12 Sports Aces, May 1943 — page 75: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

MEET ME UNDER THE GRANDSTAND 78 9 © Ore Dor Gre Grr Gre Grr Ber Gor Orr Gen Boo Cre Her O vo ea Pre Det Gor Or Der O11 Cor Oe 7 Ge Ger Gee Wor Ps Ors Os Or O19 G00 ++ Os 0 Os 1 Os Boos + +O Oe 0 O49 Gs OG Go Gor Gor Orr Gor Por Gre Per Gor Grr Ger G treo & three years he’d been a hard-hitting first baseman! Art Hansen, on the mound for the Grays, had a painfully slow delivery that needled the nerves of every man on the diamond. Jeff went half-crazy with jitters watch- ing him work on the first two Bisons up But Hansen got them; fanned one and the other popped out to short, The third man lifted a long high fly toward Jeff’s position. The crack of the bat sent nervous tickles up and down inside his stockings. When he saw it coming, he tried to run, but for a moment he was paralyzed, un- able to move. ; He got going at last, running forward, then found that in actuality the ball was a long one due to drop over his head. He took a frantic series of hopping backsteps. He finally flung his glove up and caught it. But he felt lousy. He’d looked like a chump from start to finish on that one. Why deny it? Trotting in, Cheeky Graham looked over and snorted, “So that’s what passes for double A ball these days, eh, Mellick? Sure has changed since I was down there.” Jeff didn’t like the guy. Not his cocki- ness, nor his ugly, oxlike face, nor his patronizing attitude toward the world in general. He was tempted to blow off steam at the big left fielder. Common sense throttled his tongue. He had not made an outright enemy of Graham. Not yet. And the big man could hurt him. Playing left field, Graham would have. plenty of chances to watch him in action, to realize what a phony act Jeff was pulling. Tuffy Turner had eyes like a hawk. He’d seen all he neded to from the bench, and his eyes were narrow with suspicion. He didn’t say anything. Jeff was thank- ful. “He’s waiting,” Jeff decided. “He’s curious. He can’t quite figure out what goes on. He’ll give me the benefit of the doubt—for a while. He won’t brace me ‘here with the whole team watching.” Still, the showdown was coming. It had to woner or later. He watched nervously as the top of the Grays batting order marched to the plate. Salters, the shortstop, popped out to second. Williams was passed. Hogeland hit safely behind the runner and Williams reached third. Graham was up, Jeff im the slot. He watched the left fielder take his solid stance at the plate. He had always won- dered what technique had produced such terrific power for Graham. The guy had a long free swing which he started early. He had an unerring eye and he swung with the pliant looseness of a single-arm motion. The second bali that came to him soared in a low steaming arc over second, elimbing. It hit the center wall high. By the time the Bison fielder took the rebound and pegged in, Graham was perched grinning on third and two runs were in. 3 Graham’s eyes, directed plateward, mocked Jeff as if saying, “Okay, busher. Match that one.” Jeff tapped the rubber. Any hesitancy he’d displayed in the garden abruptly left him. The feel of solid hickory between his fingers was reassuring. He waited for the pitcher’s first offering. It was high and wide. The Bison was wasting one, feeling him out, trying te gauge what kind of ball he liked or didn’t. He couldn’t have known that high wide balls were Jeff’s special meat. Jeff stepped in fast, swinging. Crack! There was a nice solid tingle in his palms. He went down to first and rounded the corner. He caught sight of it then. It hit the center wall not ten feet from where Graham’s ball had struck. Jeff pulled up conservatively on second, grinning. “Match that one,” Graham’s eyes had invited. He sure had matched it! He died on base, but he’d knocked a run in. And when he came in again for their side of the second, Tuffy Turner’s eyes had lost much of their skepticism. “Nice bingle, Mellick.” He flushed with pleasure at this sign of approval. Not a word from the taciturn Tuffy about his sloppy fielding of that Gomichbooks (E@)