Hester Pioneers versus Rabid City Wolverines
Henry sat by himself at the end of the last bench in the team locker room.
He'd made the right decision, returning to the Pioneers. He welcomed the routine of getting ready for a game – the soothing chorus of clinks and clanks, the rhythm of players donning their uniforms, the ebb and flow of chatter, and all the ridiculous banter that came with being part of a locker room
Henry turned his gaze to the ceiling and whispered, "If you're up there Sarah, I'm going to play this game for you too."
Fighting back his emotions, Henry unzipped the long, gray bag in front of him and pulled out the black Louisville Slugger that Albert had given him. This bat had been Albert's back when he played ball, and Henry felt honored that Albert wanted him to have it for the Championship game.
Henry held the bat in both hands, feeling the smoothness of the wood under his fingertips. He could hear the rest of the team finishing up, slamming their lockers shut.
The players started to circle around Coach Taylor, who was on the other side of the locker room.
Dale gave Henry a nod, and the two of them joined the other players.
Coach Taylor said, "Listen, this isn't going to be a picnic in the park. Giant Steel spared no expense putting together an impressive roster. Four of their nine starters came from professional teams. The other five played on elite leagues down south. This team was built to win championships, and they're not going to give you any respect out there. But we have something that no amount of money can buy. And I think you know what that is."
Henry knew.
And so did the other players, as they looked around at one another, pride gleaming in their eyes. They'd been through so much together, and those tough times had brought them closer. They were family.
Coach continued. "This team has been through a lot this year, and it's all been about color. Well, we proved that color doesn't matter in this locker room. Because a person's true color comes from inside." He clapped his palm against his chest over his heart, his expression overflowing with pride. "And because of that, we're stronger for it."
Henry nodded his understanding. They weren't just family. They were brothers.
Coach shouted, "We play for each other!"
Henry and the other players cheered in unison, a forest of fists shooting upward.
Coach gave a stoic look. "Now let's get out there and show those boys what it means to play against the Pioneers!"
Henry waited as the players began to file outside, their energized shadows flickering against the white walls as they exited the locker room.
Big Willy was about to duck under the door frame, when he turned around. "Henry, you heading out?"
Henry replied, "Yeah, I just need a minute."
"See you out there," Willy said, before passing through the door.
Henry walked over to his locker and opened the wire door. He reached inside and pulled out a slip of paper. It was Sarah's poem, "Fly, Robin, Fly." Henry read it over, and a warmth filled his heart. He was going to carry those words from Sarah into the game.
Henry returned the paper to his locker and swung the door until it clanked shut. He grabbed his bat, hustled out of the locker room, and marched down the long tunnel towards the daylight at the other end.
Moments later, Henry emerged from the tunnel into the dugout.
The other players were busy, checking their laces and putting on their gloves.
All the players had lined their bats in a neat row on the ground just outside the dugout's rectangular opening, and Henry placed his bat there as well. One black bat amid all the tan ones, and yet it fit so perfectly.
Coach Taylor looked on as the players hustled up the steps to start warming up.
Henry and Coach Taylor exchanged tentative looks.
"You think we have a chance?" Henry asked, walking over.
"Oh, we have a chance alright," Coach said with a nod and a grin. "But not unless you get out there."
Henry smiled and stepped out of the dugout, squinting under the bright afternoon sun.
The stadium brimmed with people, mostly men, wearing dark suits and straw hats, their voices loud and rowdy.
He couldn't believe he was here!
Forbes Field!
Henry felt the thrill running across his shoulders. It had been his childhood dream to play here, and now, he was a Pioneer, competing for the Midwestern Steel Mill League Championship.
As Henry took in the scene, nearby fans gave him a warm ovation. He looked back and waved in appreciation.
At thirty thousand seats, Forbes Field was huge compared to Union Steel Ballpark.
Henry scanned the faces in the stands along the first base line. In the first box seat, there was Frank Bell with Linda and Richard. In the next box, Albert sat with Old Man Charles, Nella, and a white couple with a young boy.
The rumor was true!
Frank had bought out the box seats along the first base line and made them available to blacks and whites alike.
In the outfield, drums rolled, trumpets shouted, and tubas blared with pride, as the Bellevue High School marching band played a snappy version of "Home, Sweet, Home."
This was going to be a huge spectacle. Dozens of reporters with typewriters occupied a row of seats along the first and third base lines.
Jake walked over and gave Henry a brisk clap on the shoulder. "This game's going to get national coverage. I even heard that President Wilson's interested in the outcome. We've sure come a long way."
Henry nodded. "We sure have."
The Cowboy smiled. "Henry, the Pioneers couldn't have gotten this far without you."
"I don't know about that."
"I mean it," Jake said, his tone serious. "I know I didn't treat you very well at the start, and I'm sorry about that."
"It's all in the past," Henry said.
Jake gave a nod and then a sly look. "There's one more thing I want you to know."
"What's that?" Henry asked.
"When this is all over," Jake said with a grin. "I'm taking you out for the best steak dinner in Hester."
"It's a date," Henry joked.
The two men shared a soft laugh and shook hands.
Then Jake's expression turned serious. "Now, let's go kick some ass!"
Henry nodded again, smiling in agreement.
The tuxedoed announcer shuffled along the first base line and called into his gold megaphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, please rise and remove your hats for the singing of the national anthem."
The band started to play as three men in Army, Navy, and Marines dress uniforms sang.
"O say can you see, by the dawn's early light ..."
Along the first base line, Henry was lined up with the rest of the Pioneers, ball caps held against their chests. He sang the lyrics, and the butterflies grew restless in his stomach. As the anthem continued, Henry felt the daggers from their eyes, and he looked over at the Wolverines.
They were staring at him, their expressions dark with anger.
The music swelled, as spectators started to clap and hoot.
"O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!"
The stadium erupted in a thunderous roar.
The head umpire borrowed the megaphone from the announcer and shouted into it.
"PLAY BALL!"
The Wolverines batted first even though they had entered the playoffs with a perfect regular season record. By all rights, they should've gotten the last at bat.
Henry wasn't complaining though.
Two days earlier, the Wolverines coach, Stanley Krause had shot his mouth off to a group of reporters. "Those so-called Pioneers with those two monkeys don't stand a chance against my thoroughbreds. Tell you what, I'm so sure they can't scrape up enough runs to beat us, I'll give them home field advantage in the Championship."
Those same reporters took that story to Coach Taylor, and he replied with a message of his own. "On behalf of the Pioneers, I accept your gracious offer!"
And now, as the Pioneers took their positions on the field, several of the Wolverines players inside the dugout started to make chimpanzee sounds.
Henry and the other guys ignored the Wolverine's jeers. They had come too far to let those clowns distract them.
The first three innings turned into a pitching duel between Jake and Hunter Malone. Batters on both teams fell in order like dominoes.
At first, the Wolverines seemed content with hurling their racial slurs at Henry ... and only at Henry.
In the fourth inning, the Wolverines' bats finally came to life. With two runners on second and third, shortstop, Teddy McFarley, hit a homer.
That put the score at Wolverines – three, Pioneers – zero.
In the bottom of the fifth, Henry hit a deep fly ball that was heading over the fence, 452 feet away, but center fielder, Doug Johnson, made a spectacular jump-catch to steal the home run away from him.
If Henry had scored, that might have shifted the momentum in the game. Judging from the commotion in the Wolverines dugout, it was a pretty big deal. That close call seemed to trigger something in the opposing players.
In the sixth inning, the Wolverines started to target Henry, delivering blows to his head and body every time they got within striking distance.
To make matters worse, the officials had decided to turn the other cheek. Nothing was being called today.
It wasn't until the seventh inning that Big Willy hit a home run, and nobody dared to touch him as he trotted around the bases. Dale followed that up by knocking a double that scored Rusty Ryan from second.
That put the Pioneers behind by only one run with a score of three to two.
Then, in the top of the ninth inning, the Wolverines scored another two runs and their dugout went wild.
Playing shortstop, Henry straightened up and looked out at the scoreboard on the left field wall.
Wolverines – 5 and Pioneers – 2. There were two outs.
However, the Wolverines wanted to extend their lead.
Johnson had taken a five-step lead off first, when Bentley hit a single to short.
Henry reeled in the ball. He was close enough to second base that he ran forward to get the easy out. As he stepped on the base, Johnson slid feet first, driving his spikes into Henry's left ankle.
Henry cried out in pain and crumpled to the ground. He rolled around grabbing his leg, his eyes starting to tear up. His foot felt hot and wet, as the blood spread purple onto his once-blue sock.
Coach Taylor called a timeout, looking mad as Hell.
Dale and Jake rushed over to Henry.
"That was a low one," Dale said, staring at Henry's bloody sock.
"Can you stand up?" Jake asked.
Henry tried to get up, grimacing as the pain shot from his ankle to his calf.
Dale threw an arm around Henry's back and steadied him on his feet. Jake slung his arm behind Henry's other side.
As they helped Henry off the field, Henry met Johnson's hardened glare as the man trotted out onto the field.
As they approached the dugout, the Wolverines were shouting at him.
"Better get that leg checked out, boy!"
"I hope it's broken, you damn Negro!"
"It might be the other leg next time!"
Henry came to a halt. "Wait! Stop for a second." He looked at Dale and then at Jake. "Let me go."
"You sure about that?" Jake asked.
"Yeah," Henry said, not really sure of anything.
Henry hobbled into the dugout on his own, refusing to show weakness, each step of his left foot, searing with pain.
Coach took one look at Henry's blood-soaked sock and then at him. "We got to get you to a doctor."
"No, I'm fine, Coach," Henry insisted, gritting his teeth as the pain spiked again. "I can wrap it up and finish the game."
"You don't have to," Coach Taylor said. "I'm proud of the way you played today. You've taken enough abuse out there already. You don't have anything to prove."
Henry found it ironic that he had said the same thing to Dale during the playoffs. For a breath, he considered what Coach had said. Then he sighed in resignation. "All my life, I've told myself I'm better than the next player ... black or white. When I started with the Pioneers, I was so bent on proving I was the best, I lost sight of what I was really playing for. I guess what I'm trying to say is, I'm not out to prove anything. But I've come to fight. And what I'm fighting for ... it's not for me, and it's not about me. It's not even about the Championship. It's about playing for my teammates, just like you said. I can't walk away from them now." He paused, trying not to get choked up. "If I can't fight for my brothers, my only family, then I don't have anyone else to fight for."
Coach sighed, understanding settling into his expression. "You'd better get that ankle wrapped up. We got a fight to finish."
Author's Note
* Sighs *
I have mixed-feelings about being so close to completing this version of Color.
I just hope I've done the story justice. You'll have to be the judge of that.
That's been my primary goal here on Wattpad - to get the story right. Once this is done, I can work on cleaning things up. It's a long process, but it will be worth it.
Well, I hope Henry's ready! He'd better be. He's about to enter his final fight with the Wolverines.
Talk to you soon!
Best Regards,
Tom