Chapter 10

As we left the field, I saw Lionel getting in line to shake hands and I joined my side. When I got to him, I extended my hand and he shook it.

“Good game, rookie. You’re a heck of a player,” I smiled. Yeah, the kid was obnoxious but he backed it up on the field.

Lionel nodded. “You’re better than I thought, but your coach should have picked me,” he grinned back.

I went down the line shaking hands and when I got to end of their line, I saw Donny, their hard-throwing lefty and I shook his hand. “You’ve got some great stuff. Once you get your ‘hook’ down you could be unhittable.”

“Yeah. I’m trying to work on my slider, too, but I can’t throw it anywhere near the plate, let alone over it.”

“Good luck,” I said as I started over to talk to Billy. As I passed by our bench, I saw Coach Daniels in a heated discussion with an older guy.

“I told you, Daniels, I don’t want any delinquents playing on this team. The Lions Club has standards and that kid does not live up to them.”

“Mr. Richards, I told you that Tom is a good kid from a fine family. I don’t know where you get your information from but he’s not a delinquent.”

“He’s currently suspended from school for assaulting a young lady.”

I had heard enough.

“No! I didn’t get suspended and I didn’t assault anyone!” I yelled.

“Young man, you’re off this team and if you don’t like it, Coach, you’re gone, too.”

I then heard a familiar voice.

“Mr. Richards, I’m glad I have a face to put your name to.”

“And who are you?”

“At the moment, a concerned father, but fairly soon the lawyer who will be taking your deposition concerning a certain Edgar Blanton who is on the board of the Chamber of Commerce, if I’m not mistaken.”

As always, my father gets to the point.

“I don’t see how this has any bearing on this discussion...”

“I’m Tom Matthews’s father. I’m also, his lawyer and you are slandering and defaming him in public.”

“The boy attacked a girl and got suspended.”

“You are wrong on both counts. The young lady in question is walking this way right now. Why don’t you ask her if Tommy attacked her?”

For a moment I was distracted with a big hug from my girls.

“Ewww ... you’re all sweaty,” laughed Jennifer.

Of course, Janie had to add her two cents. “You’re kind of stinky too. That’s okay, we still love you.”

“What’s going on?” asked Jeremy Richards, as he approached his father.

“Your dad is trying to kick me off the team and fire Coach Daniels.”

I saw a fire in Jeremy’s eye. He was one of only five returning players from a bad team last season. Like Billy, Jeremy had been optimistic after our first practice. My guess was he saw his dream season about to go bye-bye.

“Dad! What are you doing?!” yelled Jeremy.

“Son, we can’t have a hooligan on this team.”

“He’s not a hooligan! He’s my hero!” cried Janie, as she balled her fist, ready to lash out.

“What?” asked Richards in surprise.

“Tommy didn’t try to attack me. Mr. Blanton did.”

“Young lady that is a serious accusation.”

“And accusing my son isn’t?” chimed Dad.

“I’ve known Edgar Blanton for thirty years. It’s hard to believe he’s guilty of what you’re saying he did, Miss Parker.”

“You’d be surprised what some men are capable of doing.” stated my father.

Richards paused and looked pensive. “And you say that the suspension was overturned?”

My dad shook his head. “It was never officially entered. Mr. Martin was negligent. When the true facts came to light, he decided to change it into an excused absence.”

“Dad, it’s all over the junior high that Tommy didn’t do anything wrong. According to Billy Crenshaw, Tommy was in school today. He even saw Tommy sitting with Janie at lunch.” said Jeremy.

Mr. Richards sighed and turned to my dad. “You’re really going to depose me?”

“If we end up in court, I will. Of course, if you’re willing to help me get to the bottom of Edgar Blanton’s dealings, we might be able to avoid that.”

“I’m not involved in anything illegal.”

“I’m sure that you’re not, but we’re investigating Blanton.”

“Just for lying about your son?”

“There are other reasons, but that’s one of the major ones. You’d do the same for your son if you could, right?”

“Yeah, I would,” admitted Mr. Richards.

At that point, J Squared and Nick left to head towards Little Italy’s to reserve a large table for a post-game pizza. My girls avoided my hug because I was still too sweaty, giggled, and chased after Nick.

While Dad and Mr. Richards continued to talk, I turned my head and saw Lionel walking over with the big guy in the Pirates cap.

“Hey Six, I just wanted to shake your hand,” he said, as he extended a meaty paw in my direction and I grasped it.

“Thanks. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Tommy Matthews, but I’ll answer to the number on the back of my uniform any day, Sir.”

The large man bellowed out a laugh. I saw Lionel roll his eyes. “Well my name is Donald Carter and I must say, you played a whale of a game. I was just telling my son, Lionel, here that I had to come over and shake your hand.”

“C’mon, Pop, he was okay. You don’t need to make a big deal out of it,” griped Lionel.

“Did you see how far he clocked that tater out to center? Of course, you did, it was hit a mile over your head. I swear that ball is still goin’,” he laughed.

Lionel shook his head. “It wasn’t that special.”

“Not special? This young man here isn’t more than a couple of inches taller than you and he swung at one of the hardest thrown pitches I’ve seen at this level and he hit it right on the button. That requires great reflexes and a good batting eye.”

I saw that Lionel was glaring at me. It was clear that he didn’t like me taking the shine off of his fine game, so I felt I needed to say something. “Well thanks, Mr. Carter. I must say that I’ve heard some great things about Lionel last season and based upon what I saw out there, he’ll really dominate with his speed and defense. I thought I had another stand-up triple in the third inning, but he made a heck of a catch to rob me.”

Mr. Carter smiled at his son and shook his head. “Yeah, I’ve been working with the boy since he was little. Lionel’s a good athlete.”

Lionel looked a little surprised when I said something positive about him. I grinned at him. “Too bad we’re on different teams. My old coach from last year decided not to protect me in the draft.

“You mean you’re an eighth-grader? No wonder I didn’t see you play last year. I just thought by your height and because you tried out, you were my son’s age.”

“Well, I was probably shorter than you were last year, Lionel,” I laughed.

Lionel was wearing a big grin when he said, “You ain’t that much taller than me now.”

“True,” I smiled.

Mr Carter gave me a big smile of his own. “Well, since you’re local, I’ll probably be keeping an eye on you for the next few years, Son. It’s my job.”

“Sir?”

Lionel rolled his eyes. “My dad is a roving scout with the Pirates.”

“You mean you’ve met ‘Pops’ Stargell, Bill Madlock, Dave Parker and Mike Easler?!” I exclaimed.

“Yeah and Phil Garner, John Candalaria and Kent Tekulve too,” grinned Lionel.

Now it was Mr. Carter’s turn to roll his eyes. “Okay, Tommy, we should probably head out, but keep in touch,” he said handing me his business card. “Now don’t take this the wrong way. You’re too young to be considered to be a serious prospect, but over the next couple of years when you start playing high school ball...”

“You think I’m good enough to play for the freshman team next year?”

“I think you should be good enough to play, if not start at Varsity. It might make sense for your coach to play you at JV if he can’t give you enough playing time at Varsity, but I think you have a good shot at making Varsity based on what I’ve seen and heard about you. Not only can you hit, but you looked good playing short and you have a strong arm,” he said, before adding, “That being said, right now I’m more interested in you because you seem like a good kid. I think you might make a good friend for my son.”

“Dad!” Lionel complained.

“Mr. Carter, Lionel seems like a good kid. I’d be happy to be his friend, but he gets a say in the subject,” I smirked at Lionel, “If he’s not interested, I understand, because parents can’t pick their kids’ friends,” I laughed.

Lionel surprised me. He laughed. “You’d really like to make friends with a colored kid?”

I thought for a moment about what the man I was named for did in the 1960s. There was still plenty of racism in this country and despite Mr. Carter’s interesting and respected position he must have been concerned that his son might not have enough friends in a school that was at least ninety-five percent white. I decided to paraphrase a man we all respected and revered.

I smiled at Lionel. “I don’t judge a kid by the color of his skin, but by the content of his character.”

Mr. Carter laughed. “Well, there you have it, Lionel. How many white kids would quote Dr. King?”

“My mother told me that my Uncle was lucky enough to meet him in 1964. My Uncle Thomas went to Columbia University and it was the summer after his freshman year. He was with a group of kids that went to Atlanta that summer.”

“That’s amazing! I was with Dr. King and the Reverend Jackson in Atlanta about then too, but it was in winter of early 1965. I’d love to talk to your uncle sometime.”

“I’m sorry to say he was killed in Vietnam.”

Mr. Carter looked shocked. “I’m sorry, Son.”

I nodded. “I never knew him, but I was named after him.”

I looked at Lionel, who had been surprisingly quiet. “Lionel, I’d be honored to be your friend.”

He nodded and all of a sudden, his trademark smirk came back. “I know you would,” he grinned and I cracked up. I’d just made a new friend.

Apparently, my father had finished with Mr. Richards. He seemed to be listening to my conversation with the Carters. I introduced them and Mr. Carter briefly explained his job with the Pirates and my dad was impressed (despite Dad being a Phillies fan).