Short Stop: A Bar Mitzvah Boy in the Majors

By Zev Roth

There have been great Jewish baseball players. Some wouldn’t play on Yom Kippur. None, however, wore a yarmulke under their baseball hats. Zev Roth’s new book “Short Stop : A Bar Mitzvah Boy in the Majors” is the ultimate Jewish baseball novel. It is a fascinating and funny account of a Bar Mitzvah boy named Shalom Greenberg who is called on to pitch in the majors. To make matters worse, Shalom doesn’t play baseball very well. The events in the book are carefully crafted to make something so implausible seem possible. “Short Stop : a Bar Mitzvah Boy in the Major” is the ideal book for anyone who ever harbored dreams of playing Major League Baseball.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Zev Roth
• Release date: Jan 28, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301314683

Zev Roth

Zev Roth is an author living in Israel with his wife and seven children. This is his fourth book and his first specifially as an ebook.

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Copyright 2013 by Zev Roth

Smashwords Edition

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Chapter One

Buddy Blattner, the voice of the radio airwaves for the St. Louis Browns baseball club, was speaking closely into his microphone when he said, In between games of today’s doubleheader, Browns’ owner Bill Veeck promised what he called a ‘Festival of Surprises.’ Let’s see what Mr. Veeck has in store for us today. Two girls are now pushing a papier-mâché cake out to the pitcher’s mound. Let’s listen in to the stadium announcer.

The PA system announcer blared with levity in his voice, Today, celebrating the fiftieth anniversary of the American League, the Saint Louis Browns and Falstaff Brewery proudly present this jumbo size birthday cake now being wheeled out to the field.

Buddy resumed, Well, that’s a nice six foot birthday cake

Howard Williams, the Browns’ color man and other member of the broadcast team chimed in, Hey , it looks so good I feel like having a slice!

Buddy chuckled, then added, that’s a papier-mâché cake, Howard. Sure to get stuck in your teeth.

Howard laughed out loud.

Buddy stared at the cake as the top opened. A short figure quickly popped out. For a split second, Buddy forgot he was broadcasting over the radio, and kept silent as the crowd cheered. Quickly regaining his thoughts, Buddy declared, Well, look at that! A midget has popped out of that papier-mâché cake! He can’t be over four feet tall. He is wearing a Brown’s uniform. Heaven knows where they managed to find one that size. He’s turning around. Why, he’s wearing number one eighth on his back… Wait, what’s that he’s wearing on his feet, Howard?

"Looks to me like some sort of elf shoes. They’re curved at the end.

Number one eighth and wearing elf shoes, huh? I guess that makes sense.

It sure does.

While the crowd was somewhat mildly amused, Browns’ owner Bill Veeck briefly stepped out of his executive box and stopped in his tracks. Right away, he noticed an ominous crowd of curious reporters and cameramen heading his way. He had the passing fancy of fleeing their impending onslaught by returning into the safe cocoon of his owner’s box, but instead stood his ground. Putting his best face forward along with a rather meek attempt at a smile, he stood tensely as the reporters arrived

The first reporter to get to him, Veeck noticed, must have been pushing sixty and was doing a miserable job of hiding the fact he was out of breath. Yet somehow, Veeck quickly realized, this guy got here first.

The elderly reporter stopped again for a few seconds to catch his breath, then blurted out, Mr. Veeck, a few of us are kinda disappointed with that midget stunt. I mean, you promised us what you called a ‘Festival of Surprises’ today. I’ve seen that guy popping out of the cake stunt hundreds of times. I hear the folks at Falstaff are real upset, I mean, with all the hype and all.

A few other reporters joined in and nodded their disapproval.

Veeck smiled and shrugged his shoulders, then replied, Sorry boys, I thought it was kinda cute.

When another reporter yelled, if I can ask one more thing… Veeck saw the direction this was heading. He quickly bolted into his owner’s box and slammed the door behind him.

Veeck let out a gasp , wiped his brow, and stood motionless for a few moments. He found his seat and sat down in the first row next to his wife. He noticed the field being prepared for the second half of the double header, and muttered to his wife softly, If it’s a Festival of Surprises they want, it’s a Festival of Surprises they’ll get. I’d like to see their faces when he comes to bat.

Mrs. Veeck turned her head slightly towards her husband and gave a slight nod, then turned back toward the action. The starting lineups had been announced, and the Browns took the field. Mrs. Veeck turned on the radio on a shelf to her right.

She paid a feigning attention as Buddy’s voice boomed the from the box, No score bottom in the first of the second game of a doubleheader in a beautiful day for baseball. The count to Fleming is two and two. He swings and misses. Strike three, that’s all for Fleming. That does it for the Tigers. The score in the bottom of the first is : the Tigers nothing, the Browns coming to bat. Now a word from our sponsor, Falstaff Beer.

Bill Veeck stood up and smiled. He picked up his binoculars and made an inane attempt to peer into the Brown’s dugout, with no success. He said to his wife, "Get ready, they should announce him any minute.

When the Tigers were done throwing the ball around the infield, and the umpire signaled for the Browns to come to bat. The stadium announcer blared, Your attention, please. Now batting, right fielder, number four, Frank Saucier.

Frank walked from the on-deck circle with his bat slung over his shoulder. Inexplicably, Frank suddenly stopped, glared at the batter’s box for a few moments, then turn around back to the dugout.

In the broadcast booth, Howard was very confused. How often was the leadoff hitter suddenly recalled like that? He found his voice and announced, What’s going on? Frank Saucier has always been the Browns’ leadoff batter just about all season. Buddy, any reason why Saucier is being scratched?

Buddy replied, Maybe he got hurt or something, but he seemed fine down there and wasn’t limping or anything.

The stadium announcer answered their questions when he declared over the PA, Your attention please. Now batting for Frank Saucier… number one eighth, Eddie Gaedel.

The three- foot seven-inch person who had popped out of the cake earlier, Eddie Gaedel, slowly approached the batter’s box. To make himself look appear more professional, Eddie had removed his elf shoes and was now wearing baseball cleats. Holding what can only be described as a toy bat on his shoulder, he stopped for a few seconds to take in the crowd. He then entered the batter’s box and assumed his batter’s stance.

The Home Plate Umpire stood there frozen and staring.

What in blazes is going on here, he thought. "Is this some kinda joke?

He raised his arms and barked in a voice mixed with anger and resentment, Time out!

He then signaled to the other umpires to join him as they walked over to the Browns’ dugout. He wanted a word with the meshaganah who was in on this stunt – now - and that one person on the field was the Browns’ manager Zack Taylor. The group quickly arrived at the Brown’s dugout entrance.

The Home Plate Umpire yelled almost at the top of his lungs, Taylor, get out here. Now!

Zack Taylor slowly ambled his way out of the dugout and stood before the crew, who looked at him as though he was a lamb set for slaughter.

The Home Plate Umpire approached Taylor until their noses almost touched, and asked, Taylor, what the hell is going on here? What’s with that short guy? You can’t possible be serious putting that guy up to bat!

Taylor had been expecting this. He smiled and in a surprisingly calm voice replied, You bet I’m serious. He’s signed to a contract and has a place on our roster.

Taylor reached in his back pocket, and, still smiling, removed a crumbled piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to the Home Plate Umpire, who promptly grabbed it like a monkey being offered a peanut. The Home Plate Umpire clumsily unfolded the paper and turned toward the rest of the umpire crew while reading the paper. His features suddenly softened, and his feelings quickly changed from anger to resignation.

In a calm voice he said, It says here that the midget is named Eddie Gaedel. Apparently he is signed to an official American League contract for one hundred dollars per game.

Realizing the battle was lost, the Home Plate Umpire cracked a small smile and said in a sarcastic tone, Back in position, gentlemen. Mr. Eddie Gaedel is getting his turn at bat!

As Veeck was peering at action from his owner’s box with a noticeable delicious grin on his face, the Home Plate Umpire ordered Eddie into the batting circle.

As Eddie took his toy bat off his shoulder and got into some sort of batting stance, the entire stadium mood seemed to suddenly shift. Whereas the fans had come to the park to witness another in a series of the great summer game, but now the entire the crowd was basked in reverie. Here was a three-foot adult with a toy making what appeared to be a serious attempt at a turn at bat. The absurdity of the situation had caught the interest and the humor of the fans in the