runners, and my motion was so good, the batter took a swing, and he struck out too!â
âTriple play!â Flip said, collapsing with laughter. âGame over!â
âIf you canât strike âem out, you gotta psych âem out,â Satch said.
It occurred to me that Satch didnât care about TV or the technology we would have in the future. He cared about how history was going to remember him.
Major league players got written up in the newspapers every day, even back in the 1940s. Their statistics and accomplishments were preserved for posterity. But Negro League players must have been ignored. Nobody knew what they did. No white people, anyway.
Satch wanted to be remembered. Thatâs what he meant when he said the radar gun could take him to the future. If we returned to the twenty-first century and told everybody that he could throw a baseball faster than anyone, he would go down in history.
âHow about pulling over and weâll see how fast you throw?â Flip suggested again.
âYeah,â Satch said, âsoonâs I find the right spot.â
We climbed up a short mountain road, and Satch didnât seem to want to take his foot off the gas, even though the wheels were skidding around the hairpin turns. One slip and the car would go sliding off the side of the mountain.
âHow did you get the name Satchel?â Flip asked, once the road finally leveled off.
âI grew up in Mobile, Alabama,â he said, âwith twelve brothers and sisters. My momma took in washing. We didnât have no money. I used to go down to the train station and carry peopleâs satchels for âem. Ten cents a satchel. That was good money back then. Anyways, I got me a bright idea. You always got to be thinking if you wanna make money. I got a pole and rope so I could sling three or four satchels together and carry âem all at one time. Looked like a big old satchel tree. So folks started callinâ me Satchel.â
I could tell that Flip was filing this stuff in his brain. He was having the time of his life. I was so glad I took him with me.
âWe bumped into Josh Gibson and the Home-stead Grays before we met up with you,â Flip told Satch. The road was winding through woods now.
âThat a fact?â
âJosh said heâs gonna shut your big mouth in Pittsburgh,â I blurted out.
âStosh!â said Flip.
âThat what Josh said?â Satch threw back his headand let out a good laugh. âIâm the best pitcher in baseball, and Josh is the best hitter. When we played together on the Crawfords, me and Josh always said weâd like to face off in a big game one day with the bases loaded. That would be somethinâ to see.â
âWhat do you think would happen?â Flip asked.
âDonât rightly know,â Satch said. âBut Iâll tell you this. Josh canât hit what Josh canât see.â
Suddenly, without any warning, Satch slammed on the brakes and the car screeched to a stop. I almost went flying into the front seat, and Flip nearly banged his head on the windshield.
âWhatâs the matter?â Flip yelled. âDid you hit something?â
âNot yet,â Satch said, pushing open the door. He ran out of the car and around the back to open the trunk.
âWhatâs he doinâ?â Flip asked.
âBeats me.â
The next thing we knew, Satch was running off into the woods, and he had a rifle in his hand! Flip and I jumped out of the car and followed him.
âWhereâs he going?â I yelled to Flip.
âMaybe heâs goinâ crazy,â Flip replied.
We finally caught up with Satch, hiding behind a bush next to a bubbling stream. He was taking aim with the rifle.
âWhat is it?â I asked.
âDinner,â Satch whispered, not taking his eyes off his target.
I looked off in the distance where he was pointing the gun, and I could see what