[legendsport]

Lincoln, NE: July 15, 1927:

"Hey, number six!"

Fred Barrell tried to tune the voice out. Even at home games... hecklers. He turned his attention back to the pitcher.

Fred's team, the Lincoln Legislators were the Class A affiliate of the Chicago Cougars. He was getting his first taste of pro ball and hadn't found it too difficult. Danny, who'd played in the same league (the Heartland League) the prior year for Brooklyn's affiliate in Omaha, had told him that it would get harder as he moved up the chain. That made a lot of sense, but Fred was confident he'd be up to the challenge.

The Legislators were taking on the Peoria Pastimers. Lincoln held the top spot, but were locked in a three-way race with Wichita right on their heels and Peoria just behind them. The Pastimers pitcher was a hard-throwing right-hander named Jim Cioffi. Cioffi was a college guy too, but undrafted and had a chip on his shoulder the size of Gibraltar. Fred had already gotten a couple of hits off Cioffi this season, one of them a home run and knew the scowling pitcher, who fancied himself a real prospect, was hoping to send a message.

Sure enough, the first pitch buzzed in high and tight. Fred, expecting it, had no trouble dodging the pitch. He looked down at the Peoria catcher and said, "You know, our guy throws hard too. We can both play this game, bub."

Gus Williams, the Pastimers catcher was, like Fred, a first year player. Unlike Fred, he wasn't considered a top prospect, having been drafted by the Sailors in round 5. Still, he knew Fred was right. "This guy doesn't listen to me, friend," he said ruefully.

"All right, we'll see if he can take it as well as he hands it out," Fred muttered and dug back in.

Cioffi buzzed him again.

"If you're trying to get under my skin, it's working," Fred said, raising his voice just enough to know the pitcher could hear him quite well without shouting it to the whole ballpark.

"Go get him six!" came the voice from behind him again.

Figuring he might get one to hit this time, Fred took a deep breath and concentrated. Picking up the spin as soon as it left the pitcher's hand, Fred knew he was getting a fastball and this one was a strike.

He turned on it, made good, solid contact and knew it was going out. He didn't even watch it, instead looking at Cioffi as the pitcher turned and watched the ball soar over the left field fence. He threw his glove down and glared at Fred while he trotted around the bases. Fred tried to be a good sport and didn't slow his trot or otherwise gloat, but inside he was savoring every moment of the glare he was getting as he circled the bases.

As he crossed the plate and turned towards his dugout, he saw a good looking young woman sitting beside the dugout. "Good job, number six!" she shouted.

He grinned at her, and trotted towards the dugout. As he dropped down the steps he heard the young woman ask, "What's his name, anyway?"

The guy hitting behind Fred, a good young outfielder named Vince York, grinned and told her, "That there is Fred Barrell, miss."

As Fred sat down on the bench, he saw York walking towards the plate, looking over his shoulder at Fred. When their gazes locked, York grinned and winked at Fred, then tipped his head towards the stands.

Fred shook his head and gave a soft chuckle.

"Hey, Fred Barrell, come over here," he heard as he came out of the dugout for the bottom half of the third.

He turned, and looked at the young woman. She was certainly attractive, but he had no idea why she was pestering him.

"Yeah, come over here," she said.

"Listen, miss, I need to get out there and warm up my pitcher. I can't be socializing, you know...." he said with a shrug and threw his mask on.

After the inning as he came back towards the dugout, his mask pushed up on his head, she called out again, saying, "You're a cutie pie, Fred Barrell."

Fred blushed a little bit and got into the dugout as quickly as he could.

"Looks like Tillie has set her cap for you, Fred," Vince York told him as he plopped down beside Fred on the bench.

"Excuse me?" Fred asked.

"That girl out there? That's Tillie. She was here last year too, and gave me the business."

"She's here all the time? Why haven't I seen her before now?" Fred asked.

York smirked. "She goes to college somewhere out of state, so she misses the start and end of the season, but she'll be here all summer, mooning over you, so get used to it, Barrell."

Fred rolled his eyes. "Oh, brother," he moaned. "I don't need this."

By the eighth inning Fred was determined to put an end to it, so he actually did stop to talk to the girl on his way back to the dugout before the start of the ninth inning. He had been stranded at third and had run home just in case the outfielder dropped the flyball that ended the home eighth, so he was near her and the game was all but over anyway (Lincoln was up 8-2).

"Hey, Fred Barrell, come over here," she said for about the fiftieth time. He got a kick out of seeing her surprised look when he did in fact walk over to where she sat right beside the end of the dugout.

"Look, miss, I appreciate you being friendly and all, but I'm trying to help the team win out here," he said in as friendly a tone as he could.

"Ooh, you're cuter up close, Fred Barrell," she said. She looked better to Fred up close too. He swallowed involuntarily and tried to keep his thoughts pure - he had Charlotte waiting on him back in Georgia, after all.

"Uh, miss... what's your name anyway?" he asked.

"Tillie Hobart," she replied and thrust out her right hand. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Fred Barrell."

"Why do you always use my full name?" he asked, genuinely puzzled.

"Well, I don't know what you prefer. Fred? Or Barrell? Mr. Barrell seems too formal, and I don't know if you have a nickname." This all came out in a rush.

Billy Tribe's head popped out of the dugout. Tribe was a cantankerous manager even when his team was winning big and at the moment did not look happy with his young catcher. "Barrell! Get your tail in here and get your gear on, we have another three outs to get!"

Fred swallowed again. "Uh, I need to get back to work, Tillie."

"OK," she said. "So what is it?" she asked.

"Huh? What's what?" Fred asked, feeling stupid.

"What do you prefer to be called?"

"Oh... that. Just call me Fred, I guess," he said and ducked into the dugout. He put his shin guards on in record time, the manager glaring at him all the while, and made it out there in time to take a few throws from his clearly amused pitcher.

After the game, Billy Tribe stopped by Fred's locker and congratulated him.

"Thanks, skip. Why are you congratulating me?" he asked, hoping it wasn't going to be a jibe about Tillie Hobart.

Tribe gave him a befuddled look. "Don't tell me you go five-for-five so often that you take it for granted." The befuddled look morphed into a steely-eyed glare. "That's not it, is it Barrell?"

5-for-5? Fred quickly went over his at-bats in his head and realized that yes, he had gone 5-for-5 with a homer, a double and three runs scored. He reddened and replied, "Oh, no, skip. I was just so... happy about the win, is all."

Tribe glowered at him for a moment as if suspecting something wasn't quite right, then nodded and patted him on the shoulder. "Don't let it go to your head, kid," he said and stomped off. Fred was left wondering if he meant the 5-for-5, or the pretty girl who had been chatting him up.