Strike Zone

by Mike Lupica

  “What we’re all experiencing right now, this minute, are the best parts of being on a team,” he said. “This feeling is one you only get from being part of a team. It means you’ve gotten the most out of yourself and have seen your teammates do the same.”

  The Blazers were seated in the grass on their hill behind the field, together like this for the last time. Coach stood in front, but farther down the slope, looking up at his team.

  “You guys are exactly where I expected you to be when this tournament started,” he said. “Every one of you has done everything I’ve asked, and more.”

  Now he stuck his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and smiled.

  “There’s a famous basketball coach, Pat Riley, who once said there’s only winning or misery,” Coach said. “But I myself have never thought of sports that way. Win or lose tonight, nothing can take away the memories we’ve made or the fun we’ve had.”

  Now he motioned for everyone to get up and gather around him. He put out his right hand about shoulder high, and the Blazers reached in to pile on top.

  “Now all that’s left is to go out and make one more memory,” Coach Viera said.

  They walked down the hill together. Ben on one side of Nick, Diego on the other, the memory beginning a few minutes early.

  * * *

  • • •

  Eric Dobbs avoided making eye contact with Nick during both teams’ pregame warm-ups. Nick knew Eric was cocky, but he still wasn’t sure he understood the attitude. Maybe Eric thought, because his dad worked for the Yankees, he deserved to throw out the first pitch, as if Yankee Stadium were his real home field. Clearly, Eric was peeved not to be a shoo-in for MVP already. Nick was his biggest competition, but there were others in the league who could give Eric a run for his money. Big Benny Alvarez, for instance, had hit home runs in every Dream League game except the one against the Blazers, the night he collided with Nick.

  Ordinarily, Nick would run over to wish the other team’s starting pitcher luck before the game, as a way of showing good sportsmanship. But this time Nick stayed away from Eric and Eric stayed away from him. He didn’t forget what Eric had said in the handshake line after their initial game: “Next time.” So Nick didn’t see the point in trying tonight.

  “Think that’s his game face?” Diego said, nodding at Eric before the Blazers took the field.

  “Nah,” Ben said. “I think that’s just his face. He goes through life looking like he just sucked a lemon.”

  “Or maybe he thinks he’s too good for us,” Diego said.

  “He’s probably still mad we’re his only loss of the season,” Nick said.

  “One more loss than you have,” Ben said. “Just sayin’.”

  “Let’s keep it that way,” said Diego.

  Nick let out a breath. “I just have to remind myself this isn’t a game of one-on-one.”

  Ben poked him with an elbow and grinned. “Isn’t it, though?”

  Nick’s cheering section had grown since the last game. His mom and Amelia were there with Mrs. G, along with Marisol and her dad, wearing street clothes tonight instead of his uniform.

  As a surprise, Mr. Gasson showed up, too. He sat next to Officer Pérez.

  Carlo Rotella, the Giants’ shortstop, led off the game for his team. Nick struck him out with fastballs. José Barrea, the catcher, was batting second. He hit a slow roller to Kelvin, playing second tonight, and Kelvin threw him out easily.

  Eric Dobbs came to the plate.

  Ben set up inside. Prior to the game starting, he’d told Nick they were going to own the inside of the plate tonight, not allowing any of the Giants hitters to get too comfortable. Nick came inside now, a little more than he intended. It wasn’t his way of sending a message to Eric or moving his feet. But he did anyway. Eric jumped back as the home-plate ump called ball one.

  Eric glared at Nick before getting back into the box.

  Nick thought, He’s acting like I buzzed him even though the ball didn’t come anywhere close.

  Whatever.

  Game on.

  He came back with a fastball on the outside corner that Eric waved at and missed. Two pitches later Eric badly missed a high fastball that probably would have been called a ball if he’d let it go. Strike three. Inning over. Nick sprinted off the mound and back to the bench.

  Ben sat down next to him. “You’re already inside his head.”

  “With one inside pitch?” Nick said skeptically.

  “Yup,” Ben said. “And by the end of this game, we might be living inside that head.”

  “Rent free,” Diego said.

  But Eric could still pitch. It was nothing but a pair of goose eggs on the scoreboard after three innings. In the top of the fourth, Nick struck out Eric with two runners on base, then got two more strikeouts to end the inning.

  The game stayed 0–0.

  It was everything a championship game should be. Every pitch mattered, every swing, every base runner. They knew the longer the game stayed scoreless, the more important the first run would be.

  It was Nick, batting third tonight, who finally gave the Blazers their best chance of getting on the board in the bottom of the fourth. Through three innings, the Blazers had only one hit, a single by Ben in the first inning. But with one out in the fourth, Nick crushed the first pitch he got between the Giants’ center fielder and left fielder.

  By the time the ball made it back to the infield, Nick was standing on third with a triple. For some reason, a quote from Astros manager A.J. Hinch popped into his head. He’d once said, on the night his team was about to be eliminated by the Red Sox in the playoffs, “We’ve got to fight a little bit of the anxiousness that comes from being behind in an elimination game.”

  Nick wanted to give the Giants that kind of anxiety, the same as if they were playing Game Seven of the World Series.

  Nick wasn’t a pitcher now. Just a runner trying to get home, any way he could. It didn’t matter whether he scored on a hit, an error, a passed ball, or a wild pitch.

  He just wanted to score.

  Coach Viera took a couple of steps toward Nick from the third-base coaching box.

  “Be ready for anything,” he said into Nick’s ear.

  “Anything” happened on Eric’s first pitch to Ben.

  Eric tried to put too much on it and bounced the pitch at least a foot in front of the plate. The ball ricocheted off José Barrea’s chest protector and up the first baseline before he could get ahold of it.

  “Go!” Coach yelled.

  Nick was already on the move.

  He saw José come to a sliding halt when he caught up with the ball, and Eric running for the plate as hard as Nick, matching him pace for pace.

  Nick knew he had him beat by a very slim margin.

  From their very first practice, Coach had warned Nick never to slide headfirst, to avoid landing on his pitching shoulder or getting his hand stepped on. So he went in feet first, his body halfway across home plate when the ball hit Eric’s glove.

  The ump had already yelled “Safe!” when Eric slapped a hard tag on Nick.

  Right across the face.

  Nick’s head snapped to the side, and he immediately cupped his jaw in pain.

  “What the heck?” Ben yelled from where he stood a few feet away.

  Eric was hovering over him, and somehow Nick managed not to bump him as he got to his feet.

  “You did that on purpose,” Nick said, taking a step back.

  “Just trying to make a play, dude,” he said, grinning. “Got a problem with that?”

  Nick was about to say that he always had problems with dirty plays and dirty players, but swallowed the words before he could. It wasn’t worth the risk of getting thrown out of the game.

  Ben came onto the field then, and tugged Nick in the direction of th
e Blazers’ bench. Eric was heading back toward the mound when he muttered, “It’s not like I did anything illegal.” He stepped pretty hard on the last word. “You know about illegal, right, García?”

  Nick jerked to a stop, and Ben tightened his grip around him.

  “What did you say?” Nick said.

  “You heard me,” Eric said, tossing up the ball casually with his pitching arm.

  “Let it go,” Ben whispered as Nick took a step back in Eric’s direction.

  “That’s enough conversation for one night,” the umpire said, getting between them. “Now let’s get back to playing ball.”

  “He’s just trying to get inside your head,” Ben said when they were back on the bench.

  “Felt more like he was trying to knock it off,” Nick said, touching a palm to his cheek.

  Darryl’s mom ran over and handed Nick an ice pack from her cooler. She instructed him to hold it to his face until it was time to go back out and pitch.

  It was Ben’s turn in the batter’s box. The count was already two-and-oh, and then Eric came down the middle with a fastball and Ben hit what the announcers on TV called a “no-doubter,” to dead center field. The ball went hard and fast over the head of the Giants’ center fielder before he even turned to chase after it.

  Ben was already rounding third base by the time the kid ran the ball down. He intentionally took his time, jogging toward home, glaring at Eric as he crossed the plate.

  Diego high-fived Ben in the on-deck circle, and all the Blazers swarmed around excitedly, patting Ben on the back and rustling up his hair.

  Ben plunked down next to Nick on the bench, breathing hard but smiling.

  “When you say you’ve got my back,” Nick said, “you’re not messing around.”

  “Less talking,” Ben breathed. “More icing.”

  “How do I look?” Nick said, taking the ice pack away.

  “A lot better than Eric feels.”

  “Seriously, does it look bad?”

  He pulled the ice pack away.

  “Maybe only to your girlfriend,” Ben said.

  “She’s not my girlfriend!” Nick said, so loudly he was sure Marisol must have heard him in the stands.

  Diego doubled then, and Darryl singled him home. The Blazers were ahead 3–0. Nick played a dream inning in the top of the fifth. Sometimes you didn’t need strikeouts, just outs, and fast ones. He threw five pitches total for the inning, getting two ground balls and a short pop fly to Diego in center. His pitch count didn’t suffer for it.

  Nick didn’t say anything to Ben, or Diego, or Coach, but he’d made up his mind to go the distance tonight. It was his last game in the Dream League, and it could be the last he played on this field or in the Bronx. He was going to finish what he’d started.

  Nick made his case before the top of the sixth and Coach listened.

  “Okay,” he said.

  Nick balked. “Really?”

  “Really,” Coach said. “But don’t think I won’t take you out if I see you struggling out there. The object of the game is to win it.”

  “You know I know that.”

  Coach put his hand on Nick’s shoulder. “Go win us the championship.”

  Nick got a strikeout and two more grounders in the sixth. The game was still 3–0 with three outs to go, and Nick knew exactly where the Giants were in their batting order.

  If he got two outs to start the top of the seventh, the last batter he would face this season was Eric Dobbs.

  Nick struck out Carlo Rotella on four pitches.

  He did the same with José Barrea.

  Then Eric Dobbs stepped into the left-hand batter’s box.

  Nick didn’t come inside this time. Just right at him. Eric swung and missed.

  Missed badly.

  He stepped out, took a deep breath, stepped back in.

  Nick threw another fastball, and Eric was late.

  Again.

  The count was oh-and-two.

  One more, Nick thought. Just him and the ball, Ben and his mitt, and baseball.

  He threw Eric another fastball—more high heat—and Eric missed that one even worse than the first two.

  Blazers 3, Giants 0.

  Ball game over. Tournament over. But not the end of the night, and far from the end of Nick’s story.

  * * *

  • • •

  After the game was over, all the Dream League coaches gathered around the mound with some of the league coordinators to vote on the MVP. They’d announce the winner right after presenting the championship trophy.

  Nick sat on the Blazers’ bench with Ben and Diego on either side, waiting. They watched Coach with all the other coaches conversing in hushed tones, huddled together to have their conference.

  “It has to be you,” Ben said.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” Nick said, but his hands were trembling.

  “Dude, I get not wanting to talk about it during the season,” Diego said, “but if there was ever a time to talk about it, it’s now.”

  “It has to be you,” Ben said again.

  Nick knew it wasn’t a done deal. “Benny hit a gazillion home runs,” he said.

  “But we won the championship,” Diego said, bouncing on his heels.

  Practically everything had come out right this season, for himself, for Ben, for Diego, for their teammates.

  Control what you can control, he thought.

  But in the end, he had no control over this.

  He inhaled slowly, trying to get his heart rate down to normal as the coaches came walking back toward the infield.

  He searched Coach Viera’s face for any indication of good news, but Coach was all business, averting his eyes, careful not to look over to where Nick, Ben, and Diego were sitting.

  The championship trophy sat on a table near the pitcher’s mound. There was no trophy for MVP. The trophy was the first pitch. The trophy was Yankee Stadium, right across the street.

  One of the league coordinators stepped up to the microphone that was set up next to the table and presented the Dream League championship trophy to the Blazers. Diego went running onto the field first, followed by his teammates, and they hoisted the trophy above their heads in celebration. Cheering and hollering and patting each other on the back. Nick joined them, but he couldn’t let go completely. Not with the MVP decision still up in the air. After about a minute or so, the noise abated as the Blazers ran back to their bench.

  Then the coaches designated Coach Viera to speak on their behalf, so he shuffled to the front and stepped up to the microphone. A single speaker was set up alongside it. Coach tapped the mic a couple of times to check if it was still working.

  “I don’t know if everybody here knows it,” Coach finally said when he had everyone’s attention, “but the MVP of our Dream League will have the opportunity to throw out the first pitch at Yankee Stadium. It’s at the discretion of the coaches to select an MVP, and I’m thrilled to say the decision was unanimous.”

  Nick held his breath and sat on his hands to keep them from shaking.

  “The Dream League, in association with Major League Baseball and the Yankees franchise, is proud to announce,” he said, “that Nick García of the Blazers hasn’t thrown his last pitch of the season.”

  41

  Nick’s mom insisted on having a party back at the apartment.

  “We’re going to celebrate,” she told Nick. “Our home has been quiet for too long. For one night, we are going to be surrounded by people and noise and fun.”

  They picked up pizza and ice cream on the way home. Marisol and Officer Pérez followed them back to their apartment, as did Ben, Diego, and their parents.

  And Mrs. G.

  Mr. Gasson accepted the invitation, too, and somehow managed to get Nick’s dad on the
phone from New Jersey.

  “Heard you got smacked in the face,” Victor García said.

  “Yeah. But I’m still thinkin’ it hurts less than losing a championship.”

  First thing Nick did when he got home was check his face in the bathroom mirror. The ice had helped. There was swelling, of course, but it wasn’t as bad as he’d anticipated.

  When Nick came out of the bathroom Ben said, “You might have a bit of a shiner in the morning.”

  “I took a pretty good shot.”

  “A cheap shot.”

  Nick shrugged. “Still shook Eric’s hand in line.”

  “I forgot to ask,” Ben said. “What did he say?”

  “‘Good game.’”

  “Guy still can’t get it right,” Ben said, shaking his head. “That wasn’t just a good game you pitched. It was a great game.”

  The apartment was charged with excited energy. While they ate, everyone talked about the game, pointing out various highlights and notable plays made by Nick, Ben, and Diego. Inevitably, the conversation turned to a different topic, the one regarding Nick’s MVP award and the first pitch at Yankee Stadium. It was surreal for Nick to be talking about it out loud after so many weeks of secrecy. But now that it was official, a sense of relief washed over him. More than that, this particular window of time between the MVP announcement and the first pitch brought on a kind of exhilaration Nick hadn’t felt in years. It was the satisfaction of achieving a dream mixed with the anticipation of fulfilling your destiny, and Nick wished he could live inside it forever.

  Toward the end of the night, before everybody left, Mrs. G got up and sang a song from one of her favorite operas, called “Must the Winter Come So Soon.” She sang it so beautifully, it made Nick’s mom cry.

  Afterward, Marisol leaned over to Nick on the couch and said, “You’re lucky to have so much love in your life.”

  Nick nodded. “I just need a little more.”

  “Love?” she said.

  “Luck.”

  The guests gradually said their goodbyes and thanked Graciela for hosting them.

  Mr. Gasson was the last to leave. He said he wanted to give them an update on Victor’s status, even though there wasn’t much new to report. He still hadn’t been given a date for a bond hearing.