The Celebrated No-Hit Inning - Frederik Pohl(1), ebook, Temp
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The Celebrated No-Hit Inning
FrederikPohl
This is A TRUE STORY, you have to remember. You have
tokeep that firmly in mind because, frankly, in some
placesit may not sound like a true story. Besides, it's a
truestory about baseball players, and maybe the only one
thereis. So you have to treat it with respect.
You know Boley, no doubt. It's pretty hard not to know
Boley, if you know anything at all about the National
Game.He's the one, for instance, who raised such a
screamwhen the sportswriters voted him Rookie of the
Year."I never was a rookie," he bellowedinto three mil-
liontelevision screens at the dinner. He's the one who
rippedup his contract when his manager called him, "The
hittin'estpitcher I ever see." Boley wouldn't stand for
that. "Four-eighteen against the best pitchers in the
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 league," he yelled, as the pieces of the contract went out
thewindow. "Fogarty, I am the hittin'est hitter you ever
see!"
He's the one they all said reminded them so much of
Dizzy Dean at first. But did Diz win thirty-one games in
hisfirst year? Boley did; he'll tell you so himself. But
politely, and without bellowing. . . .
Somebody explained to Boley that even a truly great
Hall-of-Fame pitcher really ought to show up for spring
training. So, in his second year, he did. But he wasn't con-
vincedthat he needed the training, so he didn't bother
muchabout appearing on the field.
Manager Fogarty did some extensive swearing about
that, but he did all of his swearing to his pitching coaches
andnot to Mr. Boleslaw. There had been six ripped-up
contractsalready that year, when Boley's feelings got
hurtabout something, and the front office were very in-
sistentthat there shouldn't be any more.
There wasn't much the poor pitching coaches could do,
ofcourse. They tried pleading with Boley. All he did was
grinand ruffle their hair and say, "Don't get all in an
uproar." He could ruffle their hair pretty easily, sincehe
stoodsix inches taller than the tallest of them.
"Boley," said Pitching Coach Magill to him desper-
ately, "you are going to get me into trouble with the
manager. I need this job. We just had another little boy
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 atour house, and they cost money to feed. Won't you
pleasedo me a favor and come down to the field, just for
alittle while?"
Boley had a kind of a soft heart. "Why, if that will
makeso much difference to you. Coach, I'll do it. But I
don'tfeel much like pitching. We have gottwelve exhibi-
tiongames lined up with the Orioles on the way north,
andif I pitch six of those that ought to be all the warm-up
I need."
"Three innings?"Magill haggled. "You know I wouldn't
askyou if it wasn't important. The thing is, the owner's
uncleis watching today."
Boley pursed his lips. He shrugged."One inning."
"Bless you, Boley!" cried the coach. "One inning it is!"
Andy Andalusia was catching for the regulars when
Boley turned up on the field. He turned white as a sheet.
"Not the fast ball, Boley! Please, Boley," he begged. "I
onlybeen catching a week and I have not hardened up
yet."
Boleslaw turned the rosin bag around in his hands and
lookedaround the field. There was action going on at all
sixdiamonds, but the spectators, including the owner's
uncle, were watching the regulars.
"I tell you what I'll do," said Boley thoughtfully. "Let's
see. For the first man, I pitch only curves. For the second
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 man, the screwball. And for the third man let's see. Yes.
For the third man, I pitch the sinker."
"Fine!" cried the catcher gratefully, and trotted back
tohome plate.
"He's a very spirited player," the owner's uncle com-
mentedto Manager Fogarty.
"That he is," said Fogarty, remembering how the pieces
ofthe fifth contract had felt as they hit him on the side
ofthe head.
"He must be a morale problem for you, though. Doesn't
heupset the discipline of the rest of the team?"
Fogarty looked at him, but he only said.) "Hewin thirty-
onegames for us last year. If he had lost thirty-one he
wouldhave upset us a lot more."
The owner's uncle nodded, but there was a look in his
eyeall the same. He watched without saying anything
more, while Boley struck out the first man with three
sizzlingcurves, right on schedule, and then turned around
andyelled something at the outfield.
"That crazyBy heaven," shouted the manager, "he's
chasingthem back into the dugout. I told that"
The owner's uncle clutched at Manager Fogarty as he
wasgetting up to head for the field. "Wait a minute.
What's Boleslaw doing?"
"Don't you see? He's chasing the outfield off the field.
He wants to face the next two men without any outfield!
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 That's Satchell Paige's old trick, only he never did it
exceptin exhibitions where who cares? But that Boley"
"This is only an exhibition, isn't it?" remarked the
owner'suncle mildly.
Fogarty looked longingly at the field, looked back at
theowner's uncle, and shrugged.
"All right."He sat down, remembering that it was the
owner'suncle whose sprawling factories had made the
familymoney that bought the owner his team. "Go
ahead!" he bawled at the right fielder, who was hesitating
halfwayto the dugout.
Boley nodded from the mound. When the outfielders
wereall out of the way he set himself and went into his
windup. Boleslaw's windup was a beautiful thing to all
whochanced to behold it unless they happened to root
foranother team. The pitch was more beautiful still.
"I got it, I got it!"Andalusia cried from behind the
plate, waving the ball in his mitt. He returned it to the
pitchertriumphantly, as though he could hardly believe he
hadcaught the Boleslaw screwball after only the first
weekof spring training.
He caught the second pitch, too. But the third was
unpredictablylow and outside.Andalusia dived for it in
vain.
"Ball one!" cried the umpire. The catcher scrambled
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