After telling Coach you’re running to the restroom, you walk through the stands, looking for someone who might be stealing your signs. You feel a tug on your arm. It’s your mom. “What are you doing out here?” she asks.
“Nothing,” you say, afraid to make eye contact with her.
“You’re pitching well,” she says. “Just some bad luck.”
You nod, but the confident feeling from this afternoon is gone. By the time you reach the dugout, it’s time to get back out into the field. Your teammates didn’t even get a runner on base in the first inning.
Dawson stops you on your way out. “I need you to be honest with me. Twenty guys have worked their butts off to get to where we are now. If you can’t get your head right, you need to let me know, so I can get someone else to pitch.”
You want to have the confidence to shake off the last inning, and the last game, but the Jets have managed to get to you. The last thing in the world you want to do is be the reason your team loses . . .
GO TO PAGE 34. You tell Coach that he’s right about putting in someone else to pitch.
GO TO PAGE 41. You tell Coach that you’re fine to pitch, and want the chance to turn the game around.
You ride your bike straight to your garage, and put it back up on its rack.
When you walk inside, your mom is putting away groceries. “What’s wrong?” she asks.
“How do you know something’s wrong?” you reply.
She puts down the package in her hand, and sits down at the dining room table. “Moms know,” she answers. “What’s up?”
You tell your mom everything. It’s hard not to cry, because you feel like a bad teammate for not alerting your teammates. “A lot of the time, doing the right thing isn’t the same as doing the easy thing,” your mom says. She reminds you that if any of your teammates are involved with steroids, they need help. And that you tipping them off would just give them a chance to cover it up.
The championship game comes and goes – your Bulls lose a heartbreaker, 1-0. Despite the loss, it’s one of your best pitching performances of the season. A few months go by and nothing happens. You assume the FBI never found anything on your teammates.
Then, just before professional baseball starts again in the spring, you read in the newspaper about a player in the Milwaukee Brewers system. He failed a drug test and received a fifty-game suspension. The player is your former teammate, Bryce.
When you find out, you’re a mix of emotions. You’re glad, because you hope this might teach Bryce to make a better decision later. But you also know that you might’ve prevented him a lot of trouble if you’d warned him that day in the park. Maybe he would’ve stopped the steroids sooner if you’d said something to him then.
Eventually, you come to terms with the idea that you did the best thing you could with the information you had at the time. It’s all you can ever do, and it’s a lesson you’ll carry with you the rest of your life.
THE END
You whip the ball to your shortstop covering second base. Granelli slides in a beat before the ball arrives. Leaping into the air to avoid getting tripped up, Kev Santana slings it over to first, but Vince beats the throw by a few steps.
The Jets now have runners on first and second with no one out in the top of the seventh.
Jim Slade steps to the plate, and you quickly blow two fastballs by him. You try to drop your changeup right on the plate, but he fouls it off. You decide to throw him something way out of the strike zone, and he bites on a neck-high fastball for strike three. One out.
For the first time all game, your arm feels like jelly. Coach must sense it. He yells out from the dugout. “How we doin’, Iceman?”
You nod to him, not ready to give up the ball just yet.
Next up is Kit Hackett. You nearly get him with an inside fastball. But, you miss by an inch and end up walking him, loading the bases. Coach Dawson calls the infield in for a play at the plate.
You expect a battle with Bill Choi, the Jets shortstop. But, he swings at the first pitch, and grounds it to first base. Bryce tosses it home to Tommy for the second out.
Normally, your strategy with Draymond Pope, the Jets free-swinging, powerful catcher, is to try to get him to swing at balls outside the strike zone. But you don’t have that luxury now.
You hope to catch him off-balance by starting him with a changeup, and it works. Pope’s knees buckle and he can’t even manage a swing, as the ball slowly passes in front of him for strike one.
But you miss on the next two pitches, before sneaking in a low, outside fastball. You cringe for a second when Pope throws his huge arms out and swings, but he comes up empty. It’s two balls, two strikes. You’re one strike from getting out of the inning with no runs.
Tommy calls for a changeup. It’s the pitch that’s gotten you to this championship game. You wind up, and let the ball float over the inner half of the plate. Pope is handcuffed again. You make a small fist pump in the air as you start toward the dugout.
You’re shocked when the ump calls, “Low, ball three.”
Tommy jogs the ball out to you. “Ignore that last one. Let’s just put a fastball right down the pipe,” he says.
“That’s asking for trouble. Let’s go changeup,” you answer.
Tommy hands you the ball. “Alright, Kel. Make it work.”
You set up for the biggest pitch of your life. The rotation off your fingers feels perfect. You have no doubt that it’s going to fall low, outside and just out of Draymond Pope’s reach.
You watch him flail helplessly at the pitch, almost falling on his face. Now, you hustle back to the dugout, remembering that you’re up first to bat in the bottom of the seventh.
All your Bulls need is one run to win the championship. Otherwise, you’re headed to extra innings. You want to tell Coach Dawson you’re feeling fine if it gets to that, but your arm has had it.
You waste no time and swing at the first pitch from Boone Storment, connecting on a weak groundball. It sneaks past the pitcher and up the middle into center field. Everyone in your dugout is up and cheering now, as you represent the winning run.
Kev Santana is up next, and he bunts down the first base line. You hustle to second as the pitcher throws to first for the out.
Your dugout quiets down a bit when Paco Schachter strikes out for the second out. Now, it’s up to Dane Leodore to try to win the game. As he steps in, you take a short lead from second.
The first pitch to Dane bounces in the dirt and squirts past the catcher. You race into third base, diving in headfirst.
As you dust yourself off, Dawson leans into your ear. “If another one gets away, don’t hesitate. Just go! Do not hesitate.”
Storment makes Dane look bad on two pitches in a row. It’s one ball and two strikes, and even though you’re only 90 feet from winning the game, it looks like you’re going to extra innings.
You’re only two feet off the base when the catcher’s pickoff throw whizzes by your head. You never even saw it coming, and had the third baseman caught the ball, you’d have been picked off cleanly.
But, the third baseman misses it and the ball rolls into short left field.
“Go!” Coach Dawson yells. But you hesitate, looking into left field, where you see Jonny Smart closing in on the ball. He’s already thrown out one runner at the plate today.
You still have a shot if you go right now . . .
GO TO PAGE 40. You try to score.
GO TO PAGE 57. You play it safe and hold at third.
You decide to take Bryce’s advice and try to hit the leadoff hitter. So far, the rain is holding off, and the game is starting on time.
The pitcher’s mound is the place in the world where you feel most comfortable. Something about the view from up here – exactly 10 inches higher than the rest of the field – just feels right. You can see the Verdugo Mountains rising above the backstop.
The Jets leadoff hitter, Raul Granelli, steps to the plate. He’s not a powerful
hitter, but if he gets on base he can be a dangerous runner. Granelli’s been known to turn a walk into a triple, by stealing second and third base immediately. Even though teams know this, Granelli’s fast enough to beat the catcher’s throw most of the time.
You know it’s a risky move, but you decide to throw the ball at his legs. You don’t want to hurt Granelli, but stealing your signs last game was completely against the spirit of baseball. Coach Dawson is always talking about the right way to play baseball, and the wrong way. Last game, Crescent City definitely played the wrong way, and if you’re going to have a different result this time, you want to send a message that they messed with the wrong pitcher.
The umpire points to you and says, “Play ball!” Tommy sets up on the inside of home plate and calls for a fastball. You shake your head, asking for a different pitch. If you’re going to hit Granelli, you want to do it with your changeup. The changeup is a slower pitch, and much less likely to hurt someone. Your goal is to send a message, not to cause an injury.
Tommy puts down one finger, again calling for the fastball. It’s usually the catcher’s job to call the pitches, and the pitcher’s job to execute. You’ve earned enough respect from your teammates to offer your opinion now and then, but Tommy’s clearly telling you to keep your opinion to yourself and throw a fastball.
You shake your head once more.
Tommy signals again for a fastball. You ignore it. You step back, bring your arms over your head, turn your body, and bring your right leg into the air. You bring the ball back with your left arm, but as soon as you loft it toward Granelli, you instantly regret it. You cringe as the ball moves toward him. You’ve never hit a batter on purpose before.
But the ball moves so slowly, Granelli just steps forward across the plate and gets himself out of the way. No one in the dugout says a word. Granelli seems unfazed. It’s one ball, no strikes.
You’re relieved that the ball didn’t hit him. As the ball sailed toward him, you thought about something you learned as a preschooler – two wrongs don’t make a right.
You take a deep breath and shrug your shoulders before starting your next pitch, the way you’ve been doing ever since your mom taught you the windup you’ve always used on the mound.
Tommy signals for a fastball again, and you zing the ball into his glove for a strike. Two pitches later, Granelli grounds the ball to your shortstop, Kev Santana, who fires to first base for the first out of the game.
It only takes you three pitches to strike out the next batter.
Then, you’re nearly out of the first inning when Crescent City’s third batter, Cameron Kasey, hits a hard grounder to third. Your third baseman, Fred Welch, fields it cleanly and fires to first.
The throw is so high, though, that Bryce can’t even get the tip of his glove on it when he leaps. The ball rolls all the way to the fence and Kasey takes advantage by sprinting all the way to third base. This isn’t how you wanted to start.
The next Jet to bat is their best hitter, Kit Hackett. Kit’s one of those guys who usually either strikes out, or hits the ball to the next county. Your plan for handling Kit is not to give him anything in the strike zone unless you manage to get two strikes. You’d rather walk him than give him a chance to put two runs on the board right away.
You fire the first pitch in, a fastball at eye level. Hackett starts his swing, but stops himself in time. Ball one. Now, you throw a curveball that barely even reaches the plate before it lands. Kit extends his long arms and swings, somehow making contact with the low pitch. He hits a pop-up even with the third base line. This should end the inning.
Fred Welch moves back and squares himself with the ball. You start slowly moving toward the dugout, thinking the inning is over. You don’t realize what’s happening until you hear the Jets dugout erupt.
When you turn around, Fred is chasing the ball into left field, and Kit Hackett is motoring toward second base. Fred’s second error of the inning has allowed a run to score, and put another in scoring position.
Welch is shaking his head as he walks the ball in from short left field. His two errors have ruined your chance for a strong first inning. It’s not the first time this season that his fielding has been a problem for the Bulls either. But today, it could prove critical in your quest for a championship. Fred is one of the team’s better hitters, so Coach decided to leave the team’s best fielder, Jim Willman, on the bench today. You understand Coach’s decision, but every pitcher wants the strongest fielders behind him.
Welch flips the ball back to you, and avoids eye contact. You see Coach Dawson jogging out to the mound.
“What’s up, Coach?” you ask him.
“I’m just checkin’ in on you. You’re pitching great,” he says. “We’ll get that run back. You doing okay?”
You look over at Fred Welch, taking his position at third base, and then into the dugout at sure-handed Jim Willman. Coach Dawson’s question hangs in the air . . .
GO TO PAGE 10. You tell Coach Dawson you need a better glove at third base, and try to convince him to put Welch on the bench in favor of Willman.
GO TO PAGE 49. You tell the coach you’re doing fine, and you’re ready to get to work on the next hitter.
You turn right and head back toward Seaview Park. You grew up coming here and know a few good spots to lay low for a while. You decide to go underneath a big stone bridge, toward the back of the park. You can hide in the shadows, but still have a way out if Bryce does show up. And the bridge is covered, so you won’t get more soaked than you already are.
You wait for almost two hours. Your cell battery is dead and it’s getting dark when you get back on your bike and go toward home.
Your mom assumes you’ve been biking with your teammates, and for the moment you don’t tell her any differently. When you plug in your phone, you see that you’ve got nearly fifty text messages:
“Bryce & Fred kicked off team for ‘roids!” one says.
“We r prob going to forfeit championship game,” says another.
You wish that the whole team didn’t have to pay for what a couple of bad apples may have done.
The final text you get is from Coach Dawson. There’s an emergency team meeting at his house in the morning.
You’re one of the last to arrive at Coach’s house – his garage, actually. It looks like the entire team is crammed in on tiny folding chairs, except for Bryce and Fred. Everyone has questions for you, since you were the only one to speak with the federal agents. It’s funny that your teammates are looking at you for answers, since you have a million questions of your own. But, before you can tell them anything, Coach signals for everyone to quiet down.
“Let me know right now if any of my other players were dumb enough to cheat,” he says. “Dumb enough to risk their bodies, risk our season, and put their entire futures in jeopardy.”
Coach waits a while. You can tell that he wouldn’t be surprised if every player on the team raised their hand. His faith in the guys has obviously been shaken.
He goes on to tell you that there isn’t going to be a championship game. Coach has decided to forfeit and ask for the entire season to be pulled from all state and local record books.
“Does that mean everyone’s records are pulled?” you ask. But you know the answer. Sure, scouts will know about your great season, but the games will now be like they were never played.
When he dismisses the team until the following spring, Coach tells you to wait. “You know this would’ve happened whether you spoke to those agents or not, right?”
He walks over to a shelf in his garage and hands you a piece of red fabric. You hold it in front of you and see that it’s shaped like the letter “C.” You know there’s only one guy on the team who gets one of these.
“Team captain should be a guy who makes the right call, even when making the right call stinks,” Coach Dawson says.
It does stink. You hoped you’d walk away from today with a championship trophy. Instead you’ve g
ot the captain’s “C” as a consolation.
Next year, as team captain, you’ll be in a better position to make sure nothing like this happens again. All you can hope for now is to be right back in the championship game one year from this weekend. There are no guarantees, but you know you’ll give it everything you’ve got.
THE END
You don’t want to give the Jets the opportunity for a big inning, so you make an easy toss to Bryce at first for the out. Raul rounds second base as Bryce calls time and flips the ball back to you.
Now you’ll face Jim Slade, a great contact hitter who rarely strikes out. A base hit here will likely put your Bulls down, 3-2.
Tommy signals for a curve, but you shake him off. There’s a good chance Raul will try to steal third, and an off-speed pitch would give him a better shot to make it. He gives in and calls for a fastball.
You come to the set position and look back and forth between home and second, where Raul is dancing back and forth, trying to draw a pickoff throw. Each time he moves away from the base, he’s coming off a little further. Pickoff throws to second base are risky, because the pitcher needs to throw the ball to the base before the shortstop or second baseman have arrived. If the timing is off, the ball can wind up in center field, giving the runner a chance to score.
You’d feel much better facing Slade with the bases empty, but pickoffs have never been your strong suit. You’ve been called for four balks already this season. Balks are called when a pitcher accidentally does something deceptive with runners on base.
You’re about to make your pitch, when you look back one final time and see that Raul is more than ten steps from the base. You see Kev Santana, your shortstop, break for second base, hoping you’ll hit his glove for a pickoff. And now, if you don’t, there’s a huge hole between second and third for Slade to aim for.
Still, you decide against the pickoff throw. You throw a fastball to Slade, but miss your target. Ball one. By the time you turn around, Raul is diving into third base. He got such a good jump there wasn’t even time for a throw by Tommy. Now, the Jets have a runner on third base with only one out. Your chances of getting out of the inning with no runs allowed have gotten slimmer.
The Iceman's Meltdown Page 2
