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great at pitching as well as batting. But if you’re looking atnarrow differences, the lefty was a little bit better. A tiny bit. Not enough to hurt the other’s feelings. Both of them were good-natured and kind to the other kids.
    Barry Jacobs was also good at batting, but he wasn’t so kind to other kids. I guess it’s easier to be kind when you’re as superior as Simon and Sylvester than when you’re just working-at-it good like Barry. Simon and Sylvester giving out smiles and helpful hints to the others was like a gift from the Ford Foundation; there was still lots there, and they didn’t do it for profit.
    Aunt Thelma helped measure the boys for uniforms, and I helped give them out. Sidney cried when he found out that he wouldn’t have his baseball pants right away. His mother mentioned to Aunt Thelma that he was a little overweight. Actually, Sidney was fat. His pants would have to be ordered. Sidney was wiping the tears from his eyes with his fists the way that infants do, when his mother came swooping down onto the field looking like a jagged streak of yellow lightning in her yellow stretch pants with knees going at forty-five degree angles.
    Mother was standing behind Hersch telling him to choke up a bit more on the bat.
    “Mrs. Setzer,” Mrs. Polsky began.
    Mother waved a hand impatiently. She wanted to finish with Hersch.
    “Mrs. Setzer,” Mrs. Polsky repeated.
    Mother finished with Hersch and then said, “Yes, Mrs. Polsky?”
    “Isn’t there some way Sidney can get into a pair of pants?”
    Mother glanced from Mrs. Polsky to Sidney and then back again. “Sure,” she said, “tell him to lose about ten pounds.” She looked over at Sidney again and added, “Around the hips would be best.”
    Spencer came over and added that he had a new training rule: all the boys were to walk to practice and to the games. They all needed the leg work.
    Mrs. Polsky sputtered, “But my Sidney doesn’t get home until 3:15. By the time he gets a little snack and changes his clothes, how can he have time to walk to practice?”
    Spencer thought a minute and answered, “He can skip his snack and ride his bike.”
    Mother looked at Spencer and said, “That’s a great idea, Spence.”
    Sidney tugged at his mother’s slacks and said, “Can I, Mom? Can I?”
    Mrs. Polsky answered, “I’ll have to think about it, son.”
    Aunt Thelma chimed in, “I think, Mrs. Polsky, that itwould be a very good experience for Sidney to ride his bike to the games.”
    Mother said, “What’s this about a good experience? It’s a training rule; Spencer just said so.”
    Sidney kept asking, “Can I? Can I?” and Mrs. Polsky kept saying, “We’ll see. We’ll see.” She glared at Mother quite a lot.
    After calisthenics and measuring for uniforms, we had a practice game. It was hardly that, though. Sidney was in right field, and the only time that a ball came his way was when Sylvester hit one. Sidney was scratching at the time, and Sylvester ran all the bases. Other things like that happened, too. For example, Barry hit a low grounder on which he easily made it to second because the ball kept rolling out of the first baseman’s hand. I happened to be playing first base at the time. When I finally got enough hand on the ball, Barry had just rounded second. I threw it to Louis LaRosa on third. He caught it surprisingly enough—the first, firm catch of the afternoon. But when he caught it, he was so pleased with himself that he stepped off base to look around and see if his mother was watching (she was), and he neglected to tag Barry out. Barry made it to home even before the throw.
    Spencer continued not giving me any special breaks.He kept referring to himself as
let’s
and to me as
kid
. “Let’s beef up that swing, kid.” “Let’s run as if it counts, kid.” “Let’s get that bat off your shoulder, kid.”
    Mother said, “That’s all for today, boys.” As they were leaving the field, she addressed You-Know-Who