Las Vegas Gold by Jim Newell

was right there to offer congratulations to Jerry Lyons, the first baseman. More furious typing from the press. The second batter popped weakly back to Tabby. The third worked the count to two and two and Comingo came out from behind the plate to talk to Tabby. The media—and the crowd—held their collective breaths to see how this scenario would work out, remembering Tabby’s behavior from the previous year when a catcher tried that move. Even Willie Fontana leaned forward in his seat on the bench.
    Bobby Joe put his arm around Tabby’s shoulder and the two walked behind the mound. Their body language told everybody they were not in agreement, but finally Tabby gave in, shrugged his shoulders and stood watching the catcher trundle back behind the plate. The signal was given, Tabby wound and pitched, and the ball flew out toward the gap in center right field. Nobody would have bet a plugged nickel the ball was anything but a home run. But they hadn’t reckoned with Domingo Martinez. The rookie center fielder ran the ball down, reached up as it was about to go over the fence and caught it in the web of his glove. He was so tall he didn’t even have to jump.
    What happened next was totally unexpected. Tabby rushed toward Bobby Joe Comingo and gave him a kick in the backside—not a hard one—and yelled, “I tol’ ya’ that was a stupid call!”
    The catcher turned around and gave him a big grin. “Yeah! Yeah!” he replied, making believe to throw a punch at Tabby. “And when was your last stupid decision?”
    By that time they were at the bench and young Martinez was just trotting past second, flipping the ball to the umpire standing there. When he reached the dugout, there was Tabby, standing waiting for him. He grabbed him in a bear hug and bounced him up and down a couple of times on the dirt in front of the dugout. Everyone on the bench could hear him, “Kid, for every catch you make like that this year, I’ll donate $100 to your favorite charity. Just tell me who to write the check to.”
    Domingo shot back, “My favorite charity is the Domingo Martinez Have Fun Club.” A big grin covered his face. “That means I have a hunnerd dollar meal on you.”
    â€œYou’re on. Just say when and where.” Tabby’s grin was just as big.
    Tabby O’Hara had truly joined the Las Vegas Gold.

7
    The rest of spring training and the Arizona League Exhibition season went better than expected. The won-lost percentage, for what that was worth, was above .500. Molly used as many players as she could to make final decisions as to who stayed and who went to the various minor league clubs. By the last week before the regular season began she had her fixed lineup playing every day, and the decision as to the utility players and designated hitters had been made. She found managing a Major League club in action was not much different from the pro women’s league she had been used to, and she received good support from her entire coaching staff. The comment that pleased her most came from bench coach Kenny Boyce. His thick, ginger-colored moustache framing a big smile and his blue eyes twinkling, he walked off the field with her one day after an exhibition game in which they had laced the Padres 8-3. Kenny said, “Molly, girl, this is going to be one fine season. I feel it in my bones. You are doing everything right. Keep on and damn the press.”
    The West Coast papers were full of stories about the actions of Harry Mendoza, the pitcher the Gold had traded to the Dodgers for Tabby O’Hara. Mendoza had all but refused to pitch. He would go one inning and then take himself out of the game, complaining about a sore leg or a sore neck or some other minor injury. He refused to run wind sprints some days, and other days ran only a few, and those slowly, at a trot. Other days, he didn’t show up at practice at all. Finally, the Dodgers