Ray & Me by Dan Gutman

“but don’t ever ask for a day off, okay?”
    â€œHuh?” Pipp said. “Why not?”
    â€œYou’re not gonna believe this,” I explained, “but in a few years, you’re gonna have a headache. And you’re gonna ask for a day off. And some young guy named Lou Gehrig is gonna take your place that day. And he’s gonna be so good that he’s gonna take your job. And the Yankees are gonna sell you to Cincinnati. Trust me on this.”
    Wally Pipp looked at me like I was crazy.
    â€œHow would you know what’s gonna happen in a few years?” he asked. “I never even heard of nobody named Gehrig. You really are sick, kid. Maybe you better get back to the hospital.”
    I could have tried to convince Wally Pipp not to ask for a day off. I could have argued with him. But there was no point. My mom always told me that you’ve got to choose your battles in life. I had more important things to do than save Wally Pipp’s career.
    â€œForget it,” I told Pipp. “Thanks for the ball. Can you tell me where I might find Carl Mays?”
    Pipp pointed to a locker all the way in the corner of the clubhouse.
    â€œOver there,” Pipp told me. “But don’t bother him. He don’t like bein’ bothered. Especially today. He’s going for his 100th career victory.”
    Carl Mays was sitting on a bench by himself, hunched over with his back to me. He was strippedto the waist, wearing gym shorts. He looked lost in thought. His foot was nervously tapping the floor.
    As I got closer, I could see there was a scar on the back of his left leg, maybe six inches long. On the floor of his locker were four pairs of baseball shoes, all shined up and lined up perfectly in a row. There were a few bats leaning against the wall behind me, also perfectly in a line. He must have been a neat freak.
    Suddenly, I had an incredible idea. I could accomplish my mission right here and now. I didn’t have to give a batting helmet to Ray Chapman to save his life. All I had to do was pick up one of those bats and whack Carl Mays on his pitching arm with it!
    If he was injured, he wouldn’t be able to play. And if he wasn’t able to play, he wouldn’t be able to hit Ray Chapman in the head with a ball. And if he didn’t hit Chapman with the ball…well, you get the idea.
    It would be so easy !
    My mind was racing, but I had to think this thing through. If I whacked Mays with the bat, the rest of the Yankees would surely surround me in about two seconds and beat the crap out of me. I’d most likely get arrested and possibly thrown in jail. If they took away my new pack of baseball cards, there would be no way for me to get back home again. I’d be stuck in 1920 forever.
    It was a dilemma. If I whacked Mays with the bat, I would be saving Ray Chapman’s life and possibly ruining my own. Is it the right thing to do to hurt somebody if it would save somebody else’s life? I didn’t know.
    I eyed the bats. I could always argue that by hitting Mays with a bat, I was saving two lives. Chapman wouldn’t die, and Mays wouldn’t have to go through the rest of his life knowing that he killed Chapman.
    But who would believe me afterward when I explained that I was only trying to help these guys? I was the only person in 1920 who knew that Ray Chapman was going to be dead in a matter of hours. Nobody else had a clue. They would just think I was some crazy kid who attacked Carl Mays with a bat.
    There wasn’t a lot of time to work out all the consequences. I had to make a decision fast.
    I put down the ball that Wally Pipp gave me. I picked up one of Carl Mays’s bats.

10
All Part of the Game
    I N THE END , I DIDN’T HAVE TO DECIDE WHETHER OR NOT to attack Carl Mays with his own baseball bat. Because at that moment, he turned around and looked at me.
    I could have swung the bat, anyway. Mays would have been so surprised, he