Bill and Jake were watching game six of the World Series on Bill’s large flat panel television. The Cubs were tied with the Yankees, three games each. The score was two-two and tension was high. The Cubs could win it here, the first time in one hundred and eight years.
The Yankee pitcher Hoffman had deliberately walked Chavez in the earlier innings. The closing pitcher, Weller, was now facing a dilemma in the 7th. He had controlled the first two power hitters well, striking them out but seemed to be concerned about Chavez, who was waiting for him at the plate.
As he should be, thought Bill with a smile and a memory of bruised ribs.
The crowd didn’t like the gamesmanship and was roaring its displeasure. They came to see a game, not to see one of their favorite hitters walked again. Weller was going to have to pitch to the guy, like it or not. He was a flame-thrower and had one of the highest fast ball speeds in the league.
Right up there with me, thought Bill.
Jake chimed in. “He’ll bring it high and inside first.”
Bill did not doubt his call. All strong batters were studied, and a pitching plan determined long before players stepped onto the field. That particular pitch had a good chance of succeeding against Chavez.
The pitch was high and inside and Chavez got a piece of it.
“Foul ball, strike one!” said the Umpire.
Chavez had moved back just slightly and got a little more of the next pitch, again high and inside. This time it was close and almost a line drive down the third base line before it curved inside the foul pole.
“Foul ball-strike two.”
Chavez had moved back enough so that a high and inside pitch wasn’t going to get past him, and Weller was smart enough to know if he hung it high and outside Chavez had a great chance of connecting.
Chavez smiled and lifted his chin toward the pitcher.
I know you, thought Chavez. You think you’re better than I am. I know you want to bring heat-because you think you can beat me.
“Heat-has to be heat this time,” said Bill.
“Makes sense,” said Jake. “Weller plans to show him who’s the boss. Being a squirrel will only make the other batters bolder.”
Weller took the signal from his catcher and threw a wicked fastball, slightly high, the radar gun showing one hundred miles an hour.
Chavez crushed it.
It bounced off the left wall, about two feet short from clearing it and going into the stands for a home run. The Yankees were able to stop him at third base.
“Man, that guy can run,” said Jake.
The next batter was able to hit the ball low and into center field, giving Chavez the run. Weller struck out the next man up.
Not much happened in the next inning and the score three-two. Now it was the top of the ninth with the Cubs at bat. Weller put the first batter down and then Chavez was back at the plate.
Weller tried high and inside and somehow Chavez got a single.
Weller retired the next batter and the Yankees were up and desperate to knock in two runs.
The Cubs shut them down and started a massive, decades due, celebration.
Bill used the remote to shut off the television. Both of them stared at the black screen for a few moments as the quiet sounds of the condo surrounded them.
“Well, I’ll be damned!” said Bill.
Jake shook his head and raised his beer bottle toward his friend before draining the last of the liquid. “The Cubs were due…after one hundred and eight years!”