The first Sox to face Sharker in the second inning was a notorious bad ball hitter. Sharker wasn’t fool enough to ignore Paul’s sign on that one; they got an easy out. The next man was more questionable. Paul called an outcurve. It broke nicely for a called strike. Paul signaled a fast one. Sharker shook his head.
Paul called time and went out, his fist doubled.
“Have you gone nuts?” Sharker asked.
The crowd had sensed something wrong. A sudden hush stilled the voices.
“They’ll toss me out,” Paul said grimly, “but they’ll need a new pitcher...”
Raneri had moved in front short. Towers from second base, Lannerhan from first.
“This guy thinks he’s going to swing on me,” Sharker said.
“Let’s play ball.” Raneri said.
“The fast ball, Al?” Paul demanded. “I mean it.”
Al said, “The guy’s nuts!” He watched Paul come closer. “O.K. You get your fast ball. But I'll see you after the game.”
“You do that,” Paul said, ignoring the angry bellow of the umpires. He got the fast ball for a strike, and a slider for the strike-out. The third man bounced out to Raneri.
Paul’s anger was a dull burning inside his chest. At bat in the second, he swung so hard at the first pitch that he dropped to one knee. He heard the crowd roar with laughter. He poked one through the hole between short and third. He saw the Sox first baseman move a step down the baseline toward him, blocking the base, yet reaching for the ball in a way that meant the interference was intentional. Paul dropped his shoulder and rode the man down. The ball rolled wide. Paul jumped up and headed for second. He went in like a tank, spikes high, safe. The first baseman was walking around in a circle. The trainer came out.
“Hard guy,” the second baseman said.
“Just an old-fashioned ball game.”
This was more like the Robins. Rough, gutty ball, and take your chances and do what you can. He took a long lead off second, and worried the pitcher into wasting three throws to the bag.
Raneri laid down a bunt toward first. He was thrown out at first by a step, but Paul was safe at third. Lannerhan backed the Sox fielder up against the wall, but the long fly was the third out.
Taking the field, Paul told Raneri, “I see you run out bunts harder than that. If you’d beat it, I’d have scored.”
“Shove it.” Raneri said.
“So I see you after the game, too, junior.”
Raneri stared. “What’s eating you?”
“We got a ball game to win. You dogged it.”
“Rogan had no kicks. Why should you.”
“Take your position, Raneri!” the plate umpire yelled.
Raneri turned, his face white. Lannerhan, on first, yelled, “Muzzol’s going to win this game if he has to play the whole nine positions.”
“I could show you something about playing first,” Muzzol yelled.
“You punk!” Leroy yelled from third. “Larry’s been playing first for four years, and you’ll never see your second year with this club.”
“Come in faster on those double-play balls. Leroy, or we’ll both be playing for West Overshoe, Idaho, next year,” Paul yelled back.
Sharker watched the signals carefully. The Sox got a man on first and Sharker walked him to second. The next two popped out. The count on the next man went to two and two. Paul smelled the hit-and-run. He signaled for a pitch-out, almost knocked Leroy over with the throw. The third baseman tagged the runner out.
As Leroy came jogging in, Paul said, “You may make a ball player yet.”
“Put me on that list of yours,” Leroy growled.
Both Cherkis and Sharker were easy outs for Garry Ibbert, the Sox pitcher. Sildon came up and hammered the first pitch over the second baseman’s head. The man went high but couldn’t reach it. The center fielder took it on the second bounce and Sildon held up at first. He took a long lead. Ibbert whirled and threw him out as he tried to scramble back to first.
Paul heard Sharker say to Sildon, “Man, I need runs out there. Don’t go tanglefoot on me.”
“Lay off, Al,” Paul called. “I like a man that takes a long lead.”
Paul grinned out at Sharker, and then eased him through the inning, on soft stuff.
As Sharker came in he said, “Maybe you don’t like catching the fast ball?”
“I like it fine. I like it when you got to use it, Al, not when you use it to show off what a strong arm you got.”
Sharmody came up first in the bottom half of the fourth. He reached first on an error by the Sox shortstop. Leroy laid a bunt down the third base line and ran like a deer, beating the throw, moving Sharmody to second. Towers moved into the batter's box.
Two on and none down. But the Saints didn’t seem to be catching fire — Towers had all the enthusiasm of a plumber picking up a pipe wrench. Towers lifted a towering fly ball that barely got out of the infield.
Paul moved up. A long fly would move Sharmody around to third, and, if it was in the right spot, move Leroy to second. Paul felt so tensed up that he thought his nerves would pop right through his skin. The first pitch came smoking toward his face. He threw himself backward, got up grimly and came in to crowd the plate. The second pitch missed the outside corner for a two and nothing count. Ibbert looked unhappy. The third pitch was a sweeping curve. Part way through his swing, Paul knew he had been fooled and that the pitch was going far outside. It was too late to pull back and he lunged further out. The hard crack of wood on ball tingled all the way up to his shoulders.
He went into third standing up, full of the hot throat-filling of combat and success. He looked out toward the score board and the two looked good. A nice, big, white, fat two.
The Sox third-sacker said. “Lucky Alphonse.”
“Hit ’em where they ain’t.”
“Take a lead, Muzzol. We’ll pick you off.”
“Maybe I’ll steal home.”
Raneri slammed a line drive to deep center. Paul touched up and came home; no hurry. He came across the plate and Lannerhan grabbed his arm, spun him around, thumped his shoulder, grinning. “Get ’em all by yourself, Paulie.”
Lannerhan went down swinging, and retired the side, giving Paul a rueful grimace before trotting out to take his position.
It was a new ball game. Any run from now on was going to be a big one. Sharker worked nicely in the fifth, a nice edge to his control. In the sixth, he got in trouble. He walked one man, and an error by Leroy pushed the man to second, with one on first and none out. Paul walked out, and Raneri, field captain came over.
Raneri said, “Take it easy, Al.”
“We’ll cool ’em off.” Paul said.
Sharker looked coldly at him. “I’ll listen to Raneri.”
Raneri said hotly, “You’ll listen to him, too, Al. He gave you a new ball game.”
Paul ambled back to the plate, giving Sharker time. He called for the soft stuff, and the next Sox batter nearly broke his back. The ball went on a weak hop to Bucky Leroy. Bucky whipped it to second for the force-out and the ball went to first in plenty of time to put out the batter and then came back across the infield to Leroy almost in time to nail the Sox runner coming down from second. Paul didn’t like that play at second. It should have gone back to Leroy to pinch off the most dangerous man, but at that, it had been so close to a triple play that the noise from the stands was a constant scream. If Leroy, on the other hand, had raced back to third with the ball, then thrown to second it might have...
Paul settled down. Two gone and a man on third. Rogan signaled for the play at the plate. The Sox batter dribbled one out to the mound. Al pounced on it and flipped it underhand to Paul, who slammed it hard against the Sox runner’s ribs. They went down in a tangle with Paul clutching the ball.