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Abruptly, stunningly, the Championship was in doubt. Senators’ fans, who seconds before had been in a clambering euphoria, fell silent. In that final moment, as Billy soared through the air, as the fence closed in, and as the ball hailed towards the earth, we stood hypnotized. The baseball slammed into the outer-webbing of the glove, and spun forcefully towards daylight at the top of the mitt. The bright ball protruded from the worn leather, resembling the top of an unstable snow cone. Before colliding with the ground, Billy gently, quickly, brought the glove to his chest and cradled the precariously wedged ball with his right hand. While this technique yielded the greatest hope for securing the catch, it also left his body and face dangerously exposed. He smashed violently into the turf. At first Billy bounced, then slid across the grass, and then slammed face first into the chain link outfield fence. The initial collision with the ground bruised his ribs and took his wind, and the impact with the rusty metal fence serrated his forehead just above the right eye. There was an instant, cluttered with shock, wonder and concern, but Billy quickly rose to his feet and extended the ball into the air with his right hand. The stands erupted. While the Red Sox crowd was far more jubilant, many of the Senators' fans joined in a standing ovation. The entire Red Sox team, along with coaches, ran to the outfield. Although his forehead now bled and he was noticeably winded, Billy’s teammates lifted him onto their shoulders and carried him past the bleachers. As the celebrating Red Sox passed near, my brother waved to me and blew Mom a kiss. We waved back, and after Billy had turned, Mom wiped a tear. Then I saw my brother make eye contact with Lizzie Appleton. At first she gazed at him uncertainly, and then she smiled and gently clapped her hands. Billy, stared back at her for a few seconds, tipped his blood stained cap, and then slowly turned to his teammates. After they had set him down, Billy squinted towards the sky and grinned. Whether it was your grandpa, or God, or both, he was looking to, I can’t say. But, at that moment, I saw a calm confidence in your uncle that he carries with him to this day. * * *
“Is that really a true story Pop?” Luke asked in a voice both excited and reverent.
“Thanks, tell Mom I said goodnight.” “Will do buddy, sleep tight.” “Dad, one more question. Did Lizzie and Uncle William ever talk again after that day?”
Somehow the fatigue of a grueling day had faded, and I left my son’s room with a smile.
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