Free Roberto & Me by Dan Gutman Page A

Now I had seen it.
    I was glad that Sunrise got to witness such a great game for her first baseball experience. It was a seesaw battle the whole way. The Pirates scored once in the fourth inning to make it a one-run game, but the Reds picked up a run in the sixth and another one in the eighth. Then Pittsburgh tied it up in the ninth with three runs.
    By that time, Clemente had been taken out of the game. I figured he might have injured himself making that circus catch in rightfield.
    At the end of nine innings, it was tied at 5–5. Sunrise figured the game was over. I was explaining to her what “extra innings” meant when the Pirates went crazy in the tenth. A bunt, a couple of hits, an error, and a bases-loaded double by Carl Taylor, who had replaced Clemente, sealed the deal. The final score was Pittsburgh 12, Cincinnati 5.
    Before Roberto Clemente left the game, he had three hits in four at-bats, one RBI, and a handful of amazing plays in rightfield. Not a bad day’s work.
    Sunrise and I got up to file out with the rest of the fans. She took my hand again. It had been a great game, and a great first date. I would always remember this night.
    But I had something more important to think about. As we pushed through the exit turnstile at Crosley Field, I looked around for the Pirates’ team bus. If I was ever going to talk to Roberto Clemente, this would be the time.

13
Fanatics
    WHEN WE GOT OUTSIDE THE BALLPARK, WE HAD JUST ONE problem. There were at least 15 buses waiting for passengers, and there was no way to tell which one was waiting for the Pittsburgh Pirates.
    Sunrise and I walked almost a complete circle around Crosley Field, hoping to find a bus driver we could talk to. A few of the buses pulled away. I had a growing sense of desperation. Maybe we had missed the Pirates. Maybe they weren’t even going to a hotel. Maybe they would be heading straight to the airport to catch a flight to another city. Maybe I blew my chance to meet Roberto Clemente.
    That’s when I spotted a cluster of people gathered around an unmarked door near Gate D. Some of them were adults, but most were kids who looked younger than me. And all of them were holding pensand papers. Obviously, these were serious autograph collectors.
    â€œC’mon!” I shouted, grabbing Sunrise’s hand. “Follow me.”
    We hustled over to where the group was standing and tried to position ourselves close to the door. There were about 15 or 20 fans.
    â€œDon’t these people have anything better to do than hang around waiting for a guy to scrawl his name on a scrap of paper?” Sunrise whispered into my ear.
    â€œThat’s why they’re called fans,” I told her. “It’s short for ‘fanatic.’”
    A dumpy-looking lady and her dumpy-looking son were jostling for position in front of us. Both of them were wearing Cincinnati Reds hats.
    â€œRemember to smile, Tommy,” the mother said. “And always say ‘please’ and ‘thank-you.’”
    â€œIs this where the players come out?” Sunrise asked her.
    â€œThe visiting team usually comes out this exit,” the lady replied. “The Reds use a different door, because most of them drive their cars home. But the security guards won’t let us near there.”
    â€œThe Pirates should be here in about five minutes,” the boy added. “They have to shower and change their clothes first. I want to get Willie Stargell’s autograph.”
    The two of them seemed to know what they were talking about. The boy was flipping through thepages of his autograph book. He probably had a signature from just about every player in the National League. It didn’t seem to bother either of them that Sunrise and I were dressed like hippies.
    â€œDo you know if Roberto Clemente talks with the fans?” Sunrise asked.
    â€œOh, yes, he’s one of the nice ones,” the lady said. “Some of these