Jimmy Baseball — Chapter 2
The legend of a Little League phenom
2.
When the National League’s opening day rolled in, so did we — looking to kick ass and light up the Phillies. Before the first pitch, Banta hashed out a brief pep talk. He spoke to us like young guys in a man’s game and not those coneheads who played cymbals with the blackboard erasers back in middle school.
“I want everybody to give it everything they’ve got. We’re a team. And after we win this league, we’re goin’ across town to beat the crap outta the American League champs. Who’s with me?” he asked.
The Astros burst from the dugout like a commando squad. All of us taking our positions in the field, with springs in our steps. Much bigger than a beige season opener, the Astros reached the border of something special and we all felt it. As a team, we shared the mission of this new trail, and together we’d forge through.
The first at-bat, Banta rolled the dice and passed Ducky a two-strike signal. The Duck read the sign and chipped a bunt that hugged the line. Ducky dragged the bat before he dropped it, raced up the base path, and reached safely without a throw.
While I waited for my charity strike, Ducky stole second and out came the rally caps. The Astros didn’t let up, gutting the Phillies for three runs in the first, and six more over the next five innings. Jimmy hit his first homer too — a three-run blast into the wall of pine trees behind left field. A nine to three final score, and our first win of the new season.
Small Ball jumped up and freaked out. After bagging the Phillies, we routed the Braves and pummeled the Pirates. The Astros posted three wins in our first three games and tied for first with the Cubs, who already knocked off the Cardinals. Good ole Steve Wheeler, the Cubs’ ace and best pitcher in our league, sprayed his silver bullets, locking down the big Cardinal bats.
Our next two games pushed us into the higher tide and choppy surf. Steve Wheeler pitching for the Cubs, then the fearsome Cardinals. Time to dig in and scratch that limestone.
Banta tugged Mike from the starting gate to save him for the Cardinals. They were a better team, with higher stakes. Steamed up, Mike wanted Steve Wheeler and the Cubs in a six-shooter draw and to prove he was top dog.
Brendan Logan, our number two pitcher, fired pellets and kept things tight. Jimmy managed a pair of hits himself, squeezing out a double and a late single that scored Eddie in the sixth. That’s all that crafty Wheeler would surrender, mowing us down with his arsenal. Our first loss of the season, four to one.
The Cardinals popped in, and we bounced back like a billfish fighting the line. Still pissed over the skipped start, Mike took the mound. Banta told him to be a badass gunslinger, he’d have to shakedown this lineup. The Astros needed to win this game, and Mike would have to step up.
The Cardinals decided to hold their ace for the Cubs. They didn’t buy into Astroworld, thinking we were some showboat headed for the rocks. By the second half, Banta’s fluke would be battling the Phillies for the last place in our league, according to the Cardinals know-it-all head coach.
Behind the plate, Jimmy called games like you wouldn’t believe. How in the world did this kid, who just got here, know every hitter in the league? Jimmy flashed the signals, and our pitchers pumped the gas. All base runners trying to steal were burned down by his doomsday arm, as well as the critters aiming to squeeze off bunt singles.
At the dish, Jimmy punished the Cardinals manager for his bunko strategy and remarks. Jimmy cranked two home runs, while the Cardinal skip rubbernecked the fumes. Mike washed down the bats, and after the first trip through the schedule, the Astros had four wins against one loss.
The Banta Machine missed Wheeler next time around and creamed the Cubs anyway. The Astros swept everyone else, and by the end of the first half, we hit the station atop the standings.
The Astros raided the Maple Valley Hornet, and Jelly’s midseason extra, aptly named Jelly’s Mendoza Line. The beat reporter drummed up Banta magic and the team’s title drive. No mention of my bunting and fielding, hoping I’d catch some female buzz in the halls.
Thanks to Banta, I had a league-wide rep as one of the best fielders and bunters in town. An opposing coach even pulled aside my folks to tell them I was one of the most improved players in the entire National League. Booyah!
Instead of revealing my laser climb to stardom and the Hall of Fame, Jelly launched a louder cannon shot. In his column, Jelly claimed Jimmy to be the best catcher in all of Maple Valley — a very big deal in our very small town.
‘Jimmy Fister throws out base runners with a powerful arm. The manner in which he calls a game and blocks the plate is top-notch. Scouting Jimmy Fister is like watching a pro in a Little League uniform.’
Jelly also sparked up Jimmy’s prowess at the plate. ‘Not only is the Astro catcher the best stopper, but he’s also one of the best contact and clutch hitters in both leagues, as well as a premier power hitter. All this, while taking his cuts with a wooden bat!’
Jelly’s spotlight on Jimmy blindsided every American League player, coach, and parent. The American League lived in and owned this debate every season, up until now.
Not only that, Jelly added more National League position players to the One Team, Best of Both League’s mix. Jelly also named our Mike and Steve Wheeler to the rotation, neck, and neck with the top two American League studs.
‘All four pitchers are terrific and ready for showtime — take your pick’, Jelly wrote. The National League was now on the map and open for business. Move over rovers, you’re not the only game in town!
Jelly’s feature was reprinted in the Maple Valley News, our town weekly. Jelly decided to keep things legit with Banta, leaving out the goodfella spirit, the curfew, and the boarding house arrangement.
Each one of us raved about our new catcher and cleanup hitter. Big deal he liked bluegrass, astronomy, and corny reruns over the tube. We never met anyone like him. Jimmy Fister crashed Maple Valley like a comet — silent, in the dark, and full of fire. Jimmy loved baseball so much, he even wore his Astro uniform in the sack, as if they were pajamas. Whoever heard of that?
Big whup when you stop to think about all these so-called quirks. By the second half of this magical season, we wouldn’t have traded Jimmy Fister for Johnny Bench or Coach Banta for Joe Torre.
Heading into the season’s backstretch, Banta kept the Astros locked up in the small ball machine. Even as we improved, you’d think he’d cool off and let us hack at the first pitch.
The other teams knew all about this doctrine, tempting our lineup with meatballs at the belt. And nobody swatted. None of us had the stones to challenge Banta’s game plan and face his wrath.
To Banta, this is where teams hit that third stage and zip the ozone. Keep the focus, grab that fourth out. When that scrubby in rightfield bobbles the ball, stretch that single into a double. If an opposing fielder throws to the wrong base, get moving.
Out in the field, you’re alive upstairs. If the ball is hit to me, where do I throw? If it’s a base hit, where do I position for the cut-off? If it’s not hit to me, what do I do?
I never had so much fun at anything, let alone baseball. Showing up at the field wasn’t all about winning or losing, and more about becoming a better ballplayer and teammate than the previous game.
Banta never dished out those breakfast of champion speeches either. Hokey-doe’s that preach team first, stats last, let’s whip the world, boys. He didn’t have to. Our coach had the sorcery to raise the volume without saying a word.
Whenever the Astros took the field, Banta had us breathing fire from the sun. Spreading out the competition with hustle, small ball, and the basics. We owed it to ourselves, our teammates, and the evening star to give this great game all we had.
Anytime a kid backfired, boy, did Banta let ’em have it. After a worm burner to first, I dropped the bat and stopped. The first baseman scooped her up and stamped the bag. No biggie. I had zero chance to beat it out, and the Astros enjoyed a nine-run lead. When I and my zinc cleats reached the dugout, Coach tore into both of us.
“What have I been tellin’ you guys all along? You run everything out,” Banta said. Steamed off his rocker, I thought Coach was gonna ram his foot in my ass, and punt me off the planet.