boys on the Wilkes Central team, including Ham.
Roy scanned his book. “Yeah, but that one run was unearned. Don’t you remember? Ham walked that kid in the fourth. Then a sacrifice bunt moved him to second and a stolen base moved him to third.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Jesse said. “And he scored on that passed ball JC should’ve stopped.”
As the Eagles came into the dugout for their last at bat, Jesse said to Roy, “This black kid, Skeeter, is pretty good, huh?”
“Oh yeah, Bobby Skeeter is the real deal. He’s got a perfect game goin’.” Roy knew it was bad luck to mention a no-hitter, much less a perfect game, while in progress. But that’s exactly what he was hoping for; some bad luck for Sylva and its pitcher, Bobby Skeeter. “They call him the ‘Sylva Streak.’ He’s signed with Carolina to play football next year. That don’t keep the baseball scouts away though. Helluva an athlete.”
While they were talking, Skeeter struck out the first two batters in the bottom of the seventh inning.
“Well, here comes ole’ JC! Let’s see if he can make up for that mistake he made earlier,” Jesse said. “Big ole’ boy, that JC. Say, didn’t I hear he signed to play football down at the State University in Raleigh?”
“Yep. Offensive line. He’s listed at 6’4” and 265 in the program, but I’m guessin’ he might be a bit bigger than that,” Roy replied. JC took the first pitch for a strike. “C’mon JC,” Roy yelled. “Don’t see many coloreds playin’ baseball anymore,” Roy observed, watching the two African Americans battle each other.
“How big is Ham?” Jesse asked.
“Well, he’s grown right smart since last year. I’d say a shade taller than JC, maybe 6’5” and a bit lighter.” JC swung at Skeeter’s curve ball and missed. Strike two.
“What’s he goin’ do next year?” Jesse asked.
“Don’t nobody know yet. He ain’t had no offers, but judgin’ from the way he’s throwin’, he’s quite a bit faster than last year. And he’s a lefty; everybody loves those southpaws. Him and JC are the only two athletes with any chance of playin’ at the next level. Rest of ‘em of good enough high school athletes, but that’s about it.” JC fouled off a changeup.
“C’mon Skeet. Set him down, and let’s go home,” someone shouted from behind the visitor’s dugout.
With one foot in the batter’s box, JC went through his batting ritual again: he tugged at his uniform, pulled up his pants (which were always sliding down), and spit tobacco juice over his left shoe. He stepped into box and struck an imposing figure. Nor was it all looks. JC had considerable power and had already set the Wilkes Central record for career home runs with twenty through his junior season. But there were to be no heroics from JC tonight. JC struck out looking on the next pitch. Game over.
Roy, who prided himself on being something of an historian of North Carolina high school baseball said, “I believe that’s the first, or maybe the second, time when neither team got a hit!” Roy’s memory was confirmed the next day when the Wilkes-Journal Patriot reported the only other time in state high school history a game ended with no hits by either team was back in 1957 when Clayton beat Apex 1–0.
Ham would always remember Opening Day, 1976, as the no-hitter he lost. Ham walked off the field, disgusted. “Figures,” Ham muttered to himself. “The day I throw a no-hitter; Skeeter throws a perfect game.” Ham walked silently toward the locker room to shower and change. He sure would like another shot at Bobby Skeeter and Sylva High. But Ham knew that could only happen if both teams got deep into the playoffs, and nobody expected Wilkes Central to do that.
When Ham came out of the locker room, Nora was waiting. She knew better than to approach him immediately after the game, especially a game like that. He leaned down and gave her a kiss. She smiled up at him and said simply, “Sorry, Ham.” MacPoochie, the MacPherson dog, was with Nora. Nora brought him to every game since Ham won his first game pitching as a sophomore and MackieP, as they called him, was there. Ham was no more or less superstitious than any other baseball player, but clearly MackieP was a good luck charm. He leaned down and rubbed the German Shepherd’s head. MackieP wagged his tail and licked Ham’s hand.
As he raised up, Ham felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Helluva game, kid.” Ham turned to see Walter Rabb, head coach of the University of North Carolina baseball team. They had met last summer, and Coach Rabb had appeared interested in Ham but did not make him a scholarship offer.
“Thanks Coach. That’s a tough one to take.”
Ignoring Ham for the moment, Rabb turned to Nora and stuck out his hand. “Hello, ma’am. Walter Rabb, University of North Carolina.”
Nora nodded shyly. “I’m Nora.”
Rabb turned back to Ham and smiled. “You had what we call a ‘quality start.’ Hell, it was more than that. You threw a no-hitter!”
Ham shrugged, “Yeah, but we lost the game.”
“I know. I know.” Rabb had a soothing manner. “I’m over here because we’ve got a game tomorrow against Appalachian State, and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to watch the marquis Opening Day game in the state of North Carolina.”
Ham knew Rabb was trying to convince Skeeter to play baseball once he got to Chapel Hill; it had been in the papers. He glanced over to the other side of the field and saw Skeeter still surrounded by scouts and fans; his teammates and coaches were waiting patiently for him on the bus.
“Just gettin’ tired of losin’ these Openin’ Day games, Coach.”
“Say, I think you’ve grown a bit since I saw you last summer!” Rabb eyed Ham up and down.
“Yes sir. I grew four inches and gained thirty-five pounds. Mama says Grandpa Dubya did the same thing when he was young,” Ham said.
Rabb whistled. “That a fact? And I think your fastball has picked up a lot of velocity, too.”
“Yes sir. My cousin, Leo Jr., is a highway patrolman. He brung his radar gun over couple of weeks ago and clocked me at ninety-two.”
Rabb smiled. “What were you throwing last year, about eighty-five?”
“Yes sir, at least accordin’ to Leo Jr..”
Coach Rabb also glanced toward the other dugout.
“Look Ham. We’re very interested in you. You’ve grown. You’ve gotten bigger. You’re throwing harder. We just don’t have any scholarship money left; I’ve committed everything for next year. But things change. Kids get drafted out of high school and pass up their scholarships. So if something opens up, you’re going to the top of our list after tonight. You keep pitching like this and you’re going see the offers start pouring in. I’ll stay in touch.”
“Thanks Coach.”
Rabb turned away and began sauntering toward Skeeter. Ham liked Coach Rabb. It seemed like he had been the coach at UNC forever. Ham quickly replayed the brief conversation with Rabb in his head. Would he get college offers to play baseball? Why did he have to wait til his senior year to start growing and throwing harder? He knew
