“DiMaggio enlisted yesterday,” I say. “He’s leaving for Santa Ana next week. It’s all over the Times.”

Curveball, away.

Mack frames the pitch on the corner. “Oh yeah?” He tosses the ball back.

“Yeah. A couple relievers are gonna enlist, too.”

Changeup, inside.

“Good news for the top prospect in the Yankee farm system.” Mack winks.

Fastball, the high heat.

His mitt pops. “That’s good for today, kid.”

After practice, at Patsy’s, Mack buys me a beer. We split a pie. “See ya tomorrow.”

All night I dream of Yankee Stadium…

Then, a surprise call in the morning: I’m shipping out to Boston, home of the Red Sox.

The officer smiles when I arrive. “You’re the hard-throwing kid from Harlem, huh?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Glad to have ya. America needs baseball now more than She ever has. But forget whatcha learned in New York. Our team here demands more… accuracy.”

So I get to work: training, learning new systems.

And yet, at night I dream of Yankee Stadium…

Now it’s April, my debut. My uniform is crisp. All eyes are on me. I close mine briefly and think of the old bullpen, of Mack. I can almost see him wink.

Relax…

Breathe…

Focus on the target…

“Match bearing and shoot!” the intercom demands.

Deliver.

I fire the torpedo at the German Zerstörer…

…

A strike!

Crewmates cheer.

“That’s good for today, kid,” says my captain.

The submarine dives. My heart sinks.

The waves carry me further away from my big league dreams.