by Tim Green
Joey reset his jaw and grit his teeth again. Zach’s lips curled into an easy smile and he held up two fingers to Joey.
“V for victory, right?”
68
Joey held up his own V.
“Good,” Coach Weaver said. “Let’s go make Atkins wish he’d stayed home.”
Coach Weaver left them alone in the dugout. Zach wore a tight expression Joey had never seen before.
“What’s wrong?” Joey asked. “Don’t even tell me you’re gonna worry. I worry enough for us both.”
“I was just thinking about that hole in my swing,” Zach said.
Joey waved a hand. “Atkins has no way of knowing you have trouble with an inside pitch. You’re a great hitter. You’ve hit well all season, and you’re not going to stop now.”
“I know, but it’s weird. Just knowing I’ve got this thing bugs me.”
“As long as you and me are the only ones who know about it, it’s not a problem, so stop worrying.”
Zach’s face relaxed. “You’re right. Let’s go.”
Joey’s gum had gone stale, so when he stepped out of the dugout he took a sharp left toward the trash can and nearly knocked Butch Barrett onto his butt. Butch was obviously flustered. He began to hem and haw and he couldn’t meet Joey’s eyes.
“What are you doing?” Joey glared at him. “Listening?”
Butch regained his attitude and straightened his back. “What do I care what you two clowns are talking about? You’re lucky you’re even on this team. If Bryson Kelly didn’t play the trombone, you’d be watching from the stands.”
Rage flooded through Joey. “If your dad wasn’t the coach, you’d be . . . who knows where you’d be?”
The two of them faced off until Zach popped out of the dugout and laughed at them. “Let’s go, guys. Save your dirty looks for the East Side pitcher.”
Joey spit his gum out, then turned and jogged out to his spot on first base. He ignored Butch, who now played on third, and concentrated hard on every ball. When they returned to the dugout, he thought about the hole in Zach’s swing and about working with Coach Van Duyn. The session only added to Joey’s confidence when he recalled Zach’s dad, a former pro baseball player, throwing pitches to him and him blasting them out of the park. He also remembered his two home runs off Atkins yesterday. Joey looked over at Jack Atkins and wondered if the big pitcher had any special plans in mind. Then he wondered about himself.
He could hit, he’d proven that. The question was whether or not he could hit in a big game under pressure. He knew the great players in the game not only hit well under pressure, but that’s when they hit their very best. Joey clenched his teeth.
Zach got things started, popping a single up over the shortstop’s head. The second batter struck out, then Cole Price got hit by a pitch, bringing Joey up to the plate with two men on. Atkins’s shaggy blond hair sprang from his cap like weeds around a mailbox, and he had to sweep it back and fix his cap every third or fourth pitch. The first pitch to Joey was high and outside. He let it go. The next one came low and inside with lots of mustard on it. He hit it foul.
The next pitch was a ball, then came a curve Joey nicked foul again. With a 2–2 count, Atkins looked like a mad scientist. Without sweeping his hair back, he went into his windup and threw so hard Joey heard the grunt as the ball came like a bullet right down the middle. Using Coach Van Duyn’s new technique, Joey reared back, cocking his swing, and snapped his hips, arms, and wrists in that order.
CRACK.
Joey knew from the sound and the feel that it was gone, a three-run homer.
His teammates and the parents in the stands went wild. Joey loped around the bases and snuck a look up into the stands at the select coach before accepting the back slaps and high fives from his teammates.
Zach hugged him tight. “You and me, bro.”
Zach released him and held up a V.
Coach Weaver roved up and down the dugout with a clenched fist, growling, “You got this, boys. You got this.”
The team settled down. Joey sat next to Zach in the dugout and watched Atkins, impressed at how unfazed the pitcher seemed by his lackluster beginning. It didn’t take long to see why. Atkins put the next two batters down in short order.
Joey and his team took the field. Coach Weaver had scheduled Price to pitch, but for some reason—maybe it was the quick 3–0 lead—he put Zach on the mound.
“You start it, Price will finish,” Coach Weaver told Zach.
“Come on, bro!” Joey screamed from first.
The East Side team could hit. By the time Zach finally got out of the inning, the score was 3–2. Atkins put the next three batters on Joey’s team down. Zach stayed on the mound and came through. With bases loaded, Zach got two outs to close out the inning without giving up a run. Atkins showed no sign of weakness in the top of the third. He struck out the last two batters in the lineup before Zach stepped up. Then Zach hit a home run, making it 4–2 before the next batter struck out. In the bottom of the third, Zach struggled on the mound. Joey thought it was a mistake to leave him in with two runners on and his arm fading, but Coach Weaver kept him there.
It wasn’t until Atkins blasted in a three-run homer of his own that Coach Weaver called time out and signaled for Price to come take over for Zach with the team now down 5–4.
Coach Weaver’s eyes glowed and Joey heard him as he grabbed the new pitcher by the shoulders on the first base line before he took the mound. “You can do this, Cole. Forget about yesterday. I saved you for this moment, this game, these final innings!”
Price struggled, though, and Joey thought they might be cooked when the bases were loaded with only one out—a foul pop fly Joey scrambled and dove for, earning gasps and cheers. Then Price suddenly came to life. He put the next two batters down, and they got out of the inning still only one run down.
Joey stepped up to the plate in the top of the fourth. He looked up and winked at Leah. He grinned at Jack Atkins, but Atkins smiled just as wide.
Instead of coming up big, Joey struck out in four pitches.
He slammed the dirt with his bat on his way back to the dugout and avoided looking up in the stands. He burned inside. After all he’d been through, he was determined not to fall apart now. Reggie Jackson had more strikeouts than any player in baseball, but he also hit three home runs in a row to win the World Series. Big hitters struck out sometimes. He repeated those words in his head, over and over.
All he needed was another chance.
He didn’t get it until the top of the sixth. East Side kept Atkins out on the mound, and Joey heard his own coaches talking about the pitch count and saying Atkins must be close to the end. Whatever the count, Zach nailed a line drive into left field and stood, hopping up and down, on second base. Atkins tucked his hair into his hat and sat the next two batters down.
Behind by one run and with Zach on second, Joey stepped up to the plate.
This was it.
All or nothing.
Win or go home.
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Joey looked into the stands at his parents. Even Martin sat straight with his eyes glued to Joey. Leah wasn’t far away, and she gripped the hand of her friend Lucy, who also leaned forward with her mouth pinched tight. He glanced over his shoulder at the select coach and saw the binoculars trained directly at him. Joey smiled nervously, then turned his attention to the batter’s box.
He spit in his left hand and clapped it against his gloved right hand with the bat under his arm, then gripped its handle tight. He looked out at the mound and found Atkins’s eyes. The pitcher glared at him and smirked. Joey stared right back and moistened his lips, holding back even the smallest hint of emotion. He swung his bat. It sliced the air so quickly it nearly whistled.
Into the box he stepped, setting his feet and twirling the bat in a circle with one hand before cocking it back, then moving his hands forward just a touch to ensure a greater cocking action the split second before his swing. Atkins
wound up and in came the pitch. Joey coiled his muscles and his swing and let it fly.
POW.
The barrel of the bat smacked the ball and it was gone . . . but just foul outside the first base line.
There were some oohs and aahs from the stands, but the silence took over as the East Side coach called time-out and walked to the mound. The coach put his hands on Atkins’s shoulders and talked quietly to him. The pitcher finally nodded that he understood, and the coach returned to the dugout.
Joey had no idea what the coach could have said, but he knew he had to push it from his mind. He did his best and stepped back into the box. The second pitch came low and inside. He swung and nicked it foul off the bat handle, an 0–2 count. The third pitch came to the same spot. Joey panicked, started to go after it, then checked his swing and he let it go, a ball. 1–2. He sighed with relief. The fourth pitch came so far to the inside Joey had to jump back to avoid getting hit, a 2–2 count.
He grit his teeth and gave Atkins a nasty sneer. Atkins just smiled. The fifth pitch came low and inside again, nothing worth swinging at. The count was 3–2. Joey stepped out, frustrated that Atkins suddenly couldn’t throw a strike. He swung his bat on air again and a light went off in his head. He knew now what the coach had told Atkins during the time-out and he knew exactly what the pitcher was up to.
It wasn’t that Atkins couldn’t throw a strike, it’s that he wouldn’t. With Zach on base, and the monster hit that barely went foul, the East Side coach wanted to play it safe. He must have told Atkins to throw nothing but sketchy inside pitches. If Joey chose to swing at them, he’d get nothing more than the handle of the bat and a chip shot single or double at best.
But Joey needed a big hit, that game-winning home run, if he wanted to make his dreams come true. With a 3–2 count, he had to go for it all. If Atkins was going to throw for the inside of the plate, he’d be ready. He stepped into the box and readied his bat. Atkins wound up. Joey stepped back half a step. The pitch came, inside again, but with Joey’s new stance he could swing hard and well and he connected with the meat of his bat.
BANG.
The ball rocketed up in the air and over the fence.
Joey’s team went wild. He grinned and slapped them high fives until Zach jumped into his arms. They laughed together until Coach Weaver spoke in a quiet and serious voice.
“Okay, boys, good job, but now we got to play defense. This thing is far from over.”
70
Coach Weaver was right: it wasn’t time to celebrate. Joey and Zach’s team had a 6–5 lead, but East Side had the final at bat, and the two runs they needed to win it weren’t out of the question.
“You guys have this thing.” The pressure behind Coach Weaver’s face turned it a deep red. “Cole, you watch me because we’re gonna keep them guessing between your curveball and your fastball. They’re at the top of their order and the rest of you have got to just play solid defense. Be on your toes and focus. Now bring it in and that’s our call, focus!”
The team gave its chant and as they jogged on out, Coach Weaver shouted his final words of encouragement.
“This is yours, boys. Just play your game, be sharp. No one has to do anything special.”
Coach Weaver couldn’t have been more wrong.
The first batter blasted a fastball, a screaming line drive just off center to the left of second base. Joey saw a flash. A body flew into the air and landed on the other side of second base. Zach rolled out through the cloud of dust, popped to his feet, and showed everyone the ball in his glove.
It was more than special, it was unbelievable. Joey wasn’t even sure he’d seen what he thought he’d seen—Zach flying through the air to snag the line drive. The crowd paused in a confused moment of silence before bursting into cheers. Zach beamed at them and threw the ball around the horn.
Inspired, Price sat the next batter down with four pitches. One more to go and they had it, but on an 0–2 count, the next batter smacked one into left center field for a double.
With the tying run on second, two outs, and the game on the line, it seemed only fair that it was Atkins who stepped up to the plate. Before Joey could even worry about it, Price wound up and threw.
CRACK.
Atkins hit a grounder just inside the third base line. With no force-out at second, the third baseman had to make the long throw to first. In that moment, in his head, Joey knew he had never rooted so hard for Butch Barrett in his life, but he also knew that he’d never rooted so hard for anyone. All Butch had to do was make the play.
Butch ran at the grounder, scooping it but bobbling it in his glove. He staggered forward, losing valuable time. Joey extended his glove. Atkins churned up the first base line. Butch Barrett made the throw, unleashing every ounce of energy he possessed. The ball came fast, but high, way high. Joey backpedaled and leaped into the air, stretching.
CLUNK.
The ball stuck, half in and half out of the pocket of his glove.
Atkins streaked past, safe at first, and the runner on second was halfway to third.
Joey’s feet hit the ground and he was already throwing the ball for the tag out at third. Horrified, he realized as he let the ball go that Butch Barrett wasn’t moving into position to cover the bag. The throw would go over the bag and the tying run would score.
In the split second Joey cursed Butch Barrett in his mind, Zach sprang into the picture, stretching for the throw, snatching it, spinning around, and slapping his glove down in front of the bag. The runner slid and when the dust settled, everyone could see Zach’s glove blocking the bag so that the runner’s foot still hadn’t touched it.
“You’re out!” the umpire bellowed from home plate.
“We won!” Joey screamed.
Zach’s eyes went wide and he ran straight for Joey. The two of them met on the edge of the pitcher’s mound. They hugged and swirled around until the rest of their team mobbed them, tackling them to the ground, laughing, screaming, and cheering.
After shaking hands with the East Side team, Joey and Zach and the rest were presented with their all-star championship medals by Coach Tucker from Center State select. After the applause, Coach Tucker took Zach and Joey aside.
“Can you two wait right here for a couple minutes?” the coach asked with a look so serious his chin nearly disappeared into the dough of his neck.
The two of them nodded. They watched Coach Tucker gather up the other coaches in a small huddle. Joey bumped Zach’s fist and they shared victory signs, watching with delight as the coaches all nodded their heads and Coach Tucker headed back their way.
The coach shook both their hands. “Congratulations, boys. You’re in.”
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Joey smiled so hard his face hurt.
He and Zach hugged each other.
Coach Tucker adjusted his sunglasses. His own big red face burst into a smile. He laughed. “You two better get your hugs and kisses out of the way now. Starting tomorrow, you’ll be competing for the same spot on the roster.”
Joey blinked up at the heavyset coach. His stomach did a flip.
“What do you mean the same spot?”
72
Joey held the baseball in one hand; his glove covered the other. Pork Chop’s howl filtered out through the window screen, followed by Martin’s giggles and his mom’s cheerful scolding. Joey shook his head and scowled at his father, who had his own glove tucked under his arm as he fiddled with the garden hose.
“Come on, Dad.”
“Easy, grumpy. I don’t want these roses drying on me.” His father didn’t even look up as he snaked the hose through the bushes. “I thought you’d be happier than this.”
Joey shrugged.
His father got down on his knees to reach around a prickly clump of stems. “Who was that girl?”
“Her name’s Leah.”
“Not interested?”
Joey shrugged again. “I got other things on my mind right now.”
His father
looked up at him. “She seemed to like you.”
Joey let loose an annoyed little puff of breath.
“Seriously, Son.” His father rose and dusted off his hands. “You’ve been talking about all-stars and the tournament and getting the chance to try out for select since wintertime. Now, you finally got it. Why the attitude?”
“I just thought Zach and I could do it together is all.” Joey tossed the ball up and caught it.
“So, why can’t you?” His father turned on the faucet and the tiny holes in the flat green hose began to spout thin streams of water throughout the garden.
“Coach Tucker told us they’ve really only got five open spots on the team. Three of them are gonna be pitchers and they need a catcher, too. There’s only one spot for an infielder. That’s Zach or me . . . or someone else, I guess. Can we throw now?”
His father finally put his glove on and held it up for Joey. “Well, that happens in sports. You got to compete, right? Look at the all-star team. For a couple days it looked like Zach was going to be the only one between you two to make it. You got the right idea, getting out here for some extra work. I bet Zach’s not throwing a baseball around after playing two games in this heat.”
Joey had no idea what Zach was doing. That was part of the problem. Zach seemed to take Coach Tucker’s announcement even harder than Joey. After his face regained its fallen frown, Zach’s mouth tightened and he was quieter than Joey had ever seen him. Zach accepted their parents’ and Leah’s congratulations with a forced smile. It was as if the announcement by Coach Tucker turned Zach into a totally different person. Oh, he still gave Joey a V sign and a back clap as they parted, but his movements were strained and when Joey asked his best friend what he was going to do the rest of the day, Zach only said he didn’t know.
