Kid Coach

by Fred Bowen

  Maggie hesitated, then said, “I think we should get a chance to play different positions. And maybe kids like Benny and Brendan should play more.”

  “Maybe if they—” Drew started to say.

  “You don’t have the ball,” Fran reminded Drew.

  Maggie tossed Drew the ball.

  “Maybe if they practiced more, they could play more,” Drew said.

  “Give me the ball, Drew,” said Scott. Drew tossed it over to him. “It’s tough to have kids play positions in games that they haven’t played in practice,” Scott explained.

  “Hey,” said Nick, raising his hand for the ball. “Why don’t we practice more? We don’t have to wait for Mr. Skelly now. Heck, we could practice every day.”

  The Tigers nodded their heads. “We could practice every day right after school,” Max suggested. “Nobody is using the field then.”

  Scott glanced at Drew. “It’s all right by me,” he said. “How about 3:30 to 4:30 every day after school? We’ll start tomorrow.”

  The Tigers gave out a loud cheer. It was the most noise the team had made for a long time. The kids wandered off, leaving Scott, Drew, and Fran to gather the equipment into the brown canvas bag.

  “How do you like that?” Drew asked as he tossed a baseball like a jump shot into the bag. “The kids probably think Brain should play shortstop.”

  “It’s more fun if you get to play more positions,” Fran said.

  “The best kids should play!” Drew said, a little too loudly.

  “It’s hard to get better if you don’t get a chance,” Fran answered just as loudly.

  “Take it easy,” Scott said softly. “We got enough problems on this team without you guys fighting.” Scott took a last look around the field. “You guys forget a mitt?” he asked, pointing to a baseball glove in the dugout dirt.

  Scott walked over and picked up the glove. The name Benjamin P. Myles was neatly printed along the glove’s thumb.

  “Whose is it?” Fran asked.

  “Benny’s,” said Scott.

  “Just like the Brain to forget his glove,” Drew grumbled. “I bet he didn’t forget his books. Let’s see it.” Scott tossed Drew the glove.

  “Fran,” Scott said, “why don’t you take the bag to my house and I’ll take Brain his glove.”

  Drew laughed and said, “Benjamin P. Myles. Man, the Brain must be the only kid in America who puts his middle initial on his glove.”

  “Wonder what the P stands for,” Fran said.

  Drew flipped the glove to Scott. “Pathetic,” he said.

  EIGHT

  Scott stood at the Myleses’ front door with Benny’s glove in his hand. Mrs. Myles answered the bell in a business suit and stocking feet.

  “Hi, I’m Scott Hudson. Benny forgot his glove and—”

  “Oh, right. You’re coaching the team. Come in. Come in,” Mrs. Myles said. She turned her head and shouted up the stairs, “Benjamin!”

  “I’m sorry Benjamin’s dad and I haven’t been able to attend any of the games,” she said.

  Scott didn’t know what to say so he just said, “That’s okay. You didn’t miss much.”

  “Benjamin!” Mrs. Myles called again. “He must be on the computer. Benjamin just loves the computer. Why don’t you go ahead upstairs?”

  Scott started upstairs carrying the glove. Sure enough, he found Benny sitting at the computer tapping away on the keys.

  “Hey, Brain,” said Scott. “You forgot your glove.”

  Benny turned, a bit startled. Scott held up the glove.

  “Oh yeah, thanks,” Benny said and turned back to the computer.

  “What are you doing?” Scott asked. “Homework?”

  “No, statistics.”

  “What statistics?”

  “The team statistics.”

  “Really? Can I take a look?”

  Scott walked over to the computer. He looked over Benny’s shoulder and studied the numbers.

  “What are these?” Scott asked.

  “The pitching statistics so far this year,” Benny said.

  “IP, that’s Innings Pitched, right? But what’s TP stand for?” Scott asked.

  “Total Pitches,” Benny explained in his teacher voice. “That’s followed by strikes—S; balls pitched—B; and the percentage of pitches that are strikes—PCT.

  “R is for runs scored by the other team, right? But what’s RA?” asked Scott.

  “That’s the average number of runs in a game that the other team gets when you pitch.”

  “My RA is 3.82. So if I pitched a whole game, the other team would get three or four runs. That’s pretty good,” said Scott.

  “It’s not bad,” Benny said flatly. “But take a look at this.”

  Benny tapped a few keys and a new set of numbers appeared.

  “What’s this?”

  “That’s the scoring of the other teams against us, broken down by inning. Notice anything?”

  “Sure,” Scott said. “They’re scoring almost all of their runs in the late innings.”

  Benny nodded. “That’s right.”

  “What do you think we should do?”

  “Simple,” Benny said. “You shouldn’t keep on pitching for an entire game. You’re getting tired and giving up more runs in the last innings. Same thing with Drew. You guys should each pitch only three innings a game.”

  Scott kept studying the numbers on the screen. “Got anything else?” he asked.

  “Sure.” Benny tapped some more keys and some more numbers appeared.

  Scott leaned closer to the computer. “What are these?”

  “Batting statistics.”

  “I know BA is batting average, but what is OBP?”

  “On Base Percentage,” Benny answered. “It shows how often someone gets on base.”

  “You mean by getting hits?”

  “Yes, and by getting walks. You know you’re always saying, ‘A walk is as good as a hit.’ Well, on-base percentage gives a player credit for walks. Batting averages don’t.”

  “Boy, Maggie’s got a great OBP,” Scott observed.

  “That’s why she should be the leadoff hitter,” Benny said.

  “But Max has more hits,” Scott protested.

  “But Max doesn’t get any walks,” Benny said, pointing at the column BB (for base on balls). “You want someone at the top of the lineup to get on base. It doesn’t matter how. Besides, Maggie’s one of the fastest runners on the team.”

  “Can you print this stuff out for me?” Scott asked.

  “No problem.” After just a few clicks the printer started to hum and within seconds the Tigers stats started to roll out.

  Scott picked up the stats and realized that he was still holding Benny’s glove.

  “Here’s your glove,” he said, tossing the mitt to Benny. “Hey, what does the P stand for?”

  “Nothing,” Benny said, looking away. “My mom wrote that. I hate my middle name.”

  “Come on, tell me. I won’t tell anybody.”

  “Promise?” Benny gave Scott a suspicious look.

  “Promise.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Come on, tell me.”

  “All right … Peaches.”

  “Peaches? Like the fruit?” Scott blurted out. “What kind of name is that?”

  “I told you it was dumb. It’s an old family name. I really don’t need another nickname, so forget I told you.”

  “Don’t worry,” Scott said as he turned to leave. “I’ll keep your secret.”

  Scott stopped at the bedroom door and held up the stats.

  “Hey, thanks for the stats,” he said.

  “And don’t tell the team that I’m keeping stats, okay? They’ll think it’s weird,” said Benny.

  “They won’t think it’s weird,” Scott protested.

  “Drew will,” Benny said.

  “Yeah, you’re probably right,” Scott answered. “Well, see you tomorrow at practice … Benny.”


  NINE

  Scott sat in the dugout before the Twins game and looked at the Tigers lineup one more time. He tapped the eraser end of his pencil against the paper, tempted to change the column of names. Finally, he stood up and called, “Bring it in, everybody.”

  The Tigers gathered around. Scott took a deep breath and said, “Listen up. I’m gonna make some changes. We’re up first, so here’s the lineup: Maggie’s leading off today and playing second.”

  Scott could feel the team stirring but he continued. “Nick’s gonna catch and hit second. Drew’s pitching. Danny will start at first and hit cleanup. I’m at short. Max, you’re in left batting sixth. Fran’s at third. Peter’s not here, so Eric will start in center. Benny’s in right batting ninth. All right, let’s get off to a good start and win one!”

  Scott stood at the edge of the dugout as the first Tiger batters picked out their favorite bats and helmets.

  “Come on, Maggie!” Scott shouted as she stepped to the plate. “Look ‘em over. Walk’s as good as a hit.”

  Drew stood with his hat and batting helmet next to Scott. “What gives?” he asked in a half whisper. “Why am I pitching today? I pitched last game.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m gonna pitch the last three innings,” Scott said.

  Drew’s face twisted into a question mark.

  “Just give it your best shot for three innings, okay?” Scott said, turning back to the game. “Come on, Maggie, be a hitter.”

  “And what’s the deal with Maggie leading off?” Drew asked.

  “I just figured we better try something different,” Scott said, smiling and looking toward Benny. But Benny didn’t see the smile. He was scribbling in his notebook as Maggie fouled off a pitch. “Straighten it out, Maggie!” Scott shouted.

  “I sure hope you know what you’re doing, Coach,” Drew said as he took a practice swing.

  The new lineup looked good as Maggie worked a walk to lead off the inning. Nick hit a hard grounder that the Twins shortstop juggled. Maggie slid into second base just before the throw. The Tigers had runners on first and second. No outs.

  Drew hit a pop-up that was caught in short center field. But Danny and Scott both banged out clutch singles to give the Tigers a 2–0 lead.

  Drew took the mound next. He breezed through the first two innings, holding the Twins to one hit. In the bottom of the third inning, with the Tigers still leading 2–0, the Twins batter smacked a two-out single into center field.

  “Come on, Drew,” Scott chattered from shortstop. “Just one more out. Bear down, buddy.”

  The next Twins batter lofted a lazy fly ball to right field. Benny took a couple of nervous steps to his left and held up his glove. The ball plunked against the heel of Benny’s glove and dropped to the grass.

  “Get it in!” Scott shouted to Benny. The Tigers right fielder tossed the ball to Scott but it was too late to catch the speeding Twins runner at the plate. The Tigers now led 2–1.

  Drew struck out the next Twins batter with three angry fastballs.

  Scott shouted encouragement as the Tigers hustled off the field. “Eric. Then Brendan’s hitting for Benny. Then the top of the order. We’re gonna need more runs.”

  Drew looked down the bench to Benny writing in his notebook. “Be sure to put down an error for the right fielder, Brain!” Drew shouted. “Let’s try playing baseball instead of just watching it.”

  “Cut it out, Drew. Believe me, we need Benny,” Scott said angrily to his friend. “Now let’s get the run back.”

  The Tigers rallied in the top of the fourth inning. Brendan, Maggie, and Drew loaded up the bases with a walk and two singles.

  Scott knew a big moment in the game had come when Danny stepped to the plate. Bases loaded, two outs, and a one-run lead, Scott thought as he stood at the on-deck circle rubbing his bat nervously.

  “Come on, Danny, be a sticker. Ducks on the pond!” shouted Scott.

  Danny drilled a line shot to left center field. The Twins left fielder raced over and leaped. The ball whizzed right by his outstretched glove and bounced to the wall.

  The Tiger bench exploded in cheers as three Tigers sprinted around the bases and crossed home plate.

  “All right, Danny! Big stick!”

  “Three runs batted in. Let’s get some more!”

  The Tigers added another run in the later innings, but it hardly mattered. Scott pitched three solid innings and the Tigers won for the first time that season, 6–1.

  After the last out, the team swarmed around Scott chanting, “Game ball, game ball, game ball.” Scott held up a battered baseball for silence.

  “Everybody played great today but this can only go to one guy. Danny’s double broke the game open,” Scott said, tossing the ball to Danny as the Tigers whooped and hollered.

  The team left happy. Smiling, Scott gathered the equipment into the big brown bag. Slinging the heavy bag onto his back, Scott walked over to Benny, who was sitting alone on the grandstand studying his notebook.

  “Got today’s pitching stats?” Scott asked.

  “Yeah, want to take a look?”

  Scott studied the neat columns of figures.

  “They look pretty good,” Scott said, still smiling.

  Benny pointed to the paper. “Notice your first inning was a lot stronger then Drew’s last. He was starting to get tired.”

  Scott nodded. “Looks like you’re a pretty good coach, Peaches,” he winked.

  “Don’t call me Peaches, okay?”

  “Okay, Benny.”

  TEN

  Three weeks later, Scott, Drew, and Fran blew through the door of the Hudsons’ house and threw their baseball gloves on a chair.

  “Is that you, Scott?” called Scott’s father from the kitchen.

  “Yeah, Dad.”

  “How was practice?”

  “Great! The team is getting better all the time.”

  “You should be. You guys are practicing almost every day. Do you have much homework tonight?”

  “Not much. I did most of it in school. Drew, Fran, and I are going upstairs, okay?”

  “Fine with me. We’ll eat when Mom gets home from work. I’m going to make hamburgers.”

  “Right, Dad,” Scott called as he scrambled up the stairs.

  The three friends flew into Scott’s bedroom. Drew grabbed a small ball and tossed a quick jump shot at the miniature hoop hanging on the closet door. Swish.

  “Okay. What did you want to show us?” Drew asked.

  “Not so fast. First look at this,” Scott said as he handed Drew and Fran the Tigers schedule. Drew and Fran glanced down the columns.

  “We still got a shot at a winning season, don’t you think?” Scott asked.

  “Maybe,” said Fran.

  “Fat chance,” said Drew, tapping the schedule. “We got the Yanks and the Red Sox left, and we’d have to win both games. Eddie Wilson of the Red Sox is the best hitter in town. And the only guys hitting in our team are you, me, and Danny.”

  “Come on, Drew,” said Fran. “What about Maggie and me? We’re no slouches.”

  “Fran’s right,” Scott said. “Here. This is what I wanted to show you.” Scott opened a desk drawer and pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to Drew.

  “What’s this?” Drew asked.

  “The team batting statistics after thirteen games.”

  Drew studied them as Fran looked over his shoulder.

  “What’s OBP?” Drew asked.

  “On Base Percentage—how often a batter gets on base. And walks count,” said Scott.

  Fran pointed at the paper. “Hey, Maggie’s got the best OBP on the team.”

  “You’re right, Fran,” said Drew, turning a little red.

  “That’s why Maggie’s the leadoff hitter,” Scott said, sounding a bit like Benny.

  Fran looked at Scott. “Did you do these stats?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Your dad?”

  Scott shook his head.

&n
bsp; “Who then?”

  “Benny,” Scott said matter-of-factly.

  “Benny!” said Drew. “So that’s what the Brain’s been doing with all the stuff he writes in his notebooks.” Then Drew laughed, pointing at the paper. “The Brain does a lot better job keeping the stats than he does playing the game. You know who is the worst hitter? Benjamin P. Myles,” said Drew. “He’s 1 for 12.”

  “Give Benny a break, Drew,” Scott said. “He’s getting better, especially in the field. And his stats have really helped the team. Face it, you couldn’t do the stats.”

  “What do you mean?” Drew asked, sounding hurt. “I got a B in math on my last report card. I could keep the stats.”

  “You know what I mean,” Scott said. “We’d be lost without Benny’s brainpower.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” Drew said, and he quickly changed the subject. “Hey, did you ever find out what the P stands for in Brain’s name?” he asked.

  “Oh yeah, it stands for …” Scott stopped, remembering his promise.

  “Come on, what’s it stand for?” Drew pressed.

  “Nah … I … ah … promised Benny I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

  “Come on, we’re buddies.”

  Scott shook his head.

  “Come on, tell. Fran and I won’t blab it to anybody,” Drew said.

  “All right,” Scott said impatiently. “It’s Peaches.”

  “Peaches!” Fran and Drew blurted out at the same time.

  “Come on, you guys. You can tell anybody,” Scott pleaded. “And don’t tell anybody that Benny’s keeping stats. He doesn’t want anybody to know.”

  “I can see why he doesn’t want anybody knowing his middle name,” said Fran. “I won’t tell anybody.”

  Fran and Scott then looked over at Drew.

  “Don’t worry,” Drew said. “I can keep a secret.”

  ELEVEN

  Scott stood on the pitcher’s mound rubbing the baseball and eyeing the Yankee runners at first and second bases. He glanced over his shoulder to the scoreboard behind the center-field fence. The Yankees led 5–2 in the top of the third.