CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The Big Game
The players from Evansville not only looked bigger than the Eagles, but they also seemed more blasé about the grandeur of the game they were about to play. That was understandable since they’d been in the same situation two years before, when they won the title, and fell in the semi-state round the year before. They also had Andy Belton heading to the mound, and the consensus around the country was that he was poised to become a first-round draft choice in just a few days.
The Eagle players, in contrast, walked through batting practice with huge eyes and craning necks, trying to take in every detail of the event. Croft pitched a steady diet of fastballs from the mound, but most of the players struggled to get the ball out of the infield, if they connected at all. Ted Waterman did manage to hit one into center field, but it would have been an easy out in a real game situation.
“What’s wrong with our hitters, Dad?” Dan asked. “They look dazed.”
“Ah, don’t worry, son,” David assured. “I’m sure they’re just getting used to their surroundings. It’s probably just now sinking in that they’re actually playing in the state title game.”
“I sure hope so,” Dan said. “I’m missing a good nap for this, after all.”
David groaned, and Clara elbowed her son in the ribs. “That’s not funny, Danny!”
—
For most of its history, baseball has been as much about relationships and stories as it has been about the play on the field any particular day. Fathers and sons go to games not primarily to support the local nine — though a true fan’s blood runs deep — but to talk and discover each other, and to luxuriate in the literally endless potential duration of each contest as a way to acknowledge their own time together is very limited in comparison.
Sometimes, the game on the field matters in a more acute sense, such as when a record is about to fall or when a championship is on the line. In those cases, men’s attentions may turn toward the action and the hoopla surrounding the event, but the undercurrent of connecting with his companion, whether father or son or other, is never far from the surface.
And so it was for Dan Hodges and his family as the 1974 Indiana State baseball championship finally got underway. All were engrossed in the game, but each could also feel the urgency of their own situation.
The South Pickens Eagles were designated as the home team on that early summer evening, and they took the field first. Frank McDonald, the Eagles’ star pitcher, was on the mound to face the Wildcats, who were no strangers to high-level competition. Like a rookie making his first start in the Big Leagues, McDonald’s nerves were obvious even as he warmed up. He breathed heavily and huffed onto his hands despite the fact it was nearly 90 degrees as the 6-o’clock first pitch approached.
Those nerves frayed even further when McDonald bounced the first pitch in the dirt against St. Lydia leadoff hitter David Holmgren. The ball skittered to the backstop, and the umpire tossed a new one out to the mound.
“It’s alright!” Croft called from the dugout. “Keep it nice and easy.”
There wasn’t much about the first inning that was nice and easy for South Pickens, as McDonald was all over the place with his pitches, hitting two batters, walking two more, and giving up five hits. Two of those were home runs, and, by the time Eagles leadoff hitter Eric Jasmine came to bat in the bottom of the first, South was behind 5-0.
The Eagles went down in order their first time at-bat, then McDonald was back on the mound for more abuse in the second.
Only, there was no more abuse for the Wildcats to dish out — not in the second or third or fourth. And not in the fifth, either.
In fact, when St. Lydia came to bat in the top of the sixth, their lead had been reduced to 5-3 thanks to some pesky base running and a few lucky breaks for the Eagles. Dan had seen Croft jawing at McDonald in the dugout after that disastrous first inning, and he had been sure there would be a new pitcher for the second, but there hadn’t been. Whatever wisdom Croft had imparted had evidently calmed the young hurler and allowed him to zip through the mighty Evansville lineup. It all seemed to be smooth sailing from there, but, when Waterman struck out to end the fifth inning, Dan recognized Croft had a decision to make as the final two frames loomed.
Leave McDonald in for the sixth and push off the pinch-hitting decision, or bring in a reliever and then decide whether to pinch hit for HIM when the pitcher’s slot came up?
Coach Croft decided on the latter and sent in Jake Simmons to pitch against the top of the Evansville lineup. When the crowd realized McDonald was done, they began cheering and calling his name. In the dugout, McDonald’s teammates nudged him out onto the field, and the reddening boy doffed his cap and waved to his admirers. He had put the team in a big hole, but he hadn’t given up.
“That was amazing,” Dan said of his former teammate’s performance.
Simmons allowed a couple of baserunners before getting out of the inning unscathed. On the flipside, Sam Wolfe finagled a walk out of Travis Leach, who was relieving for the Wildcats. Unfortunately for the Eagles, that was all there was to the sixth inning, and then Croft brought in Alan Hemphill to pitch the seventh, and final, inning. Hemphill was a tall, chubby right-hander who had the best fastball on the team and could also confuse batters with a sharp change-up. Had his conditioning been better, he might have made a really good starter, but his heft relegated him to bit appearances.
This would undoubtedly be the biggest moment of the senior’s baseball career.
“Hemp,” as his teammates called him, was more than up to the challenge, as he struck out the side on 12 pitches. When the Wildcats jogged past him to take their spots on the field for the bottom half of the ninth, they shook their heads and smiled ruefully. Dan heard a couple of them say, “Good pitch!” to their foe as they passed each other.
Dan looked to his left where his mother and father stood cheering, and to his right, where Gabbie stood holding baby Troy, and tears welled in his eyes. He realized in that moment that the game, the season, and likely his entire year, had come down to one half-inning of baseball. He leaned into Gabbie and plucked Troy from her hip, holding his son high above him, smiling as the child shrieked in delight.
Would Dan ever have the chance to take his own son to a Reds game, the way David had done for him so many times over the years?
He hadn’t taken a greenie since early that morning, and when he cuddled Troy into his cheek, the baby’s warmth and sweet smell made Dan sleepy. He yawned and rubbed his eyes before turning his attention to the field.
Dan’s future was a blurry unknown, but this moment was his and Troy’s and Gabbie’s, and the Hodges’. The only thing to do was enjoy this half-inning of baseball and root for the Eagles.
On the mound for Evansville was Mike Smithers, a typical fireballing reliever who had allowed only two runs all year long, and that’s exactly how many the Eagles needed to tie the game.
Carl Dishman, the catcher, led off the bottom of the ninth for South Pickens and he took some mighty hacks against Smithers but struck out on six pitches. Next up was the pitcher’s slot, and Croft sent in a pinch hitter, opting for sophomore second baseman Greg Ramsey. Ramsey had unusual power for a middle infielder and was known to swing for the fences. Smithers was having none of it, however, and threw his first pitch right at Ramsey, who was slow to react. At the last instant, Ramsey turned toward the backstop and took the blazing heat right in the middle of his back. While the Eagles crowd booed, Ramsey shimmied his shoulders to shake off the pain, then took his base.
Next up was leadoff man Jasmine. He worked the count to 3-2 against Smithers before fouling off a succession of fastballs and change-ups that had the big righty huffing on the mound. Finally, on the 12th pitch of the at-bat, Jasmine kept the bat on his shoulder and watched a close pitch just miss the outside corner of the plate.
“Looks like …" --yawn-- “… we might …” --yawn-- “… make this a game …” --yawn-- “… after
all,” Dan said to David. The young man wore a dreamy expression, and his body looked rubbery.
Clara moved close to her son and put her arm around him. “Isn’t this exciting?” she asked, motioning with her eyes to Gabbie.
Gabbie took Troy from Dan, who didn’t seem to notice. “We love you, Dan.”
“I love you guys, too,” he grinned. He cleared his throat and managed a vigorous, “Come on, Eagles!”.
David squeezed his son’s hand and echoed the boy’s sentiments. “Yeah, let’s get ‘em South Pick!”.
The women yelled, too, and Troy shrieked in delight.
Back on the field, shortstop Jim Franklin hit a hard grounder down the third-base line, but St. Lydia’s hot-corner man made a kneeling stop and stepped on the bag for the second out. He fired the ball to second, but Ramsey was too quick and beat the throw back to the bag by two steps.
Dan yawned and leaned into his mother. “This is a really great game, Mom,” he said.
“Yes, it is, Dan,” she told him, tears streaking down her cheeks. She nudged him with her elbow and said, “Now sit up and watch Ted bat, dear.”
At the name of his strapping friend, Dan did perk up, and he zeroed in on Waterman, just stepping into the batter’s box.
“Go get ‘em, Ted!” Dan called out.
Waterman waved his left hand in Dan’s direction, but he didn’t look back. Instead, he pumped his bat toward the mound, sizing up Smithers and trying to get his timing right.
Smithers reared back and unleashed a monstrous fastball that popped into the catcher’s mitt seemingly before it even left the pitcher’s hand. Waterman swung hard, but be was embarrassingly late, and the Evansville crowd chided him.
“Nice breeze tonight!” one of them shouted out.
Dan rubbed his eyes again. “He’s leaning forward, Dad.” Then, in a louder voice, “You’re leaning too far forward, Ted! Stay on your back foot!”
Waterman held his hand up to the plate umpire, asking for time. He stepped out of the box and looked toward Dan, who gave him a “thumbs-up” gesture and smiled through red, puffy eyes.
Dan yawned and yelled again: “You can do it, Ted! Hit a home run and get this thing over with.”
Ted gave a slight smile and a quick nod, but stepped back to the plate with renewed confidence.
In the stands, David locked hands with Dan and Clara, and Gabbie gathered in as close as she could.
Smithers looked at the runners on first and second more out of habit than necessity, because if he could get Waterman, nothing else would matter.
The right-hander went into his windup and uncorked a blazing fastball that was a blur as it screamed toward Waterman, who rocked back on his left foot before exploding forward to make contact with the ball, dead-center over the plate.
The ball rocketed off the sweet spot of Ted’s bat and arced high into deep center field. Waterman ran toward first base while Smithers spun to watch the flight of the ball. Jeff Huber, St. Lydia’s center fielder, back-pedaled quickly, keeping his eye on the ball, and then turned to run toward the outfield fence.
David threw his hands in the air and stood, excited to watch the play unfold. He sensed Gabbie had stood, too, holding Troy just a few feet away. As the ball got smaller and smaller against the darkening sky, David realized that something wasn’t quite right, that something was missing.
He snapped his eyes toward his wife, still seated beside him, and crying full-on now. There in her lap, she cradled Dan’s head, and she bent to kiss her unconscious son.
“We’ll see you on Opening Day, honey,” Clara whispered.
To Be Continued … FREE!
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Adam Hughes
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