Bert Wilson's Fadeaway Ball

by J. W. Duffield

The next man up was struck out, as was also the third, and the inning ended without a run for either team.

From his seat on the substitutes’ bench, Bert had watched the game up to this point with eager eyes, and had felt that he would almost have given ten years of his life to take part in it. He knew there was practically no chance of this, however, and so with a sigh of regret settled back to watch the further progress of the game.

The next two innings also passed without a run scored on either side, and it became more and more evident as the game went on that this was to be a pitchers’ battle.

The first man up at bat for the visitors at the beginning of the fourth inning was considered their heaviest hitter, and as he walked up to the plate he was swinging two bats, one of which he threw aside as he stepped to the plate. From the way he crouched in readiness for the ball it could be seen that he meant business, and the coach called Winters over to him.

“You want to be mighty careful what you feed this man,” he whispered, “and whatever you do, keep them low. He likes high balls, and if you give him one up as high as his shoulder, he’ll swat it, sure.”

“Oh, you can bet he won’t get a hit off me,” replied Winters, carelessly. “I’ve got that team eating out of my hand.”

“Don’t be too sure of that, my lad,” warned the coach, but Winters only smiled in a superior fashion and strolled back to the box.

The first ball he pitched was an incurve, but it looked good to the batter, and he swung at it viciously. He missed it clean, and the umpire shouted, “One strike!”

This made Winters a little careless, and the next ball he pitched was just the one that the coach had warned him against. The batter took a step forward, swung fiercely at the ball, and there was a sharp crack as the ball and bat connected. The ball shot back with the speed of a bullet, and the outfielders started in hopeless chase. Baird, the batter, tore around the bases, and amid a veritable riot of cheering from the visiting rooters and a glum silence from the home supporters, charged across the sack for a home run!

Too late now Winters thought of Reddy’s warning, and wished he had given it more heed. He knew that in so close a contest as this promised to be, one run would probably be enough to win the game, and this knowledge made him nervous. The breaks from training that he had been guilty of lately began to tell, also, and he commenced to lose confidence, a fatal thing in a pitcher. However, he managed to get through the inning somehow, and walked to the bench with a crestfallen air.