Despite losing a potential player to an unsolved crime and finding a dead body outside fo their stadium, The Cedar Falls HooseCows have begun their season under the guidance of Manager Taylor Nickles. The team set the tone in Rochester, MN, when Hank James’s hitting took off (and he accidentally critically injured an organist with a foul ball). The HooseCows survived a series with the brutish, backwoods Mason City Ugly Birds. Pitcher Mickey Danz continues to obsess about the spectral children he sees at games, and sometimes Hank James sees them, too.
Back in This Favored Land
The first home game of the HooseCows was fortunate enough to end up with the perfect situation. Their best hitter, and growing media sensation, Hank “Tombstone” James was at the plate. The fans were on their feet, because “Tombstone” had already hit two homers in three previous at-bats. There weren’t more than two thousand of them present at the game, but they were trying to make up for it by being very loud. On the mound for the Mankato Man-Pigs was Allan Carpenter, and he hadn’t blown a save all year.
Things had not started out that poetically. The HooseCows had not dressed until the last possible second because the locker room toilet was busted. Therefore, they had to go out and walk past the few fans that had trickled in early to do their business. A couple of the guys with big league experience asked Taylor where their food was, and the coach just nodded at an old loaf of bread, some peanut butter, and some jelly sitting on a card table. A few teased Hank about a local TV station that was going to interview him, or commented on the black and white picture of a tombstone on his locker.
“It really says your name?” Rick Newton asked him.
“That’s even my birthday,” Hank replied. “I just found it when I was out taking my pictures.”
Rick shook his head and patted the ballplayer on the back.
“You’re never going to shake that nickname like this. You know that, right?”
When the HooseCows made it up to the dugout for their big introductions, the pregame entertainment was still tearing down their make-shift stage in the outfield. It was a 50s and 60s cover band who did church shows on Sundays and commercial jingles other times, to make ends meet. They were awful, but everyone in town had heard of them. Their equipment, and the boards they had used as a stage, was tearing chunks out of the outfield grass. Taylor Nickles swore loudly and kicked the cement behind the players’ bench. He wasn’t responsible for anything but the baseball team, and he hated what was being done to his field.
The most annoying surprise of the opening ceremony was the introduction of Babe Moo-th, the HooseCows mascot. Someone (again, definitely not Taylor Nickles) had hired a theater major from the college to put on a giant cow outfit. Somehow, this person did not realize mascots were supposed to be family friendly, and instead flexed and gestured like a professional wrestler. Babe Moo-th pointed at fans who taunted him and acted like he was going to put them in a headlock and smash their face in. Once, Hank caught the mascot nearly mimicking slitting a throat before he thought better of it and mimed blowing a giant, sarcastic kiss at the chubby high school boy in front of him.
Fortunately, after all the hoopla and in spite of the smaller venue, the game of baseball was still the same as it always was. After six innings, the Hoosecows led four runs to one. Three of these runs came from Hank, in the form of a 1 and then 2 run home run. Later, on little rest, Bunk Edwards came into the game for the HooseCows and coughed up a 4 runs in two innings. There wasn’t much Coach Nickles could do about that. Since T.S. Wilson had completely disappeared after their first game, the HooseCows didn’t have much depth in their bullpen. The game wore on and then it was the ninth inning, and the HooseCows were still down by one. The first two outs came fast, and then it was Hank’s turn.
Hank’s body was alive with nerves he had missed after baseball had drummed him out for using drugs he had never in his life touched. He kept his chin up and strong and he glances out from under his helmet. All of his teammates were on their feet, leaning on the rail. Some saw his gaze and clapped for him, nodding to let him know they were watching and waiting. The only one who did not stand was Mickey Danz, who stayed on the bench and looked straight at the ground. Hank wasn’t surprised; after Mickey got into all that trouble in Manly, Taylor Nickles had been all over him. Hank wondered how much spirit the young pitcher had left.
Hank stepped in the batter’s box and tapped his bat on the outer corner of the plate. He looked up to see the Man-Pigs in their places. The infielders were intent, pounding their gloves and shifting their weight in readiness. The pitcher, Alan Carpenter, looked tall and calm on the mound. He had a beard that must have held in every degree of the summer heat, even into the night and late in the game. His shoulders slumped unevenly. For a moment, Hank let his ego get the better of him and he wondered if the pitcher had already given up. Then, Hank pushed that thought from his mind. There was something alive in Alan’s eyes. He searched for what it could be, and decided the relief pitcher looked wise beyond his years.
Hank got into his stance and waited. Carpenter pivoted and extended his front leg. Then, from behind him, the umpire called out “strike one” and the crowd became quieter. The air seemed thicker, and it seemed to smell worse, like the outdoor air had been replaced with smoky factory filth. Hank stepped out of the batter’s box and tried not to panic.
Hank had not seen the ball, and this was not an exaggeration. His first reaction had been that the pitcher had tried some lame trick move to deke him out, but then the umpire had called the strike. He kept his head up and his jaw clenched, but when he looked in the eyes of the two men who had faced Carpenter before him, he knew they had the same problem.
On the next pitch, he simply swung his bat where he thought the ball should be and let go with everything he had. Nothing. He heard the umpire call “strike two” and the crowd started clapping, but this time to show they still supported the team. Even the crowd knew Hank was about to strike out. He looked to the dugout, and he could see it in everyone’s eyes.
Without any other ideas, Hank took the last pitch and got called out, looking, on strikes. He hadn’t seen anything, not even a flash of white. The fans were hurrying to get their stuff together, and half of the HooseCows were back in the locker room. Taylor Nickles just shook his head slowly, because he didn’t care if Hank saw how ashamed he was.
As Hank left the field, he saw Alan Carpenter leaving the mound. The thin pitcher had one hand cupped over his face like he was a murderer hiding from television cameras. Watching him leave, Hank remembered his first thought about Alan’s eyes had not been that they were wise. He had thought the reliever was about to cry.
(NEXT)
