Curveball

The talk on the bus ride to Memorial that Wednesday was about the latest article in the school paper.

“‘My Way'? Where is Calvin getting this stuff anyway?”

“He told me he has a ‘confidential' source on the team.”

“Must be some bigmouth, huh? Somebody who doesn't know when to shut up.”

“That would be Spencer.”

“It ain't me. You think I'd make fun of my own socks?”

“Maybe it's Miguel.”

“Maybe it's Coach Wimmer.”

“Not me. I'm the one who thinks I belong in the Hall of Fame, remember?”

“‘Major Talent'! What kind of a name is that?”

Eddie squirmed a bit in his seat, but he could tell that no one was angry. In fact, everyone seemed pretty amused by the whole thing.

1.
 
Two Runs Down

2.
 
Deep in Thought

3.
 
Instincts

4.
 
Big Doings

5.
 
“Major Talent”

6.
 
Flem's Return

7.
 
Time Off

8.
 
A Pitcher's Nightmare

9.
 
All or Nothing

10.
 
No Fear

11.
 
Special Edition

E
ddie Ventura scanned the infield, then dug his toe into the dirt near first base. His right hand was sweating inside his glove despite the cool afternoon breeze.

Everyone in the dugout and the bleachers was standing, waiting for Ramiro Velez to deliver the crucial pitch.

Eddie took a deep breath and went into a crouch, ready to dart toward any ball that was hit or thrown his way. The Hudson City Hornets had to get this next hitter out.

“Let's go, Ramiro!” Eddie called. “No batter!”

Ramiro turned his head slightly toward Eddie, and a faint smile crossed his lips. Eddie hardly ever said anything.

Hoboken had runners at second and third with two outs in the top of the final inning. Hudson City would get one more at-bat, but the Hornets were already two runs behind.

Ramiro leaned back, kicked up his leg, and hurled the ball toward the plate. The batter swung hard, but the ball smacked into catcher Jared Owen's mitt for strike three.

Ramiro shook his fist.

“Yes!” said Eddie as they raced off the field.

“Big rally now,” Spencer Lewis said to Eddie as they grabbed their bats from the rack. “We need some base runners.”

Spencer was the team's best hitter and biggest talker, but the Hornets needed to get at least two men on base or Spencer wouldn't even bat.

And things didn't look good as Willie Shaw popped the first pitch lazily toward second base. Eddie groaned with the rest of the Hornets as the fielder easily caught the ball.

Lamont Wilkins struck out, and just like that the Hornets were down to their last out.

Jared stepped up to the plate. Eddie shut his eyes quickly, then moved to the on-deck circle.

Relax,
Eddie told himself.
Time to do something big here
.

Eddie was a fair hitter—a lefty—but no way was he one of the stars. He'd had three singles in the first six games and had drawn a couple of walks. But he'd never been one to really come through in the clutch the way Spencer or Jared always seemed to.

The Hornets had lost their first four games this season, but they were presently riding a modest two-game winning streak. A third straight victory today would be an enormous boost, but a loss would put them back in a deep hole.

Eddie's tall, thin build didn't provide much power, except in his imagination.
On deck for the Hudson City Hornets—EDDIEEE Ven-TUR-a,
he thought, sounding to himself like one of the broadcasters for the New York Yankees.
If Jared can get on base here, the hard-hitting Ventura will surely make something happen.

A burst of cheers broke Eddie from his thoughts, and he looked up to see Jared sprinting toward first base. Eddie gripped the bat tighter.

Jared rounded first and kept on going, sliding safely into second with a double.

Spencer stepped out of the dugout and gave Eddie a firm punch on the shoulder. “Grind time, Mr. Ventura,” Spencer said. “It's up to you now, boss.”

Eddie swallowed hard. He walked to the plate and took a practice swing. He heard that imaginary radio voice again:
Ventura could homer and tie this game with one swing of the bat
. But then again, he'd never hit a home run in his life.

The pitcher took the throw from the second baseman and turned to face Eddie. He squinted and glared. Eddie glared back, trying to look tougher than he felt.

This guy had struck Eddie out twice today. He had a wicked fastball and a decent curve. But he had to be tiring by now.

Jared took a short lead off second base. Eddie drew back his bat and waited. The first pitch was low and outside. Ball one.

“Good eye, Eddie!” came a cry.

The second pitch was high and outside. Eddie stepped out of the batter's box and glanced toward the Hornets' dugout.

“A walk's as good as a hit,” Coach Wimmer called.

Eddie let out his breath. It was true. He didn't need a home run. He didn't even need a single. All he had to do was get on base and keep this inning alive.

Eddie crouched a little lower and inched closer to the plate, trying to shrink his strike zone. The third pitch looked good, maybe a little low, but right down the center of the plate.

Eddie didn't flinch. The umpire called, “Ball three!” and the pitcher shook his head in frustration.

The Hoboken catcher turned to the umpire.

“It was low,” the umpire said.

The catcher called time and jogged to the mound to talk to the pitcher. Eddie's teammates were rattling the fence in front of their dugout. Spencer was grinning confidently at Eddie from the on-deck circle. “Gut check!” Spencer said. “Be the man.”

Eddie wiped his sweaty palms on his uniform pants. A hundred things crossed his mind at once. Nobody swung on a 3–0 count, so the pitcher would be playing it safe. He'd groove one right down the middle. Eddie could bunt it, then run like mad toward first base.

Or,
he thought,
This kid Ventura has the ability to hit away, driving the ball deep into the outfield and bringing Jared home
.

Or he could play it safe, too, like he knew he was supposed to. Take the pitch even if it was a strike.

And here it came, waist-high but inside. Eddie leaned back as the ball whizzed by.

“Ball four,” called the umpire. “Take your base.”

Eddie couldn't help but smile as he jogged toward first. The dugout fence was shaking and rattling again; Miguel and Lamont and the others were yelling his name.

The Hoboken coach walked to the mound and chatted with the pitcher, but he left him in the game.

Eddie stepped off first base, tensed and ready to sprint all the way home if he needed to.

Here came the pitch, here came the
smack
as Spencer connected, the
Oooh
from the spectators, and the roar from the Hudson City dugout as the ball shot deep into right field. Eddie ran hard, but he turned slightly to watch as the ball sailed over the fence and into the parking lot.

That's gone!
said the announcer in his mind.

Eddie threw his arms straight over his head and laughed as he stepped on second base. He watched Jared leap onto home plate, then rounded third and raced home to do the same. And with all of his teammates, he waited for Spencer and his enormous, triumphant grin.

They mobbed him. Three straight wins. The Hornets were definitely back in business.