Free About the B'nai Bagels by E.L. Konigsburg Page B

terrific-er,” Mother answered. Mother wanted undiluted joy. Mother was not a gracious winner.
    We worked like something beautiful on the field. Mother would meet with us before each game and tell what she planned to do; she met with us after the game to tell us what we had done wrong. She wasn’t gentle; neither was Spencer. They were sure of themselves, and it got results. We won our second game and our third. And then we lost our fourth game to the Elks, and we felt rotten. Mother had wanted that, too. She and Spencer analyzed and scolded and made us work harder, and we won again.
    She had made the team care, and she (and Spencer) had given us enough training to make it count.
    A lot of the mothers cared, too. Too much. Too many phone calls worth. When your mother is manager and your brother is coach, the phone rings a lot. Often it is just to find out what time the game or practice is. Often it was Mrs. Polsky, wanting to know something like could she get an extra uniform for Sidney because she didn’t think it was sanitary for him to have only one uniform the whole year. She had forgotten all the trouble we had getting his pants in the first place.
    Very often it was Mrs. Jacobs. When I knew that it was Mrs. Jacobs calling, I listened in on the extension. She sure knew how to stick up for her kid. I would be embarrassed to have my mother take such good care of me.
    MOTHER : Yes, Mrs. Jacobs. (That’s when I picked up the extension phone. Quietly. It’s an easy caper.)
    MRS. JACOBS : Mr. Jacobs and I are somewhat concerned about Barry’s attitude toward these practices, Bessie. Barry seems less eager to practice this year. He seems to feel that he is being held back.
    MOTHER : Really, Mrs. Jacobs, I had no idea. You tell Barry that if he is being held back,
retained
they call it now, Mrs. Jacobs, he shouldn’t come to practice at all. Not at all. School work comes first.
    MRS. JACOBS : I was not referring to his school work, Bessie. My Barry is a straight-A student. I am referring to his work on the baseball field. You keep telling him to choke up on the bat, and you keep making him practice bunting. How can he make home runs that way? Last year he was the star homer hitter on the B’nai B’rith team, and I know he would like to be again this year.
    MOTHER : Mrs. Jacobs, he can hit homers all he wants to in the games. That is, when he’s given the signal to hit. Right now I want he should learn other things. That way, when he gets other signals, he can do other things. Like bunting is other things.
    MRS. JACOBS : Do you think that bunting is the right thing to do? After all, you are holding him back.
    MOTHER : Strategy it is, Mrs. Jacobs. Until the season is over, I won’t know if it’s the right thing to do.
    MRS. JACOBS : It’s so hard on him, a boy used to being champion.…
    MOTHER : My pot is burning on the stove, Mrs. Jacobs, and my arm is not long enough to…
    Spencer had come into the office and saw me carefully replacing the receiver of the extension phone. “For crying out loud, Mark, don’t tell me that you listen in on phone calls.”
    “How else will I know if it’s about me?”
    “
About
you isn’t the same thing as
for
you. What’s the matter with you, kid, don’t you think Mother and I have enough trouble with the overlaps?”
    “What do you mean, overlaps?”
    “I mean the parts of you that… oh! just skip it, kid. Just skip it.” Spencer left the office fast and me confused.

E ven after the season officially began, I continued going to the Projects on Saturdays. After those first two times, I went in the afternoons. Every Saturday, and usually on Sundays, too, even if I wasn’t buying
Playboy
. I went until the incident with Botts. There was something about handling a ball there at the Projects that was like magic. The ball would come to me: in my mitt if I was fielding or square onto my bat if I was batting. At Little League I was like a watched kettle; I got hot, but I never