“Besides,” said Dad, “we wanted to make sure you weren’t shirking your duties.”
“He’s so proud of you,” Mom said. “He kept nudging the guy next to him and saying, ‘That’s my boy.’”
“You did it, too,” Dad muttered.
• • •
I decided to go to bed early. The Porcupines had a day game tomorrow. And not just any day game, either. It was Kids Get In Free Day. The ballpark would be packed, and a lot of my friends would be there. I wanted to be rested and ready.
I looked at the bookshelf lined with binders and boxes full of baseball cards. I liked baseball cards even before I liked baseball. I liked seeing where players came from and what minor league teams they had played for. Some of my favorite cards had random facts about players that had nothing to do with baseball: It would say that a player’s boyhood nickname was Peanut or that his favorite food was Mallomars. When I knew about the guys in the game, the game was more interesting.
That’s what Dylan needed, I realized. If he knew the players and their stories, he would have to like the game better.
I couldn’t drag my whole collection into the locker room. I would have to put all my favorite cards together.
I started pulling binders off the shelf.
banner hanging high over the gate to Pine City Park read, “KIDS GET IN FREE TODAY!” Below that was a second line: “What’s the Big Surprise? Be the First to Know!”
There were Pines fans in the parking lot, grilling hamburgers and waiting for the gates to open. A couple of guys were painting the porcupine statue in front of the ballpark. Workers at the snack stands were heating up oil for waffle fries and mini donuts. Folks from the radio station that broadcast the games were setting up a table on the plaza. They were giving out free porcupine-shaped balls, just like the ones used in the porcupine toss. Inside the ballpark, the field crew were mowing the grass and raking the mound.
Six or seven players were already in the Pines’ locker room, kneeling in a half-circle by one of the lockers. I thought I’d walked in on a secret player ritual or an exercise drill.
“Look—he’s eating it,” said one of the players.
“Of course he’s eating it.”
I peered over their shoulders and saw a fuzzy brown bunny working on a bit of lettuce in Mike Stammer’s outstretched hand.
“Hey, it’s a rabbit.” What was that all about?
“It was your idea,” Mike said, looking up at me. “I got him at the animal shelter this morning. I’m going to let this little guy work his magic on me.”
Grumps Humboldt came in and craned his neck to see what was going on. “Why is there a rodent in the locker room?”
“What do you have against rodents, Mister Humboldt?” Lance Pantaño asked. “Our team is named for a rodent.”
“It’s not a rodent,” said Wayne Zane. “It’s a lagomorph.”
“We’re in last place and you fellows are turning this place into a petting zoo,” the manager grumbled.
“Lagomorph. Not a rodent. Just sayin’,” Wayne mumbled.
“It’s only one rabbit,” said Mike Stammer. He moved the bunny to a cage by his locker. “I brought him in to help.”
“How is that lago-whatsit going to help us?” Grumps asked. “Is he going to play shortstop?”
“If a rabbit’s foot is good luck, why not a whole rabbit?” Mike asked. “Four feet—four times as much luck.”
“You can’t argue with that,” said Wayne Zane. “It’s simple math.”
“Great,” said Grumps. “Next you’ll bring a horse in here and tell me it’s four times luckier than a horseshoe.”
The rabbit hopped into a corner of the cage. I wondered if cleaning its cage would be a batboy-type duty or if Mike would do it.
I stowed my binder on top of my locker and changed into my uniform. I felt a few butterflies in my stomach. There would be a lot of kids at today’s game, and a lot of people watching me. What if I messed up?
Dylan came in and noticed the rabbit. “Who’s that?” he asked.
“He’s our new shortstop,” said Grumps. “Can’t be any worse than our old one.”
“He’s cute,” said Dylan. He crouched by the cage and let the rabbit sniff his fingertips. Then he reached in between the bars and lightly petted its ears.
Grumps had taped up the day’s lineup card on the dugout wall, and I used it to set up the bat rack. It was easy—I just had to put a couple of bats for each player in the rack in the same order they batted. Batting gloves and helmets and mitts went in the bins over the rack.
I finished with that chore and saw that Dylan was still playing with the bunny. He wasn’t even in uniform yet.
“You kids want to help out with BP?” Wally shouted from the doorway.
“I guess,” said Dylan. He got up slowly and went to get dressed.
I didn’t get a chance to show him my cards and start converting him into a baseball fan. Maybe what Dylan really needed was for the players to have big ears and cottontails.
he stands were already full when we ran out to the field for batting practice.
“Hey, look—there he is!” I heard someone shout from the left field bleachers. “Hey, Chad!” I looked up and saw a bunch of kids from class. I waved.
“Where’s Dylan?” Oscar called out.
I pointed over to right field.
“Nice uniform!” shouted Ivan.
“Thanks!” I shouted back.
“Hey!” Myung Young, the center fielder, got my attention. He pointed at home plate.
“I’m working right now!” I reminded my friends, and turned around just in time to see a white bullet coming right at my head. I panicked and froze. Myung leaped in front of me and caught the ball.
“Nice play!” shouted Oscar.
I tried to shrug it off and waited for another ball to come my way.
Sammy Solaris was still in the batter’s box, and sent another ball flying. I backed up and kept the ball in front of me, just like I learned in Little League. I fielded this one OK.
“Hey, Chad! Can I have the ball?” Ivan asked.
I shook my head. Wally said we couldn’t keep anything or give anything away. He was really clear about it.
“Come on! Please?” Ivan asked.
I glanced around. Nobody seemed to be looking. Besides, it was Kids Get In Free Day. Ivan was a kid. I lobbed the ball into the stands and wheeled around to watch Sammy bat again. He sent a few balls into center field. Myung Young showed off his skills, leaping for one and diving for another. A third hooked foul and was caught by a fan. On Sammy’s last swing he sent another ball my way. I fielded it on a bounce.
“Over here!” Oscar shouted. “Throw me the ball!”
“I can’t,” I shouted back.
“You gave one to Ivan!”
I sighed, and tossed it to him. If some foul balls were fair game, why not a few balls that didn’t really make it?
That wasn’t how Wally felt about it. He lectured me when I got back to the dugout.
“You know the rules,” he said. “Round up the balls and bring them back. Baseballs don’t grow on trees, you know.”
“The center part does,” said Wayne Zane. “It’s made out of cork and rubber. Those are both from trees.”
“Finished baseballs don’t grow on trees,” Wally replied. “If they do, Wayne, then plant me a baseball tree.”
“I was just sayin’,” Wayne mumbled.
“Sorry,” I told Wally. “I got excited. Those are friends of mine.”
“It’s all right this time,” he said. “Just don’t make a habit of it.”
• • •
Mike Stammer came into the dugout carrying the rabbit cage. He set it on the end of the bench.
“Pinch runner?” Myung Young asked.
“Good-luck charm,” Mike explained.
“Maybe he can run for me,” said Sammy Solaris.
“A tortoise could pinch-run for you,” said Wayne Zane.
Sammy glared at him.
“Just sayin’!” said Wayne.
Grumps came into the dugout, saw the rabbit there, and shook his head. “That thing better not chew up the bats,” he said.
There was a huge roar from the crowd. Victor Snapp was making an announcement, but I couldn’t hear it over the applause. I stepped onto the field to get a better look at what was happening.
Pokey the Porcupine rolled by on a golf cart, and there was a new kid-size mascot with him. The mascot looked really cool! His quills poked out of his head like a punk-rock hairdo, and he had a team shirt on top of his porcupine costume. The sidekick stood on the seat next to Pokey and waved at the fans.
So that was the surprise—and it was great! The Pines had a kid mascot, just in time for Kids Get In Free Day!
Victor Snapp repeated the announcement, “Fans, please welcome to Pine City Park the Porcupines’ brand-new junior mascot . . . Spike!”
Spike jumped out of the cart and did a handstand and then a cartwheel. He skipped toward the left field seats. He jumped up and slapped hands with every kid who reached out to him. Then he did a little dance while the stereo blasted a classic rock song. He was a big hit.
I noticed Dylan was standing next to me. “The new mascot is great,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said. “I bet that’s more fun than being a batboy.”
“Nah,” I replied, even though I was thinking the same thing. But only for a moment!
“Almost more fun, then,” Dylan said.
“Hey, shouldn’t you be over helping the Humdingers?” I asked.
“Oh, I was, uh, kind of hoping that you would go to the visitors’ dugout today,” Dylan replied.
“Oh.” It took me about half a second to figure out what was going on. Dylan wanted to stay in the Porcupines’ dugout so he could play with that rabbit. Its four feet weren’t bringing me any luck.
“Yeah, I can do that,” I said. It was only fair.
I ran across the infield, veering around the field crew and nearly crashing into Spike.
“Hi, Chad,” the junior mascot said.
I was in the visitors’ dugout before I remembered that mascots never talked.
Also, how did Spike know my name?
• • •
The Humdingers sent me off to get food. Food was free for players, and I got to jump to the front of the line. I loaded up with hot dogs and pretzels and nachos and started back for the dugout. I took a few wrong steps toward the Porcupines’ side before I remembered I was supposed to be going the other way. I spun around and crashed into a big guy in a polo shirt. I dumped the tray all over both of us. I had mustard and ketchup on my uniform. He had cheese sauce all over his shoes.
“Oh, no! Sorry!” I told him. I looked up and realized who it was: Victor Snapp, the Porcupines’ official announcer!
He wasn’t just the announcer. He was my idol. I wanted to be a sports announcer when I grew up.
Sometimes I practiced at home. “Now batting for the Pine City Porcupines . . . the first baseman . . . Teddddddddy Larrrrrabeeeee!” I would say. I practiced every name on the roster. I would also practice some of Victor’s favorite expressions. “It’s a gapper!” he’d say when a ball scooted past an outfielder and rolled to the wall. “It’s a goner!” he’d say when a ball cleared the fence.
I’d always wanted to meet Victor Snapp— but not like this.
“Eep! Sorry!” I said.
“Pardon me,” Mr. Snapp said in the same booming voice that he used when he was announcing. He went over to the counter to grab a handful of napkins and wipe off his shoes.
I turned around . . . and faced four or five of my classmates. They’d seen the whole thing.
“Wow,” said Emily. “That was epic.”
“Did you do that on purpose?” asked Ellie.
“No way!”
I went back to the snack counter to stock up again, feeling as jinxed as Mike Stammer. Maybe his jinx had rubbed off on me. I’d been nearly creamed by a fly ball right in front of my friends. Wally had yelled at me for giving away practice balls. Dylan had kicked me out of the Porcupines’ dugout over a bunny. Now I was covered in ketchup and mustard. If that wasn’t being jinxed, I didn’t know what was.
he worst thing about working in the opponents’ dugout was Ernie Hecker. Ernie had the loudest mouth in Pine City. He was even louder than Victor Snapp, and Victor had a speaker system.
Ernie usually sat right above the visiting team’s dugout—so he could yell at the opposing players. He also yelled at the umpires, the groundskeepers, the woman who played the organ, and other fans. He even yelled at the Porcupines players sometimes, although he was supposed to be a fan. The only time Ernie was ever quiet was during the national anthem. Sometimes the organ player would play it again in the middle of the game just to shut him up for a few minutes.
The first batter for the Humdingers stepped up to the plate. He reached up before getting into his stance and patted his helmet two or three times.
“Hey, Grankowski!” Ernie shouted. “Afraid your head will fly off?”
Kip Kilgore was pitching for the Pines. He brought his leg way up, kicked, and pitched.
He threw a bullet past the batter.
“Strike!” the umpire called.
The crowd cheered.
“Hey, Kilgore, what are you, a ballerina? Get your leg out of the way so I can see you pitch!” Ernie shouted.
My ears were already hurting.
Grankowski double-tapped his helmet again and got back into his stance.
Kilgore raised his leg high, kicked, and zipped another ball in.
Grankowski swung and missed.
“I think you have a hole in your bat!” Ernie shouted.
Grankowski caught up to the next pitch and sent the ball rolling down the third base line.
“Foul ball, foul ball, foul ball,” I chanted. It worked! The ball hooked foul. I leaped out of the dugout to field it—and the ball rolled right between my legs.
“Hey, kid,” Ernie shouted. “Does the BB stand for Bill Buckner?” A few people near him laughed. Bill Buckner was a famous first baseman. He blew a play that pretty much cost the Red Sox the World Series. It happened years before I was born, but I knew all about it. Everybody who knows baseball knew all about it.
I got the ball and slipped back in the dugout. At least nobody asked me for the ball.
“Nice try,” said one of the Humdingers. That just made it worse. Now I had to say “Thanks” to one of the guys who were trying to beat the Porcupines.
“Thanks,” I said.
Grankowski bounced the next pitch to short. Mike Stammer moved to get it, stepped on the ball, tripped, and fell flat on his back. The crowd gasped as Grankowski took first.
“Might as well stay down there!” Ernie shouted.
I fetched the bat and put it in the visitors’ bat rack, hoping Mike’s error wouldn’t come back to hurt the Porcupines.
Obviously, the rabbit wasn’t working, at least not as a jinx breaker. He seemed to be doing all right as a lettuce-eating lagomorph, though. He was also doing great as Dylan’s new best friend.
Mike got up. He didn’t seem hurt.
The next batter knocked a ball just left of second base. Mike stuck out his glove, but the ball bounced off the webbing and into center field.
“I told you to stay down there!” Ernie shouted.
Mike punched his glove a couple of times, crouched, and waited for the next batter. I got the bat and brought it back to the dugout.
“Tough way to start a game, huh?” one of the Humdingers asked. It was the same guy who had said “Nice try” earlier.
“Yeah,” I agreed.
The next batter rapped the ball to second base. The Pines’ George “President” Lincoln threw to first for an easy out.
“He could’ve turned two,” said the Humdinger player.
“Maybe,” I replied.
But I knew that Humdinger was
right. It was what they call a made-to-order double play. Lincoln could have—should have—thrown the ball to Mike Stammer. Mike would have had to catch the ball, touch second base, and make a clean throw to first. It wasn’t easy, but every professional shortstop did it all the time. I gulped. George Lincoln didn’t trust Mike anymore! And if the second baseman didn’t trust the shortstop to turn a double play, the Porcupines were in big trouble!
The next batter scorched the ball to center field. Myung Young flew and made a diving catch. The runners had taken off with the pitch, and Myung was able to lob the ball to second for a double play. The President fielded the ball at second, stepping in front of Mike to do so.
“Nice play! I wish that guy in center was on my team,” said the friendly Humdinger. He grabbed his glove and headed out to left field. I checked the lineup for his name. It was Brian Somerset, a real major leaguer! He was just off the disabled list and getting back up to speed in the minors.
I had Somerset’s baseball card. I even had it with me. I didn’t know he would be at the game. I could have shown his card to Dylan. The back of the card said, “Brian Somerset started out as a batboy for the Shreveport Captains of the Texas League.” I thought Dylan would like that.
I wanted Brian Somerset to sign my card, but my binder was in the Porcupines’ locker room. Pokey and Spike were leading a bunch of little kids through an obstacle course, so I had a few minutes to run and get the card. I just needed an excuse to slip away.
Tommy led off for the Porcupines. He went through the whole routine of checking his laces, pulling up his socks, and rubbing his bat.
“You’re batting, not having your picture taken!” Ernie shouted.
I chased down one foul and ignored a chorus of kids begging for the ball. Tommy struck out a few pitches later.
Myung came up. He bounced one toward third base and nearly reached first. It looked like he beat the throw, but the first base umpire called him out. The crowd booed.
“Hey, umpire! What game are you watching?” Ernie shouted. “The one we’re watching, the guy was safe!”
It was Mike’s turn to bat.
“I hope you hit better than you field!” Ernie shouted.
Jinxed! Page 3
