Tank Parker loved his van. On the very first day he jumped behind the wheel, Tank decided on a name for his vehicle, Betsy. He bought the old eight-seater piece of junk back when he was a junior in high school. The van has been getting him from point A to point B ever since. Except for a handful of dead batteries and a couple of major tune-ups, everything has been running smoothly for Betsy.
When Billy Bob, Rocky, and Corky decided to join Tank and sign on the dotted line to play for Pearl City College, it came to pass that his old clunker would eventually become the mode of transportation for the Ridgeway Four.
“If Betsy survives the first trip to Pearl City, I’ll pay you ten bucks,” joked Corky.
“It’ll make it. I have faith in her,” returned Tank.
“Betsy will be tested this summer. By the time the summer is over, you’ll probably be looking to trade her off,” advised Rocky.
“It’ll just be two or three trips. We have accommodations available there. So, it shouldn’t be too hard on her.”
Corky was forced to pay the ten bucks as Betsy made the first trip without a whimper.
It was early Tuesday morning, and the Ridgeway Four decided to hit the road at first light — their second trip of the summer for Betsy. They should arrive in Pearl City by 10 a.m., just in time for Coach Dugan’s first practice of the week.
“We’re going to have some tough practices,” said Tank. “I think Coach Dugan is a little worried about our game down in Baxter Hollow.”
“I heard Baxter Hollow has a lumber mill and the owner is the coach.” Billy Bob added. “The coach recruits baseball players and gives them jobs. I bet the players are a lot older.”
“Tank, look out…”
*****
Johnny put the equipment away, closed the lid, and locked the padlock.
The practice did not go too well. He was forced to cut the practice session in half. With only ten players, Johnny kept it simple and had more batting practice than usual — not that the team didn’t need it. The Pirates hadn’t exactly knocked the cover off the ball in Grand Valley.
Johnny opened the door to his office, just in time to hear the phone ring. “Johnny, this is Jim Johnson. I just got a call from the highway patrol up in Ridgeway.”
“It’s the boys, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Johnny. They hit a deer about fifty miles south of Ridgeway. The deer plowed right through the front windshield, but the boys are okay. It’s amazing. I just got a call from Tank’s mother. Tank has a nasty cut on his forehead and is going to have a shiner or two. Billy Bob, Corky, and Rocky sustained some lacerations and bruises, but they’ll be fine. They were very lucky.”
“Thanks, Jim. Thank goodness they’re okay.”
*****
Walker Sullivan could barely see out of the windshield. “The forecast didn’t say a thing about rain.”
“You know, Walker. You can’t believe everything you read in the newspaper.” Johnny quipped — thinking entirely about a certain reporter by the name of Willard Smith.
Walker chuckled and turned the steering wheel to the right as he caught a glimpse of the exit sign to Baxter Hollow. “We’re about two miles out.”
Lightning Bean Williams moved to the front of the bus and sat next to Coach Dugan. She peered out the window as Walker let up on the gas pedal. She saw the sign, Baxter Hollow City Limits. “Look, Coach Dugan, a banner on the building, says, Lumberjacks Game Today at Willow Creek Park.”
“Lumberjacks, great! I hope they don’t have a Paul Bunyan on the team.”
“Who’s Paul Bunyan?”
“Elizabeth Lightning Bean Williams, what are they teaching you over at Colorado Tech?” Johnny said, jokingly.
Bumper popped up. “Didn’t he play for the Yankees in the 1940s?”
Walter and Johnny shared glances and laughed.
With two-thirds of his pitching staff out of action, Johnny would send Boomer to the mound. Besides a week’s rest, Boomer should be good to go. He had a feeling that Boomer could pitch all six games this summer if needed.
The Pirates quickly exited the bus and grabbed their gear. The rain was coming down hard as Walker, Coach Dugan, and the Pirates rushed to the visitors’ dugout. “It’s still an hour and a half before game time. At least they have the pitcher’s mound covered,” Johnny said, as he eyed the sky. “I see a break in the clouds. Even if the rain quits, it’ll be tough going out there. You all sit tight and dry out.”
A man approached, covered in yellow rain gear. The man walked down the three steps to the dugout. “It rains a lot in this part of the state. We’re used to it…I’m the Lumberjacks’ coach, Bill Whitfield.”
“I’m Coach Dugan.”
“Where’s the rest of your team?”
“This is it. Could only suit up ten for this one.”
“Well, okay then,” Whitfield said, staring at the sky. “We’ll get started in about an hour. The umpires are already here. They’re down at the coffee shop. They said they’d be back in about forty minutes. Good luck. Let’s play ball.”
Whitfield jogged back to the Lumberjacks’ dugout, muttering under his breath, “Those guys are in trouble.”
Johnny turned around and found a dry spot on the bench. He sat down and looked at Walker. “Nothing is ever easy.”
By the fifth inning, a good portion of the mud on the infield had transferred to the uniforms of the players on both teams. The rain had stopped, and the game had settled into a pitching duel between Boomer and the Lumberjacks' hurler Razor Head Zagursky, not a Paul Bunyan look-alike, but close to it.
The Pirates were looking for their first hit. Bugs and Silky had drawn walks, Bugs in the first inning and Silky in the fourth. With two outs and Silky on first base, Boomer hit a line shot to the gap in left-center field. Silky chugged through the mud and scored as the ball rolled to the fence.
Boomer rounded second base and headed for third. The relay throw was right on the money as Boomer quickly changed the angle of his slide. At the last second, his right foot collapsed, just inches from the base. Boomer yelled in pain, the base ump bellowed: “You’re out of there!”
Coach Dugan rushed to the field. “It’s my ankle. It’s my ankle,” Boomer yelled.
Johnny eyed the umpire. “You need to call this game. It’s too dangerous out here.”
“This game is not official until we have five innings in,” said the man in blue as he glanced over at Whitfield, who was standing on the top step of the dugout. The umpire and Whitfield nodded.
Johnny shook his head and helped Boomer off the field. “I think it might be just a sprain. I’m moving it around pretty well.”
“We’re not taking any chances. Get some ice on it and get it elevated.”
“But, Coach Dugan.”
Johnny motioned for Woody.
“Woody, we’ve practiced back home, but I figured you’d be in your second year at Pearl before I’d even think of doing this. You need to step up. We have no choice. Work with Bugs, take your time, meet Bugs halfway after every pitch, and by all means, get that glove transferred quickly, be prepared for a come-backer.”
Woody and Johnny looked up. The rain was back. Johnny shook his head. “Get out there and give me an inning, win or lose, go out there and do your best. You’ve got a lot of guts, Woody. Now you go out there and show Baxter Hollow what you’re made of.”
“Okay, Coach Dugan.” Woody grabbed his glove and rushed to the mound.
The home plate umpire met Woody on the mound. “Take as many warmup pitches as you need, son.”
The umpire returned to the plate and glanced over at Whitfield, who stood at the edge of the batter’s box. “If I had any sense, I’d call this game,” said the man in blue. The umpire waved Whitfield back to the dugout and waited patiently for Woody to finish his warmup pitches.
“Let’s play ball!”
Johnny glanced at his nine players on the field. Bumper at first, Silky at second, Booker T at short and Dusty Johnson at third. In the outfield, Ricky in left, Rusty in center, and Lightning Bean in right. Johnny took a deep breath and pounded on the dugout wall, “Not quite the lineup I had in mind!”
Johnny watched as Woody toed the rubber. Bugs flicked his glove and showed his pitcher the target. “Right here, Woody, right here.”
“Strike one,” yelled the home plate umpire with a slight smile appearing from underneath his face mask.
The Lumberjacks’ lead-off man, Junior Jackson, swung and hit the next pitch between first and second, but Bumper was playing off the bag, dove for the ball, and made the catch. Walker, Boomer, and Johnny yelled their approval from the dugout.
Two more outs and the Pirates would have their second win. The rain was coming down harder as Junior Ortiz settled in at the plate. Woody couldn’t find the strike zone, and Ortiz headed for first. With the tying run on base, Bruno Tarkington stepped to the plate — a 6-1, 220-pound first baseman — his top two buttons on his jersey, nowhere to be found — undoubtedly missing due to the force of Bruno’s constant breathing.
“Time out,” yelled Johnny as he motioned Bugs to the mound. “Bugs everything away from this guy, nothing down the middle or inside. “I’ll try,” Woody said. “It’s hard to see the plate…the rain!”
“I know, Woody, just give it your best shot.”
Johnny crossed the first base chalk line. He looked back at Woody. The Dodger crowd roared as he quickly glanced to the bleachers behind home plate. Johnny Dugan went into his windup. Willie Robinson swung. Crack! The sound echoed through his mind as Johnny sat back down in the Pirates’ dugout and itched his eyes.
“You, okay? Johnny?” Walker said.
“I’m okay, it must be the rain. Johnny peeked out of the dugout and glanced at the crowd. There was no crowd, just a few die-hard spectators with their coats draped over their heads.
Woody followed his coach’s instructions. With a 3-0 count, Woody figured it was better to walk the big man, but the ball slipped from his fingers, and the ball caught the edge of the plate. Tarkington swung and hit a towering fly ball to the opposite field. Lightning Bean turned and watched the ball sail over her head and land twenty feet beyond the fence.
Woody mowed down the next two batters to end the fifth inning. The home plate umpire looked up at the sky. “That’s the ball game!” The Pirates had lost 2-1.
The two teams shook hands, and Johnny met with Whitfield at home plate. “I’ve never seen anything like this, Coach Dugan. What you’ve done with that team of yours, well, you’ve got my respect. I think the umpires and a few of our hometown fans were pulling for your team to win. They say there are no moral victories, but now I’d have to disagree.”
“Thanks, Coach Whitfield. Good luck to you the rest of the way.”
“Same to you, Coach Dugan.” Whitfield walked away, feeling lucky to have picked up the victory.
*****
It was July 1, and Sam sat in the box seats behind home plate. He smiled as he surveyed the confines of Rasmussen Stadium. In three days, the area he was sitting in would be occupied by oil company executives, the honored guests for the grand opening of the baseball stadium on the Fourth of July.
The oil executives would sit alongside Pearl City Mayor Jack Oldham and Pearl City College Dean of Admissions Jim Johnson. The mayor is scheduled to throw out the first pitch to Pirates catcher Bugs McPherson in honor of the return of baseball to Pearl City.
Marino had gotten the job done. The field truly looked like a miniature of Chicago’s Wrigley Field, without the ivy, of course. Sam had jokingly told everyone who cared to listen to him rant about his stadium that if…if he could have obtained a worthy vine capable of producing enough foliage to cover the outfield fence, he would have done so.
Sam was quickly becoming known as a miracle worker. But having Ivy fall out of the heavens in less than six weeks was humanly impossible.
It would be standing room only when the Pearl City Pirates play host to the winless Monroe Heights. All children under the age of twelve would receive free admission. A large number of volunteers would be on hand to accept tickets and escort fans to their seats. Cotton candy and soft drinks would be the order of the day, along with plenty of hot dogs and hamburgers, of course.
An umpiring crew from Grand Valley would be on hand to officiate the game, compliments of Roy Thornton, the league president. Two Pearl City High School honor roll students were selected to run the manual scoreboard, located near the highest point and in the center of the left field bleachers. A small press box, located just to the left of the scoreboard, housed all the stadium's communications, and seats were available for the stadium announcer. Accommodations were also provided for the crew from the local radio station.
Just below the press box window, the freshly painted words, Rasmussen Stadium — The Home of the Pirates.
A tired Marino applied a firm grip with both hands and lifted himself out of his seat. He took the closest exit, which led to the locker room of the home team. He flipped on the light and eyed the room. The lockers were all freshly painted, and on the east wall, next to the showers, a picture of Coach Johnny Dugan and the 1969 Pearl City Pirates.
Sam turned off the light and proceeded to the visitors’ locker room. He switched on the light. The lockers were all freshly painted. Sam smiled. On the west wall of the room is a picture of Johnny Dugan and the 1969 Pearl City Pirates.
Sam turned off the light, walked to the entrance of the stadium, applied the lock to the front gate, then gestured, raising both thumbs high above his head. He smiled once again and headed for the Sportsmen’s Club to see the other three members of the boys of summer.
“Here comes the man of the hour,” Clyde said, as Sam walked through the front door. “Pull up a chair. The rumor is Rasmussen is ready for opening day.”
“That it is, boys. That it is.”
“You know baseball has been around for one hundred years. I’m pretty sure the first professional team was called the Cincinnati Red Stockings, back in 1869,” Walter said — the known baseball historian of the group. “It’s only fitting that we reopen Rasmussen this year.”
“One hundred years, Nelson said. “That’s a little bit older than us, but not by much.”
“I can remember the Baltimore Orioles’ first year. It was fifteen years ago. I was fifty-four years old. I’ll never forget that spring. I think Paul Richards started his managing career with the Orioles that year. I bet Dutch Dugan was at his side.”
“Speaking of Dutch Dugan,” said Nelson, as he pointed to the front door. In walked Johnny Dugan.
“Coach Dugan,” exclaimed Walter. “You guys had a tough time of it up at Baxter Hollow.”
“Yep, it wasn’t pretty.”
“How are the Ridgeway Four?”
“They’ll be back in town tomorrow. I got a call from Tank Parker’s mother…very nice lady,” Johnny said. “Tank looks like a raccoon, but he’s ready to play, and so are Corky, Rocky, and Billy Bob.”
“Well, that’s good news,” Walter said. “How about Boomer?”
“You know…I think he may be good to go. A slight sprain. I’ll probably go easy with him on Friday.”
“Great report,” an elated Sam said.
“I hear you have a good report for me, Sam.”
“Yes, I do. Rasmussen Stadium is ready to go!”
“That’s great, Sam. I think I’ll bring the boys down tomorrow afternoon. Let them get a feel of the place.”
“Can we come over?” Nelson asked.
“Of course, the boys of summer are always welcome.”
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