Read Online Sophomore Campaign by Frank; Nappi - Free Book Online

Gibson or Cool Papa Bell. Weren’t
they
available? Heck, maybe Satchel Paige ain’t doing nothing this year.” He closed hiseyes and ran both hands through his hair. “Christ almighty, Murph, I do not know where do you get these harebrain ideas from. Huh? Honest to God, what the hell are you thinking about?”
    Murph looked away with impatience, myriad thoughts searing his forehead with lines.
    â€œJesus, Warren, we’ve been down this road before,” he said, hands on his hips.
    â€œRemember what you said about Mickey when I first told you about
him
?”
    â€œThe kid’s colored, for Christ sakes. Don’t you get it, Arthur?”
    â€œHe’s a ballplayer, Warren. A damned ballplayer. It’s that simple. So he’s colored. Big deal. Everyone called Mickey a retard. Including you. And Pee Wee, who happens to be the best shortstop in the league, was just a midget. Words, Warren. Just words. Does it make them any less effective on the field?”
    â€œYou are talking out your ass, Arthur,” Dennison said. “Apples and oranges. This ain’t the same thing, at all. I don’t need to lose any more fannies from our seats. And I certainly do not need any visits from the damned Klan. Have you read the damned papers lately? You are playing with fire here. These white folks work hard for their money. And they look forward to coming here to watch their team—a team of their own—play ball for them. I won’t screw with that. I can’t. I owe them better than that.”
    Murph wasn’t listening anymore. He was so sick of Dennison’s crap. Why did he think, even for a minute, that this arrogant, selfabsorbed scumbag would be amenable to anything so unconventional? This man, who viewed himself, unjustifiable as it was, in such high regard. You think he would have learned his lesson with Mickey. But he just could not see beyond himself and his myopic ideas. He had this secret sense of power and control. God, it was sickening. He went about his business with this ineffable,inexpressible tyranny, something deep and twisted that suggested an unavailing need for control emanating from a truly insecure core.
    â€œWell, I bet Walter O’Malley and a whole bunch of people wearing blue and white in Brooklyn are glad they didn’t feel the same way. There’s a colored boy over there who plays first base. I
think
his name is Jackie Robinson. You may have heard of him. Rookie of the year? Led the league in stolen bases? Helped get ‘dem bums’ to the Series?”
    â€œDon’t get cute with me, Murphy. Okay. I know all about that. Poppycock. This ain’t the big city. Besides, that won’t last. You’ll see. Black and white? It just don’t work. Especially here. Haven’t you been reading the papers? Our people? They’re just different here. And our players. What about them? Have you thought about them?”
    Murph folded his arms and sighed.
    â€œListen, this is all sort of premature. Relax. But I’m telling you. I’ve seen him. And people I trust say he’s the real deal. Negro league or not. He hits the crap out of the ball and has a canon behind the plate. I think once everyone sees that, nobody—not even you—will care
what
damn color he is.”
    Dennison continued to listen, unable to utter even a sound as his throat had thickened with abhorrence.
    â€œListen, forget about all this worrying for now,” Murph continued. “Let’s just see what happens with Boxcar. Maybe he’ll snap out of it and all this bantering will have been for naught. But if he doesn’t, and we still need to look for a catcher, you leave the fellas on the team and everything else to me. I’ll put my job on the line, again, just to get this thing rolling. That’s how sure I am.”
    Standing there, listening to Murph pitch his plan, Dennison thought about his manager and the last few