The new hurler was no better than Jordan, and bounced the ball into the plate in now-familiar fashion.

It was a situation that never would have arisen in our Black Top games. After one pitch we would have told the pitcher to move closer to the plate. Two steps closer and Jordan would have thrown strikes. Ditto his replacement. If left to themselves, the Colts and Cubs would have played it this way. Common sense.

The inning dragged on. Bo Bouma continued to tell Mr. Ferguson that he could pitch, and the bored Cub batters began to employ the golf swing technique whether the Must be a Hitter rule was in effect or not.

A travesty on how to play the game, but it livened things up.

Jordan played third base and seemed unshaken by his pitching experience. He had done what he could and had nothing to be ashamed of.

I didn't need Dave to point this out to me either.

Dave was being a good sport. No I-told-you-sos about the way they do things today, not much talking at all. He often left the golf cart to gather intelligence, and when Deborah brought Holly back from the concession stand, Dave sat behind her and Mike.

Deborah has a big photo button on her purse, a picture of Jordan in his Colts uniform-- another of the services provided by Little League, one not available in the Black Top era. Dave pointed it out to me when he returned to the cart. I hadn't noticed it.

He asked me to accompany him back into the stands, and I said no. When he asked me why not, I said that it wasn't right for me to eavesdrop on my son.

"I respect my son's privacy," I said. I took this high moral stance because I knew my Dickens. Every time Scrooge listens in on people he hears them bad-mouthing him, describing him as a lonely old skinflint.

"I know how you feel," said Dave. He got back into the cart. "But if you don't want to listen in on your son, there's no point in sticking around."

He started driving us toward Diamond #1. The Sox-Cards game was long over, and there was no sign of Jack McMahon. "Maybe we'll see Big Cecil pop one," said Dave, driving the cart onto the crushed limestone infield. "No lead is ever safe in Fenway, right?"

"We're going back?"

"Pitching, pitching, pitching. And Boston don't have enough."

"Stop the cart, Dave." It was too soon to go back.

"The Tigers can still come from behind."

"We can't go back to Boston," I said.

"We're done here," he said. "All done." He stopped the cart on the driveway. Not many cars left at this end of the parking lot.

"I still don't know what you want," I said.

"I've done my job, and now I have to take you back."

"But what's my job? What am I supposed to do?"

"Look inside your heart, John."

"Just tell me what to do."

"I can't do that."

"Dee at least told me what to do."

"She what?" That was how to grab his attention. Mention the Spirit of Baseball Present.

"She told me what to do."

"She can't tell you what to do! You have to discover it for yourself! We can't tell you what to do!"

"You can't?"

"What did she say? Is she pushing some social agenda?"

"No, nothing like that."

"Well what did she tell you then?"

"She told me to work on my communications skills."

He pursed his lips. He stroked his chin. He nodded thoughtfully.

"She told me to improve my listening skills."

He did it again: pursed his lips, stroked his chin, nodded thoughtfully.

"It was on my voice mail."

"Voice mail?"

"When I invited her to Opening Day, she wasn't there so I had to leave her a phone message. That's when I asked her for advice-- when I left the phone message."

"I missed something here," he said. "Why did you invite her to Opening Day?"

"I was afraid the flowers didn't work," I said. "I was afraid she was still mad at me."

"What flowers?"

"The ones I sent her from Florida. I didn't want her to be mad at me when she came back for me at the All Star game."

"You sent her flowers? You sent flowers to a spirit?"

"She was mad at me, Dave. Furious."

"This is irregular," he said. "Highly irregular."

"If a woman is after your scalp, isn't that the smart thing to do? Send her flowers?"

"This is a departure from procedure," he said. "A radical departure."

"It was definitely my fault, Dave. I don't blame her. All I wanted was to see my mom, which I didn't think was a big deal, but then suddenly I'm in California, and I didn't know what was going on, and--"

"You were in California?"

"Yeah. That's where Mike was."

"That wasn't the plan, John."

"I kept yelling at O'Ryan," I said. "That's why she got mad at me the second time. I kept calling him a snake."

"Get out of the cart, John." He spoke decisively. "Sit in the stands."

Once again I had apparently done something wrong.

"I've got to track this down," he said.

"Are you leaving?" I asked.

"California was never in the plan."

"Am I supposed to wait here?"

"I'll be back for you," he said. "I won't let it end on this note."

He started driving away from me. "Don't leave me," I said.

"California wasn't part of my plan," he said. I watched the cart and then suddenly it wasn't there.

I was sitting in the stands at diamond #1. I was alone and invisible, and it was getting dark.