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people in this town’ve got in the backs of their minds. That we’re not as big and not as good. Well, I’ve got news for them.”
        Now Les, too, was caught up in Harding’s angry spirit. He whirled around and threw beer up in the air and let it come down over his face, only a bit of it splashing into his mouth.
        Then he caught sight of Harding, who was standing with his hands on his hips and staring at Les. Harding had lost his own enthusiasm. “What’s the matter?” Les said.
        “I got something I need to say.”
        “Then say it.”
        “I’m half afraid to.”
        “Why’s that?”
        “Because I don’t want to plant no doubts in your mind that ain’t already there. If you follow me.”
        “I guess I do.”
        Harding cleared his throat and leaned back and gazed up at the starry sky. “It sure is a purty place we live in, Graves. Purty, purty, purty.”
        Well, Les thought, at least he’s still drunk, which means there’s at least half a chance he’ll regain his good mood.
        Then Harding’s head snapped down and he said, “There’s going to be a lot of pressure on you.”
        Les felt his stomach begin to tighten. “I know,” he said.
        “People are going to treat this like the most important event since the assassination of Abraham Lincoln.”
        “Clinton Edmonds sure is going to, anyway.”
        “Well, Clinton won’t be alone.”
        “So I gather.”
        “And that’s just it.”
        “What’s it?”
        “It don’t matter.”
        "What doesn’t matter?”
        “Don’t correct my English, smart boy.”
        "All right. What don’t matter?”
        “The game.”
        “The game,” Les said, “don’t matter?”
        “No, it don’t.”
        “But you just said-”
        “I was sayin’ what they think. Not what I think.” He leaned forward and half glared at Les. “You ever tried to imagine eternity.”
        “Well, sure, I’ve tried-”
        “Like yelling down a long wind-”
        “Yes, something like that-”
        “Well, in the scheme of things, that’s about how important this game is.”
        “So it isn’t important?”
        “It’s important that you don’t think it’s important.”
        “Huh?”
        "The more important you think it is, the more pressure you’re going to feel.”
        Les began to get Harding’s point.
        “So if you don’t think it’s important-”
        “Then I won’t get all tensed up-”
        “And lose the game or nothin’.”
        By now they had completed the bases and stood on home plate. “If you follow me,” Harding said.
        Les thought back to something Harding had said earlier. About not wanting to plant a seed of doubt where there hadn't been any.
        But even by bringing up the subject of pressure, Harding only made Les remember all the more what had happened at the Detroit training camp-
        Harding threw his arm around him and said, “I sure hope I didn’t do it.”
        “Do what?”
        “Plant no seed of doubt.”
        Les didn’t want to hurt his feelings or scare him. He just said, in a half whisper really, “No, you didn’t plant any seed of doubt.”
        And Harding burst out laughing again and said, “There you go again, smart boy, correctin’ my English.”
        

CHAPTER SIX
        
        Neely leaned against the bar and looked around at the pitiable assortment of humanity.
        This was mostly a worker’s tavern and now at eight-thirty it was rolling toward that time of night when drunken wage earners did just what the entrepreneurs wanted them to do-fought among themselves. Neely was always mindful of Cromwell’s ironic remark about defeating the Irish: “Just give them enough whiskey and they’ll kill each other.”
        The