Free Jim & Me by Dan Gutman

still in his street clothes. He was taller than the others, with bright blue eyes andwavy blond hair that was parted perfectly, like he had used a ruler. He didn’t look like a baseball player. He looked like a movie star. This guy I recognized.
    â€œThat’s Matty!” I whispered to Bobby.
    â€œMatty who?”
    â€œChristy Mathewson!” I told him.
    â€œA guy named Christy?”

    Matty looked more like a movie star than a baseball player.
    I told Bobby that Matty was one of the greatest pitchers in baseball history. In four different seasons, he won 30 games or more. Not 20. 30! One year he won 37 games.
    The players were setting up checkers on sixcheckerboards around Matty.
    â€œReady, gentlemen?” Matty asked.
    â€œThis time at least one of us is gonna whup you for sure, Matty,” one of them said.
    â€œI’ll believe that when I see it.”
    It was incredible. Matty was going to play six games of checkers at the same time! That was amazing enough. But then he did something even more amazing. He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wrapped it over his eyes!
    â€œOr I’ll believe it when I don’t see it,” Matty added.
    Oh man, this guy must be one great checkers player. He was playing six guys at the same time, and he was playing them blindfolded .
    This I had to see. Bobby, however, wasn’t as impressed.
    â€œI’m gonna go look for Jim,” he said.
    Yeah, sure. I remembered the syringe and bottles in Bobby’s backpack. He was probably going to find a private place where he could inject himself. I let him go.
    It was fascinating to watch Matty play checkers. He must have imagined each board in his head, then made a move, went on to the next board for another move, and so on. Somehow, he was able to keep all six games straight.
    I could have watched all day, but suddenly there was a commotion at the other end of the locker room. I stood on a bench to see what was going on.Two guys were stripped to the waist, wrestling on the floor.
    One of them was a big, fat guy. He had to be at least 250 pounds. It should have been no contest, but the smaller guy was quicker and more agile. Nobody broke up the fight. Instead, the players gathered around to watch. So did I.
    â€œTesreau! Tesreau! Tesreau!” chanted some of the guys.
    The other guys chanted, “Thorpe! Thorpe! Thorpe! Thorpe!”
    So that was Jim Thorpe! It was hard to get a good look at him, because he was moving like a tornado around the fat guy they called Tesreau—grabbing, pulling, grunting, and trying to get into a position where he would have the advantage.
    â€œTake him down, Jimmy!” somebody yelled.
    â€œSit on him, Jeff!” yelled somebody else.
    Where was Bobby? I wondered. He would want to see this .
    Soon Tesreau was breathing heavily and Jim began to get the upper hand. He moved behind the bigger man, crossing one leg over Tesreau’s leg. Then he yanked one of Tesreau’s arms over his own head and twisted the other one behind his back.
    â€œI call this the Armbreaker,” Jim grunted.
    â€œNo! Don’t!” moaned Tesreau. “That’s my pitching arm!”
    â€œKNOCK IT OFF!” a voice bellowed from behind a door at the other end of the locker room. It said MANAGER ’ S OFFICE on it.
    The door swung open and slammed against the wall with a crash. Suddenly, everybody stopped what they were doing, like they were playing a game of freeze tag.
    Total silence.

12
The Little Napoleon
    BOBBY FULLER CAME BACK JUST IN TIME TO SEE THE GUY storm out of his office. It had to be John McGraw, the manager of the Giants. I remembered my dad asking if I could bring home something signed by McGraw. But this sure wasn’t the time to ask for an autograph.
    â€œWhat the hell is going on in here?” McGraw hollered.
    John McGraw was a short guy, on the heavy side. “The Little Napoleon,” they used to call him. He had small,