The Search for Shoeless Joe

The home team was composed of the local Waycross semi-pro team augmented by the former Giants pitcher/ringer. The players were all in their mid-to-late twenties except for the right-fielder/manager who looked old enough to be the father of some of the players. He was clearly in his mid-40’s, with a big belly, and could merely jog to his right-field position. The game began and the All-Stars were retired with three quick outs in the top of the first inning. The All-Stars ran on the field for the bottom half of the inning. They were considerably younger and quicker than the Waycross players, all of them being in their very early 20’s. Lefty Brown set down the first three Waycross batters, all on strikeouts. “Wow, he throws hard,” remarked Tim. “He’s also got a great curve, which has a lot of late break to it,” added Billy. The All-Stars also failed to score in the second inning, although they managed their first hit. The leadoff hitter for Waycross in the bottom half of the inning was the paunchy right-fielder. On the first pitch, he hit a “blue darter” between the first and second basemen which literally seemed to hiss as it went into the outfield. “Holy shit,” was all that Tim could muster. But Lefty retired the next three hitters in order. The third inning was uneventful. However, in the fourth inning, the All-Stars bunched together three singles to push over a run. In the bottom of the fourth, the Waycross right-fielder strode to the plate again. This time he took two pitches, then rocketed the next pitch against the left-center field fence, the wood crackling against the force of the attacking baseball. The hitter jogged into second base, but didn’t score. Tim and Billy just stared at each other. “Who is this guy?” they thought. Again, there were no runs scored over the next couple of innings. The Waycross semi-pros were amazingly good fielders and several All-Star rallies were snuffed out by outstanding fielding plays. On the other hand, Lefty Brown completely stifled the Waycross hitters. He allowed a couple of walks, but they were eradicated by double plays. That is, Lefty was in command of everybody except that paunchy right-fielder. He came to the plate again in the seventh inning, and this time launched a missile against the right-center field fence, the fence literally shaking with the impact of the blow. Dad, Tim, and Billy couldn’t believe what they were seeing. In the top of the eighth inning, the All-Stars rallied again and loaded the bases with two outs. The next All-Star hitter lined a clean single to right-center field. The right fielder jogged over, caught the ball after a bounce, and then launched a powerful throw to home. The ball traveled in the air, straight on a line, and exploded into the catcher’s mitt, who tagged out the runner trying to score from second base. Once again, Tim and Billy were beside themselves. “I haven’t seen a throw like that all season in the majors,” remarked Tim. But the lead runner had scored, so the All-Stars were up 2-0. That’s the way it remained going into the bottom of the ninth. Lefty Brown had pitched a magnificent game; he had allowed only those three hits to the burly right-fielder and zero runs. He struck out the first batter in the ninth with a blazing fast ball, but the next hitter grounded a single over second base. A little rattled, Lefty walked the next man on a pitch just off the plate. Then he regained his composure and tossed another strikeout, this time on a sweeping curveball. But who should be marching to the plate but the slugging right-fielder, swinging his big black bat back and forth in a menacing arc. The All-Stars manager called time and strode to the mound to talk to Lefty. “I want you to walk this guy,” he said. “Then we’ll get the next batter and win this game.” Lefty nodded, but as he rubbed up the ball, he considered: “I saw those two scouts from the Athletics sitting there beyond our dugout; I can’t let them think I am afraid to pitch to this old man.” Meanwhile, the All-Star outfielders, not knowing if Lefty was going to walk him or not, backed up nearly to the fences. The center-fielder, who already had to chase down two 425-foot drives, backed up to the very edge of the pasture out in center field. Lefty Brown toed the mound, determined to deliver his best high hard one and get this old guy to pop it up. The right-fielder dug in his left-foot and gently waggled his bat back and forth. The pitch whizzed in, the big black bat snapped around, and there was a sound like a rifle shot. The ball took off directly over Lefty’s head and just started rising and rising, like a well-struck two-wood in golf. The center-fielder could just look up in awe as the ball rocketed over his head and into the pasture. The ball cut a swath through the thick weeds, startling a jackrabbit who bounded into the air, and scattering a wild turkey and her offspring, only to end up at the feet of a very bewildered cow. As the husky right-fielder jauntily walked around the bases, scoring the winning run, Tim couldn’t contain himself and leapt up from his seat, shouting “Who is that guy?” The bemused locals just looked at him, until finally an old-timer seated two rows in front turned and calmly said, “Why, young feller, that’s Shoeless Joe Jackson. He’s the best there ever was!”