Free Shortstop from Tokyo by Matt Christopher

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    G ET two, Stogie!”
    “Let ’er come!” Stogie Crane yelled, back-trotting to deep short. He smacked the pocket of his glove a couple of times and
     crouched forward, arms dangling, at the edge of the infield grass.
    Coach Bob Dirkus, standing by home plate, tossed up the ball and rapped a hot, bouncing grounder a few feet to Stogie’s right
     side. The wiry shortstop rushed behind it, fielded the ball neatly, and whipped it underhand to second. Second baseman Russ
     Russo caught it on the bagand pegged it to first. The peg was high but Bob Sobus jumped and speared it.
    “Home it!” yelled the coach.
    Bob, a left-hander, pivoted on his left foot and whipped the ball to Tony Francis. Tony pegged it across the diamond to Stogie,
     covering the keystone sack. His throw was high too, and Stogie had to jump. He snared the ball in the small web of his glove,
     laughed over it, then pegged it to Fuzzy Caliel at third and Fuzzy winged it home.
    “Two again!” yelled the coach.
    Stogie Crane smiled across at Russ. “Muff it and you’re a hunk of cheese!”
    “You’re on!” cried Russ.
    The grounder was to Russ’s left side. He got behind it, nabbed it and fired it to second. Stogie, grinning like a cat, caught
     it at his knees on the run, stepped on the sack and whipped it to first. It was a strike throw. Bob caught it and zipped it back to Russ, who had to run hard to cover
     his base. The throw was wide and sailed out to the outfield, where an outfielder picked it up and tossed it in.

    “What do you want me to do — throw it into your pocket?” yelled Bob.
    The skinny second baseman wiped his brow and flicked the sweat off his fingers. “I’m sorry. I left my long arms home!”
    Stogie chuckled. “Just make those throws good when we tackle the Copperheads,” he reminded.
    “Snakes alive!” cried Russ. “We playing those guys tomorrow?”
    “Playing, you say? Man, you’d better not forget your tommy-hawks! We’d better slaughter those guys in the first inning. We
     can’t —”
    “Quit your jabbering out there and get down to business!” yelled Coach Dirkus. “Get two, Bob!”
    Bob caught the big hop, rifled it home, caught Tony’s quick return throw on the bag, then pegged the ball across the diamond
     to Fuzzy.
    “Hey, Stogie,” said Russ, as Fuzzy lollied the ball in to home. “Here comes what’s-his-name, that Japanese kid.”
    “Sam Suzuki,” said Stogie.
    The kid had just come around the dugout with a short, stoutish man who was his father. Sam Suzuki was short, too, for his
     age. He was about as old as Stogie and the other kids on the Mohawk baseball team. What surprised Stogie was that Sam was
     wearing a Mohawk uniform. Boy, he certainly hadn’t wasted time in getting acquainted with Coach Dirkus. Well,maybe the coach wanted no argument with Sam’s father, a judo expert.
    The coach waved to Mr. Suzuki, then motioned Sam forward. Sam, carrying a glove, smiled and ran up to him. Stogie couldn’t
     hear what they said, but in a moment he could guess. Sam pointed toward short and then came running out.
    “That’s Sam Suzuki, Stogie!” Coach Dirkus yelled. “Introduce yourself! Then I want you to alternate with him!”
    Stogie’s chin dropped. He forced a smile to try to match the one plastered over Sam’s face and stuck out his hand. “Hi, Sam.
     I’m Stogie Crane.”
    “Hi, Stogie. I am Hideko Suzuki. Call me Sam.”
    Stogie’s smile faded slightly. “Did you play shortstop in Japan?”
    “I always play shortstop. My favoriteposition.” Sam laughed. “You are not worried I play shortstop too, I hope?”
    “No.” But Stogie’s smile flickered, then died.
    Heck, why should he be worried? Sam didn’t really expect to take over the shortstop position, did he? Besides, Coach Dirkus
     seldom let a kid play a full game. He would put in a sub about the fourth or fifth inning.
    “Heads up, Russ!” cried the coach.
    He bunted the ball in front of the plate. Tony flung