Miracle at the Plate (6 page)

Bogy Adams walked, filling the bases.

“Spider! Hold it!”

Spider Webb, on his way to the batting box, halted in his tracks. Coach O’Hara waved him to the bench.

“Okay, Skeeter,” the coach said. “Pick up a bat. Get up there and do your stuff.”

Skeeter stared. Had he heard right? Or was he dreaming?

“Let’s break this game wide open, Skeet,” the coach said.

With a nervous look about him, Skeeter climbed out of the dugout. He put on a protective helmet, selected his favorite bat,
and went to the batting box.

“Yeah, Skeeter!” the Milky Way fans shouted. “Come on, Skeet! A grand slammer, boy!”

He stepped into the box, faced Cal Fielding, and for the first time in many moons he felt shaky. He had hoped to be in the
lineup. He had hoped he could bat when men were
on. Now that his hopes were fulfilled, he was scared.

The pitch came in. Skeeter watched it cross the outside corner for a called strike.

The next pitch was across his knees for strike two.

“Step out a second, Skeeter!” advised Coach O’Hara. “Keep loose up there, buddy!”

Skeeter stepped out of the box, jiggled his helmet, wiped sweat from his forehead, stepped back in again.

The pitch breezed in like a bullet. It looked slightly high, but it might be called a strike. It just might.

Skeeter swung.

“You’re out!” said the umpire.

S
keeter walked back to the dugout, his head bowed, his lips pressed into a thin, straight line. From the third-base side of
the bleachers the Dragonflies’ fans were yelling and cheering like crazy. With the bases loaded, their pitcher had struck
out the league’s leading hitter.

Skeeter gathered up his glove from the dugout and started for right field. What a flop he was. Striking out first time up!

“Just a minute, Skeeter,” said Coach O’Hara.

Skeeter paused. Now, what? Was the
coach going to yank him from the game without even giving him a chance in the outfield?

“You all right, Skeet?” the coach asked, putting a hand on Skeeter’s shoulder.

Skeeter nodded. “Yes. I’m okay. Just a little nervous, I guess.”

The coach smiled. “That’s all I want to know, Skeeter. Okay, get out there. And don’t miss any fly balls. Okay?”

Skeeter tried not to miss any, but all the trying in the world didn’t help him. He missed a high fly that struck the fingertips
of his glove and rolled to the fence. The runner took second on the error. Skeeter’s throw-in to third held him there.

Nick struck the next man out, then caught a hot liner that was hit in a straight line back at him. Quickly he spun and threw
to second, doubling off the runner before he could tag up.

Whew!
thought Skeeter as he trotted in from the outfield.
That sure saved my life!

Henry led off and flied out to left field. Leo doubled, but couldn’t get past second base. Luther Lee batted for Tommy Scott
and struck out, then Nick flied out to end the half inning.

Skeeter chalked up another error when a ball rolled through his legs. Then, with two Dragonflies on base and two outs, he
ran in on a high fly, caught it, fumbled it, and caught it again before it could hit the ground. He ran in, holding the ball
as tightly as he could.

“For crying out loud, Skeeter!” a fan shouted. “What do you want us to do — have heart failure?”

Skeeter grinned and put a hand over his own pounding heart. Man! He almost had heart failure himself!

Then Skeeter’s eyes practically bugged. Jan Scott was sitting with Bob in the stands. So
she
was Bob’s girlfriend! How do you like that?

Tip Miles singled to start off the top of the fifth. But again the Dragonflies played well behind their tall right-hander
and kept the Milky Ways from scoring.

“Nothing and nothing,” muttered Bogy, shaking his head. “We could be here till the sun sets.”

“I’ll end it the next inning,” Skeeter said kiddingly.

Nick lost control of his first pitch to the lead-off hitter and hit him on the thigh. He looked more hurt over it than did
the batter, who trotted down to first base, stepped on it, and then began clapping his hands for the next Dragonfly to rap
one out of the lot. No Dragonfly rapped one anywhere. Nick
struck out the next man. The next grounded out to Joey Spry, and the third popped up to Bogy.

The top of the sixth and Skeeter was up. The scoreboard was a double row of goose eggs. As Skeeter stepped into the box the
Milky Way fans began yelling thunderously.

“Rap it, Skeeter! Make up for last time!”

And Jan Scott’s voice: “Blast it out of the park, Skeeter!”

He twitched nervously, and wished the people would stop yelling.

“Strike!” cried the umpire. The pitch cut the outside corner.

Skeeter stepped out of the box, rubbed his left hand up and down on the bat, took a deep, hurried breath and stepped in again,
holding the bat in his cross-handed way.

The pitch. It was coming across his knees. He couldn’t let this one go by. He swung.

A dribbling hit just in front of the plate! He dropped the bat and beat it for first! What a crummy hit! What a real crummy
hit!

And then he saw the Dragonflies’ first baseman leap. Saw the ball sail over his head to the outfield. “Go! Go! Go!” yelled
Joey Spry, coaching at first.

Skeeter touched first and raced to second. The right fielder heaved the ball to second base. A wide throw! The ball bounced
out to short left field. Skeeter bolted for third. His helmet fell off, banged on the ground behind him. He ran as if a bear
were on his heels.

He reached third. Luther Lee, coaching there, slowed him down — and then waved him home! Skeeter stared for a moment, wondering
what had happened. Then he saw the ball, thrown in from short left, strike
the ground in front of the third baseman and bounce high over his shoulder toward the bleachers. Skeeter beelined for home.

The Dragonflies’ catcher was straddling the plate as if he owned it. Fear overcame Skeeter for one brief moment. Was the play
going to be close? Should he slide? Or was the catcher merely trying to fool him?

And then the catcher moved nimbly aside, and Skeeter crossed the plate standing up.

“Thataboy, Skeeter!” Jan Scott’s scream practically drowned out all the others’. “A home run!”

Laughter and applause exploded from the Milky Way fans. A home run on a crazy dribbling hit! Of course, it was no home run.
It wasn’t even a single. There had been errors all around.

Skeeter shook his head unbelievingly as he trotted to the dugout and sat down. The guys pounded him on the knees and
shoulders. “Thataway to run, Skeet! You had those guys throwing the ball all over the lot!”

That was the only score the Milky Ways chalked up that inning. But it was enough. The Dragonflies failed to score during their
turn at bat and the tense, nerve-tingling game went to the Milky Ways.

O
n Tuesday, August 8, the Milky Ways played the Barracudas. Tony Chavez, pitching for the Barracudas, had the Milky Ways eating
out of his hand. All, that is, except Skeeter Miracle, who was hitting the ball as if he knew nothing else. The first time
up he connected with an over-the-fence homer. The second time up a triple. The third time up he flied out to deep center.

“You’re back in the groove!” yelled his most enthusiastic rooter, Jan Scott, who was sitting, as usual, in the bleachers beside
Bob. On either side of them were their parents, the Scotts and the Miracles.

The Milky Ways won 4 to 2.

As Skeeter started walking off the field with Mom, Dad, and the others, a voice piped up beside him. “Nice game, Skeeter.”

He turned, and was almost floored. It was Tommy Scott!

“Thanks, Tommy,” he said. Right behind Tommy was Roger Hyde. He didn’t expect a word from Roger. But Roger said, “Nice game,
Skeeter,” and he was almost floored again.

“Thanks, Roger,” he answered. He just couldn’t get over it. Imagine
them
being nice to him!

The Milky Ways played their last game of the season on Thursday against the Jets who, so far, had nine wins and two losses
to lead the league.

There was a change in the lineup. Bogy had gotten into a hitting slump two weeks ago and was still in it, so Coach O’Hara
shifted Bogy to eighth position in the batting order. The lineup:

The Jets had first raps. Their lead-off man blasted a hot liner directly at Shadow. It was so hard that it glanced off Shadow’s
glove and bounced out toward second base. Joey
fielded it but held up on throwing when he saw that he couldn’t get the runner.

The infielders played in close then, expecting a bunt. It was a bunt, down the third-base line. Henry fielded it, pegged to
first for the out. A pop-up and a grounder to short spoiled the Jets’ chances of scoring.

The Milky Ways started off with Tip Miles striking out and Joey grounding out. Roger blistered a hard grounder to short which
looked like a sure out. But the ball rolled through the shortstop’s legs and Roger was on.

Skeeter took a called strike, then two balls. The fourth was in there letter-high. He swung and smashed it out to left center
for two bases. Roger held up at third. Henry Mall singled, scoring Roger and Skeeter. Then Leo flied out.

The Jets picked up a run in the second
and another in the third. In the bottom of the third Joey Spry surprised everyone with a clout that was the farthest he had
hit since he had started playing baseball. It just cleared the center-field fence for a home run. Roger flied out, then Skeeter
came through with his second hit, a triple against the left-field fence. Henry squeezed him in, gaining first base himself
on an error by the third baseman.

With the score 4 to 2 in the Milky Ways’ favor, the Jets came back strong in the top of the fourth, sending three runs across
the plate. Two of them were due to a fly ball which everybody else would have caught — but not Skeeter Miracle. The ball was
on a line to short right. Skeeter, thinking he could make a shoestring catch, dove for it, missed it, then scrambled to his
feet and raced after the ball, which had rolled out to the fence.

Nothing more happened until the sixth when the Jets increased their margin to six runs against the Milky Ways’ four. The Milky
Ways were downcast. This was the final game, a game they had hoped very much to carry home in their pockets. Skeeter, especially,
had hoped they would win it. After all, the Jets had already won nine, the Milky Ways only six. And Skeeter hadn’t played
against the Jets since before his trip to Idaho.

But things looked too dark now. It was almost hopeless to expect to overcome the Jets’ two-run lead.

Shadow McFitters led off. One, two, three — he went down swinging. Tip Miles fouled off two pitches, took a ball, then flied
out to center.

The fans on the third-base side of the bleachers were quieter than Skeeter had ever heard them. There was not even a peep
from Jan Scott, who usually yelled something even when the Milky Ways trailed. They just seemed to be waiting for the game
to die.

Then the Milky Ways got a break. Jimmy Sutton, who had gone into the game for Joey Spry in the fourth inning, drew a walk,
bringing up Roger Hyde. Roger looked the pitches over carefully, then rapped out a double to right center field! Jimmy advanced
to third.

All at once the Milky Way fans came to life. “Keep it going, Skeeter! Keep it alive!”

Skeeter stepped to the plate with confidence. Dick Cannon, the southpaw on the mound for the Jets, looked at Skeeter, got
his signal, stretched, threw.

Skeeter rapped it. A hard grounder in the hole between third and short! Jimmy Sutton scored! Roger scored! The game was tied
up! Skeeter went to second on the throw-in to home.

The Milky Way fans screamed their heads off. The fans who had started to leave sat down again. This game wasn’t over yet!

I’ve got to get in somehow,
thought Skeeter.
Come on, Henry. Hit it!

Two balls, one strike.

Three balls. And then—

“Ball four!” shouted the umpire and pointed at first base.

The Milky Way fans kept yelling. On second base Skeeter crouched with his hands on his knees, ready to go on a hit.

The pitch. Leo swung.
Crack!
A hard grounder through short! Skeeter beelined for third, saw the third-base coach winding his arms like a windmill, urging
him to keep going. Skeeter stepped on third, raced for home. He ran as he had never run before.
His helmet blew off and was thumping on the basepath behind him.

He saw the catcher crouched at the plate waiting for the throw-in. From the catcher’s expression, from the way he was reaching
forward, Skeeter knew that the ball was coming in. He knew that it was a race between him and the ball.

For a second he thought about sliding, and fear clutched him. But it was the thing to do if he were to be safe.

He went down, pushing dirt ahead of him with his heels. He slid across the plate between the catcher’s outspread legs.

“Safe!” yelled the umpire.

The stands echoed and reechoed with cheers and shouts as Skeeter scrambled to his feet amid the cloud of dust and trotted
happily to the dugout. The whole team came out and swarmed around him.

The ball game was over. The Milky Ways had won.

I did it!
Skeeter said proudly to himself.
I slid! And it’s easy! It’s much easier than I had thought!

After the shouting died, after Jan and Bob and everybody else congratulated him, he felt a tug at his elbow. It was Tommy
Scott and Roger Hyde. Both were smiling.