"Robert Reed - Starbuck" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reed Robert)

"Fastball."
"Well then."With a glance back over his shoulder, the catcher said, "Give him a breaking ball. Put it
outside. Can you?"

"Probably."

"After that, start shaking me off."

"Okay."

"And go high with your best fastball. The little shit's going to swing through, and you'll get your first out."

Except it didn't happen that way. The breaking pitch pushed the count to full, but Starbuck didn't get his
fastball low enough to entice. Instead, the batter watched it buzz past his eyes, and he took first base at a
gallop, and now the winning run was on and there were still three outs to earn.

The manager called time.

Where was the stupid resin bag? Starbuck found it hiding behind the mound, and he contented himself for
a few moments by banging the bag against his palms and tossing it down before giving it a few good
kicks. White dust hung in the air. The manager was crossing the infield, already taking a measure of his
pitcher. Starbuck gave him a stare and jutting lower jaw. "I don't want you to pull me,"he said with his
body, his face. And then he gave the hapless resin bag one more hard kick.

The catcher came out with the manager. Catchers always did that, since they were supposed to be the
generals out on the diamond. But there was also a history between Starbuck and this manager, and if you
knew enough--and the fans always knew more than enough--you realized the catcher was standing
halfway between the men for a reason. These two prideful souls had already suffered more than one
flare-up this season. It was smart baseball to have a beefy body at the ready, in case this little meeting on
the mound turned into another donnybrook.

The manager began by asking, "What should I do?"

"Don't use Cosgrove,"warned Starbuck.

"No?"

"I'll get three outs."

"Tonight?"

"Not with you standing here. But yeah, I will."

The manager nodded, as if he sincerely believed that promise. Then with a strong quiet voice, he said,
"Show me your arm."

Starbuck surrendered his right arm into the waiting hands.

The manager was ancient by most measures. The story was that he had played parts of three seasons in
the Bigs, but he was too small for the game. So like a lot of idiots in those days, he juiced himself with