Batting Ninth (5 page)

The ball seemed to hang in the air forever as Jimmy stood with his back pressed against the fence. Finally, it spiraled down, falling into his mitt for the last out.

The whole team met Jimmy at second base and nearly carried him off the field.

I turned to Danielle.

“Not bad, holding the Marlins to one run. I bet you didn’t expect to do that,” I said.

“You kidding me?” she asked, the corner of her mouth held tight. “These guys ain’t nothin’.”

H
eading into the last week of the season, we were just two wins short of clinching a spot against the Red Sox in the league championship. I was finally contributing in the field and at the plate. For the first time all year, I was no longer an automatic out.

School was out for a teacher’s workday on Monday, so Jose came over to watch the White Sox play the Indians on television. Mom was off work, too, so she joined us in the living room.

“I haven’t watched so much baseball in years,” she said. “I forgot how much I enjoyed it.”

“Even though the game has changed for the worst?” I asked.

“A few players cheating can’t ruin a great game,” she said. Mom seemed like a real sports fan. I didn’t even mind her watching my games, as long as she didn’t call me Sweetie.

As the game started, the doorbell rang, and I found Mark Wilcox standing on the front porch.

“Hey there, Chad,” he said. “You ready for practice tomorrow?”

“You bet. But I’m even more ready for Wednesday’s game,” I said.

“Don’t get too far ahead of yourself. We’ve got a lot of work to do before the last two games.”

I invited Mark in and showed him to the living room, where Jose and Mom were watching the White Sox pitcher warm up.

“Dave Chandler,” Mark said, nodding at the television. “Young guy. He just got called up from the minors. Has a rocket arm,” Mark sighed.

“I bet you wish you were out there today, don’t you?” I asked.

Mark nodded, glancing down at his knee.

“Yeah, but those are the breaks. Anyway, I stand a better chance of winning a championship with the Rangers this year. The White Sox are buried in last place.”

“But if you were there, everything would be different,” Jose said, drawing a smile from Mark.

“So, Mr. Wilcox,” Mom cut in. “What brings you here?”

“Well, I was hoping to talk to your husband,” he said. “Is the best catcher I’ve ever seen around today?”

“Sorry, he’s out of town until the weekend,” Mom said. “But please sit down and watch the game with us.”

Mark took a seat in the recliner by the front window as the game began.

“I haven’t watched a game live on television in a while,” he said. “Looks like I’ll be doing a lot more of that now.” Mark slowly rubbed the inside of his knee.

Mark and Mom spent most of the fast-moving game talking about the old days. Mark had forgotten most of the games Mom remembered, but he did recall a lot of details from Dad’s career.

“Matt could see the ball like nobody I ever knew,” he said. “Guess it has something to do with being a catcher. When Matt swung the bat, he may as well have been hitting the ball off a tee. He could see it that well.” I remembered how Mark had told me to count the stitches as the ball came to the plate.

“But defense is what Matt was best at.” I turned my head toward Mark. Dad hardly ever talked about defense.

“Matt could call a ball game with the best of them,” Mark said. “He knew his pitchers better than they knew themselves. And, whenever you played against him, you knew he’d done his homework. He always kept the pitcher away from a batter’s strength.”

Mom mostly listened while Mark talked about Dad, hardly paying attention to the ball game that the White Sox trailed, 3–1.

“So, how come Matt did not get into coaching?” Mark asked.

Mom didn’t hesitate in answering.

“Frustration,” she said. “After Matt got hurt, he couldn’t bear to watch baseball. It killed him not to be out there on the field. He tried to come back but just couldn’t adjust his game to make up for a weak knee. He decided life in the minor leagues wasn’t the way to raise a family. The salary and long road trips weren’t a part of his dream. Plus, he got tired of the steroids and the bad publicity that the game was getting.”

“Well, I’m under contract with the White Sox, so I can’t say much about salary,” Mark said. “But I sure understand the long road trips.”

“Why don’t you just fly?” I asked.

“Some guys in my shoes would,” Mark said. “As far as the White Sox are concerned, I’m here to rehab my knee. But I’m also here to help the Colts win. I’m part of the team, and if I’m flying while the rest of the team is on the bus, it sends the wrong message.”

This wasn’t the selfish Mark Wilcox that Dad had told me about.

“Look, the Sox are coming back,” Mark said. Sure enough, in the bottom of the ninth inning, with two outs, the White Sox had loaded the bases, still trailing by two runs. Jacob Rawlings, the outfielder who had taken Mark’s place in the lineup, was at bat.

“Jacob’s a good kid,” Mark said. “A little green and not really ready for the majors just yet, though. He’s probably still a year or two away. If I can just get back to Chicago, I still own left field, at least for a little while.”

We watched as Jacob Rawlings took the first two pitches for a ball and a strike.

“See, the way he’s holding the bat,” Mark said. “He’s doing the same thing you were earlier in the season. He needs to keep that left elbow up.”

Just as Mark finished speaking, Rawlings hit a towering fly ball to deep center field. The Indians fielder raced back but stopped at the wall as the ball sailed into the bleachers for a game-winning home run.

Jose and I raised our arms in triumph, coaxing Mark into high fives.

“Well, every dog has his day,” Mark joked. “It’s been good visiting with you. Tell Matt I’ll catch up with him this weekend.”

I watched Mark walk slowly to his car. His limp was back.

R
ain fell all day Tuesday and practice had been canceled. Mark was right. We had a lot of work to do, and this had been our last chance to practice. We wouldn’t be together again until warm-ups for Wednesday night’s game against the Panthers.

“Just one week away, boys!” Zach Neal said as Jose and I pulled on our backpacks. “One week, and the Rangers will either be sitting at home or playing the mighty Red Sox for the championship.”

“Actually,” Jose said, “The game is Saturday. That’s only four days.”

“Whatever,” Zach said. “You’ve got to win two games in the next two days. Think you guys are up for it?”

“I’d say we have a pretty good shot,” I said. “We have the Panthers tomorrow night, and we’ve already beaten them twice this season.”

“Then we have the Astros again on Thursday,” Jose added. “We beat them Saturday, and they’ve still only won two games.”

“But,” I reminded him, “this isn’t the time to take anyone lightly.”

“Well, see you Saturday boys,” Zach said, heading for the exit door. He looked over his shoulder. “Maybe,” he added.

“Did I ever mention that kid grates on my nerves?” Jose asked.

I just stared and shook my head.

By game time Wednesday, the ball field was dry. The Panthers players came from another school, so none of us knew any of the kids. But we were confident because we had already beaten them twice. Still, Coach Ramsey wasn’t about to let us look ahead.

“The championship is Saturday,” he said. “We still have two games, and if we lose either one, we’ll be watching the Marlins play for the trophy.”

“Listen up,” Mark added. “I’ve been in a lot of big games, and at this point, it’s all up here,” he said, pointing at his temple. “You know this team, and you know your abilities. Just go out there and get it done.”

The game was tight from the beginning. Both teams scored single runs in the first three innings. I grounded out twice but drove in a run, so one of the at bats counted as a sacrifice. The fourth inning began with the score tied, 3–3.

Danielle shouted as we came to bat to lead off the fourth. “I’m expectin’ to be pitching us to the championship tomorrow night,” she said. “Let’s put these pencil necks away right now!”

We all rolled our eyes, but we knew she was right. Danielle got on everybody’s nerves, but she wanted to win. That was all any of us wanted at this point.

Danielle’s enthusiasm sparked us, and we scored four runs in the inning to take a 7–3 lead. The lead held until the bottom of the sixth, when the Panthers came to bat.

The first Panthers hitter drew a walk, but the second batter popped up, and I caught the ball for the first out.

The Panthers shortstop, a fast kid who already had two hits in the game, came to bat. I took a few steps back toward the outfield grass to cut off a hard-hit ball. Jose slid a couple of feet toward second base, motioning that he’d be covering the base on a ground ball. The batter eyed the hole between Jose and the first baseman.

After two quick strikes, the batter blasted a ground ball toward the hole. I realized I was out of position, and Jose was, too. Jose raced toward his left, diving in front of the ball to stop it from reaching the outfield. I charged hard for second base from my position at shortstop. If Jose could get me the ball, we’d at least get the force-out at second. With a hard throw and a little luck, we might be able to turn a double play.

As Jose stopped the ball, it was clear he didn’t have time to pivot and get the ball to me. He fired to first base, easily throwing out the runner. I took up position on second base as the Panthers catcher lumbered toward me. Our first baseman threw a rocket, and I didn’t even have to move my mitt.

“Double play!” the umpire shouted, throwing his fist in the air. I gave a fist pump of my own and met the rest of the swarming team at first base.

“One more!” Coach Ramsey announced. “Tomorrow night, Danielle is pitching for us against the Astros.”

“I’m gonna cream ’em,” Danielle said.

Jose and I found Mom talking with Mark near the parking lot.

“I asked your mom if you could meet me at the Colts stadium tomorrow after school,” Mark said. “I’d like to work with you a little more on your hitting.”

I gave Mom a look with my most pleading eyes.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I won’t be off work until five.”

“No problem,” Mark said. “I’ll give him a ride from the stadium back here for the game.”

I watched Mom. Dad was still out of town. He’d never know. Plus, we both knew that Mark wasn’t as bad as Dad had told us. Mom couldn’t deny his coaching had done me a lot of good.

“Only if Jose can go with him,” she said reluctantly.

“You bet he can,” Mark said. “You guys take the bus to the stadium after the game. I’ll leave your names with the security guard. He’ll let you onto the field, and I’ll meet you there after I soak my knee in the whirlpool.”

Jose and I high-fived. Pregame batting practice in the Brightsport Colts Stadium—the Astros didn’t stand a chance.