Miracle at the Plate

by Matt Christopher

  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.

  14

  On 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:

  T. Miles ss

  J. Spry 2b

  R. Hyde cf

  S. Miracle rf

  H. Mall 3b

  L. Sweetman c

  L. Lee lf

  B. Adams lb

  S. McFitters p

  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 h
opeless 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.

  “Nice game, Skeeter,” said Tommy. “Maybe you’re no fly catcher, but you can sure wallop that apple.”

  “Skeeter,” Roger said, his face a little red as if he were sort of nervous about something. “I’m sorry about the way I’ve been acting toward you.”

  “Forget it,” said Skeeter. “I know I’m a clown out there, but I just can’t help it. I’m just clumsy, that’s all there is to it.”

  Roger grinned. “Well, I want to tell you something about Tommy. He’s a good friend of mine, so I wanted to do something for him. He loves baseball more than anything. Except for his dog Pancho maybe!” He laughed. “But he talks and dreams about baseball. I had hoped that Coach O’Hara would let him play more than a couple of innings a game. But he didn’t. Then while you were in Idaho, he was given a chance to play more.”

  “And all I did was help the other teams win,” put in Tommy. “Guess I’ll be a sports announcer when I grow up. That’s the next best thing.”

  Roger and Skeeter laughed. “There’s another reason, too, Skeet. You played like a clown in the outfield, but you hit that ball better than anyone else in the league. Guess I just didn’t think that was fair.”

  “Who did?” said Skeeter, his eyes shining happily. “Who cares anymore now, anyway? The season’s over and we didn’t do so badly as a team, did we? And I’m sure glad Pancho is okay, Tommy. I really am.”

  “Thanks, Skeeter. And I hope Gus comes back. I know how you must feel.”

  Skeeter grinned, but for a second he blinked a little.

  “Come on, you guys!” he cried. “Let’s catch up with Shadow!”

  The four boys started off the field together. They walked out of the park and down the street where Skeeter lived, carrying on a constant chatter about the game.

  Presently Shadow stopped and stared at the sky. “Skeeter,” he whispered. “Look!”

  Skeeter stopped and looked. His skin prickled. Flying across the sky was a bird with large, outspread wings that rose and fell slowly and tiredly, as if it had been on a long, long journey somewhere. Then it started downward, the sun striking its snow-white wings as it headed for one of the houses on the street.

  “It’s Gus!” Skeeter shouted. “It’s Gus! He’s come home!”

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  MIRACLE AT THE PLATE

  Will Skeeter lose his spot on the team?

  Nobody can beat Skeeter at batting. But when it comes to fielding, he’s hopeless. His confidence isn’t helped by Tommy Scott’s determination to replace him on the team. Feelings between the two boys grow even worse when Skeeter accidentally injures Tommy’s dog. Will Skeeter overcome his clumsiness, or will he lose his position on the team?

 
Matt Christopher is the name young readers turn to when they’re looking for fast-paced, action-packed sports novels. For other exciting sports novels, check out:

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  * Previously published as Crackerjack Halfback

  ** Previously published as Pressure Play

  *** Previously published as Baseball Pals