Desolation Angels Read Free Page B

because he was injured, a regular Mickey Mantle—
    Followed immediately back to back by a line drive homerun over the rightfield fence from the black bat of old Pie Tibbs and the Plyms jump out ahead 2–1 … wow …
    (the fans go wild in the mountain, I hear the rumble of celestial racing cars in the glacial crevasses)
    â€”Then Lew Badgurst singles to right and Joe McCann is really getting belted (and him with his fancy earned run average) (pah, goes to show)—
    In fact McCann is almost batted out of the box as he further gives up a walk to Tod Gavin but Ole Reliable Henry Pray ends up the inning grounding out to Frank Kelly at third—it will be a slugfest.
    Then suddenly the two pitchers become locked in an unexpected brilliant pitching duel, racking up goose egg after goose egg, neither one of them giving up a hit except one single (Ned Gavin the pitcher got it) in the second inning, right on brilliantly up to the uttermost eighth when Zagg Parker of the Chevs finally breaks the ice with a single to right which (he too for great super runner speed) unopposed stretches into a double (the throw is made but he makes it, sliding)—and a new tone comes in the game you’d think but no!—Ned Gavin makes Clyde Castleman fly out to center then calmly strikes out Stan the Man Orsowski and stalks off the mound chewing his tobacco unperturbed, the very void—Still, a 2–1 ballgame favor of his team—
    McCann yields a single to big bad Lew Badgurst (with big arms southpawing that bat) in his half of the eighth, and there’s a base stolen on him by pinch runner Allen Wayne, but no danger as he gets Tod Gavin on a grounder—
    Going into the final inning, still the same score, the same situation.
    All Ned Gavin has to do is hold the Chevvies for 3 long outs. The fans gulp and tense. He has to face Byrd Duffy (batting .346 up to this game), Frank Kelly, and pinch hitter Tex Davidson—
    He hitches up his belt, sighs, and faces the chubby Duffy—and winds up—Low, one ball.
    Outside, ball two.
    Long fly to center field but right in the hands of Tommy Turner.
    Only two to go.
    â€œCome on Neddy!” yells manager Cy Locke from the 3rd base box, Cy Locke who was the greatest shortstop of all time in his time in my appleblossom time when Pa was young and laughed in the summernight kitchen with beer and Shammy and pinochle—
    Frank Kelly up, dangerous, menacing, the manager, hungry for money and pennants, a whiplash, a firebrand—
    Neddy winds up: delivers: inside.
    Ball one.
    Delivers.
    Kelly belts it to right, off the flagpole, Tod Gavin chases, it’s a standup double, the tying run is on second, the crowd is wild. Whistles, whistles, whistles—
    Speedboy Selman Piva is sent out to run for Kelly.
    Tex Davidson is a big veteran chaw-chawin old outfielder of the old wars, he drinks at night, he doesnt care—He strikes out with a big wheeling whackaround of the empty bat.
    Ned Gavin has thrun him 3 curves. Frank Kelly curses in the dugout, Piva, the tying run, is still on second. One more to go!
    The batter: Sam Dane, Chewy catcher, old veteran chawidrinkbuddy in fact of Tex Davidson’s, only difference is Sam bats lefty—same height, lean, old, dont care—
    Ned pitches a call strike across the letters—
    And there it comes:—a booming homerun over the center-field barrier, Piva comes home, Sam comes loping around chewing his tobacco, still doesnt care, at the plate he is mobbed by the Kellies and the crazies—
    Bottom of the 9th, all Joe McCann has to do is hold the Plymouths—Pray gets on on an error, Gucwa singles, they hold at second and first, and up steps little Neddy Gavin and doubles home the tying run and sends the winning run to third, pitcher eat pitcher—Leo Sawyer pops up, it looks like McCann’ll hold out, but Tommy Turner simply slaps a sacrifice grounder and in comes the winning run, Jake Gucwa who’d