Chapter 7: Double Header

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Tyeep, tyeep, tyeep, tyeep calls a red-breasted bird from the newly cut outfield grass out in right centerfield.

Ronki hits a pop fly to the right side of the infield for what will be the last out of game one.

“I got it!” calls the Longwood College pitcher settling under the descending ball along the foul line.

The ball drifts just outside the white line and into the base path. Ronki tries to swerve but bumps the pitcher’s shoulder. The blow knocks them both down as the ball glances off Ronki’s helmet.

“Foul ball!” calls the umpire.

“Interference!” yells the Longwood coach from the third base coaching box.

“Obstruction!” shouts coach Q from the bench.

“Unnecessary roughness,” complains the Longwood catcher squatting back down behind the home plate.

“This isn’t football, young lady,” the umpire chides as Ronki steps back into the batter’s box.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to hit her,” she apologizes.

“Yah big meany,” chuckles the umpire.

The pitcher is shaken as she serves up a fastball over Ronki’s head. Her next pitch is a curveball in the dirt for ball four to walk the tying run.

Toni Valenti steps up to the plate as the pitcher takes a big breath and toes the rubber. She shakes off the catcher’s sign for another inside curve and instead heaves a low fastball on the inside corner. Toni slashes it to leftfield to put runners on first and second.

The first pitch to Jo is over her head for ball one. The next is in the dirt, skipping past the catcher as Ronki and Toni move up to second and third base on the passed ball. Jo steps out of the box and pops in a stick of Big Red.

“R-B-R-B-R-B-I,” cheers the bench as Jo settles back into her stance.

The pitch is a high hard one right down the pipe. Jo strokes a line drive into right center. The red-breasted bird takes off as the ball bounds through the gap and Ronki and Toni head home for the win.

Box Score:

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     “Want to run with me?” asked MG during the break between games. She had taken up distance running during practices after the cast had been put on her arm.

“Yeah, to the cafeteria,” I laughed, incredulous of both the invitation from a pretty French girl and the possibility of actually doing it.

“We’ll go slow,” she prodded, “and we can walk if necessary.”

“What about my excess baggage?”

“Are you afraid of being seen with me?” she asked, her hazel eyes flashing.

“I’ll get my Converse,” I assented.

We started out walking north along the Norfolk & Southern rail line, but she coaxed me into a jog as we crossed the tracks.

“They say students should stay out of Dog Town,” I cautioned.

“These petite houses are cozy, but they’re all falling down,” she observed. “Who lives here?”

“It’s the African-American side of Magnolia, but now it’s mostly old people.”

“Then why is it called Dog Town?”

“A watch dog at every house?” I wondered, but for once she had me stumped.

“I like this part of town, but those Longwood players don’t like us,” she noted.

“Yeah, Ronki… got away with … bumping… their pitcher” I explained, losing steam as we ran on.

“It’s more than that, no?”

“The oldest… rivalry… in the south … Gibby-Hank… and Hampden Sydney … extends… to the sister… school.”

“So very stupid!” she exclaimed, but I had stopped running.

“A stitch,” I gasped, clutching a sharp pain in my right side.

“Just bend down until the diaphragm spasm subsides!” she advised, demonstrating a hands-on-knees rest position.

“Ah, it’s gone, but I’d better head back,” I said, looking over my shoulder as I started walking back the way we had come.

“Zut alors, it’s just the beginning,” she exclaimed, grabbing my shoulder and pulling me back with her uncasted hand. “It get’s easier every time.”

She was right, of course. We ran another half mile down North James Street, even sprinting a little way when chased by a pack of beagle puppies. Then caw, caw, caw floated past with a string of big black birds.

“They’re all headed west,” I observed.

“We follow!” commanded MG, turning left onto a dirt road before I could object.

We ran a half mile down the track, drawn by a rising cacophony to a big oak tree on the edge of a farmer’s field.

“We look!” she declared, climbing through the barbed wire as I held the top wire up and the bottom one down.

A thunderous boom, boom, boom froze her between the wires and poured a black rain from the tree. Three guys with shotguns emerged as we took off back the way we had come.

“Why would they kill birds?” MG cried.

“Corn,” was the best I could offer.

“Pay them no mind, their chickens will come home to roost,” croaked a stooped black man leaning onto his cane beside the road.

     The little dogs charged again as we jogged back.

“Hé!” screamed MG, leaping behind me and holding onto my waist.

“Roof!” I shouted in my deepest voice, spreading my arms and barking down at the little alpha dog. It took off yipping, the other four in tow.

“My hero!” she laughed, planting a kiss on my cheek and taking off toward campus.

That was enough to spur me on for the rest of the run. I finally re-crossed the tracks and pulled up gasping for air, so we walked side-by-side the rest of the way.

      “Hey fat boy, how do the French kiss?” called a guy from the baseball practice field, laughing with a couple of other players.

“Idiot, ask that to my fiancé in Paris!” MG shouted back, taking my arm as we strode back to the Old Gym.

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Ronki leads off the bottom of the sixth inning of the second game with the score tied at one. The first pitch is a slider that starts right down the middle and then tails toward her. She smacks a hard liner toward third. The Longwood third basewoman leaps and misses. The ball tails toward the foul line, bouncing just inside it. The leftfielder dives and misses. Ronki’s foot catches the inside of second base as the centerfielder chases down the ball.

“Ronki, we miss you, we really really miss you, please come home, please come home!” cheer our players, jumping up and down on the bench.

Coach Q waves his left arm in a counterclockwise circle from the third base coaching box to send her home.

“An inside-the-park homerun is rare in softball,” I mumble, leaping up with the rest of the team.

The throw is cut-off by the shortshop behind third base as Ronki tears toward the plate. Toni points down with both hands from the on-deck circle to signal a slide. Ronki skids onto her bottom about four feet from home plate. The catcher kneels down onto Ronki’s legs while reaching for the relay throw.

“You’re out!” calls the umpire standing over the two girls.

“Obstruction!” shouts Coach Q, striding over from third base.

Jo sprints over from the bench and knocks the catcher off Ronki’s legs. They tumble in a heap as both teams charge toward home plate.

“Break it up, break it up!” cautions the umpire reaching for Jo.

“Get your hands off her!” threatens Q standing between them.

“Good play, catch!” says Ronki, offering a hand to the catcher to end the looming brawl.

Tyeep, tyeep, tyeep, tyeep calls a red-breasted bird from the newly cut outfield grass.

Box Score: