourth inning, the score was already 15 to 1, so I let Chris and Dick and Timothy playthe rest of the game without putting the regulars back in for the sixth inning. Final score was an embarrassing 19 to 2, and although we did get fifteen hits, the Cubs helped our cause by committing seven errors. I apologized to their manager, after the game, but Walt Hutchinson was a good sport about it all and said that the way his guys played, they deserved to get clobbered. We had two batting stars. Todd hit two home runs and a double, and Paul Taylor, besides pitching a four-hit game, striking out eight and walking only two, hit a home run and three singles. Timothy came to the plate twice during those final three innings. He struck out both times. No tears, no tantrums, no self-pity, no temperament. Instead by game’s end the gutsy kid was hoarse from cheering for his teammates, and apparently they had all forgiven him for his error costing them the first game. “Day by day, in every way, we’re getting better and better!” and “Never—never—never—never—never—never give up!” were chanted so frequently and loudly by our team, at Timothy’s urging, that the spectators immediately behind our dugout picked up on it, and soon the entire grandstand crowd on our half of the field was repeating those valiant words, over and over, “Never give up!”
On Tuesday evening of the following week our opponents were the Pirates, managed by grandfather Tony Piso, who was also the town of Boland’s treasurer. The Pirates had won their first two games, including a 9-to-8 slugfest against Sid Marx’s Yankees, who had clipped us in the first game. We knew this was going to be a toughone, and it was. We won, 2 to 0! Todd Stevenson allowed just one hit, a scratch single between short and third, and Tank Kimball singled to deep center in the fourth inning, driving in both Zullo and Nurnberg, who had walked and been advanced to second and third by a fine Paul Taylor bunt. We totaled only five hits, all singles. Timothy did finally make contact with two pitched balls, both of which he fouled over the backstop behind home plate before striking out, but he cleanly fielded a Pirate single, which had gone between first and second, and tossed it to second in time to prevent the runner from advancing. Day by day …
After the game I spent at least an hour shaking hands and talking to our kids’ parents. What a great thrill to finally be accepted, but even more important than their kind words was hearing the unsolicited words of praise they were repeating that had come from the mouths of their youngsters about Mr. Harding and Mr. West.
On the following evening, Wednesday, we played Sid Marx and his Yankees for the second time. Our boys were out for revenge, and they got it. With Paul Taylor pitching another fine game, we won, 6 to 4, and this time our hitting star was Bob Murphy, who had a perfect night with two singles and a double. Two of our subs managed to get their first hits of the season. Chris Lang hit a short pop fly to right that dropped in for a single, and Dick Andros hit a hard line drive shot to left-center that went for two bases. It was a close and exciting game. Some of the parents afterward said that the difference between winning and losing had been ourlittle cheerleader, who never stopped urging his buddies on. Timothy, now the only player on our team without at least one hit, went down swinging, once again, in his only time at bat, but he hung in there on
“Oh, yes. It’s a very good glove, Mr. Harding. Thank you. Thank you. I’ll do better now, you wait.”
“Day by day …, Timothy?”
He grinned and nodded enthusiastically.
After a scoreless first inning our guys jumped on three Cub pitchers for eleven runs, and when I sent in my three substitutes in the fourth inning, the score was already 15 to 1, so I let Chris and Dick and Timothy playthe rest of the game without putting the regulars back in for the sixth inning. Final score was an embarrassing 19 to 2, and although we did get fifteen hits, the Cubs helped our cause by committing seven errors. I apologized to their manager, after the game, but Walt Hutchinson was a good sport about it all and said that the way his guys played, they deserved to get clobbered. We had two batting stars. Todd hit two home runs and a double, and Paul Taylor, besides pitching a four-hit game, striking out eight and walking only two, hit a home run and three singles. Timothy came to the plate twice during those final three innings. He struck out both times. No tears, no tantrums, no self-pity, no temperament. Instead by game’s end the gutsy kid was hoarse from cheering for his teammates, and apparently they had all forgiven him for his error costing them the first game. “Day by day, in every way, we’re getting better and better!” and “Never—never—never—never—never—never give up!” were chanted so frequently and loudly by our team, at Timothy’s urging, that the spectators immediately behind our dugout picked up on it, and soon the entire grandstand crowd on our half of the field was repeating those valiant words, over and over, “Never give up!”
On Tuesday evening of the following week our opponents were the Pirates, managed by grandfather Tony Piso, who was also the town of Boland’s treasurer. The Pirates had won their first two games, including a 9-to-8 slugfest against Sid Marx’s Yankees, who had clipped us in the first game. We knew this was going to be a toughone, and it was. We won, 2 to 0! Todd Stevenson allowed just one hit, a scratch single between short and third, and Tank Kimball singled to deep center in the fourth inning, driving in both Zullo and Nurnberg, who had walked and been advanced to second and third by a fine Paul Taylor bunt. We totaled only five hits, all singles. Timothy did finally make contact with two pitched balls, both of which he fouled over the backstop behind home plate before striking out, but he cleanly fielded a Pirate single, which had gone between first and second, and tossed it to second in time to prevent the runner from advancing. Day by day …
After the game I spent at least an hour shaking hands and talking to our kids’ parents. What a great thrill to finally be accepted, but even more important than their kind words was hearing the unsolicited words of praise they were repeating that had come from the mouths of their youngsters about Mr. Harding and Mr. West.
On the following evening, Wednesday, we played Sid Marx and his Yankees for the second time. Our boys were out for revenge, and they got it. With Paul Taylor pitching another fine game, we won, 6 to 4, and this time our hitting star was Bob Murphy, who had a perfect night with two singles and a double. Two of our subs managed to get their first hits of the season. Chris Lang hit a short pop fly to right that dropped in for a single, and Dick Andros hit a hard line drive shot to left-center that went for two bases. It was a close and exciting game. Some of the parents afterward said that the difference between winning and losing had been ourlittle cheerleader, who never stopped urging his buddies on. Timothy, now the only player on our team without at least one hit, went down swinging, once again, in his only time at bat, but he hung in there on
Similar Books
