Characters in Blockade Billy

We got that back in the sixth, when Ben Vincent put one out. Then in the seventh, we’ve got a runner on second—I think it was Barbarino—with two outs and the new kid at the plate.

It was no fault of the kid’s; he hit in every game and tagged out Bill Skowron between home and third when the lug got caught in a rundown.

… that even before the cops showed up, because of what happened in the very first game of the season: Billy Anderson’s ankle. “The county sheriff found all three Blakelys in the barn,” Lombardazzi said. “Katsanis slashed their throats. Sheriff said it …

That brought up Bob Usher, and he hit into a double play just as sweet as you could ever want: ball game.

Business as usual. Bubba Phillips came up, lined out to Lathrop at first, and that was the fifth.

The latest victim was Cletus Boyer.

“I’m a fan of comedy.” “Then you must love looking at yourself in the mirror,” Critter Hayward said. “You’re a card,” Si says. “What I mean is the kid ain’t got no whiskers.” There never was an ad, of course.

“Billy,” I said, “groundskeeping ain’t your job. Your job is to put on the gear and catch Danny Dusen this afternoon.” “Danny Doo,” he said. “That’s right. Twenty and six last year, should have won the Cy Young, didn’t.

… Dandy Dave Sisler on the mound for Boston, and our new catcher is hardly settled into the batter’s box before Sisler chucks a fastball at his head. Would have knocked his fucking eyes out if it had connected, but he snaps his head back—didn’t duck or nothing—and then just cocks …

I asked. Joe sighed. Then he looked at the guy in the suit. “You tell him, Detective Lombardazzi,” he said. “I can’t bear to.” “Does he need to know?” Lombardazzi asked.

So Billy Anderson comes in to run for Teddy and Dick Gernert steps into the box, .425 slugging percentage or something like it.

Against the Reds, it was. There was a squeeze play put on. Don Hoak at the plate. Some big hulk—I think it was Ted Kluszewski—on third.

“His name isn’t Blakely,” Lombardazzi says. “It’s Eugene Katsanis.” “Katz-whatsis? Where’s Blakely, then?” “William Blakely’s dead. Has been for a month. His parents too.” I gaped at him.

If they had one. His backup was Frank Faraday. Not bad behind the plate, but a banjo hitter at best. Went about one sixty. No bulk, which put him at risk.

But the first pitch—to Frank Malzone—was a curve, and the kid caught it just fine. Not only that, though. It was a cunt’s hair outside and I never saw a catcher pull one back so fast, not even Yogi.

… for Ganzie Burgess, who converted from catcher to pitcher not long after the Korean War ended. The Ganzer was thirty-nine years old that season and only good for middle relief, but he was a knuckleballer, and as crafty as Satan, so no way was …

“Are you the manager?” he asked. “Mr. DiPunno?” “No,” I said, “I’m George Grantham. The kids call me Granny. I coach third base. I’m also the equipment manager.” Which was the truth; I did both jobs.

We lost the game, but it was a hell of a stop. Gus Triandos was the victim, I think. He ran headfirst into the kid’s knees and just lay there as stunned, three feet from home.

What Joe did was call the front office in Newark and say, “I need a guy who can catch Hank Masters’s fastball and Danny Doo’s curve without falling on his keister.

The crowd saw Harry Keene still chasing the ball while Dropo’s legging for second, and they understood it could be an inside-the-park job. The chanting started.

We had three scheduled with the White Sox, but the first one was a washout. The Doo’s old pal Hi Wenders was the umpire crew chief, and he gave me the news himself.

I was starting to think we had a real big leaguer on our hands, and wouldn’t be needing Hubie Rattner after all. Or anybody else. “You and Danny are getting pretty tight, I guess,” I says. “Tight,” he agrees, rubbing his temples.

” “He’ll find out how big a deal it is the first time Ike Delock throws one at his nose,” Joe said, and lit a cigarette. He took a drag and started hacking. “I got to quit these Luckies.

Some big hulk—I think it was Ted Kluszewski—on third. Hoak punches the ball right at Jerry Rugg, who was pitching for us that day. Big Klew breaks for the plate, all two hundred and seventy Polack pounds of him.

He started and blinked, like I’d popped a paper bag beside his ear. “Jessie and the kids are fine. But George . . . oh God. I can’t believe it. This is such a mess.”

… and only good for middle relief, but he was a knuckleballer, and as crafty as Satan, so no way was Joe DiPunno going to risk those old bones behind the plate. He said he’d put me back there first. I knew he was joking—I was just an old third-base …

We were in good shape during camp, which for the Titans was in Sarasota. Our starting catcher was Johnny Goodkind. Maybe you don’t remember him. If you do, it’s probably because of the way he ended up.

I did, too. When The Doo lost, he had to lay the blame on somebody else, like that bum Johnny Harrington or that busher bluesuit Hi Wenders.

Later on I saw the kid in Jersey Joe’s office, signing whatever needed to be signed. Kerwin McCaslin hung over him like a vulture over roadkill, pointing out all the right places.

Okay, top of the sixth. Over fifty years later and I still get a red ass when I think of it. Kinder’s up first and loops out to third, just like a pitcher should. Then comes Luis Aparicio, Little Louie. The Doo winds and fires.

Strikes out Malzone, and a quarter of the crowd’s on their feet. Strikes out Klaus, and half the crowd’s on their feet. Then comes Williams—old Teddy Ballgame.

The cry was when he got hit in the forehead by a Larry Doby line drive. The groan was when he fell on the pitcher’s mound like a tagged prizefighter.

I’m just waiting for DiPunno and Lopez to call the game.” “Okay,” I says. “Thanks.” I started away and he called after me.

They discussed it a little bit, and then The Doo gave an intentional pass to the next batter, Lou Berberet (see how it all comes back?). That brought up Bob Usher, and he hit into a double play just as sweet as you could ever want: ball game.

Kinder’s up first and loops out to third, just like a pitcher should. Then comes Luis Aparicio, Little Louie. The Doo winds and fires. Aparicio fouls it off high and lazy behind home plate, on the third base side of the screen.

All three runs were solo shots. Minnie Minoso hit the game winner off of Ganzie in the top of the ninth. The kid made the final out.

That scored one. So then he gets mad, loses his control, and walks the next two. Then Nellie Fox doubled down the line. After that The Doo got it back together, but by then it was too late; he was on the hook and stayed there.

Nosy Norton was playing center, and he never even turned around.

Pete Runnels spoiled it in the ninth—hit a double with one out. After that, the kid went out to the mound, and that time Danny didn’t wave him back.

… “Your boy tried to be a hero with the game on the line instead of stopping at third and giving Piersall a chance. He’d tell you the shit-streak in his skivvies was chocolate sauce if it’d get him off the hook for that. You know what happened …

But then Pinky Higgins comes storming in. He was managing the Red Sox that year, which was a thankless job; things only got worse for Pinky and for the Sox as the …

No one? You mean no one heard the radio broadcasts and tried calling Pop Blakely to say how great it was that his kid was tearing up the bigs?” “I imagine one or two might have tried,” Lombardazzi said.

” “Well, so what? Til I was five, I had an invisible friend named Sheriff Pete. Me and Sheriff Pete shot up a lot of mining towns together.” “Yeah, but Blakely ain’t five anymore. Unless he’s five up here.”

There was talk of him doing a Gillette ad. “That’s an ad I’d like to see,” Si Barbarino said. “I’m a fan of comedy.” “Then you must love looking at yourself in the mirror,” Critter Hayward said. “You’re a card,” Si says.

… around, women are goddam crying, men are yelling for Jersey Joe to yank The Doo and put in Stew Rankin—he was what people would call the closer today, although back then he was just known as a short-relief specialist. But Joe crossed his …

There was a squeeze play put on. Don Hoak at the plate. Some big hulk—I think it was Ted Kluszewski—on third. Hoak punches the ball right at Jerry Rugg, who was pitching for us that day.

“Yerrrr . . . OUT!” Mr. King, the fans went nuts. Walt Dropo did too. He was up and dancing around like a kid having an epileptic fit and trying to do the fucking Hully Gully at the same time.

“It’s Eugene Katsanis.” “Katz-whatsis? Where’s Blakely, then?” “William Blakely’s dead. Has been for a month. His parents too.”

… kid’s fault instead of just a bullshit pitch—and while Doo’s telling the kid he’s a lousy choker, Williams calls time. Hurt his knee a little sliding into the bag, which shouldn’t have surprised anyone; he could hit like nobody’s business, but he …