Glove of Art/Art of Love in the Gloamin

Nick held out a target that he knew Frog couldn't see.

Bobby at shortstop heard someone yell "Courage".

Aristotle Legeer, the umpire, stood motionless in shallow left field five steps behind Bobby.

The runners; Coin Gedman at third, Tony Joy at second and Glenn French at first were all off and running with the invisible pitch.

Chico swung. He could feel by the sensation in his hands at contact that if he hadn't got all of the pitch, he sure got a big chunk of it. He knew what a four bagger felt like. He'd been there before but never in the dark, never in the last inning of the championship game with the bases loaded with Braves. Never on the threshold of neighborhood legend.

When the shortstop sensed Joy breaking towards third, Bobby instinctively broke towards second. That's when he heard the sound of aluminum smashng into cowhide. Then he felt a stinging in his left hand. The ball had found Art. The ball was in Art. All Bobby had to do was hold on to the ball and the moment and the legend.

Legeer saw the line drive disappear into the shortstop's glove. Legeer saw that the kid held on to the ball.

One out.

As Bobby pocketed the rocket, Tony Joy going from second to third was passing right in front of him. Bobby touched Tony with Art. The touch was so light and so fast that Tony kept right on running, right past Jordan who was coaching third and screaming for Tony to keep on running for home.

Legeer saw the touch. Two outs. Double play.

French going from first to second had no idea where the ball was so he did the prudent thing. He slid into second base. Glenn's slide was a thing of beauty although it was beheld only by Legeer and Bobby.

Bobby slapped Art on the shoulder of French. Legeer saw the slap.

Three outs.

Triple play.

Unassisted.

Game over.

Championship for the Pirates.

There was no doubt in Ari's mind. He had clearly seen the whole play. Dee got to Ari before Jordan did. Ari explained his ruling to Dee. Dee said that from his place behind the plate he hadn't seen anything other than hearing Chico hit the pitch.

Ari assured Dee that he had seen it all.

The game was over, regardless of what Jordan might say, think or do..

Dee thought to himself "Thank God for Aristotle"

Bobby was the second person within fifteen feet to realize that an unassisted triple play had ended the game.

Bobby was the first person to realize that aside from tagging the two runners, he had very little to do with the play. Chico's line smash had simply gone into his glove. Bobby never saw the drive. He barely felt it when the shot smacked into his pocket just below the webbing.

Even before the rest of the team knew what had happened, Bobby was already jumping up and down and yelling  "Art, Art, Art."

The leaping and the crying of " ART ART ART" had worked its way through the infield half of the Pirates by the time Dee made it official by yelling "Triple Play, Game Over" and started heading for his car next to the power plant.

At this point, the whole team started running around the infield screaming ARTARTARTARTARTART.

In the midst of this sudden outbreak of Art. Mr Jordan got in the face of Ari Legeer. Legeer told Jordan exactly what he had seen.

On the bench, Glove, formerly Art had received the news that the game was over. He didn't know how to record the play in his scorebook whether it was 6 which means the ball was hit to the shortstop and he caught it or whether it was 6 6 6 which meant the ball was hit to the shrotstop and he caught it and he tagged two runners.

While wrestling with this administrivia, Art realized that the Pirates the team that from which  he had abandoned loyalty only a few minutes earlier were all chanting his name.

Except they weren't.

They were chanting the name of his glove.

He wrote a six into the scorebook.

And then Bobby understood that they wouldn't be chanting ARTARTART and they wouldn't be champions and he himself wouldn't be on the threshold between legend and myth if the statstop hadn't lent him the glove in the first place.

As the whole team reached the bench, Bobby started yelling GLOVE GLOVE GLOVE GLOVE. The rest of the guys followed suit...even Dingfeldt.

They hoisted the statstop on their shoulders and began carrying him around the infield screaming GLOVE GLOVE GLOVE.

The scorebook fell to the ground.  

On their shoulders in the dark, the boy who kept score, the momentary traitor to his own team, felt tears of shame and joy pouring down his face as they took him from base to base. Every time he heard them yell Glove.....he understood that word to mean

traitor

loser

pinerider

Nimrod who don't know a bra from a glove.

The Pirates didn't know the kid on their shoulders was bawling. They were champs and so was he. They couldn't have done it without Art and that means they couldn't have won it without Glove.

ARTGLOVEARTGLOVEARTGLOVE

Good thing it was dark.

A passerby would have seen a bunch of boys yelling about art and love in the dark with one small boy on their shoulders.

That passerby would have misunderstood. Especially if the passerby was Glove's father.