Free Baseball Pals by Matt Christopher Page A

the faces again. They settled on a boy a little taller and fatter than Ervie. His face was moon-shaped.
     His nose was like an old-fashioned shoe button.
    “Hey, Tiny! Are you going to catch for us this year?”
    Tiny Zimmer shook his head. “No. I’m going to play with the Red Rockets.”
    “The Red Rockets?” Jimmie’s forehead knotted into a frown. “Why? Don’t you want to play with us?”
    Tiny shrugged. “They asked me last week. They’ve already given me a jersey.”
    “Well, how do you like that?” Jimmie said, disgusted. “What are you doing here if you’re playing with the Red Rockets?”
    Tiny shrugged again. “I came with Paul.”
    Jimmie glared at him. Tiny wasn’t a good player, but he had nerve to stand behind the plate. Jimmie couldn’t think of anybody
     else to take Tiny’s place. Nobody had ever asked for the position. It was a tough one to play. Besides, Tiny was the only
     boy who owned a catcher’s mitt.
    Jimmie kicked the short-cropped grass with the toe of his sneaker. “A fine start this is! How are we going to play in the
     Grasshoppers League if we don’t have a catcher?”
    The Grasshoppers League was starting soon. In order to join, a team had to have at least nine players. Their names had to
     be in on a certain date. If the names weren’t in, the team’s chance to enter was lost.
    Jimmie wet his lips. He looked at Ervie. If only Ervie was four or five years older, he thought, then he could catch.
    “Well, are we going to have a team in the league, or not?” Jimmie snapped. “We need a catcher. Who’s going to catch?”
    “I’ll catch,” a soft, deep voice spoke up from the rear of the group.
    Jimmie rose on his toes. “Mose Solomon? Do you own a catcher’s mask and a mitt, Mose?”
    “My big brother does. But he’ll let me take them. He bought a new outfit.”
    Jimmie breathed a sigh of relief. “Will you go after them, Mose? Then we can play a game.”
    “Okay!” Mose ran off.
    Most of the kids had their gloves with them. So did Jimmie. He had also brought a ball and bat, hoping there would be enough
     players to choose up sides.
    “What are we calling our team?” Wishy Walters asked. “The Planets?”
    “Sure. The same as last year,” Jimmie said. He was anxious to play ball. He wanted to get on the mound and pitch. He wanted
     to prove to those boys who wouldn’t believe he could pitch that he was as good as Paul Karoski—or even better. “Let’s choose
     up sides!” he said.
    Johnny Lukon chose with him. Jimmie tossed his bat to Johnny, who caught it nearthe middle. Then, hand over hand, the two boys worked to the top of the handle. Johnny won first choice.
    “Paul,” he said.
    “Mose,” Jimmie said.
    The two teams were picked at last. There weren’t enough players, so Jimmie asked Ervie if he’d like to play.
    “Sure,” said Ervie.
    “Okay. You play right field.” Jimmie pointed to where he meant.
    “I know,” murmured Ervie quietly.
    Jimmie and Johnny chose for last raps. Jimmie won. Mose Solomon arrived with a mask and catcher’s mitt. The batting cage was
     pulled out of the way and the game began. Jimmie was glad Mose was catching. It would be almost like a real game.
    The leadoff hitter stepped to the plate.Jimmie put his right foot on the rubber and wound up. He threw one fast toward the plate. It was a foot outside. The batter
     let it go.
    “Put it over!” somebody yelled.
    He threw another wild pitch. Then one was close to the inside corner, but the batter didn’t swing at it.
    “What’re you waiting for?” Jimmie cried.
    “Put ’em over the plate!” Johnny Lukon wailed.
    He was ready to pitch when Wishy said, “Jimmie! Here comes Mr. Nichols! Ask him to umpire.”
    “Good idea! Mr. Nichols!” Jimmie shouted across the field. “Oh, Mr. Nichols! Will you umpire for us?”
    Mr. Nichols was a tall, dark-haired man with a quick, happy smile. He often came to the park to watch the kids play.
    He waved a greeting.