Not many people west of the Great Lakes had baseball on their minds during the long winter of '49 - '50. Fewer still were concerned with fastball. But the twenty-eight farm kids attending Heidelberg - the last remaining one-room school in the district - were positively possessed with the game.
Faced with losing their school, the hayseeds had a point to prove to the town people and their dodgy team, the Wexford Wizards. Armed with two weather-checked bats, one frayed softball and an ancient pancake catcher's mitt, they were determined to set things right and settle the score on the ball diamond.
Mildly amused, the elders shook their heads and kept their sage opinions to themselves.
Then, when a starving, half-frozen kid from Toronto showed up with nothing but a battered ball glove in his possession, the neighbourhood started to think differently.
Oblivious to discrepancies in size and age, a shortage of equipment and a lack of basic training, another major stumbling block faced the country team: How would the Heidelberg Hitters convince the Wizards to take them seriously enough to accept a challenge?
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