My grandson was too small to get the ball to home plate on the fly. Jordan was pitching for the Colts on Diamond #4. The boy he relieved, Casey Brannigan, had replaced him at second base. Bobby Parks, the normal reliever, was in Colorado on vacation with his folks. Bo Bouma was catching. Bo had smarted off to the manager earlier in the game and was being punished. Otherwise he would have pitched.

Mike was sitting by himself in the stands. Wife Deborah was at the concession stand building with Holly, their youngest. The oldest, Amber, was with two girl friends on the Cubs side of the field.

The Senior Spirit of Baseball Past had calmed me down, led me away from the dads at Diamond #3, and made me invisible again. He'd apologized profusely to me, and driven the golf cart over to Diamond #4, just in time for us to see Jordan take the mound.

His performance was painful to watch. Mike suffered, and I felt for him. But he'd been around baseball long enough to know how to handle disaster: Grit your teeth and see it through.

The first batter walked on four straight pitches. Each bounced before reaching home plate. The second batter walked on four similar pitches. When the third batter came up, the umpire invoked the Must be a Hitter rule.

If two consecutive batters receive a base on balls, the next one must hit the ball or strike out-- he can't walk. That's the Must be a Hitter rule.

Jordan continued to throw in the dirt. After three or four of these the batter swung and missed. The Colts shouted, "Way to go Jordan." So did his dad. He threw a few more in the dirt. Cubs fans urged their batter to swing, and with the count at 7 and 1 (but only if the ump had been calling balls and strikes, which he wasn't), he swung his bat like a golf club and stroked the ball toward first, where it was mishandled.

Bases loaded, nobody out.

Jordan walked the next two batters on four straight pitches, forcing in a pair of runs.

Bo Bouma, the smart-aleck catcher, yelled at his manager: "Do you want me to pitch, Mr. Ferguson?"

There was nobody out, the bases were still loaded, and the Must be a Hitter rule was again in force.

A few pitches later: "Let me pitch, Mr. Ferguson, I can pitch."

Mr. Ferguson ignored his catcher, and was rewarded on the next pitch: A golf swing for Strike One. A few pitches later, another. And several pitches later, Jordan got the strikeout on another golf swing.

Encouraging. A glimmer of hope that Jordan might somehow complete this inning.

Two more walks from my struggling grandson.

Must be a Hitter again, and everyone groaned when they saw the batter-- one of those kids who's afraid of the ball and freezes up whenever it heads in his direction. He was even smaller than Victor Van Dorn.

A nasty situation.

Jordan could not throw strikes, the batter could not swing the bat, and the umpire could not call balls.

Inning from Hell. No solution.

Every adult knew that Mr. Ferguson had to replace Jordan with Bo Bouma. So did Bo Bouma, who reminded his manager that he could throw it over the plate. "You need me, Mr. Ferguson."

Every adult knew that Mr. Ferguson would never let Bo Bouma tell him what to do.

The Cub parents shouted at their kid to swing the bat.

No chance. He was paralyzed with fear.

Jordan took matters into his own hands. He stood behind the pitching rubber, took a few steps to build his momentum, and heaved the ball.

Got it there on the fly too. Not in the strike zone, but high enough to give him new confidence. He was determined to throw a strike. The only way he could do it was by straining his arm, using an unnatural motion, and putting everything he had into it.

He did it again. Success! The ump called it a strike. People cheered, including Dave and me.

Now the batter was really scared. The next one might come for his noggin. As it turned out, Jordan had over-taxed his strength, and his next offering skipped into the dirt, striking the batter in the ankle.

He was awarded first base.

Two more walks, and with the Must be a Hitter rule in effect again, Mr. Ferguson put in a new pitcher. The third baseman. Not Bo Bouma.

Jordan's pitching line: Eight walks, one hit, and one hit batsman in 1/3 of an inning. One strikeout. Ten baserunners, all of whom scored.

His E.R.A. is 270.00.

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Courtland's Spirits
by Donald Lehmann