Baseball Pals Read Free Page B

hands trembled. No one was out, and already two men were on. One was in scoring position. Everybody was looking at
     Jimmie. They were waiting to see what he could do.
    “He’ll walk you!” a voice shouted from the grandstand. “Just stand there with your bat on your shoulder, Mike!”
    His heart thumped in his chest. Perspiration covered his face. There seemed to be too much going on. People were shouting.
     … Mose was giving him a target …. The infielders were talking it up …. Two men were on bases …. He tried to think about everything
     at once.
    He wound up. The runner on third took a big lead. Jimmie stopped his windup, whipped the ball to third. The boy ran back.
     Alan Warzcak tagged him before his foot touched the bag.
    “Balk!” shouted the umpire, who stood behind Jimmie.
    Jimmie was startled. He looked at Mr. Nichols, sitting in the dugout. Mr. Nichols nodded.
    “You can’t throw a ball to a base once you’ve started to wind up,” the umpire said. “Never wind up with men on base. They
     can steal on you. Okay, kid!” he said to the runner on third. “Take the base!” He turned to the runner on first. “Go to second!”
    Mr. Nichols trotted out to the mound. He put an arm around Jimmie’s shoulder. “You’re all nerved up, Jimmie. Relax. Take it
     easy. This is just a scrub game. About that windup and throw when a runner’s on base—do you understand it now?”
    “Yes,” Jimmie murmured.
    “Okay.” Mr. Nichols patted him on the shoulder and grinned. “Just let ’em hit it.”
    The Pirates scored three runs in the first inning. The Planets tied it in the second. The third inning went by scoreless.
     In the fourth Jimmie walked two men in a row, and the next man hit a homer that put the Pirates way ahead again. The Pirates
     made two more runs in the fifth, and there the game ended. Score—8 to 3.
    “Don’t worry,” Mr. Nichols said as the boys gathered their bats and gloves and headed sadly for home. “We have a good team.
     Once Jimmie finds that plate, nobody will beat us.”
    Jimmie kept his eyes straight ahead. I’ll find it, he thought. I have to find it, or we might as well not join the league.

8
    T he Planets played a game Tuesday afternoon against the Mohawks. Jimmie felt a little more confident before the game began.
     He had practiced a lot. His control was improving. Mr. Nichols said so himself.
    The first two innings went by without a man reaching first base. Lou Rodell, the Planets’ shortstop, hit a grounder to short
     in the top of the third inning. The Mohawks’ shortstop caught it and threw it over the first baseman’s head. Lou ran to second
     on the play.
    Jimmie stepped to the plate. He batted fifth in the batting order. He pulled his helmet down tight on his head, gripped his
     bat near the end of the handle, and dug his toes into the dirt.
    The ball came in. It was low. Jimmie let it go by.
    “Ball!” cried the umpire.
    The catcher threw the ball back to the pitcher. Jimmie waited again. The pitcher stretched his hands high, brought them down.
     He looked over his shoulder at the runner on second, then threw the ball toward the plate.
    It came in chest-high. It looked like a strike. Jimmie stepped into it. He swung.
Crack!
The ball sailed toward left center field. Lou scored. Jimmie rounded second, then third.
    “Go! Go!” yelled Mr. Nichols, who was coaching third.
    Jimmie ran like a deer. He crossed the plate for a home run!
    “Thataboy, Jimmie!” Wishy Walters shouted. “Win your own ball game!”
    The homer made Jimmie feel good. They were ahead now—2 to 0. If they could just hold that lead …
    Kippy Lake flied out to center. Wishy struck out. George Bardino popped a fly to the pitcher. Three outs in six pitched balls.
     Boy, that was quick, thought Jimmie.
    The Planets ran out onto the field.
    Jimmie pitched. “Ball!” said the umpire.
    “Ball two!”
    “Strike!”
    “Ball three!”
    “Ball four! Take your base!”
    Jimmie