The Submarine Pitch Read Free Page A

who played on an opposing team stopped by for a visit. This, too,
     was Dave’s idea. He was really serious about not wanting anybody else to know about the submarine pitch.
    “Why, Dave?” asked Bernie, when it happened for the third time. “Why don’t you want anybody else to know about the pitch?”
    Dave looked at him seriously, as if he couldn’t understand why Bernie should ask him such a question.
    “Because I want this to surprise them,” he explained. “If you’re going to start pitching when the league opens in a couple
     of weeks, you’d want the pitch developed enough to make it effective, wouldn’t you?”
    Bernie frowned at him. Dave sure wasserious about the pitch, all right. He was talking as if he were Bernie’s pitching coach. Well, in a way he was. He had introduced
     Bernie to the pitch, showed him how to throw it, and was having him practice it as often as he could. He was doing everything
     a pitching coach would do.
    But Dave was taking a lot for granted, too.
    “Dave, I haven’t really said that I was going to pitch,” said Bernie.
    The statement seemed to hit Dave like a bombshell. “What do you mean you haven’t said? I thought that’s why we’ve been working
     on the submarine pitch all this time.”
    “I know. But it’s real new for me, Dave. I might walk every guy that steps up to the plate.”
    “But you won’t! Your control is good. Real good.” Dave wiped a sleeve across his sweating forehead. “You can’t say that you’re
     not going to pitch, Bernie. You just
can’t.”
    Bernie stared at him. “I don’t get it, Dave,” he said. “Why should you be so anxious that I pitch? I could see why my brother
     Frankie is. But why you?”
    Dave gazed at him a long minute. “Because I can’t do it myself,” he answered. “Don’t ask me why, but I can’t. I would like
     to see you do it… for me.”
    “Suppose I fail?”
    “That’s all right. I’m not worried about that.”
    Again Bernie frowned, puzzled by Dave’s answer.
    “Okay, Dave,” he said finally. “If you have faith in me, I should have, too. I’ll give Coach Salerno a call tonight and ask
     him if he’ll still have me for the Rangers.”
    Dave’s face brightened. “You won’t have to,” he said.
    “Why? What do you mean?”
    “I’ve already talked with him,” repliedDave. “He’s got your name. And he wants you to be at the ball park Saturday morning for a practice game against the Atoms.”
    “Why, you jerk!” cried Bernie, poking him in the stomach.
    “I knew you’d like that,” said Dave, grinning.
    The Atoms looked as if they had changed into their new uniforms in a sporting goods store; their white jerseys and blue pants
     were spanking clean. The Rangers’ uniforms, green jerseys and white pants, were clean, too, but had that telltale look of
     having been through the mill. The fuzz was nearly all worn off all the pants at the knees, giving them a burlapish look.
    Both teams had their names on the fronts of the jerseys and large numbers on the backs. Bernie’s number was 3.
    The catchers of both teams flipped a coin to see who’d bat first. Fritz Boon, the Atoms’ catcher — a roly-poly kid who seemed
     to have been squeezed into his uniform — won the toss and chose to bat last.
    “Okay, here’s the roster,” said Coach Salerno. He wasn’t quite as stout as Fritz, nor as short, and his red, long-brimmed
     cap made him stand out like a cardinal among a flock of sparrows. He thumbtacked the list to the side of the dugout. “Read
     it to find out who you follow in the batting order and let’s get started. Bernie, you’re chucking.”
    Although Bernie expected it, hearing the coach tell him was like a slight electric shock. He nodded, and then felt suddenly
     numb as questions popped into his head.
Suppose I can’t throw the ball within a mile of the plate? Suppose that even if I do get it over, the Atoms blast it all over
     the lot?
    He shook the thoughts loose