Defying expectation, the home team had made it to the Sunday final. Precisely at two thirty in the afternoon, a respectable lapse of time after an ecumenical church service, the stands were packed for the big game between the local lads and the visiting Maymont Grays. The latter was led by their formidable ace, Victoire Thibeau, who possessed an arsenal of a bewildering array of pitches, most, but not all, of which were legal. The locals were still awaiting the arrival of their feared batsman, the Marvelous Mountie, Constable Seguin. However, he had not yet returned from escorting the participants from the previous evening's brouhaha to gaol in Saskatoon.
In his stead the last night's hero, the young schoolteacher, Mr. Cameron, took the field for the top of the first inning. Wearing a glove borrowed from one of the bigger grade eight boys, he was sent off to the deepest reaches of right field, with the centre fielder playing ten running paces from him so as to prevent any ball from actually reaching the perceived defensive liability that was Mr. Cameron. In this way, he was a mere placeholder for the missing Mountie. As well, his previous game's heroics were judged a fluke and he was slotted into the ninth spot in the order, his team hoping he would not come to bat at all.
The first two and a half innings whizzed by with neither team managing to get a runner on base. The fearsome Thibeau dispatched the first two pretenders in the bottom of the third innings by strikeouts with a combination of fastballs, curves, sinkers, forkballs, knuckleballs, and one that seemed to be dripping with a foreign substance. Thibeau smirked as the gangly school teacher timidly approached home plate. With orders from the manager to try to draw a walk or get hit, Mr. Cameron closed his eyes leaned over the plate, and the first two pitches missed just outside for balls. These were followed by two down the centre of the plate, which Cameron heard, rather than saw, whiz past. The pitcher took off his cap, smoothed back his brylcreamed coif with his throwing hand, replaced his cap and went into his windup. Determined not to go down as a spectator, Mr. Cameron actually closed his eyes and swung with all his might. At first it appeared that he swung too low, but it seemed as if the ball in flight dropped off an invisible table and met the bat with a thunderous smack. The ball was still rising as it cleared the fence. With a one to nothing lead, the home team's celebration grew more boisterous as a police car was seen, lights flashing approaching the grounds. Cst. Seguin had arrived.
Now in his accustomed place on the bench, the young schoolteacher watched his mates and the boys from Maymont battle valiantly. Unfortunately his home run was the only run his team would score that Sunday as a Maymont runner scored from third on a wild pitch in the seventh, and Thibeau's solo home run in the top of the ninth would make the difference. The schoolteacher's other ball was never found.