The Catch

by Richard Reece

  Walking the Beast was a no-brainer. Such a no-brainer that the Caps were well prepared. Despite Bronsky’s awesome power, the leading RBI guy on the Caps was Tim Pesci. Because he hit right after Beast, he often came to the plate with men on base, and even though he wasn’t as powerful, he was a better hitter than Bronsky.

  The Caps put a pinch runner on first. Coach Harris signaled the outfield to come in to medium depth, in case a short single required a play at the plate. Nick went out to talk to Shotaro.

  On the first pitch we got a scare. Pesci, a lefty, drilled one down the line about six inches outside the bag. The next two pitches were balls.

  I can’t explain it, but sometime during Shotaro’s next delivery I got this weird feeling. I don’t even think it was in my head. It was more in my legs. When Pesci connected and the sinking line drive started to head my way, I was already moving forward.

  Even though I was focused on the ball, I was aware of their lead runner scampering toward third, and I knew that I’d made the same mistake Wash had criticized before. I should have fielded it and tried for a play at the plate. It was too late, though. From the moment, maybe just before the moment, the bat hit the ball, I was committed: just get it.

  I saw the spot ahead of me where the ball would hit the ground. It was just a race to see which of us would get there first. I dived for the spot, my glove stretched out in front, and felt the ball bury itself in the pocket. I heard the noise. I had it.

  My hat came off all by itself on that play. I was pretty sure Dad and Mr. Strauss would be pleased.

  CHAPTER 13

  Storyboard: Ocelot 2

  000: Black screen

  002: text white: See Spots

  004: background gradual change to leopard spots

  007: text black: See Spots Run

  009: video Danny chasing fly

  013: text on spots: See Spots Fly

  015: video Danny leaping for catch

  019: text on spots: See Spots Win

  021: video Danny hoisted by teammates, crowd waving towels

  025: logo black on spots

  027: voiceover Danny: Just, you know, get it.

  030: out.

  Three days after the game, with the new commercial airing, the fan mail was piling in:

  Yo! Dan the Man! You rule!

  Dear Danny I saw you on TV and my bff thinks we would make a good couple. Write me? Ashley

  Hey Danny, Saw the video and it’s clear you can go places. I would like to offer my services as your agent/representative as you confront your undoubtedly many opportunities. Here’s my cell number.

  Hi Danny: I coach a Little League team here in Eldorado and I think you would be a great inspiration to my players. Would you be willing to stop in at one of our games or practices and say a few words?

  I got interviewed on three local TV stations and sat in for an hour on LV’s most popular sports talk radio show. I was signing autographs at every game, and people were even showing up at our practices to see me. At one point Coach Harris chased away an Ocelot video production crew that was trying to get footage of me in warm-ups.

  I’ll be honest. I could tell the rest of the team was getting tired of all the attention. And I’ll be even more honest. I was loving it. I had the “Show Your Spots” move down to an art. Fly ball? I could lose the cap before the catch. In the dugout I always wore a big spotted towel over my shoulders.

  One day Mr. Strauss presented me with three pairs of leopard-spotted baseball shoes. They were pretty sharp, I’ve gotta say. Mr. Strauss said they were selling like crazy. You could see them on billboards: just the shoes and the line “See Spots Run.”

  The shoes kind of brought things the team was feeling out in the open. The first time I wore them in practice Coach Harris called me over.

  “Okay, Danny, what’s with the shoes?”

  “Part of my deal, Coach. Don’t you like them?”

  “I do not.”

  “Well . . . ”

  “Danny, why do you think we wear uniforms? I mean, instead of just whatever’s comfortable?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. “It’s so we look alike. It makes us equal. Shows that we’re a team.”

  “It’s just shoes, Coach. I still wear the uniform.”

  “And the doo-rag. And the T-shirt and the towel. Danny, what those shoes say is, ‘Yeah, I may be on a team, but I’m special.’ Think about it.”

  Well, I thought about it, and I decided that, you know, I was special. Nobody else on the team had a product deal or their picture on billboards. In fact, I doubted anyone else on the team could make some of the plays I did. And make them with flair.

  Anyway, shoes were personal. We all wore different brands, whatever felt best. It was just that everyone else wore boring black. Anyway, Coach just said, “Think about it.” He didn’t say I couldn’t wear them. That’s why I was surprised when he benched me when I wore them to the next game.

  CHAPTER 14

  Wash actually gave me the news. “Harris says players wear black shoes in games. Otherwise they don’t play.” They moved Darius to my position in center. The Runners lost by six runs—our pitching collapsed. I don’t remember all the details. I do remember a moment in the seventh inning, though.

  There were two out, we were in the field, and the batter hit a high pop fly to center. Darius hardly had to move, but while he waited for it to come down he took off his cap, waved it at the crowd, and tossed it aside.

  As the guys came in they were all laughing and poking Darius like, “Good one!” Even the coaches were smiling. I thought, Go ahead and laugh. Fact is, we lost.

  I thought Dad and Mr. Strauss would be upset when I told them I couldn’t wear the shoes anymore. Instead they looked at each other and started smiling. “Don’t worry, Danny,” Mr. Strauss said after a while. “Ocelot makes black shoes too.”

  The next morning at breakfast Dad handed me the sports section of the Las Vegas Sun.

  “Check it out, Danny,” he said.

  Coach Benches Star for Shoe Infraction

  According to reports, Las Vegas Roadrunners Coach Scott Harris benched star center fielder Danny Manuel in yesterday’s game for his wardrobe. Manuel, who has an agreement with Germany-based Ocelot Sports Ltd., came to the game wearing shoes with Ocelot’s trademark leopard spots and logo. Coach Harris apparently saw red, not spots, when he noticed the stand-out apparel and removed Manuel from the lineup.

  Neither the coach nor the player were available for comment on the incident, but Joachim Strausshoffer, Ocelot’s North American director of development, said that Manuel will continue to wear Ocelot shoes in the standard black model. “Ocelot and Danny’s fans want him to play,” Strausshoffer said, explaining that he had offered to supply the entire team with the spotted shoes, but the coach had not responded.

  Even with all the attention I had been getting, I was surprised that a newspaper would report on the shoes I was wearing. I wondered what Harris would think when he saw the article. I sort of hoped he didn’t read the paper.

  But the story got picked up nationally, and it was all over the Internet. Within a week the “See Spots Run” billboards had changed. They still showed the shoes, but above them it said “BANNED!” and underneath was a picture of my smiling face, followed by, “I can’t wear them. But you can!”

  Needless to say, sales of the spotted shoes went through the roof. I even read about a high school team in Idaho, the Jaguars, that made the shoes standard for the team.

  As for me, I was back in the field in new black shoes with a small gold Ocelot logo on the heels. I could feel the tension, though. Coach Harris barely talked to me, and the same went for the rest of the team, except for Wash and Nellie, who always talked to everyone.

  One day I caught up with Nellie after practice and asked him point blank, “Is Coach pissed at me?”

  “Maybe a little,” Nellie said. “You—well, your business partners—embarrassed him. But Coach doesn’t hold a grudge, and he knows
you’re valuable. Give it some time, show you’re a team player, and things will get back to normal.” I had this talk with Nellie just before the team left for a weekend series in Los Angeles. I had no idea how not normal things were going to get.

  CHAPTER 15

  From Las Vegas to LA is about a four-hour drive, at least till you get into traffic. On Friday, after lunch, the bus took our team and our stuff to a spread-out resort and spa in Santa Monica, right by the marina. One thing about the Roadrunners thanks to backers like Alexander Jamison and Julio Costas, we always have spectacular accommodations. For a few of us, baseball was the only way we would ever lead this kind of life.

  We arrived in the late afternoon. Not too long afterwards I got a text from Kayla: It seems like 4ever. Can’t wait 2 c u! I’m by the pool!

  We only had forty-five minutes till the team meal, so I threw on shorts and an Ocelot T-shirt and headed outside.

  It turned out that saying “by the pool” was sort of like saying “at the mall.” The glittering turquoise water covered an area the size of a football field, and there were hundreds of people sitting or lying around it on towels or chaise lounges. About half of the people seemed to be gorgeous women. I started wandering around, swamped in the smell of chlorine and coconut oil and squinting in the glare coming off the water—I’d forgotten my spotted sunglasses. But the T-shirt came through for me.

  “Danny! Over here!”

  Kayla was about twenty yards to my right, wearing a tiny white bikini and a killer tan and sitting on a blue-and-orange Pepperdine beach towel. She stood up to give me a big welcoming hug.

  “Nice shirt!” she grinned.

  I grinned back.

  She motioned for me to sit down. “So,” she said, “I heard about your shoe trouble. But I guess you’re back on the team.”

  “Yeah, Coach isn’t saying much, but he lets me play now.”

  “Is that spots company paying you a lot of money?”

  “I don’t really know. My dad handles the business stuff.”

  When I told her I could only hang out for a couple of minutes, she made a little fake-pout expression but said, “Okay, duty calls. But I’ll be at the game tomorrow, promise!”

  One more hug, and this time a kiss on the cheek, and I headed back to the hotel.

  The team we were going to play called themselves the Chicago Blues. By reputation, they were the best team we’d been matched up against since the Eagles. Two of their pitchers were already being described as potential major leaguers, as was their catcher, a kid named Fritz Benson. Fritz was being compared to a young phenomenon who was making history at the moment as a rookie for the San Francisco Giants. Guys of that caliber don’t play on teams where the rest of the cast is weak. We were going to have our hands full.

  That night Mel called me, like she often did before a big tournament, to wish me luck. Of course, she wanted to know all about the shoe incident. When I started to complain about Coach being too strict, she said, “Well, I’m sorry it happened, but I can see his point.”

  “What?” I said. “When he leaves me out of the lineup because he doesn’t like my shoes, he’s hurting the team.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Look what happened,” I said. “I got benched and we lost by six runs.”

  Mel was quiet for a moment, and then she said, “Danny, do you hear what you’re saying?”

  “What?”

  “You’re talking like you are the team. Even the best player on a team isn’t indispensable. That’s what teamwork is about.”

  I could see Mel wasn’t sympathetic, so I changed the subject. “How are things with you?”

  “Brushing up on my Japanese,” she said. “It’s just a couple of weeks till I’m over there. Hang on a second.” I heard her talking to someone, and then she was back.

  “Okay, bro. I gotta go. I just wanted to say: Go, Runners! And I hope you have a great series. I’ll check in next week for all the details, okay?”

  “Sounds good. Love you, sis.”

  I was rooming with Shotaro again. As I drifted off to sleep that night, I could see the glow from his video game. I thought about Kayla and hoped I could do something tomorrow that would really get her attention.

  CHAPTER 16

  It happened in the sixth inning of our first game. We were in the field. I’d long since perfected my move with the cap, taking it off to show the Ocelot doo-rag when I made a catch. It’s the move Darius made fun of in the game I sat out, but I didn’t care. According to Mr. Strauss it was making me money, and I couldn’t see how it hurt anybody.

  We played in the afternoon. I don’t think the sun shines any brighter than it does on the coast in California. It was definitely bright and cloudless that day. Going into the sixth, we were behind 3–1. I had hit a double in my first at bat and scored on Nick’s single, but Carson had given up a three-run homer to Fritz Benson in the third. Now he was up again, and we were all playing deep in the outfield.

  On the third pitch Benson hit a fly ball a mile high, but in front of me. I had plenty of time to lift the cap, and I thought maybe I’d wave it to the crowd before the ball came down. This was becoming my signature move, which was why Darius’s joke worked, but so what? Problem was, somewhere in that little routine, I lost sight of the ball.

  That’s not usually a problem. But it happens, cap tip or no. A good outfielder who loses the ball doesn’t panic. Fielders have quick eyes, and on a high fly there’s time to pick up the ball in flight. You’re probably already in the right spot, you just need to see it.

  But this time all I could see was the sun. I looked quickly to my right at Darius. Sometimes your teammate will see you’re in trouble and help you out. But Darius didn’t seem to notice there was a problem, and there was no way I was going to yell for help. I was thinking, Okay, if I lose this I want to keep it in front of me, so I took two steps back.

  The next thing I remember I was in the locker room and a trainer was shining a light in my eye. Wash was there, and Shotaro and Kayla. I was on my back on a table, and I had a killer headache. I tried to sit up and the trainer pushed back on my shoulders. “Just relax, Danny, just relax. There’s a doctor on the way.”

  “What do you mean?” I said. “I’m supposed to catch the ball. Here it comes!” I saw lights flashing. My head throbbed, and I felt like I was going to throw up. And then I did throw up, into a bucket the trainer was holding for me. I was embarrassed. Like I really wanted Kayla to see me puking.

  Then another guy appeared. He had short gray hair, a black mustache, and thick glasses. The doctor, I guessed.

  “Well,” I heard him say, as if he was very far away, “it’s at least a concussion. We’d better take him in for a CAT scan.”

  Every now and then I could hear the crowd out on the field. I didn’t know who they were cheering for. And when I looked around for Kayla, she was gone.

  It’s hard at this point to sort out what I actually remember from what people have told me since. I did indeed go to the hospital. I had indeed suffered a concussion. The ball I lost in the sun had hit me on the right temple, right above my eye. I’ve seen photos since; they’re not pretty.

  Concussions are dangerous. Not just when they happen, but for a long time afterwards. They happen when a blow of some kind makes your brain bang around inside its cage—your skull. A little baseball falling from a height can pack a wallop, I learned.

  The Roadrunners beat the Blues in the series. More on that later. But the play where I got injured was pretty transparent on video. You saw a guy waiting for an easy catch, then grinning and tipping his hat to the crowd, then suddenly faltering, looking around in a panic until the baseball knocked him flat-out cold. I looked like an idiot.

  CHAPTER 17

  They kept me in the hospital for four days. When I got out, the team had gone home. But Dad, Mel, and Sal had all rushed to LA the minute they heard I was hurt. They all kept me company until I got out. On Thursday we drove back to Vegas,
and during the drive I learned what had happened in the series.

  When the ball hit me—well, when it bounced off my head—Darius recovered it and threw to the infield. Thanks to his quick reaction, I was charged with only a one-base error. There was a ten-minute delay until they took me off the field. Then Carson pitched us out of the inning. It was still 3–1.

  Coach moved Darius to center and put Dave Teller in left. Darius came up in the next inning with Nick on base and parked one in center field. That tied the game, and the Runners went on to win 6–3 on a three-run ninth that included another hit—a triple—by Darius.

  Game two on Sunday was rained out, a rare occurrence in LA, but the skies cleared in the evening and the Runners took a 2–0 lead right away on a homer by Sammy. Darius, leading off, had walked and stolen second, so he was the other run.

  Both pitchers settled down after that, and Carson had a shutout going into the ninth. He gave up three doubles in that inning, though, and the Blues came back to tie.

  In the tenth, our first guy walked and the next guy—guess who, Darius McKay— doubled. Then, with one out, Nellie hit a fly ball to deep center. It was caught, but Darius tagged up and scored! He just blew past third and into home. The throw wasn’t even close. There was an element of surprise, but no one else on our team, or most teams for that matter, could have pulled it off.

  Darius wasn’t through. With two out and one on in the bottom of the tenth, he climbed the fence to rob Fritz Benson of a walk-off homer. Carson retired the last Blue, so the Runners won 3–2 and Darius had his biggest game ever for the team. It was extra sweet for him, too, since he had grown up in LA and had a lot of friends in the stands.