Mordecai Brown by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Mordecai Brown
Page 127
Joe Tinker wandered in first, tossing his glove in the air and catching it behind his back.
“You working today, Brownie?” he asked.
Brown shrugged. “If the arm says yes.”
Tinker grinned. “Arm’s been saying yes for a decade.”
“Arm’s older than it used to be.”
Tinker didn’t argue. Nobody did anymore.
By the time the Giants took the field for warmups, Brown was in the bullpen, rocking gently on the balls of his feet. He wasn’t starting; he rarely did now, Chance wanted him ready. The Giants were running away with the league, and every game against them felt like a test of pride more than standings.
Brown threw a few warmup pitches. The first sailed high. The second dipped too early. The third; ah, the third, broke just the way he remembered, late and sharp, like a door slamming shut.
He allowed himself a small smile.
In the sixth inning, with the Cubs clinging to a one run lead and the Giants threatening, Chance called down.