top of page

Barnburner: A Baseball Island Yarn, Chapter Three

Words and Illustration by B.E. Sabin | October 25, 2024


 

Chapter Three


By the time Detective Pennebaker reached what was left of the West End Grounds and the west side, the effects of the widow maker had worn off and were replaced by a throbbing headache, which was the natural result of a nonfatal encounter with the drink. It’s safe to say that he wasn’t in the best mood. 

A crowd of newly homeless and curious onlookers had gathered around the stadium. Among their ranks was Shirley Adams, a reporter for the Baseball Island Times. Shirley caught Pennebaker’s eye and made his way over to him. 

“Any idea on the cause, Detective? Lotta people are saying it’s arson.”

“Goddamn, Shirley, I just got here. What the hell can I figure out in five seconds? Leave me alone and let me do my job, will ya?” said Pennebaker.

“Hell, Detective, didn’t mean to pry, just wondering if you had the dirt or any leads is all,” Shirley said.

“It’s your goddamn job to pry, so don’t give me that aw-shucks garbage. Buzz off, Adams.”

Pennebaker left Adams with his pen poised over his notebook and made his way across the police line. The fire had left everything in its path unrecognizable.

“Detective, glad to see you’re here,” said Fire Chief Conklin. Conklin was a large man with a big belly and a face that was covered in soot morning, noon, and night. Pennebaker wondered if showering was a foreign concept to him. 

“Wish I could say the same,” said Pennebaker. “I was trying to enjoy my day off.”

“At the bottom of a bottle no doubt,” said Conklin. “But no matter, Detective, let me show you where we think the fire originated.”

 Pennebaker followed the Chief past piles of smoldering rubble to the spot where the grandstand once stood. 

“Here we are, “Coogin’s Corner’,” Conklin said.

“Excuse me?” said Pennebaker.


Baseball Island

“It’s what the locals call this, or what was this, part of the stands. It’s where Jimmy Coogin…you know that crazy Green Stockings fan?”

“No, I don’t, Captain,” Pennebaker said with indignation. “I’m not a baseball fan. I find the game to be…boring.”

“I always knew there was something wrong with you, Pennebaker. And now I know what. Only somebody without a soul would find baseball boring.”

“And only somebody without a brain would find it exciting,” Pennebaker retorted. 

“To each their own, Detective,” Conklin said. “So, this is where the fire started.”

Pennebaker crouched down. “Right here,” he pointed at the ground.

“We believe so. Do you see this V pattern here? We believe it was a discarded match that started the fire. Some careless fan enjoying a smoke and then his seat started to get a little hot.”

Pennebaker rubbed his chin and examined the V pattern. “Seems plausible. Why don’t you tell me about this Jimmy Coogin. He still alive?”

“Far as I know. He used to live near the ballpark. Still could for all I know.”

“So what happened? Why is this ‘Coogin’s Corner’?”

“It happened five years ago when the Stockings were in the Island Series. You remember, against the Aces?”

“Can’t say that I do,” Pennebaker said.

“No matter. So it was game 7 and the series was all tied up at three apiece. That means that game 7 was the deciding game, Detective, just so you know. A real important game. So, Coogin was the biggest Stockings fan. Went to every home game. Always sat in the same seat, row A seat 12. That’s a great spot. Right up front.

So it’s game 7 and Coggin’s in his normal seat. It’s the top of the ninth with two down. The Stockings are ahead by one run. They are one out away from winning the series for the first time in fifty years. The Aces have a runner on first. So the batter, Ed Delahanty, the Aces left fielder, hit a popup in foul ground on the third base side. The Stockings third baseman, Jimmy Collins drifted back and over toward the grandstands and camped out right under the popup. The ball was about to fall in his glove. The Stockings were going to win it all. Goddamn we could taste it. Then at the last second a glove came out of the stands and caught the ball.

Well, as you would expect, Collins was furious. He jumped up and down. Pointed at the fan who reached onto the playing field and caught the ball. And, Pennebaker, do you have any idea who that fan was?”

“I’m guessing, Coogin,” said Pennebaker.

“Correct. Finally, after much persuasion, Collins settled down and took his position, cause remember the game wasn’t over yet. The Stockings still led by one. Not for long though. On the next pitch, Delahanty hit a two-run homer. The Aces went ahead by one and the Stockings went down one, two, three in the bottom of the ninth…game and series over.

The aftermath for Coogin wasn’t pretty. As you’d expect the fans turned on him. You know, the normal thing, death threats, stalking, your garden variety upset fan behavior. The pressure was too much for Coogin. He lost it a bit. Well, maybe more than a bit. Took to carrying around a baseball bat with a large nail hammered through the barrel. Started talking to himself on the regular and yelling obscenities at anyone that came near him. Last I heard he was arrested for walking around nude wearing nothing but a Stockings cap.”

“Do you think it possible that he could be guilty of arson, Captain?” Pennebaker said.

Conklin pursed his dry lips. “Hmm, hadn’t really thought of that. Guess if somebody was going to do anything like this on purpose it would be Coogin.”

Comments


bottom of page