In the first game between the Cap Tigers, from west-suburban Norridge, and the Braves, from the Chicago neighborhood of south Andersonville, emotions ran high. The Cap Tigers were undefeated in the Riis Park Weekend Semi-Pro League, and they expected to remain that way. Their lineup was loaded with big, ham-handed sluggers. The heart of their order could match up in size with any team from the majors; overall, they’re bigger than the White Sox. They had a hard-throwing pitcher on the mound with an intimidating fastball. They had the finest practice facilities and the best equipment that money could buy.
The Braves discussed various strategies. “Maybe we should just call each other Julio during the game,” suggested Juan, a Mexican. At five foot three he’s the smallest of the Braves, a couple of inches taller than Eddie Gaedel, the midget who played one game for Bill Veeck back in the 50s. The most diminutive player on a team of little guys, Juan is nicknamed Willow, after the title character in the movie about a magical heroic dwarf. He’s also the designated hitter.
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“The money definitely helps,” Willow said. “But that isn’t the reason we play. Some of the guys on the team have quit jobs because they interfered with baseball. We’d rather play than work. Most of the team has been together for four years, since we were 15, 16 years old, and I can see us being together for at least another four. I think we all feel that baseball is better than life.”
The game was scheduled early, for 10:30 AM. The sky was overcast, threatening rain carried by a high wind. Everybody arrived on time. About 30 spectators were on hand–most had driven over from Norridge with the Cap Tigers. Two umpires would work the game. They were older men, both black. One worked the plate, the other roved the infield. They knew they’d have some tough calls to make.
Gibby had given up five runs through the seventh but settled down in the eighth, and with the Cap Tigers hitters swinging hard at high outside pitches, set them down one-two-three. The Braves added a run in their half and held a 9-to-5 lead going into the ninth. “Nine’s a charm,” said John the manager, clapping it up. “Let’s go, Julios,” yelled Willow, as he positioned the outfield. Tony, the quiet one, sang the first line of “We Are the Champions” over and over, softly, to himself, like a chant. “It’s the only line I know,” he said.
Ben, the white guy, made a sudden announcement. “Me and Claudia are getting married.” The others toasted them with orange juice and beer. “A Mexican-Irish wedding, you got to get married on the field,” shouted one. “Yeah, you can’t get her a bigger diamond anywhere.” Tony continued to rehearse “We Are the Champions.” And Juan–Willow–said to no one in particular, “Sometimes baseball really is better than life.”
