CHAPTER XVI
KNOCKED OUT OF THE BOX
For a moment Joe was genuinely alarmed. He was usually so free from pains and aches and he kept himself in such superb physical condition that any marked deviation from this enviable state came to him with a shock. Visions of paralysis darted across his mind. He knew, of course, that this was usually to be dreaded only by the old. Still, men as young as he had sometimes, though rarely, been the victims of a stroke.
This thought, however, he entertained for only a fleeting moment.
“What am I mooning like this for?” he scolded himself. “It’s simple enough. I’ve just had the arm in a strained position and it’s gone to sleep like the rest of me. A bit of a rub, and it will be all right.”
He massaged the arm vigorously with his left hand and in a little while could feel that it was becoming normal again. He kept up the friction until at last all the queer feeling had disappeared.
Then he took a shower bath, rubbed himself down vigorously, gave himself a shampoo, and went down to the dining room, where, after an excellent meal, he found himself feeling as well as ever.
The Bostons were to play the Giants at the Polo Grounds the next day and Joe was slated to pitch.
It was an easy assignment, for the Bostons had been “meat” for him in all the games he had pitched against them this season. They were not an exceptionally heavy batting team, although they had a few noted sluggers on their roster. But Joe knew their idiosyncrasies, and usually when he stepped into the box it was a signal for the Braves “to roll over and play dead.”
“Might as well chalk this game up for us in advance,” remarked Jim, just before the game began.
“No game is dead sure before it is played,” returned Joe. “But I never felt in better form for pitching, and if the boys give me a few runs I guess we can make a go of it.”