The Catcher's Mask, page 1
Copyright
Text copyright © 1998 by Matthew F. Christopher
Illustrations copyright © 1998 by Bert Dodson
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious.
Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental
and not intended by the author.
Hachette Book Group
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First eBook Edition: December 2009
ISBN: 978-0-316-09485-6
Contents
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
To Ian Christopher
1
Rudy looked at the wall clock next to the kitchen cabinet. Five of three. I should be leaving, he thought. Most of the guys will be warming up already. Zero’s probably wondering where I am.
His mother came in from the living room and glanced at the clock.
“Don’t you think you’d better take off?” she said.
“I guess so,” Rudy mumbled. He put on his baseball cap and picked up his catcher’s mitt.
His mother smiled sadly. “Rudy, I know you don’t think you’ve been playing well lately,” she said, guessing what had him down in the mouth. “But everybody makes mistakes. I’m sure you’ll improve before you know it.”
Rudy nodded. She was right about his poor playing. But he didn’t think she was right about his getting better.
Rudy stepped out the door and hurried to the garage, where he kept his bike. He strapped his glove to the back carrier, put on his bike helmet, and pedaled off.
Every Peach Street Mudder was there when Rudy arrived at the field.
“Glad you could make it, Calhoun,” Coach Parker said sarcastically. “Go help Zero warm up.”
“Shoot,” muttered Chess Laveen. Chess, a stocky boy, was the team’s substitute catcher. “Thought I’d get to start for a change.”
Rudy didn’t know what to say. He had half expected Coach Parker to start Chess at today’s game. In fact, he almost wished he would. That way, Rudy wouldn’t risk flubbing up, like he had the past few games.
The errors he had made during those games weren’t terrible. Rudy just wasn’t used to making mistakes, that’s all. What was worse, he didn’t know how to stop himself from making them.
After both teams had their infield, outfield, and batting practices, the High Street Bunkers took the field and the Peach Street Mudders took their first bats.
Barry McGee led off with a single. Then he advanced to second on Turtleneck Jones’s sacrifice bunt. He stayed there when José Mendez’s high fly ball to center field was caught. But then he scored on T.V. Adams’s double.
That was it. Nicky Chong struck out.
The scoreboard read Mudders 1, Bunkers 0.
Not a bad way to start a game, Rudy thought as he put on his catcher’s gear. I wonder if I can help keep the score reading like that. I doubt it.
2
Pitching for the Mudders was Zero Ford, one of the best lefties in the league — usually. He started off by putting two strikes over the plate on Fuzzy McCormick. Then he gave Fuzzy a free ticket to first base.
“Rats,” Rudy mumbled, thumping the inside of his mitt with his fist. He took a moment to readjust his catcher’s mask. It had slipped, making it hard for him to see.
Sure wish I had my own mask, Rudy thought for the hundredth time. This one stinks. Heck, it’s probably the reason I’m screwing up all the time!
But he knew that getting a new mask was impossible. Catcher’s masks cost money, and he didn’t have a lot of that. And as long as the Mudders had one he could use, his parents didn’t see why he needed his own.
Ron Bush, the Bunkers’ second batter, took two called strikes, then belted one over shortstop Bus Mercer’s head for a single. Fuzzy stopped at second.
The next batter popped out. Then Alec Frost, the cleanup hitter, waited out a 3–2 count and smacked a double between left and center fields.
As José raced to catch it, Fuzzy McCormick rounded third and headed toward home. Rudy leaped to his feet and threw off his mask, his heart thumping as he waited for José’s throw-in.
The ball came in a little too high. Keeping his eye glued to it, Rudy took a few steps back to catch it. But he stumbled on something and fell.
By the time he looked up, Fuzzy was crossing home plate.
“Have a nice trip! Guess we’ll see you next fall!” Fuzzy laughed hard at his own joke.
Red in the face, Rudy stood up and brushed the dirt off his uniform. Then he saw what had tripped him. It was his catcher’s mask!
Darn this mask! he thought angrily as he picked it up and tugged it into place. Bet I would have had that one if this stupid thing hadn’t gotten in my way. Then that Fuzzy wouldn’t be laughing.
With Alec standing up at second and Ron on third, Andy Campbell, the Bunkers’ next hitter, came up to the plate. He creamed Zero’s first pitch for a home run over the left field fence. That really gave the Bunkers’ fans something to scream about.
The Mudders fans weren’t silent, either. “How about giving your pitcher a pep talk, catcher?” someone in the crowd yelled. “Or don’t you know that’s part of your job?”
Rudy did know that. But he usually joined Coach Parker at the mound. He had never gone out on his own before. And he wasn’t about to try it now.
He didn’t have to. Zero seemed to muster his strength. He struck out the next hitter, and the next one flied out to end the inning.
The score read Bunkers 4, Mudders 1.
Alfie Maples, leading off the top of the second inning for the Mudders, laced Alec Frost’s third pitch for a single over short. Rudy was on deck, swinging his bat, when Bus Mercer flied out.
Rudy walked to the plate, heart pounding. He tried to forget how he had tripped in front of the crowd. But Fuzzy’s mocking remark was still ringing in his ears. More than anything, he wanted to get a hit.
“C’mon, Rudy! C’mon, kid! Wallop that ball!”
The cries from the Mudders’ bench boosted him a little. Then Alec put two strikes by him, and he fanned at the third. Rudy walked back to the bench, dragging his feet in the dirt.
Zero belted out a single, advancing Alfie to second. But neither boy made it home because Barry McGee flied out.
Fortunately, the Bunkers didn’t add any more runs during their next raps. But neither did the Mudders. The bottom of the third inning started with the score still 4-1.
Rudy crouched down behind the plate and waited for Zero’s pitch. He was perspiring hard underneath all his catcher’s equipment. The upper pad of the catcher’s mask rubbed painfully on his sweaty forehead. He glanced over at the water jug and thought of how great it would feel to duck his head under a stream of cold water.
A movement on the mound snapped his attention back to the game. Zero’s pitch was rocketing at him! The Bunker batter swung hard and missed. Rudy moved to make the catch. Too late! He chased the ball as it rebounded off the backstop.
Catcalls and laughter came from the Bunkers’ bench.
“Caught napping, Calhoun?” Rudy heard Fuzzy McCormick’s voice loud and clear.
Rudy scowled. I just want this game to be over! he thought.
Luckily the Bunkers went down quickly.
Coach Parker gave his team a quick pep talk that must have worked. The first two batters, Nicky and Alfie, got on base. As Bus strode to the plate, Rudy stood up to move to the on-deck circle.
“Rudy,” Coach Parker called, “I’m subbing Chess in for you. Your mind just doesn’t seem to be on the game today.”
Rudy returned to his place on the bench. I blew it again. It’s all because of that stupid catcher’s mask! he thought with despair. I’d be a much better player if it wasn’t for that lousy piece of equipment.
3
The game ended with the Mudders losing to the Bunkers 4-1. As usual, Rudy was one of the last ones to leave the bench area. He had to help Chess pack up the catcher’s equipment and carry it to the coach’s car. After it was loaded in, Rudy gave the bag a punch.
“Stupid stuff,” he muttered under his breath. Chess gave him a funny look but didn’t say anything. Moments later, Rudy was on his bike, pedaling for home.
When he rounded the corner of his street, he had to brake quickly to keep from smashing into a parked car. In fact, there were a lot of parked cars lining both sides of the road.
What’s going on? Rudy wondered. He swung off his bike and walked with it down the street. He stopped in front of the Turn-balls’ house and stared.
The lawn was covered with stuff: chairs, tables, boxes of books and magazines, lamps, pictures, even a toaster and a telephone. People were inspecting items, and Rudy saw a few of them carry their choices to a table set up to one side. Behind the table sat Mrs. Turnball. The people handed her money, then walked away with their purchases.
Rudy had seen yard sales before, but
He leaned his bike against a tree and joined the other people milling around the lawn. He poked into a few of the book boxes but didn’t see anything he wanted to read. He picked up a funny-looking lamp, but the cord at the end was frayed and he wasn’t sure his mom or dad would know how to fix it. He wasn’t interested in ashtrays or old plates and glasses. In fact, he didn’t see anything he really liked. He turned to leave.
Just then, he spotted something sticking out of a box that was jammed under a table. He tugged the box free and pulled the thing out.
It was a catcher’s mask — and though it looked like an older model, it was in good condition. Rudy could tell at a glance that it was smaller than the one he used during the Mudders’ games. He slipped it over his head. Even without the protective helmet he’d have to wear underneath it, he knew it fit perfectly.
“Hello, Rudy. Find something you like?” Rudy looked up to see Mr. Turnball standing beside him. Rudy pulled off the mask.
“Sure did. How much does it cost?” Rudy replied.
Mr. Turnball took the mask from him. “Well, now, let’s see.” He frowned. “Hmm, I don’t remember this. Wonder where it came from.”
He examined it a little longer, then handed it back to Rudy. “Looks like someone marked his initials on it. Y.B. Can’t say as I know anyone with those initials. Tell you what: you can have it for two dollars.”
He reached into a box beside him, rummaged around for a moment, then came out with a book. Play Ball! the cover read. He glanced around and lowered his voice. “I’ll throw this old book in, too. Mrs. Turnball says anything that doesn’t get sold today gets hauled to the dump. I’d just as soon know that my old books are being read rather than sitting at the bottom of a trash heap.”
Rudy grinned and thanked Mr. Turnball. He hurried home, emptied out his piggy bank, and pulled out a five-dollar bill. He returned to the Turnballs’ as fast as he could. Mr. Turnball gave him three dollars in change, and Rudy left, the proud owner of a new catcher’s mask and a book.
4
That night after dinner, Rudy lay on the living room floor and looked through his new book. It was filled with pictures of famous baseball players and lots of advice about how to play different positions. Rudy turned to the section on catching.
The catcher is one of the most important players in the game, the book said. He is the only member of the team who faces the field. Therefore, he’s the only one who can see what’s going on at every position. A smart catcher can help his team a lot by keeping them informed of what he sees.
Rudy glanced at the catcher’s mask beside him. Well, I’ll be able to see a lot more out there now that I have a mask that fits! he said to himself.
He turned the page. There was a big black-and-white photo of a catcher diving for a pop-up. In the corner was the player’s signature. Rudy recognized the name right away.
Lawrence “Yogi” Berra gives everything he’s got to make the play, the words beneath the photo read.
Lawrence Peter Berra was born on April 12, 1925. He got his nickname, “Yogi,” when a friend who had seen a movie of a Hindu practicing yoga told him that’s what he looked like.
Yogi — now that’s a name a guy isn’t likely to forget, Rudy thought with a smile. And he was a catcher, just like me.
He continued reading about the famous catcher. He learned that Yogi Berra had been on ten World Series Championship teams. He had played for almost twenty years, from 1946 to 1965, and was named Most Valuable Player three times. After he retired as a player, he managed two New York major league teams. Rudy wasn’t at all surprised to learn that Yogi Berra had been elected to the Baseball Hall of Fame.
He stared at the famous catcher’s picture and signature. Suddenly something Mr. Turnball had said that afternoon flashed in his mind: “Someone marked his initials on it. Y.B.”
Rudy snatched up the mask. Sure enough, there were the initials, plain as day!
Rudy looked at the initials, then at the signature in the book, and back again. His heart started pounding. To his eye, the Y and the B on the mask looked exactly the same as the Y and the B on the photograph!
Yogi Berra signed this catcher’s mask! he thought excitedly. I bet it’s really valuable!
Then another thought struck him. If it was valuable, would he have to give it back to Mr. Turnball? After all, he had paid Mr. Turnball only two dollars for it. He might not want Rudy to have it if it was worth a lot of money.
He knew he should tell Mr. Turnball what he’d found out about the initials. But he didn’t want to. He didn’t care if the mask might be worth a lot of money, although that was exciting. No, Rudy wanted to keep it because he was sure he’d be the best catcher in the league if he played with a Hall-of-Famer’s mask.
He slipped the mask over his face.
I’ll just play one game with it, Rudy thought, staring at the photo of Yogi Berra. After all, Mr. Turnball couldn’t remember where the mask came from. And he saw the initials himself, so it’s not like I’m hiding anything from him.
With that, he pushed away his guilty thoughts and started to read the book again.
5
When Rudy woke up the next morning, the first thing he saw was the catcher’s mask on his nightstand. The second thing he saw was the baseball book. Before he had turned out his light the night before, he had read the chapter on catching twice.
Rudy pushed the book aside and picked up the mask. The book had been interesting to read. But he already knew that a catcher had to be strong enough to throw a runner out at second. And that he had to have good balance and quick reflexes to chase after bunts, field pop fouls, and snap up wild pitches. And that the catcher had to be brave, especially when a runner was coming in full steam ahead from third.
No, it wasn’t reading a book about catching that was going to make him a better player. It was the mask. After all, it had belonged to one of the best catchers in the game, hadn’t it? He couldn’t wait to try it out.
That afternoon, he got his wish. Sparrow Fisher called to say that Coach Parker wanted to hold a practice.
“We’re playing the Bearcats on Thursday. He thinks we need to bone up a little before then,” Sparrow said. Although he didn’t say it, Rudy felt sure that Sparrow thought Rudy needed the extra practice more than anyone.
Well, we’ll see about that, Rudy thought.
“You’re here bright and early,” said Nicky Chong as Rudy rode up a few hours later. “Lately, you’ve been the last one at the field.”
Rudy just grinned and asked Nicky to help him on with his catcher’s equipment. When Nicky tried to hand him the Mudders’ catcher’s mask, Rudy shook his head.
“I’ve got my own now,” he said, proudly holding up the Y.B. mask.
Nicky examined it, then shrugged. “Looks kind of old and scruffy,” he said. “But as long as you can catch with it, who cares?”
“Oh, you can bet on that!” Rudy replied positively. He was going to tell Nicky about the initials but suddenly decided not to. For now, he wanted to keep it a secret that he was playing with a mask that had once belonged to a Hall-of-Famer.
Okay, Yogi, let’s show them what we can do, he thought as he slid the mask into place.
Rudy hurried behind the plate. Sparrow Fisher was on the mound for the Mudders.
“Okay, fellas,” Coach Parker called, “let’s do a few quick drills, then we’ll have a little infield practice. Once around the horn to begin.”
Sparrow started the drill by hurling the ball to Rudy. Rudy threw the ball to first base. Turtleneck Jones sent it rocketing to Nicky at second. Nicky hurled it to T.V. Adams at third, who relayed it back to Rudy.
“All right! Good throws, guys!” Rudy called. He had never felt better during a warm-up. He was raring to start the scrimmage.
“Okay, Mudders, no mistakes, no mistakes!”
Barry McGee came to the plate. “Sheesh, you’re a real loudmouth today, Rudy,” he said. “What’s come over you?”
