Phil and Chief Hogsett were walking rapidly toward the ball park. Jaybird and Rin ran alongside, trying to keep up. Jaybird's pockets were still stuffed with money that he had yet to count, and which didn't seem to hold much interest for Phil. Jaybird heard Chief Hogsett say, "You look awful, Stoltzie, you been down in them Ozarks chasin' Germans again?"
Phil grinned. "Yeah," he said, "ah almost got me a couple."
"You been stayin' in shape?" asked the Chief.
"Sure ah have Chief," answered Phil, "you jist hand me that pill and see what ah can do with it."
They came to the Spring Street entrance to Sportsman's Park. Chief Hogsett winked at the ticket- taker, made an over-the-shoulder gesture with his thumb toward Phil and said, "This feller's with me."
"You bet, Chief," said the ticket-taker, "you gonna take them sissy britches White Sox today?"
"Damn right we are," said the Chief confidently.
The ticket-taker grinned broadly. "Can I bet on it?" he asked.
Chief Hogsett looked at the ticket-taker like the man had lost his mind. "Not unless you're crazier than Stoltzie here," he said.
"Hornsby still bettin'?" asked Phil as he and the Chief passed through the turnstile leaving Jaybird and Rin standing outside. Phil had gone only a few steps when he heard Jaybird call out loudly,"PHIL!".
Phil whirled around and ducked as if he were expecting something to come flying at him. When he saw Jaybird and Rin, he turned sheepishly to Chief Hogsett standing beside him. "Ah forgot Jaybird," he said.
"Who's Jaybird?" asked Chief.
"Jaybird's that there skinny kid standin' back there with the specs on his face and the bandage on his hand, he's with me."
"Hornsby don't like kids," said Chief.
Phil walked back to the turnstile, took a five dollar bill from Jaybird's pocket and handed it to the ticket-taker. "Let the kid in," he said.
The ticket-taker smiled broadly. "My pleasure," he said. Turning to Jaybird, he said, "Come on in, kid, and bring your dog."
Walking through the turnstile Jaybird had the feeling he was entering a cave. It was dark and cool compared to Spring Street where the July sun was boiling down. It smelled different, too ... like hot dogs and stale beer. Under the grandstand he could see large steel beams and girders that reminded him of an erector set. People were milling around. A vendor was hawking scorecards.
Phil rejoined Chief Hogsett, and they headed up a wide concrete ramp that led to the open grandstand. He gestured for Jaybird to follow.
"Hornsby needs a bat-boy don't he?" Phil asked the Chief.
Chief shook his head. "Hornsby's got a bat-boy," he said. "... He ain't worth a fart in a windstorm, but he's got one."
"You talkin' about Hornsby or the bat-boy?" Phil asked.
Hogsett did not answer.
Coming to the end of the ramp, they got their first view of the field. The sight of the green outfield and the brown infield with the white bases in their proper places surrounded on all sides by acres of empty seats including the double decks soaring overhead and opposite down the right field line gave Jaybird a thrill.
Phil took note of Jaybird's muffled gasp and wide, eager eyes. "Ah know, Jaybird," he said, "and ahm goin' to tell you what it is. What it is is that out there on that there field, somethin's goin' to happen today that ain't never happened before, and there's a pretty good chance it might even be excitin', and maybe even thrillin'. Ain't that right, Chief?"
Chief Hogsett snorted. "Well, maybe," he said, "but there's probly a better chance that somethin's goin' to happen out there that has happened more times than that there dog's got fleas ... the Browns are goin' to lose."
"When am ah pitchin'?" asked Phil.
"Tomorrow," answered Chief, "second game... you could throw some batting practice today."
Phil nodded. "That'd be good," he said.
"But first we got to get you cleaned up," said Chief, "how'd you get yourself into such a mess, Stoltzie? I thought I taught you better than that."
Phil was still wearing his dirty bib overalls, red-checkered shirt, high-topped leather shoes and broad-brimmed black hat. But what made him a mess was his long stringy hair and scraggly black beard. "Not much call fer suits and ties down in them hills," said Phil.
Chief Hogsett grunted. "Come on,Stoltzie," he said, "let's get on down to the clubhouse."
They started down an aisle headed for the field. "We'll go in through the dugout," said Chief.
Phil remembered. "Ah want Jaybird here to be the bat-boy," he said.
Chief shook his head. "I told you, Stoltzie, Hornsby's got a bat-boy."
"What about them White Sox?" Phil asked.
"Fuck them White Sox," said Chief, "they can take care of their own damn bats."
They climbed over the low wall separating the grandstand from the playing field and headed for the dugout.
Phil winked at Jaybird. "How'd you like to be bat-boy for them Sox?" he asked.
"Okay, I guess," said Jaybird. Jaybird was thrilled to be walking on the playing field, but he wasn't sure he wanted to help the enemy. He was confused about what was happening. Was Phil actually going to pitch for the Browns? "What's happening, Phil?" he asked, "what did he mean about you pitching tomorrow?"
"It's why they called me Chief Hogsett, Jaybird. Ahm a lefthander just like the Chief, so ever once in a while ah just go out there and take his place when he don't feel like pitchin' or somethin'. He's got a hot date over in Belleville tonight so he don't figure to be in any shape to pitch tomorrow."
"But what about Hornsby?" asked Jaybird.
Phil laughed. "Hornsby don't care any more," he said.
They passed through the first base dugout and up a tunnel leading to the Browns' clubhouse. Jaybird was about to enter a new world.
Chief Hogsett opened the door to the clubhouse and walked in, motioning with a nod of his head for Phil and Jaybird to follow. Jaybird was in awe; he was standing in the clubhouse of a major league baseball team! He looked around in wonder, not noticing that it was a cramped, foul-smelling, smoke-filled room, poorly lighted by five or six dim bulbs hanging by naked wires from the low ceiling. He saw a hairy-chested man wearing nothing but a St. Louis Browns baseball cap and a jock strap walk by. He saw a man lying on his back in the middle of the room with a damp cloth covering his eyes, entirely naked except for his stirruped baseball socks, chocolate brown with three bright orange stripes, rolled just below his knees. He saw a man in full uniform with his cap on backwards sitting on a stool with a deck of cards in his hand, and the stub of a cigar clamped into the side of his mouth.The man was sailing the cards toward an upturned cap several feet away where another man stood with a handful of paper money. He heard a harmonica playing "Wabash Cannonball."
Chief Hogsett took Phil by the arm and led him across the room. Several men thought they recognized him in spite of the beard and long hair. "Hey, Chief," one called, "is that old Stoltzie?"
Chief did not answer, but led Phil to a stool in front of a wire-meshed locker stall. "Take off them clothes, Stoltzie," he said, " I'm goin' to get a pair of scissors and a Brownies uniform for you."
"Ah got mah own shoes, Chief," said Phil cheerily.
Jaybird stood near the center of the room taking it all in. Caught up in their various pre-game rituals and routines, none of the players seemed to even notice that Jaybird and Rin were there. Jaybird saw several doors opening off the main locker room, one leading to a shower area, one leading to an equipment room, and two side by side that were closed. On one of the closed doors he saw in large block letters the name HORNSBY. On the other he saw the name BOTTOMLEY. The names transported him to past glories, thinking of the great Hornsby and "Sunny Jim" Bottomley leading the Cardinals to world championships ... they must be sitting just beyond those closed doors. Jaybird wondered if they were brooding over their present situations with the lowly and dismal last-place Browns, destined to lose 108 games in a 154-game schedule.
"Hey kid," someone called. Jolted from his day dream, Jaybird looked for the source of the voice and spied a diminutive bald-headed man in a corner of the room wearing a tattered gray sweatshirt and folding towels that he was taking from a spacious laundry cart. It was equipment manager Butch Yatkeman, and he was beckoning to Jaybird. "Come over here, kid," he called.
Jaybird expected to be momentarily ejected from the room as he walked toward the man in the corner who reminded him a lot of his Grampa Giessow except this man was not as wiry as his grampa. Rin, as always, stayed at Jaybird's side.
"What you doin' in here kid?" Yatkeman asked as Jaybird approached.
Jaybird started to say he had come in with Phil, but realized that this man, if he knew him at all, would not know him as Phil. "I came in with Chief Hogsett," he said, then quickly added, "can I be bat-boy?"
Yatkeman had seen a lot of strange things over the years in his capacity as clubhouse man for both the Browns and the Cardinals, but this was the first time he had seen a skinny kid with a big German Shepherd dog and a large bandage on his hand come into the clubhouse and ask to be bat-boy. "You ever been a bat-boy?" he asked.
Jaybird had been a bat-boy for his dad's team, the Cottage Farm Mudcats. "Sure I have," he said.
Yatkeman looked Jaybird over. "You got a name?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," said Jaybird, "my name is Jaybird, sir."
"Call me Butch, Jaybird, they ain't no sirs in this room."
Jaybird grinned. "Can I be bat-boy, Mr. Butch?" he asked.
Yatkeman grimaced. "Not Mr. Butch, Jaybird, they ain't no misters in this room either."
Jaybird said, "My mom and dad taught me to always be respectful to grown-ups."
Yatkeman shook his head exaggeratedly from side-to-side. "Nope, Jaybird," he said, "these is baseball players," he waved at the men all around the room, "they ain't no grown-ups in this room either."
Yatkeman folded more towels while Jaybird stood beside him. "Can I help?" Jaybird asked.
Yatkeman nodded affirmative. "Sure," he said. He pointed to a man sitting in front of his locker, bending over to tie his shoes. "See that guy, Jaybird? That's our slick-fielding first baseman Harry Davis, any resemblance to Lou Gehrig is a pure accident ... we call him Stinky because he don't like to take showers after the games.That shrimp next to him is Scoops Carey the second baseman ... he's a pretty good fielder but he couldn't hit the side of a barn with a wagon tongue."
Jaybird saw a tall good-looking player in full uniform standing before a mirror combing his wavy black hair. "Who's that?" he asked, pointing to the player.
Yatkeman answered, "That's Beau Bell, the right fielder. That sucker is hittin' .340 and leads the league in hits and doubles... made the all-star team too. Believe it or not, Jaybird, but we got a few guys on this sorry team that know how to play."
Jaybird wondered if Butch could tell him why they called Phil Chief Hogsett. Or for that matter why they called him Stoltzie. "Do you know a guy called Stultzie?" he asked.
Yatkeman nodded. "That would be Danny Stoltzfuss," he said, "a pretty good southpaw until he got in that mess up in New York and wrecked his arm."
"Why do they call him Chief Hogsett?" Jaybird asked.
Yatkeman laughed. "It's kind of a joke around here Jaybird," he said, "Stoltzie and Chief are about the same size and they both have this herky-jerky motion. One time Stoltzie took Chief's spot on the mound and nobody could tell the difference... Do you know him?"
Jaybird nodded uncertainly. "I think so," he said.
"Speak of the devil," said Yatkeman as a player in full uniform walked up, "how come you're suited up, Stoltzie?" he asked.
"Ahm throwin' BP today, Butch" said Phil, "you got any kickapoo joy juice you could splash on mah ham bone?"
Jaybird did not recognize Phil with his hair cut and without his beard. He stared at this man who, even Rin could see, bore a striking resemblance to Jaybird's dad, the Coach.
Jaybird started to speak, but was interrupted by the sudden, and apparently unexpected appearance of the great man himself, Manager Rogers Hornsby. "Goddammit, Alabam'," he yelled, "what in the name of criminy shit is goin' on around here? Why ain't these sorry-assed clowns out there hittin'?" He waved around at the room which emptied quickly, Phil included, leaving Jaybird, Rin, and the clubhouse man alone with Hornsby.
Hornsby allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction at how fast his team had scrambled to escape his scorn. "Sorry bastards," he muttered, "... they ought to be ashamed to collect a paycheck."
Alabam' knew better than to attempt a defense of the lowly Brownies. It was hard to defend a team with only 20 wins in 65 games, even if they did have a few halfway decent players. The thought had occurred to Alabam' from time to time, that if Hornsby had done a better job of managing, the team might be at the very least a sight more respectable, but he risked a punch in the nose from the volatile Hornsby if he voiced that opinion. He knew that even though Hornsby was a strict teetotaler, and never touched tobacco, the great man was afflicted with a malady that, though he would never admit it, cost him dearly both on and off the diamond. Alabam' saw that Hornsby held a large wad of money in his hand. He knew what was coming. "Alabam'" he said, " I want you to run across Grand Avenue to the Royal Suds House and place a bet for me." He handed the money to the clubhouse man.
Alabam' had done this before. "You bet, Skipper," he said, grinning broadly, " who's the plug?"
Hornsby scowled. "This ain't no plug, Alabam'," he said, "this here is a surefire, goldplated, bet your goddam house, winner. Quince King in the 3rd at Fairmount, 1,000 smackers across the board. Got that?"
"Quince King in the 3rd at Fairmount, win, place, and show," said Alabam', "one thousand bucks across the board, them bookies must love you Skipper."
" After today, they're gonna hate my guts, Alabam'," grinned Hornsby. He turned to leave, then noticed Jaybird and Rin. He looked questioningly at Alabam'. "Who's the punk?" he asked.
Alabam' saw his chance. "This is our new bat-boy," he said.
Hornsby did not give Jaybird a second look. "Why ain't he out there shaggin' balls?" he asked over his shoulder as he left the room.