But when he looked at me, there was no panic in his eyes. No fear. Not even nervousness, which I would have said every player feels on Opening Day. No, he looked perfectly cool standing there behind the plate in his Levi’s and light poplin jacket.

“Yuh,” he says, like a man confirming something he was pretty sure of in the first place. “Billy can hit here.”

“Good for him,” I tells him. It’s all I can think of to say.

“Good,” he says back. Then-I swear-he says, “Do you think those guys need help with them hoses?”

I laughed. There was something strange about him, something off, something that made folks nervous…but that something made people take to him, too. Kinda sweet. Something that made you want to like him in spite of feeling he wasn’t exactly right in the top story. Joe felt it right away. Some of the players did, too, but that didn’t stop them from liking him. I don’t know, it was like when you talked to him what came back was the sound of your own voice. Like an echo in a cave.

“Billy,” I said, “groundskeeping ain’t your job. Bill’s job is to put on the gear and catch Danny Dusen this afternoon.”

“Danny Doo,” he said.

“That’s right. Twenty and six last year, should have won the Cy Young, didn’t. He’s still got a red ass over that. And remember this: if he shakes you off, don’t you dare flash the same sign again. Not unless you want your pecker and asshole to change places after the game, that is. Danny Doo is four games from two hundred wins, and he’s going to be mean as hell until he gets there.”

“Until he gets there.” Nodding his head.

“That’s right.”

“If he shakes me off, flash something different.”

“Yes.”

“Does he have a changeup?”

“Do you have two legs? The Doo’s won a hundred and ninety-six games. You don’t do that without a changeup.”

“Not without a changeup,” he says. “Okay.”

“And don’t get hurt out there. Until the front office can make a deal, you’re what we got.”