Chapter 3

I had kind of hoped to prove Alice Winslow wrong when we visited the children's ward. Maybe they'd all be thunderstruck at the prospect of talking to a real live professional baseball hero, and fall all over themselves welcoming me.

She wasn't wrong. It was just as she had predicted. All except one of the kids failed to show any particular interest at all in my status as pro athlete, although they were polite and eager to talk to Zeke Taylor, visiting human being.

One little guy -- a blonde kid, maybe eight or nine -- actually knew who I was when Alice introduced me to the group. He asked me for my autograph, and we had a nice little chat about the Orioles. So my years of trying to learn to hit a curveball hadn't been entirely in vain. As Alice Winslow had predicted, though, for most of the children the only tangible positive result of my visit to the ward was that I'd broken up another dull day in the hospital and had exchanged a few kind words with a bunch of sick kids.

Hardly a total loss.

On the way back to her office, Alice thanked me for coming and encouraged me to drop by again. "It may not be the kind of reception that you had envisioned," she said, "but you could see for yourself that your visit wasn't wasted."

"Amazing bunch of kids."

"Yes. You know, Mr. Tay -- Zeke, I mean; y'know, if you're really interested in some community involvement, there are some other ways that might be better, in your case."

"Like what?"

"Like Little League, or summer league baseball, or the Cal Ripken League program."

"I'm out of town too much to involve myself with coaching," I told her.

"You wouldn't have to coach a team," Alice said. "You could just show up -- whenever you could -- and help with the kids as an informal advisor. Now, these are kids who are really into baseball! They'd eat it up!"

"I don't know. Their coaches might kind of resent it, the big-deal professional guy, dropping in, lording it over them."

"Not so!" Alice said. "Most of these men -- and a few are women, too -- are fans themselves. Getting to rub elbows with Zeke the Streak would be a huge side-benefit for them -- a little reward for getting themselves involved in Little League, or summer league, baseball."

Interesting. She knew about my nickname. "You really think I could help, there?"

"No doubt! Listen, I know some of these people. I'm a volunteer coach myself, in Summer League. I'll give you a schedule of our activities, games, practices -- the works. You can show up -- anytime -- at any of the events on the list, and I guarantee you, everybody there, the kids and the grown-ups, will welcome you!"

"It sounds like a lot of fun. How about money? Is there a shortage of funds? I could, y'know, maybe help out with a contribution."

"Our suburban League, the one I'm involved with, at least, is in pretty good shape. We've got sponsors, and uniforms, and good playing fields. But the Baltimore inner city -- they've got some financial problems, I can tell you! Maybe you could focus on helping out with a contribution there. I can give you a couple of names, men who are in charge of organizing the city's leagues."

"Maybe I could do both," I told her.

"Both?"

"You know -- go with you to visit with your kids, out here, and also drop in on the leadership guys for the city leagues, see how I could help them out best."

"That would be great! Either way -- or both. You're sure to get a welcome."

I looked at the game schedule -- one of the several pieces of paper Alice had handed me. "How about this Thursday?" I asked her. "You've got a game between the Yankees and the Red Sox, on Gilmore Road."

"That's my club," she said, "... the one I coach."

"Which?"

"The Red Sox. We're the Moose Lodge Red Sox. I'm the head coach."

"Fantastic," I said. "And thank God, you're not coach of the Yankees."