Shoeless Joe & Me by Dan Gutman

all about the Black Sox Scandal. They might think I was crazy or something.
    â€œLike I told you,” I said. “I overheard some gamblers talking about it.”
    â€œTen…thousand…dollars,” Katie repeated. It occurred to me that in 1919, ten thousand dollars might sound like a million. “We could sure use ten thousand dollars.”
    â€œDon’t do it, Joe,” I warned.
    â€œ Course Ah’m not gonna do it,” he snapped.
    Joe got up off the bed and grabbed Black Betsy with his right hand. He stood in the middle of the room and held the bat outstretched, his arm perfectly straight. The end of the bat nearly reached the wall. He closed his eyes and stood like a statue.
    â€œYou want me to send the boy away, Joe?” Katie asked.
    â€œHe can stay if he wants.”
    â€œWhat’s he doing?” I whispered to Katie.
    â€œThat’s how he relaxes and gets ready for a game,” she replied. “It keeps his muscles strong.”
    â€œHow long does he hold the bat out like that?”
    â€œA half hour,” she replied. “Then he’ll switch to the other hand.”
    Once I was in science class and Mr. Kane wanted to show us how our muscles worked. He asked us totake a book in one hand and hold it out in front of us. He had a stopwatch and he called out the seconds. In fifteen seconds my arm was sore. In thirty seconds it was really hurting. After one minute, I had to drop the book because I couldn’t take the pain anymore. Most of the kids in the class didn’t even make it to thirty seconds.
    Joe just stood there calmly, holding the bat—bigger than any bat I’d ever seen—like it was a feather. His arm wasn’t even trembling.
    â€œYou hungry?” Katie asked, holding out a brown paper bag. “We have some leftovers from dinner.”
    I suddenly realized I was starving. I took the bag thankfully and pulled out a piece of steak.
    â€œHow about a drink?”
    â€œDo you have a can of Coke?” I asked.
    Katie and Joe looked at me strangely, and I knew I had made a mistake. Maybe Coke hadn’t been invented yet.
    â€œYou…uh…don’t have Coke?” I asked.
    â€œOh, we have Coke,” Katie replied.
    â€œBut it don’t come in cans .” Joe chuckled.
    Katie looked at me suspiciously, but she handed me a bottle of Coke and used a little metal can opener to pry the top off. Then she grabbed a towel from a drawer and went into the bathroom. Joe kept holding the bat up.
    â€œIs it okay if I talk to you while you do that, Mr. Jackson?”
    â€œIf it pleases you.”
    â€œSay a player did want to lose a game onpurpose,” I asked. “How could he do it without anybody knowing?”
    â€œEasy,” Joe replied. “He could get a late jump runnin’ for a fly ball. Then he could dive for the ball and miss it by an inch. He’d look like he was tryin’, but all he did was turn an out into a triple. There’s other ways. He could make his throws slightly off target. Hittin’, he could swing a little late. There’s a million ways to lose a ball game if you set your mind to it.”
    Beads of sweat were starting to form on Joe’s face, but the bat didn’t droop or shake. He held it out steadily. I heard Katie brushing her teeth in the bathroom.
    â€œWhere are you from, Stosh?” Joe asked me.
    â€œLouisville, Kentucky.”
    â€œYou don’t say?” Joe replied, smiling with his eyes still closed. “Ah’m a South Carolina boy. Born and raised in Greenville, just a coupla hundred miles from you. You came all the way to Cincinnati from Louisville?”
    â€œI guess you could say that,” I replied.
    I wasn’t afraid Joe was going to brain me with Black Betsy anymore. We were getting downright chummy. I was relieved that he showed no interest in taking money to throw the World Series.
    â€œMr. Jackson,” I asked,