For Love of the Game Read Free Page B

nose, sharp black eyes, a derby he held in his hand. Smartly dressed: a silvery tie, flicker of something diamondlike in the center, a light gray coat. He came into the room, stopped, making an entrance, gazed across the room at Chapel, a brief glance at Gus, then a slight bow.
    “Billy Chapel. My pleasure to see you.”
    Chapel nodded.
    “What’s on your mind?”
    The dark eyes were watching, calculating. Chapel knew: he brings bad news. A trade.…
    Ross, the showman, paused there for a long moment, took a deep breath. Then he said slowly, clearly: “There is some news that will break in a few days. It’s being held back now by the people who know about it, but I found out about it myself last night. I learned from a … friend. Billy, it’sabout you.” Pause. “The news shook me up. First thing I thought of was: Billy should know. I owe it to you. After all these years. I owe it to you.”
    Chapel, softly: “You don’t owe me anything.”
    Ross let that pass. He was making his presentation. He folded his arms behind him. “They made the deal in quiet. Sometime last week. They were going to hold it back until the season was over and not let you know till then. That’s only—a few days off. But they figured it was better not to break the news now. But when they let it loose, Billy, they won’t tell you first. Just as they do so often with … Willie Mays, fellas like that. The big boys they—can’t face. So. You’ll hear it on the news or read it in the paper, and that’s the first they expect you to know.”
    Chapel knew: traded. It was a cold blossom blooming in the chest.
    Ross: “When I found out about it, last night, first thing I thought was this: he should know. Billy should know. Right now. Let him find it out alone. Don’t let them … mob the guy with questions.”
    “Trade,” Chapel said.
    Ross, no word necessary, nodded.
    Long moment of silence.
    Chapel looked at Gus. Gus had turned away. Chapel said, after a while: “Traded. Who to?”
    Ross: “Don’t yet know. Not yet. I’m workin’ on it. All I know is, a team out on the West Coast. I got that far. From a girl that … hell. That’s not the point. Here’s the point, Billy. They can get a lotof money out of you right now and they know it, and the word is that you don’t have much more time as a starting pitcher anymore. You’re thirty-seven. They can make big money if they move now. There are a few teams who think that with you in their bullpen they can go to the World Series. And they know how you feel, Billy—” He bared his teeth, gave the look of smelling something sick. “Oh, sure, they know that all right. But dammit, Billy, you played the honorable man all the way. You never came out of the goddam eighteenth century. Christ, Billy, you never made any real legal deal. They’ve got you by the balls,
by the living balls
, and they know that, I know that, goddammit, you know that. You must know that. You just never thought—while the Old Man was around. But Billy, he’s gone now. And the little men are in there now. And, Billy Boy, you’re gone now, too. That’s the goddam miserable shiteating truth. You won’t be with the Hawks next year. Billy, it’s done. And there’s nothin’ you can do.”
    Chapel turned, saw a chair; sat.
    Music from the cassette: “The pony run he jump he pitch … he threw my master in the ditch.…”
    Chapel cut it.
    Stillness.
    Empty inside. Nothing there. Head gone empty.
    Song was: “The Blue Tail Fly.”
    He heard Gus swear. Chapel looked up vacantly, smiled, seeing nothing. Remembered the OldMan, smoking a big fat brown smoky cigar: “Billy, goddammit, one of these days, goddammit, you got to grow up and play for
money
, like they all do. All them little bastards.”
    Chapel nodded. But … I never did.
    And now … seventeen years with one team. Signed … on the front porch with the Old Man and Pop all those years ago … vision blurred. Ah, but the Old Man loved