Fear Strikes Out by Jim Piersall, Hirshberg Read Free Book Online

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    But I wasn’t happy. All I could think of was Mom and Dad and how much they needed me. We hadn’t said anything, but college was out of the question. I’d have to make some quick money, and I’d have to keep on making it. I didn’t know how long before Mom might have to go back to the hospital and Dad wouldn’t be able to work any more. Only one thing pleased me. My mother was more like her old self than she had been in ten years. She seemed happy and calm as she worked around the house, and all of the old apprehension appeared to be gone.
    Before my father came home from the hospital, I said to her, “I’m not going to college, Mom.”
    “Why?” she asked.
    “I’ll have to work.”
    “That’s up to you, Jimmy. But go if you want to. Well get along.”
    After my father got home I brought the subject up again.
    “Do you want to go to college?” Dad asked.
    “How can I go? There’s no money in the bank.”
    “Well, it’s for you to decide.”
    “I don’t want to go to college, anyhow,” I said, deliberately keeping my voice steady. “I don’t like to study that much.”
    None of us ever mentioned it again.
    During those last few weeks before I graduated from high school, I was more restless than ever. Night after night I tossed around for hours as I tried to figure out how I could play ball and still make enough money to support my folks. I didn’t stop at trying to solve the problem of meeting current expenses. My head kept spinning with long-range worries about the family’s permanent security. How much would Dad and Mom need if they both were well? How much if Dad could never work again? How much if Mom had to go back to the hospital? How much to see that they always had a car? How much to get them out of that heatless, cold-water flat? How much could I collect for signing a baseball contract? How much did I want to collect? Would it ruin my career if I were a bonus player? If I weren’t I’d have to get another job. And what kind of a job could I hope to get if I intended to tie myself up playing baseball seven months of the year? I needed money—plenty of money. How else could I set up my parents for life?
    The dollar signs weren’t just dancing back and forth in the half-world between wakefulness and sleep which ruined my nights. They were being waved in my face during the days, too. After graduation the baseball scouts closed in. Some talked big bonuses, but I was much too young for that. In those days, a bonus player—a boy who got more than six thousand dollars for signing a contract—couldn’t play minor-league ball for more than one year. Then he had to go right to the major-league club that signed him. That would mean I’d be in the big leagues at eighteen, when I should be getting experience in the minors. I wouldn’t be good enough to make a major-league club at that age. I would still be three or four years away . What could I learn sitting on the bench, even a big-league bench? I couldn’t accept a bonus. But if I didn’t, what would I do for money?
    My problem was complicated by the fact that my dad thought I was too young to sign with anybody. On the day I graduated, he said, “Get a job this summer. You can play ball next year.”
    “How can I play ball next year if I lay off this year?” I demanded.
    “Can’t you get a job where you can work and play ball, too?”
    “Where?”
    “How do I know where? Look around. Maybe Tracy can help you.”
    But the next day I had to go to Boston to work out with the Braves. Billy Southworth, then the manager, wanted to see me. I spent a couple of hours at Braves Field, while he watched me make circus catches in the outfield and then gun the ball in. I hit the ball pretty well in batting practice, too. Southworth pulled me aside and asked, “How old are you, Jimmy?”
    “Seventeen,” I said.
    “All right. We’ll give you twenty thousand dollars to sign with us. Talk to your father when you get