Mickey Danz Has A Cannon

Mickey Danz Has A Cannon

The good news was that, in the fifth inning, Mickey Danz had 15 strikeouts. This was the perfect number of strikeouts; one for each out he needed to get. The bad news was that the HooseCows were down 4-3. When he wasn’t fanning batters, Mickey had given up three walks and seven hits, including one two-run homer. He didn’t seem worried about his, or the score. He barely glanced at his infield when runners got on base.

Hank James was having trouble concentrating on his game, and had ended up with a strikeout and a short dribbler to shortstop because of it. His fielding was at least acceptable, but most of his heart was worrying about the strange organist who was now in Rochester’s excellent hospital facilities, barely clinging to life. His foul ball had hit the man squarely in the head and sent him into a coma. It wasn’t the first time Hank had hurt a fan with a foul ball; this was just part of the game. It was the first time that fan could die because of such an injury. The Rochester fans were well aware of what had happened to their organist, and the booing and catcalling whenever Hank did anything on the field was deafening, for such a small crowd.

Danz’s rhythm had slowed down, and Hank was anxious for him to pick up the speed so they could get out of the game. He was starting to worry the Rochester fans might actually storm the field with torches. It wasn’t helping Hank’s sense of well-being that the new organist was clearly not as talented as the organist Hank had put in the hospital. He probably wouldn’t be around for very long. Hank couldn’t recognize any of the songs, and everything he played sounded off-key.

Mickey Danz let loose a slider that had the Rochester Radiation batter swinging out of his shoes. He walked to the back of the mound and, very carefully, pawed at the dirt on the back of the mound. He started to glance around the infield now, as the second batter of the inning worked his way to the plate. Hank settled into position by his base, wincing as the organist started off on a series of awkward, syncopated flights from high to low and back again. It sounded off enough to almost make him dizzy.

The first two pitches missed the plate, and then Mickey was able to let loose a fastball with some heat on it to bring the count to 2-1. Danz caught the return throw from the catcher and then stepped off the mound. He shouted something at the all of the infielders; most of him waved him off with a look on their face somewhere between confusion and genuine concern. Danz was emphatic in his gesturing, and when it was finally Hank’s turn, Hank was definitely curious to hear what he had to say.

“Keep an eye on the kids, man,” Danz shouted to Hank James. He used his glove to block his lips from the crowd.

“What kids?” Hank asked.

Danz shrugged, like this might be the dumbest question he had ever been asked. He used his gloved hand and made short, stabbing points into the stands. There, there, there, there, and there. Danz looked into Hank’s eyes, and unlike the night Hank caught him in the stranger’s barn, Danz’s eyes were alive and aware.

“Just look for ‘em. They’re there. With the sunken eyes.”

Hank nodded slowly, trying to patronize the anxious pitcher without looking obvioux. Mickey Danz nodded and went back to the dugout. The organ music got very loud. Danz reared back and got lucky, sneaking a fastball down the middle of the strike zone for strike two. He ended up walking that batter, then striking out the next two to get out of the inning.

Danz got pulled at the end of the sixth, but he left with a perfect 18 strike outs. Hank James tried to ignore whatever it was that Danz had been trying to tell him about, when they were on the field. When Hank was standing at the top of the steps, with nowhere else to go in the eighth inning, Danz came up to him and patted him on the back.

“I know that sounded weird, but the kids always show up when I pitch and they really freak me out. I know not everyone sees them, too. But I see them. Today they wanted only strike outs, and I just can’t argue anymore. If the kids want strikeouts, I got no choice. Right?” Here Danz slapped Hank on the ass and walked away.

The batter reached on a single and Hank moved to the batter’s box. He went to the warm-up circle and went into his breathing and visualization exercises, forcing the crazed pitcher’s words out of his mind. He twisted from side to side and took some warm up swings as the batter ahead of him struck out on five pitches. When he turned to walk to the batter’s box, Danz’s scary children were completely absent from his thoughts.

At least, they were until the organist pounded through the funeral march with furious intensity and he noticed a small child sitting just to the left of home plate. The child was wearing a big cap, pulled low over his eyes. Hank could see hair beneath the cap, in the back, but could not decide if he was looking at a male or female child. The child’s eyes were dark and hollow, and the child’s teeth seemed abnormally large. When everyone was booing loudly around the child, the child was simply nodding up and down. A cold chill almost had Hank wavering in his approach to the plate. The child smiled; or, at least, the child bared teeth at him.

With a deep breath, Hank settled in to bat.

And in two pitches, he blasted a two-run homer farther than he could remember ever hitting a ball in his life.

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