In 500... (or less)

Just Perfect

His arm was sore after the warm-ups, he wasn't sure he even wanted to make this start.

Harry Tompkins was a veteran, it wasn't like he needed this to stay on the team. He'd earned lots of dough playing baseball, and one more start wasn't going to make a difference.

"I don't know about this one, coach," he said as he walked out of the bullpen to make his way to the dugout before the game started.

"What's wrong, Harry?" Bevins was used to Tompkins grumbling about aches and pains, he had already skipped three starts this season.

"Shoulder's a little sore, wonder if I ought to give it a go."

"Tompkins!" It had been awhile since anyone yelled from the stands to get the old pitcher's attention, his autograph was never a sought after item. Harry paused and scanned the stands to see who yelled.

"Over here!" A man with a program stood along the railing, holding out a pen. "Sign my program?"

For a kid, sure. This guy was in his 40s, not a typical autograph seeker. Even though he didn't want to, Harry found himself taking the pen and program from the man.

"Betting it all on you tonight, Tompkins," the man said as Harry scribbled on the cover. "I need you to come through."

"Huh?"

"I bet my last five bucks on you tonight. If you don't win, the bookie is gonna be waiting for me."

"On me? No wonder you're up to your neck with the bookie," the old ballplayer answered. "How much you owe?"

"Fifty grand."

"How are you gonna make that off me? Even if we win, a five dollar bet won't pay much," Harry handed the pen back and started to walk away.

"Not on the team. On you." The man folded up the program and tucked it in his pocket. "Ten thousand to one on you pitching a perfect game."

Harry stopped in his tracks and whirled around. "A perfect game!? You know how hard that is? I've never even come close."

"You will tonight," the man said. "You have to."

"Right," Tompkins said. "Hope you have good health insurance...or a life insurance policy."

He walked away shaking his head. A perfect game. No hits, no walks, no baserunners. Fat chance.

When he got to the dugout, the thought of the man preoccupied him, he'd forgotten about his shoulder.

The first inning went by like lightning. And the second, the third, the fourth.

"You got it goin' on tonight, old man." Perez always liked to tease his teammate.

After he set the side down in order in the sixth, he glanced at the man in the stands. He smiled and nodded to Harry.

Perez made a spectacular play in the eighth, to go along with two quick outs. Perfect going into the ninth.

All he could think about was the man, the bet. He had to finish. Wipeout slider, one away. Lazy popup, that's two.

The last batter worked a full count, then got called out looking on a borderline pitch. Perfect.

Harry glanced into the stands, the man was saying a prayer of thanks. Harry motioned to security to bring the guy onto the field.

"Thanks for betting on me," he told the man. "I could have never done it without knowing what might happen to you."

"About that," the man said. "I was only kidding."