Huge Commotion In Mudville

"But you must," Casey screamed. "It happens. Somewhere, someday, somebody's even gonna beat John L. Sullivan. It happens."

"You cheated us all!" Flossie cried.

Before he could go on, Casey felt a tap on his shoulder. All the Lynn players were filing past, leaving the Grounds, and there was Landis, the pitcher. "Mr. Casey, no matter what happened, I just want you to know it was an honor facing you," he said. "And I want you to know that that last pitch was the best one I ever hurled in all my life. I don't even know how I did it."

"It was sure some pitch," Casey said. "If you can throw that pitch again, you can strike out King Kelly hisself."

Only Landis never did throw that pitch again. He tried. He tried holding the ball this way and that, releasing it here and there, firing it fast and slow. But all he did was give himself a sore arm and hurry himself into the judiciary. Landis didn't realize he'd mixed his sweat with his mustache wax and thrown the first spitball. Because he didn't know that, he would never do it again, and it was 14 more years before somebody invented the spitball.

Casey yanked Landis over to Flossie. "Tell her, tell her," he screamed at Landis.

"Well, ma'am" said Landis, "like I just said, that was the best pitch I ever threw."

"You hear that, Flossie?" said Casey. "He just struck me out. He was just better'n me."

He chased after her some more, but she wasn't convinced. "I don't believe you," she said. "I even saw you talking to Drinkwater just before you went to the bat."

"That was because I told him I left his $500 and the silk dress with Phoebe at the Parker House, because you were right and I don't want nothing to do with his deal." He grabbed Flossie by her cheeks and held her face before his. "You hear me, Flossie? I love you! I love you!"