Read Online Las Vegas Gold by Jim Newell - Free Book Online

nowhere but trouble.”
    â€œAny more questions?” There was silence in the room. “Okay. See you on the plane tomorrow.” And she turned and walked away toward her office.
    Horace Mayhew, standing next to Digger Hazen, grunted, “Huh. Never heard nothin’ like that before, an’ I played for some tough managers.”
    â€œThat’s some kind of woman,” Digger replied. “This is going to be a different kind of team, a different kind of season. I can hardly wait to see how things turn out.”
    Neither could the rest of the team, the fans or the media.

8
    The Gold were a calm group of ball players prior to the opening game. Before they took infield and batting practice a couple of hours before the game began, Mike Malone had wandered into the clubhouse and introduced himself to them, shaking hands with each one and wishing them well. They were ready.
    Opening day at Safeco Field against Seattle was clear and chilly, with a light breeze blowing out of the stadium toward left field. As usual, a celebrity tossed out the first ball, another celebrity sang the National Anthem, both teams were introduced as they stood on the baselines and both managers shook hands before the game began. The noise from the crowd was loud when Molly was introduced, her red hair rippling in the breeze when she doffed her cap. The length of her hair, down to her shoulders, looked no different under a baseball cap, except for the color, than that of Johnny Damon when he played in Boston, or the dreadlocks of Manny Ramirez.
    One loud-mouthed fan yelled, “Where’s your dress, sweetheart?” his jibe causing much mirth among his pals.
    â€œGold can’t buy a win,” was another popular chant set up from the left field bleachers.
    When the time came for the call, “Play Ball,” Danny Johnson walked up to the plate to lead off. He stroked the first pitch of the game into left field for a single, made a wide turn and hustled back to first. Willie Chavez put his arm around his shoulder and said quietly, “Molly’s going all out. Did you pick up Jerry’s steal sign?”
    â€œI got it. First pitch. I guess she’s going all out, all right.”
    The lanky short stop took a good lead off first and held it. The Mariners pitcher hardly glanced at him. Right fielder Porter Kipping was the second Gold batter; he swung at the first pitch, even though it was out of the strike zone, just to give the catcher a few seconds delay before he could attempt to throw the runner out at second. As it happened, the catcher momentarily fumbled the ball trying to get it out of his mitt, and Danny sailed into second with an easy stolen base. The pitcher, momentarily shaken, walked Kipping. The rookie center fielder, Diego Martinez, was batting third in Molly’s opening day line-up. Batting left-handed, Martinez worked the count to three and two. The next delivery was a curve ball that got away from the pitcher and hung in the rookie’s wheelhouse. The kid lofted the ball high into the right field stands for his first Major League home run at his first official Major League game.
    In the third inning, something else dramatic happened. Digger Hazen walked, and again, on the first pitch, stole second. He was easily safe, but for some reason, the umpire called him out. Molly was out of the dugout like a shot heading for second. Third base coach Jerry Haley got there first to get between Hazen and the umpire to prevent the angry Hazen from getting himself thrown out of the game.
    Molly confronted the umpire without anger. “What, exactly, is the way you interpret Rule 701?” she asked.
    â€œWhadda ya’ mean?”
    â€œI mean what I said. How do you interpret that rule?”
    â€œWhat is the rule?”
    â€œYou don’t know?”
    â€œI do if you tell me what it says.”
    â€œCall the crew chief over.”
    â€œSam,” Molly said, when gray-haired Sam