"John Kessel - The Franchise" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kessel John)

Nixon had some observations about one-run strategies. Lavagetto
agreed with him until he could get him off the line. He looked at his alarm
clock. It was half past two.

Nixon had sounded full of manic energy. His voice dripped dogmatic
assurance. He wondered if Nixon was a drinking man. Walter Winchell
said that Eisenhower's death had shoved the veep into an office he was
unprepared to hold.

Lavagetto shut off the light and lay back down, but he couldn't sleep.
What about Bush? Damn Pearson for getting himself hurt. Bush should be
down in the minors where he belonged. He looked to be cracking under
the pressure like a ripe melon.

But maybe the guy could come through, prove himself. He was no kid.
Lavagetto knew from personal experience the pressures of the Series, how
the unexpected could turn on the swing of the bat. He recalled that fourth
game of the 47 series, his double to right field that cost Floyd Bevens his
no-hitter, and the game. Lavagetto had been a thirty-four-year-old utility
infielder for the luckless Dodgers, an aging substitute playing out the
string at the end of his career. In that whole season he'd hit only one other
double. When he'd seen that ball twist past the right fielder, the joy had
shot through his chest like lightning. The Dodger fans had gone crazy; his
teammates had leapt all over him laughing and shouting and swearing like
Durocher himself.

He remembered that, despite the miracle, the Dodgers had lost the
Series to the Yankees in seven.

Lavagetto turned over. First in War, First in Peace, Last in the
American League… that was the Washington Senators. He hoped young
Kaat was getting more sleep than he was.

FOUR
Tuesday afternoon, in front of a wild capacity crowd, young Jim Kaat
pitched one of the best games by a rookie in the history of the Series. The
twenty-year-old left-hander battled Toothpick Sam Jones pitch for pitch,
inning for inning. Jones struggled with his control, walking six in the first
seven innings, throwing two wild pitches. If it weren't for the
overeagerness of the Senators, swinging at balls a foot out of the strike
zone, they would surely have scored; instead they squandered opportunity
after opportunity. The fans grew restless. They could see it happening, in
sour expectation of disaster built up over twenty-five frustrated years:
Kaat would pitch brilliantly, and it would be wasted because the Giants
would score on some bloop single.

Through seven the game stayed a scoreless tie. By some fluke George
could not fathom, Lavagetto, instead of benching him, had moved him up
in the batting order. Though he was still without a hit, he had been