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Mattymo · 11-05-2008, 10:13 PM

April 1, 1911

"Whack!"

The ball was hit towards left-centerfield and deep. Francis turned and sprinted, his cap flying off his head, his long brown hair flapping as he ran. As the ball began its decent, Francis kept digging, gliding over the still frozen grass, towards where he believed the ball would land. He reached his left hand out and felt his mit pull. He quickly grabbed his mit with his right hand. He then lost his balance and tumbled to the ground, rolling twice before coming to a stop. He looked down at his hands. The ball was nestled nicely in between both hands, as if it belonged there. He got up, reached back and fired the ball as hard as he could towards the infield. After one hop, the ball fell perfectly into the infielder's hand at second base. Francis pumped his fist and ran to the back of the line as another outfield got his chance.

Just then an older, clean-cut man in his 40s, holding a clipboard, jogged up to Francis. "Not bad kid," he said, tugging at the brim of his cap, "I'm Mark Wheeler, the manager of the Maple Leafs. What's your name?"

"Umm…Francis Timpson, sir," he responded.

"Timpson, Timpson," he said as he scoured the names on his clipboard, "Frank Timpson. There it is. Keep up the good work kid."

Francis was proud of himself. He had caught every reachable ball that was hit to him and made all the throws he had been told to make.

After a few minutes it was his turn again. This time a grounder. Francis sprinted towards the ball, scooped it up with both hands, and fired towards home plate. The catcher, another of the young guys, caught the ball on the fly.

"Wow, where'd you get that arm?" asked one of the other outfielders as Francis ran back to the group.

"Uh I dunno," responded Francis, uncomfortable with the compliment.

"Name's Tom Fischer" responded the guy, "I played in the Lower League last year. Tryin to make some money with the big club this year."

"Oh yeah?" responded Francis, "They don't pay you in the Lower League?"

Tom shook his head. "Nah, but I heard some of the older guys talkin last year, they can make up to $200 a season! You know you want some of that, eh?"

Just then one of the other coaches, wearing a blue cap with a white "t" on it, called all the players to home plate. "Alright fellas, now we're going to see what you can do at the plate," he yelled, once everyone had gathered around, "We'll go 3 at a time, the rest of you will play the field while the pitchers continue throwing. Let's see, Emery, Fischer and Timpson, you're up first. You'll be facing Mike Schute, one of the guys who pitched for us last year."

11-05-2008, 10:13 PM	#12 (permalink)
Mattymo All Star Starter Join Date: May 2002 Location: Colchester, CT Posts: 1,424	April 1, 1911 "Whack!" The ball was hit towards left-centerfield and deep. Francis turned and sprinted, his cap flying off his head, his long brown hair flapping as he ran. As the ball began its decent, Francis kept digging, gliding over the still frozen grass, towards where he believed the ball would land. He reached his left hand out and felt his mit pull. He quickly grabbed his mit with his right hand. He then lost his balance and tumbled to the ground, rolling twice before coming to a stop. He looked down at his hands. The ball was nestled nicely in between both hands, as if it belonged there. He got up, reached back and fired the ball as hard as he could towards the infield. After one hop, the ball fell perfectly into the infielder's hand at second base. Francis pumped his fist and ran to the back of the line as another outfield got his chance. Just then an older, clean-cut man in his 40s, holding a clipboard, jogged up to Francis. "Not bad kid," he said, tugging at the brim of his cap, "I'm Mark Wheeler, the manager of the Maple Leafs. What's your name?" "Umm…Francis Timpson, sir," he responded. "Timpson, Timpson," he said as he scoured the names on his clipboard, "Frank Timpson. There it is. Keep up the good work kid." Francis was proud of himself. He had caught every reachable ball that was hit to him and made all the throws he had been told to make. After a few minutes it was his turn again. This time a grounder. Francis sprinted towards the ball, scooped it up with both hands, and fired towards home plate. The catcher, another of the young guys, caught the ball on the fly. "Wow, where'd you get that arm?" asked one of the other outfielders as Francis ran back to the group. "Uh I dunno," responded Francis, uncomfortable with the compliment. "Name's Tom Fischer" responded the guy, "I played in the Lower League last year. Tryin to make some money with the big club this year." "Oh yeah?" responded Francis, "They don't pay you in the Lower League?" Tom shook his head. "Nah, but I heard some of the older guys talkin last year, they can make up to $200 a season! You know you want some of that, eh?" Just then one of the other coaches, wearing a blue cap with a white "t" on it, called all the players to home plate. "Alright fellas, now we're going to see what you can do at the plate," he yelled, once everyone had gathered around, "We'll go 3 at a time, the rest of you will play the field while the pitchers continue throwing. Let's see, Emery, Fischer and Timpson, you're up first. You'll be facing Mike Schute, one of the guys who pitched for us last year."