must," Casey screamed. "It happens. Somewhere, someday, somebody's even
gonna beat John L. Sullivan. It happens."
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.
Landis over to Flossie. "Tell her, tell her," he screamed at
ma'am" said Landis, "like I just said, that was the best pitch I ever
that, Flossie?" said Casey. "He just struck me out. He was just
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
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!"