Abner & Me Read Free Page A

bike, I’d go crazy.
    Those were just different times, I guess.
    I’ve been a card collector for a long time. Baseball, football, hockey, basketball. My dad got me started when I was little. That was before he and my mom split up. Dad still gives me cards sometimes. But mostly I get cards from Flip. I either buy them at his store or he hands them out after our games.
    I don’t see my own dad very much, so Flip is almost like a father to me.
    â€œDo you guys all have rides home?” Flip asked.
    I usually rode my bike home after our games, but my mom had told me she was going to get off work early enough to catch the last few innings and drive me home. She still hadn’t shown up, so Flip said he’d be happy to drop me off.
    Flip was one of the few people who knew my big secret. What happened was that Flip’s landlord had doubled his rent, and Flip told us he was going to have to close the store. That would have been tragic. So I got him some money.
    You see, Flip had told me that Shoeless Joe Jackson’s autograph was worth half a million dollars, so I went back to 1919 and got Shoeless Joe to sign two pieces of paper for me. I gave them to Flip as a present. At first he thought the autographs were faked, but I convinced him that they were real and that I could really travel through time with baseball cards.
    Flip sold one of the autographs, and that savedthe store from going out of business. Flip was always nice to me, but ever since that happened, he would do anything for me.
    â€œHe grabbed ya, didn’t he?” Flip asked after I’d buckled my seat belt.
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œBobby Fuller at third base,” Flip said. “He must’ve done somethin’ to stop ya from scorin’.”
    â€œHow did you know, Coach?”
    â€œIt took you about an hour to get to the plate!”
    â€œHe held on to my belt,” I admitted.
    Flip threw his head back and laughed. “That Fuller kid is nuts, but I gotta admit it, he’s smart. You got to use your noodle to beat guys like that.”
    It was pretty clever, come to think of it.
    â€œSo,” Flip said, “you doin’ any time travelin’ recently?”
    â€œI’ve been playing it cool,” I said. “My mom doesn’t exactly approve. She thinks it’s too dangerous.”
    â€œShe’s right,” Flip said. “It is. She’s only lookin’ out fer ya, Stosh.”
    It had been a little while since my last “trip.” I had already been looking through my baseball card collection, thinking about which player I might go visit next.
    â€œHey Flip,” I said as he pulled up to my house, “if you could travel through time with a baseball card and you could watch anybody in history play, who would you visit? Joe DiMaggio? Ted Williams? Roger Maris?”
    Flip pulled up the emergency brake and scratched his head. “That’s a toughie,” he said. “I seen all those guys play, so it wouldn’t be such a big deal. When I was young, I saw all the greats from the 1940s and 1950s.”
    He wrinkled up his forehead for a moment, and then he brightened.
    â€œThere’ve been a lotta great players over the years,” he finally said, “but there is one guy I’d really like to meet.”
    â€œWho’s that?” I asked.
    â€œAbner Doubleday.”
    â€œAbner Doubleday?”
    I had heard the name. I’d seen it in baseball books, and every so often I’d hear some TV announcer say something like, “Old Abner Doubleday must be turning over in his grave after that bonehead play.” But I didn’t know who he was.
    â€œAbner Doubleday,” Flip continued, “was the guy who invented the game of baseball.
    â€œOh…”
    â€œOr so they say,” Flip quickly added. “Some people say he did, and other people say he didn’t.”
    â€œWhy don’t they know for sure?” I