It wasn’t Darrell who exploded. It was the coach, and it

happened during the last game of the season. The game

was at Roosevelt Field against Cliffside. In the first inning,

Darrell hit one of the longest balls I’d ever seen any high

school kid hit. There was nobody on base, and Darrell,

being the hot dog that he was, stood at home plate and

watched the ball sail out there as if he were Hank Aaron

watching a home run sail over the fence. The trouble

was, there were no fences at Roosevelt Field. Every ball

was in play no matter how far it went, and once Darrell

started running, he could see that the center fielder for

Cliffside wasn’t going to allow the hit to be an automatic

home run. After jogging to first base in his Hank Aaron

home run trot, Darrell must have figured he’d better start

moving his behind. Darrell had never been known for

his speed, but he made it all the way around to third, and

Jonathan, who was coaching third, gave Darrell the green

light to head for home. However, for some reason, Darrell

stopped just as he rounded third. Well, the center fielder,

who had made a pretty darn good play, threw the ball to

the shortstop. The shortstop was out in short center field

and was about to make the long relay throw to the plate.

It would have taken a perfect throw to get even someone

with Darrell’s lack of speed. That was why Jonathan was

waving Darrell in, and everybody was expecting a close

play at the plate. Well, since Darrell stopped dead, there

was no play at the plate, but the shortstop’s throw was so

lousy that it bounced about fifteen times and was ten feet

off target. The ball rattled around the backstop for about

ten minutes before the catcher could get ahold of it. All

the while, Darrell stood with his tongue out, panting, at

third base with one of the longest triples anybody had ever

seen. Needless to say, the coach wasn’t too happy, and of

course, the coach was not one to keep his feelings inside.

When the next batter popped out stranding Darrell at

third, the coach really blasted Darrell. We could all see

that Darrell did not appreciate the coach’s tirade.

As per usual for Darrell, after hitting his mighty long

ball his first time up, his next two times up, he tried to hit

the ball even farther but struck out, stranding a runner

both times. We could see that the coach was fuming.

It was a close game, 3–3, and we needed a few big

hits. We also needed to play some good defense. Well,

Darrell had made an error earlier in the game that caused

a run, and the error he made in the top of the sixth inning

caused more than a few runs for Cliffside. There were two

out and two on for Cliffside, and one of their weakest

hitters was up. The guy hit a high pop to short left field,

 and Darrell immediately waved everybody off. He waved

his arms, yelling, “I’ve got it! I’ve got it!” However, he

wasn’t hustling too much. He was just slowly and casually

backpedaling. He never did get under the ball; instead,

he stuck up his glove in an effort to make a one-handed

grab, but the ball bounced off his glove and bounded

away. Darrell lost his balance and then did a backward

somersault.

While Darrell was tumbling around, our left fielder

chased after the ball, but by the time he got the ball back

to the infield, the Cliffside batter was all the way around

to third base with one of the all-time shortest triples

anyone had ever seen, and two runs had scored. Now,

all that was nothing compared to what Darrell did next.

While getting up from his backward somersault, Darrell

started laughing—not loudly, but he was chuckling with

a big grin on his face. He didn’t want to act like he was

embarrassed for looking like such a fool and allowing

two runs to score, so he figured it would be cool to laugh

at himself. Well, the coach did not think Darrell’s effort

on the play was funny. When the coach saw Darrell

grinning after just about single-handedly blowing the

whole game, the coach went bananas. He ran out onto

the field, screaming at Darrell.

“What are you grinning about? That was the worst

frigging play I’ve ever seen in my life! And what the heck

are you laughing about?” The coach was yelling so loudly

that the veins were popping out of his neck.

“Hey, man, lay off,” Darrell said, but he wasn’t smiling

anymore.

Get off the field, boy!” the coach yelled with his neck

veins popping and his face red.

“Hey, man, don’t call me boy,” Darrell said, trying

to stay cool.

“I’ll call you whatever I darn well please, boy! Now,

get off this field! This field is for ballplayers, not little boys

who giggle like you.”

“Hey, man, lay off,” Darrell said as he stood his

ground.

“I said get off the field! And for that matter, get off

the team!”

Then Darrell lit the fuse—and the coach did not have

a long one. Darrell said calmly, “Make me, sucker.”

Kaboom! One coach totally detonated!

The coach jumped on Darrell and wrestled him to the

ground. The umpire was the first to get over there to try

to break up the fight, but everybody on our team went

over to join in. Then the other team’s bench emptied, and

we had a full-scale major-league rhubarb. Of course, we

weren’t mad at anybody from the other team, and they

weren’t mad at us, so we really didn’t have anybody to

fight. In a major-league rhubarb, nobody really fought

either. The players just liked to roll around in the grass for

a while to give the fans a show. Luckily, the umpire was

a big bruiser, and he was able to stop the fight quickly.

He gave both the coach and Darrell the heave-ho. He

ordered Darrell to leave the field and head home, and he

made the coach go sit in his car by the garbage trucks

until the end of the game. Since it was the last game of

the season for us kids, the umpire decided to let us play 

the last innings, and he appointed Jonathan as coach.

Unsurprisingly, Jonathan relished his new role.

His first managerial move after the commotion died

down was to send me out to shortstop. It was a move that

Jonathan would later boast was brilliant, even though

it was pretty academic because I was the only other

shortstop on the team. Well, the next guy up for Cliffside

hit a grounder up the middle. I was able to scoot over to

grab it, and I made a perfect sidearm off-balance throw to

first to nip the runner and save a run. Happily, the coach

wasn’t around to complain about my sidearm throw.

We scraped together a run in the bottom of the sixth

and shut out Cliffside in the top of the seventh, so we

were down by only a run in the bottom of the seventh.

We had two out and a man on first when Gorski came

up. I was on deck. I hoped to get a crack at knocking

in the winning run, but the pitcher was a tough righty

with a good curveball. He didn’t have much speed, but

a good curveball was my nemesis. Well, Gorski looked

as if he were going to solve everything when he hit a

long shot up the left-center field gap that looked like

a sure home run. We were all screaming like crazy for

Gorski to come all the way around, but Gorski was no

speed demon, and Jonathan, who was coaching third in

addition to managing, held Gorski up at third. It was

another brilliant move, Jonathan would later claim. I had

to admit he was right because the throw home that time,

unlike on Darrell’s play, was by the right fielder, who had

a great arm and had come all the way over for the cutoff.

His throw to the plate was perfect and surely would have

made Gorski a dead duck.

Now was my chance. I had hardly played in two

weeks, and there I was, at bat with the winning run on

third and two out in the last inning of the last game of the

season, facing a big righty pitcher with a good curveball.

As I was just about to settle into the batter’s box, I

heard Jonathan call my name. He was coming toward me.

I asked the umpire for time and went over to Jonathan for

a little conference. It was like the last game of the World

Series, and it was as if Frankie Crosetti were telling Bobby

Richardson some great strategy, such as “I know you’ve

only hit two home runs in six hundred at bats this year,

Richardson, but we could sure use one now.” However,

I underestimated ole Jonathan. I had to admit that in all

the confusion, I never would have even tried it. But I did

exactly what Jonathan told me: I got up lefty for the first

time all year, and on the first pitch, I laid down a perfect

drag bunt.

I got it by the pitcher, and since the second baseman

and first baseman were playing back, never expecting

a two-out bunt, they were surprised, and I beat it out

easily. Gorski rumbled down the line, jumped on home

plate, and we won! We all went wild! It was as if we had

just won the World Series. It was quite a way to end the

season, and of course, I knew I’d never hear the end of it

from Jonathan about his brilliant strategy.