Chapter 8

The American League won the game, 12-4, and I got a triple off one of my old Houston Astros teammates and knocked in the first two runs of the night. I was one for two before the AL manager -- our own Paul Warren -- pulled me in the fourth inning. I thought that was a little quick for the League's number three vote-getter on the All-Star balloting (number one, among the non-Yankees), but to be fair to Paul, the fact that we had a 7-1 lead at the time might have contributed to his giving me the early hook. Managers in the All-Star game want to win, but they also want to play everybody.

It was fun, hanging out with all my temporary teammates. It was my first year in the American League, and I hadn't had that many opportunities to get acquainted with my new league's best players. We had a lot of offense, and a lot of pitching changes, and the game did drag on. It was late when I finally met Alice at the appointed place, under the stands. "Sorry that took so long," I said. "I'm going to be getting you home awfully late."

"I enjoyed the game," she said. "That triple you hit was exciting! I didn't know you could run like that!"

"Like a scalded rabbit, you mean?" I said, grinning. "I love to run the bases! I don't want to just be a big slug who hits the long ball."

"Chicks dig the long ball," Alice said.

I was surprised that she had ever heard that old baseball cliché, and even more surprised that she would repeat it.

"Maybe 'chicks' dig the long ball," I told her, "but real women dig guys who can leg out a three-bagger!"

"Orlie Warren was just as great as you said she was," Alice said, suddenly changing the subject. "And her daughter, Maria, invited us back to her house tonight, for a drink."

"Was Alex -- Marie's husband -- there too? I didn't see him before the game."

"Yes. He was very nice. There were a couple of other players there. I met David Newhan -- and your closer, Freddie Gonzalez, and his wife."

"Get any autographs?" I was only kidding, but she surprised me.

"I got dozens -- from all three of them!" she said. "For the kids on my team."

"Paul Warren told me once that he owed everything to David Newhan," I told her.

"David Newhan? The utility infielder? Why?"

"Well, the way I heard it -- and I heard it even before Paul mentioned it himself -- David Newhan was the rookie who ran Paul Warren into retirement, as a player, years ago. Warren was a good-field, no-hit utility guy, and Newhan came up in the twilight of Paul's playing career, and -- the way Paul tells it -- Newhan's presence severely hastened Paul's being kicked upstairs into management."

"That must have been a while ago," she said. "Newhan's got to be close to the end of his own career now."

"That's right. It was like -- a decade ago, or close to it."

"So now, Newhan's playing for Paul. Do they get along all right?"

"Do they get... oh, you mean, is Paul bitter about Newhan's pushing him out? No, no! They get along great! In fact, Newhan was best man at Paul's wedding! Paul was a minor league manager, after he retired as a player, for the Orioles in Bluefield, West Virginia. That's where he met Orlie."

"That's a romantic story!" Alice said.

"Yeah. Yeah, it is."

"So. I guess that means Paul must be Maria's stepfather."

"Yeah. By the way, I take it you begged off on going to Alex and Maria's house, on the way home."

"Yes. I explained to her that I had a working day tomorrow. There really wasn't any way, Zeke, that I could say yes."

"It's OK. I'm glad you said no. It's very late already, and we haven't even had dinner yet, or driven back to Baltimore."

"Do you mind if we skipped stopping for dinner? It's so late!"

"OK, sure. I'll just take you home. I'm sorry it's going to make it such a short night for you."