Willie & Me by Dan Gutman Page A

Braves:            76–78

    That was the proof ! The Dodgers won the pennant! History had been changed, and it was all because of me .
    â€œI did it!” I shouted.
    â€œDid what ?” my mother called from downstairs. “Come down and tell us what’s going on, Joey.”
    For once in my life, I had done exactly what I set out to do. I had traveled back in time and changed the historical record, just as I had intended.
    I pulled The Baseball Encyclopedia off my bookshelf and flipped to the section where it says who won the pennant every year. It said the same thing that I read online. The Dodgers won the 1951 pennant.
    Even paperbound books had been changed! How could that be? It didn’t matter. I didn’t care. It happened. That’s all that counted. And it was because of me .
    What a rush! I felt such a feeling of euphoria, a feeling of power. I ran downstairs to tell my mom and Uncle Wilbur the good news.
    â€œI did it!” I shouted even before I got to the first floor. “I changed history! I am all-powerful! Bow down before me!”
    â€œCalm down,” my mother said. “How did you change history, Joey?”
    â€œI wiped Bobby Thomson’s Shot Heard Round the World right out of the record books!” I boasted. “Now it’s like it never happened.”
    â€œBobby who?” Mom asked. “What are you talking about?”
    â€œSee!” I said. “That proves it! You don’t even know about it anymore. But you knew about it yesterday, before I left.”
    â€œYou’re talking crazy, Joey,” my mother said.
    â€œThe boy is loco,” said Uncle Wilbur.
    â€œYou need something to eat,” my mom told me. “Come on, wash your hands. I’m about to put food on the table.”
    I stopped. Wait a minute. A thought had crossedmy mind. If Thomson didn’t hit the Shot Heard Round the World, and Branca didn’t throw the pitch that became the Shot Heard Round the World . . .
    â€œHow did the game end?” I asked.
    â€œBeats me,” said my mother. “I don’t even know what game you’re talking about. Come eat.”
    I looked to Uncle Wilbur. He wasn’t a diehard baseball fanatic, but he followed the game. Surely he would know what happened. He’d been a young man back then.
    â€œDo you know what happened in the last game of 1951?” I asked him.
    â€œHow should I know?” Uncle Wilbur told me. “That was over sixty years ago. It was just another game.”
    â€œBut you’ve heard of Ralph Branca and Bobby Thomson, haven’t you?” I asked.
    â€œNope,” he replied.
    â€œWhat about Willie Mays?” I asked.
    â€œWillie who?” said my mother.
    â€œWait. What?” I asked. “You mean to say you’ve never heard of Willie Mays?”
    â€œWasn’t he that guy who used to make infomercials for OxiClean or something?” asked my mom.
    â€œThat was Billy Mays!” I shouted. “Willie Mays is one of the most famous baseball players in history! How could you not know that name? Even people who don’t follow baseball know about Willie Mays.”
    â€œNever heard of the guy,” said Uncle Wilbur.
    I couldn’t believe it.
    â€œWait a minute, are you putting me on?” I asked, looking back and forth between the two of them. My mother has been known to play pranks on me from time to time, but my uncle does not joke.
    â€œAre you feeling all right, Joey?” my mother asked. “Maybe you have a temperature.”
    Maybe I did. I felt myself sweating. She put her hand on my forehead.
    â€œI’ll be right back,” I said. Then I dashed back upstairs.
    â€œWhat happened to Willie Mays?” I mumbled to myself as I typed his name on my keyboard.
    Willie Robertson. Willie Nelson. Willie Geist. Willie McBrides . . .
    There was no Wikipedia entry for Willie Mays! How could that