The Crazy Horse Electric Game Read Online Free Page B

aware this game is almost as important to his dad as it is to him; he can’t let him down. He looks at Coach Ivy. “Arm’s fine,” he says.
    Johnny slaps him on the butt with his mitt and says, “I’ll rattle him a little,” then trots back to the plate; Coach Ivy heads back to the dugout. Willie looks overto his dad again; nothing has changed.
    He fools Sal with his first pitch; takes a little off it and has him reaching for Strike One. Sal nods his head, staring fiercely back at the mound, digging his cleats in deeper. The second pitch is a screamer, low and inside, which Sal takes for a ball. Then a hard fastball right down the pipe; Sal fouls it off, way, way back and out of play.
    â€œNext one’s outta here,” Sal calls from the plate, and Willie smiles and nods.
    Johnny’s mouth is off on its own. “Hey, big Sal. Heard they’re trading you soon. They’re gettin’ Aunt Jemima. Makes a better batter…Sure you wanna stay out here an’ play with the big boys?…’Hon, batter, your shoe’s untied. Your momma’s callin’ wants you home before Mr. Dream Weaver embarrasses you so bad your family has to move…How you ever gonna get a girlfriend after what’s about to happen…”
    Sal steps out of the box, turns around and tells Johnny to shut the hell up. Johnny shrugs. “’Hon, Big Willie. Pitch ’er right in here. Got ’im on the run.”
    Sal looks to the ump, who calls batter up, and he steps back in.
    Then Johnny finds Sal’s weak spot. “’Hon, Big Willie…got a bet with Sal here that he can’t hit you.He put up his sister. I put up fifty cents. Ain’t cool bettin’ your sister on one swing of the bat. Not for fifty cents.”
    The umpire’s arms shoot out to call time. “Now that’s enough…” but before he can finish, Sal whirls around, flips Johnny’s mask up, pops him three lightning-quick open-handed blows to the side of the face and pushes him on his butt. Johnny is up like a flash and Willie charges in from the mound, but the ump steps in front of Johnny and Coach Ivy cuts Willie off.
    The ump grabs Johnny’s chest protector and pulls him up close. “I’d call that about even,” he says. “Now you get down behind the plate and keep your mouth shut! One more word and you’re headed for the showers.”
    Johnny says, “Yes, sir,” and looks around him at Willie, who’s back on the mound. Johnny smiles.
    The next pitch is a statement of adolescent friendship as Willie fires a high, inside fastball right at Sal’s head. Most hitters would hit the dirt, but Sal is hot and he only jerks his head back as the ball streaks by inches from his chin. The ump flips his mask up and starts to say something, but Willie puts both hands in the air and yells, “Got away from me, ump. Honest. That was an accident.”
    Willie looks over to his dad, who shakes his headand shoots him a disgusted look and Willie knows he shouldn’t have thrown that last one. He nods at Big Will and steps up on the mound, starts into his wind-up; Sal steps out of the box. He adjusts his helmet, bangs his cleats with the bat; gives Willie time to sweat. When he stands back in, Willie steps off the mound; it works both ways. He bends down to pick up some dirt, rubs it around on his hands, dusts them off and steps back up.
    Willie starts into the stretch and Sal digs in. The runner on first takes a big lead off the bag, but Willie focuses completely on Sal, who’s a picture of coiled determination. Willie rears back and kicks high, his arm a sling, but in the middle of his delivery he knows something is wrong; the ball slips just slightly in his fingers; he falls a hair off balance; can’t pull it back. The pitch is fast and hard, but it doesn’t dance, and when Sal Whitworth sees it coming, he knows it’s sweet.
    Sal puts