"Oh, that wouldn't be any fun," Flip said.
Satch was throwing all fastballs, so he didn't even bother looking for a sign. He got two quick strikes on the batter, who called time and stepped out of the batter's box for a moment.
"Whatsa matter?" Satch asked. "You nervous? Hey, I'm the one that ain't got no defense!"
The crowd laughter turned to cheers when Satch hummed in another fast one and the guy waved at it.
"Steeeeerike three!" yelled the ump. "Two outs!"
The next Clown up must have been reading my mind, because as soon as Satch wound up, the batter squared around to bunt. Satch threw the ball way inside, and the Clown dove backward like a train was coming at him.
"Don't be buntin' on me!" Satch yelled as the batter got up off the dirt. "Take your three swings like a man!"
That's exactly what the guy did.
Strike one.
Strike two.
Strike three.
And that was it. Satch had struck out the side with the bases loaded and the only fielder in fair territory was himself. The crowd just about exploded as Satch walked off the mound. I thought the wooden stands were going to collapse. Flip was going crazy. Laverne stuck two fingers in her mouth and let out an ear-splitting whistle.
After that second inning, the Stars replaced Satch with another pitcher. He wasn't nearly as much fun to watch, but we stuck around anyway. We really didn't have a choice, because Satch was our ride. I figured he'd come get us when he was ready to go.
I kept looking over at Flip and Laverne to see how they were getting along. They were talking to each other, but it didn't look like any romantic sparks were flying. I kept whispering in Flip's ear that he should put his arm around her, but he wouldn't do it.
The score was 2-2 in the eighth inning when the manager of the Clowns came out on the field carrying a bullhorn.
"Attention, ladies and gentlemen," he called. "Due to illness, our pitching staff is deeply depleted. We got nobody left."
"Booooooooo!" the crowd replied.
"But I have good news!" the manager hollered. "I'm lookin' for a fresh arm. Anybody out there know how to pitch?"
A buzz went through the crowd, but nobody came out of the stands.
"Stosh told me you're a ballplayer, Flip," Laverne said. "Why don't you go out there and pitch?"
"I'm really not that good," Flip mumbled.
"Go on, Flip!" I said. "What've you got to lose?"
"Nah, it's been years since I threw a ball."
Flip was hopeless. I couldn't take it anymore. I got up out of my seat.
"Hey," I shouted, "my friend here can pitch!"
"Stosh!" Flip whispered. "I'm not goin' out there!"
"What's your friend's name, son?" the manager asked.
"His name is Flip," I said, even as Flip was trying to put his hand over my mouth. "Flip Valentini. He's a great pitcher."
"We got a white boy here who's a great pitcher!" the manager hollered. "Come on down, Flip!"
"Go ahead, Flip," urged Laverne. "Show 'em what you can do."
The fans started stamping their feet on the bleachers and chanting, "Flip! Flip! Flip!"
I don't think I ever saw anyone look so embarrassed in my life. Reluctantly, Flip stood up, and everyone cheered. People clapped him on the back as he made his way down to the front row. He climbed over the low fence next to the dugout.
Somebody gave Flip a glove, a hat, and a pair of cleats to put on. The manager gave him a little shove and Flip walked out to the pitcher's mound.
"Now pitching for the Indianapolis Clowns," said the announcer, "FLIP VALENTINI!"
The catcher tossed him a ball, and Flip promptly threw his first warm-up pitch over the catcher's head and against the backstop. A few hecklers shouted out good-natured insults. Flip looked nervous, but settled down and found the plate with his next pitch.
You could tell Flip was a natural pitcher. He had a nice, easy motion. The ball popped into the catcher's mitt like it had some velocity. It was obvious that he knew what he was doing out there.
"I'm so excited!" Laverne squealed, crossing her fingers.
"Batter up!" called the ump.
Laverne and I leaned forward in our seats. This is perfect, I thought. Even if Flip didn't know how to get to first base with Laverne, she'd be so impressed by his pitching that she'd fall even more crazy in love with him. Girls dig jocks.
"Flip! Flip! Flip!" chanted the crowd.
On the mound, Flip got set and the Star first baseman stepped up to the plate. He was a big, mean-looking guy. Flip went into his windup. He threw. The guy swung.
Bam!
I don't think I ever saw a ball go so far. It was still rising when it cleared the left field fence. It probably landed somewhere near Pittsburgh.
"Oooooooooh!" groaned the crowd.
"Nice changeup, whitey!" somebody yelled. "Now let's see your fastball!"
"That was a lucky hit, Flip!" I hollered as the batter trotted around the bases.
"You can do it, Flip!" Laverne shouted.
The ump tossed Flip another ball. The next batter came up to the plate. Flip took a deep breath, kicked up his leg, and tried again.
Bam!
Another rocket. This one went to right field, slamming against the scoreboard so hard, I think it made a dent. Back-to-back homers. Ouch.
"Don't get discouraged, Flip!" I yelled. Flip was walking around the mound, wiping his face with his sleeve.
"You better start working on a knuckleball!" somebody hollered from the crowd.
"Strike this guy out!" shouted Laverne.
The ump tossed Flip another baseball and the next Star came out of the dugout. It was their first baseman. Flip closed his eyes for a moment to compose himself, and then he reared back and buzzed one in.
Bam!
The manager was out of the Clowns' dugout before the ball sailed over the centerfield fence. I couldn't hear what he was saying to Flip on the mound, but I'm pretty sure he wasn't telling him what a great job he had done.
As Flip was leaving the field, the midget shortstop went to the mound.
"Now pitching for the Clowns," boomed the announcer, "SHORTY POTATO!"
The crowd had a good laugh at that. When he got to the dugout, Flip threw the glove and the cap against the fence, kicked off the cleats and put on his shoes. Then he marched right off the field and headed for the exit.
"Come on!" I said, grabbing Laverne's hand.
We ran out of our seats and out of the ballpark. After looking around for a few minutes, we found Flip wandering aimlessly around the parking lot. He was cursing to himself, and his face was all flushed, like he had been crying.
"Where are you going?" I asked him.
"I don't know," Flip said disgustedly. "Out of here. Anywhere."
Laverne put her arms around Flip and held him. It seemed to calm him down a little.
"You are good, Flip," she whispered in his ear. "You just had a bad day, that's all. Next time, you'll strike those boys out. Mark my words you will. You're gonna be a great pitcher someday."
And then she kissed him! I mean, it was a real kiss, on the mouth, just like in the movies!
Man, I wished she was hugging and kissing me. Too bad I didn't go out there and let them hit three homers in a row. Girls must dig jocks even more when they mess up and cry.
Suddenly, I got an idea.
"Hey, why don't you come with us?" I asked Laverne. "We're going to see the Negro League World Series in Pittsburgh with Satchel Paige. I bet Satch wouldn't mind another passenger."
"You think?" she asked, her arms still around Flip.
"Sure don't mind one as pretty as this young lady," somebody said.
We all turned around. It was Satch. He was back in his street clothes and he had a wad of ten-dollar bills in his hand.
"The game's not over yet," Flip said. "How come you left, Satch?"
"I done my part and I got paid," he said. "Let's get outta here."
"Not so fast!" someone behind us said. We all wheeled around.
"Daddy!" cried Laverne.
15.
The World Series LAVERNE'S FATHER WAS STANDING THERE NOT MORE than twenty feet away. Man, he looked like he was going to kill all of us.
Flip took his hands off Laverne like she was a hot stove and backed two quick steps away from her.
"Get in the car, Laverne!" her father said.
"I'm eighteen years old, Daddy, and I-," she started.
"Not yet you ain't!" he said. "Come with me right now, young lady!"
Laverne looked at Flip, like he was supposed to do something.
"You should go with your father," Flip said softly. "It's the right thing to do."
"But I want to be with you," Laverne said. "See, Daddy? I told you how nice he is. Flip is sensitive and mature. Not like other boys."
"Let's go, Laverne!" her father snapped.
She reached out for Flip's hand, but her father slapped it away. He stuck his face near Flip's and warned, "You so much as touch my daughter and you're a dead man. You got that, son?"
"Yes, sir."
He shot a dirty look at Satch for good measure, grabbed Laverne's hand and led her to his car. She turned around to look at Flip one more time before she got inside. I could see her sobbing in the back-seat as the car pulled away.
There wasn't anything else we could do. Satch, Flip, and I got into Satch's car. We still had a long ride to Pittsburgh, and Satch seemed to be in a bigger hurry now. Flip looked out the window as we accelerated out of the parking lot.
"That girl is in love with you, Flip!" I said after a few miles passed. "She ran away from home to be with you. I can't believe you let her get away."
"It was the right thing to do," Flip said quietly.
"Why do you always have to do the right thing?" I asked. "How about doing what's right for you once in a while?"
Nobody said anything for a few minutes. Satch finally broke the silence.
"You got a thing or two to learn about women," he said to Flip, "and you got a thing or two to learn about pitchin' too."
"You got that right," Flip sighed.
"So which do you wanna learn first?"