Super-sized Slugger

by Cal Ripken Jr.

  “So, you tripped,” she’d said, drawing out the words. “Over a curb.”

  And when Cody had nodded—sure, that’s what happened, honest—Kate Parker had started the car, given him another sideways glance, and said, “Ohhh-kay. Let’s get home and clean you up.”

  Okay, fine, it was a lame story. Mega-lame. Cody could see that now. What thirteen-year-old kid trips over a curb? Your ninety-year-old great-grandma with bad eyesight and a walker—maybe she trips over a curb. Not a young, active kid, no matter how hulking he is. But it was all he could come up with at the time.

  Cody picked up a copy of The Baltimore Sun and glanced at the sports section. There were a few other detectives in the room, making phone calls, looking through files, and tapping away on their computers. A police scanner squawked unintelligibly in one corner.

  After a minute or two, Cody put down the newspaper and took a deep breath.

  “Dad,” he said, “were there any bullies in your school when you were a kid?”

  His dad swiveled around in his chair and peered at him over his reading glasses.

  “Someone bothering you?” he asked.

  “No, no,” Cody said, trying to keep his voice light. “Just curious.”

  Steve Parker leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head and nodded. “Max Wheeler was the big bully in eighth grade,” he said. “We called him Mad Max. Everyone was terrified of him. But, for some reason, he took a particular dislike to me.”

  “Why you?”

  “I was never exactly sure. I got pretty good grades. And I was a decent ballplayer. Maybe he resented that. Plus, I think he thought I was a rich kid. Which I definitely wasn’t. Anyway, he made my life hell, that’s for sure.”

  “What did he do?” Cody asked, sitting up now.

  “Oh, the usual stuff, right out of Bullying 101. He pushed me into lockers. Tripped me a couple of times in the halls. Elbowed me in the chest in gym class once. And he’d wait for me after school too. Just to tell me he was going to kick my butt. Like I hadn’t already gotten the message.”

  Steve Parker shook his head at the memory and smiled softly, letting his gaze drift out the window. “He was a big, strong kid, Max was,” he continued. “Way bigger than me. My heart would start pounding whenever I saw him.”

  Cody nodded. Yeah, know the feeling.

  On the other hand, he couldn’t imagine his dad being afraid of anyone or anything now. A few years ago, when the whole family was on a white-water rafting trip in Wisconsin, his dad had leaped into the churning Menominee River to rescue a little kid who had fallen overboard.

  And just last year Steve Parker had made the six o’clock news for foiling an early morning holdup. He had stopped in a convenience store for coffee when a knucklehead with a knife attempted to scoop the contents of the cash register and flee. Cody’s dad chased the robber for two blocks, drew his weapon, and forced the guy to surrender as pedestrians scattered for cover.

  The Milwaukee Journal Sentinel ran the story with a photo of Detective Parker being thanked by the store owner. For days after, their phone rang with friends and neighbors and relatives calling to congratulate the hero.

  Not that Cody’s dad would ever stand for anyone calling him a hero.

  “I was just doing my job,” he told everyone. But Cody had never felt prouder of his dad. It was one of the reasons he wanted to be a police officer himself someday, although when he had confessed this to his mother, she had turned pale and said, “Please, sweetie. You’re going to make your mom old before her time.”

  “So how’d you get Mad Max to leave you alone?” Cody asked.

  His dad chuckled and turned back from the window. “Little bit of ingenuity—and a whole lot of luck,” he said. “One day, I had just had it with Max. I was tired of being bullied. Tired of being afraid all the time. So I decided to stand up to him. Sure, I knew I’d get my butt kicked. But maybe then he’d leave me alone.

  “So the big showdown was going to be that day, right after school. And I figured I was a dead man. But that afternoon, I noticed something in science class. We were studying reptiles. All of a sudden, we heard this loud gasp. Everyone turned around. It was Max. He was staring at a picture of a snake that was being passed around. And he was white as a ghost!

  “Well,” Cody’s dad continued, dropping his voice for dramatic effect, “guess what I had in my terrarium at home?”

  Cody grinned and rubbed his hands together. This was going to be good.

  “So I put off the big showdown for a day. And the next morning I bring Herbie, my pet garter snake, to school. Which wasn’t exactly easy. See, we didn’t carry backpacks back then. I brought him in a brown paper bag. Everyone thought it was my lunch.”

  Cody tried to imagine what would happen at York Middle if a kid sat down in the cafeteria and pulled a two-foot garter snake out of his lunch bag. They’d probably evacuate the school and bring in a SWAT team.

  “Now, school lets out and I start walking home,” his dad continued. “And there’s ol’ Mad Max, waiting for me on the corner. I’m swinging the lunch bag like there’s nothing in there but a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich I didn’t eat, or a cookie or something. Poor Herbie probably thought he was on a carnival ride.

  “Naturally, Max blocks my path. Then he pushes me in the chest and says, ‘Let’s play a game, Parker. You give me what’s in the bag, and I won’t smash your face.’ ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘But can this little guy play too?’ Then I pull out Herbie.”

  Cody whooped. Then, remembering where he was, he looked around sheepishly.

  “You should’ve seen Max’s face,” his dad went on. “His eyes almost bugged out of his head! He actually started trembling. I almost felt sorry for him. Then he turned and ran away as fast as he could. And he never bothered me again.”

  Cody and his dad sat in silence for a moment. Steve Parker couldn’t stop smiling at the memory. Cody couldn’t stop grinning and shaking his head in wonder. It was one of the finest stories he had ever heard.

  “Anyway,” his dad said, “if you ever need help with someone like Mad Max, you know where to turn.”

  Cody nodded and his dad stood and slung his laptop bag over his shoulder. “All right, let’s get home for dinner,” he said. “Your mother will be wondering where we are.”

  But by the time they had said good-bye to the other detectives and were heading toward his dad’s car, Cody was back to thinking glumly about his predicament.

  For an instant he wondered if Dante was scared of snakes.

  Nah, he decided.

  More likely, it was the other way around.

  “The boy’s the size of a refrigerator,” Willie said, watching wide-eyed as the kid at the plate launched a moon shot over the outfield fence.

  “No, he’s bigger than that,” Connor said in a hushed voice. “He’s the size of a sequoia.”

  “Even his muscles have muscles,” Jordy said.

  It was ten days later and the 5–0 Orioles were getting set to take on the 5–0 Yankees in their biggest test to date. The Orioles were supposed to be warming up now, stretching and loosening their arms down the right-field line. Except everyone kept stealing glances at Justin Mallory, the Yankees’ big first baseman, as he pounded one pitch after another in batting practice.

  “Is that a tattoo on his right arm?” Marty asked. “Or just a shadow from his massive biceps flexing?”

  “My guess is massive biceps flexing,” Jordy said.

  Robbie, the Orioles’ starting pitcher, was actually starting to flinch at the ungodly sound Justin’s bat made—WHAM!—each time it met a ball.

  “If he hits a line drive back to the mound,” Robbie said, “it might literally go through my chest.”

  “What’s the worst that could happen?” Willie said. “It severs your lungs and your heart pops out. Big deal.”

  The rest of the Orioles chuckled and went back to their warm-ups. Actually, even seeing this awesome display of power from Justin, they w
ere feeling pretty confident about themselves. After all, they were on a nice roll, having crushed the Tigers 9–1 in their last game, and beaten the Red Sox 6–2 before that.

  Cody was feeling more relaxed with his new team. He had gotten off to a great start at the plate and was playing well at third base too. And it didn’t hurt that his sprawling catch of a line drive with the bases loaded in the bottom of the sixth inning had been the game-saving play against the Red Sox. He wished Jessica had been there to see it.

  There was another reason his stress level was down. Dante had missed the last two games and hadn’t been seen in school, either. Rumor was that he’d been sick in bed.

  And people talk about the flu like it’s a bad thing, Cody thought, smiling at his little joke.

  Now that Dante was back, Cody should have been nervous again, but he was actually glad to see him because it meant the Orioles were again at full strength. They would need to be in order to beat the Yankees, who were supposed to have excellent pitching to go along with the human rocket launcher that was Justin Mallory.

  “Bring it in,” Coach said, summoning them to the dugout.

  As the Orioles gathered around him, he read the lineup card. Then he looked up, studied his team for a moment, and grinned.

  “I saw you guys checking out Justin,” he said. “Don’t let him psych you out. He puts his pants on one leg at a time just like you do. He’s human, boys. I can assure you of that.”

  “Yeah, right,” Marty whispered. “I don’t think you could get pants over those tree-trunk legs!”

  “He’s human the way The Hulk’s human,” Willie muttered.

  A few minutes later the Orioles took the field, and they found themselves in trouble almost immediately. The problem was obvious: Robbie was way too amped up. For whatever reason—Cody figured it had something to do with Robbie’s fear of giving up a tape-measure homer to Justin—he was rearing back and overthrowing to the Yankees batters.

  He walked the first two on eight straight balls, earning a visit to the mound from Joey Zinno. When Robbie walked the third batter on a 3–1 count to load the bases, Coach called time and popped out of the dugout to settle down his pitcher. This time, Cody, Connor, Willie, and Jordy jogged over to listen.

  “Robbie, take a deep breath,” Coach said.

  Robbie nodded and gulped several times.

  “I said take a deep breath, not swallow all the air in the universe,” Coach said.

  Robbie nodded again. His face was pale.

  “I should probably just relax,” he said.

  “That would be a splendid idea,” Coach said.

  “And throw strikes,” Robbie said.

  “Strikes are always good,” Coach said.

  “If they hit it, they hit it,” Robbie continued. “That’s why I have seven guys behind me, right?”

  “Right,” Coach said.

  “Just aim for Joey’s glove,” Robbie said. “Pitch and catch. Everything else will take care of itself, right?”

  His dad nodded. “You’re stealing all my lines. But I’m glad we had this little chat.”

  As Coach turned to leave, the Orioles infielders looked at each other and grinned. Robbie had heard his dad’s pitching advice so often he could recite it in his sleep. He picked up the ball and slammed it into his glove with a look of renewed determination.

  “I’m okay now,” he said. Then he grew pale again when he spotted Justin in the on-deck circle, lazily swinging a couple of huge bats over his head as if they were toothpicks.

  “Remember, he’s human,” Connor said, smacking Robbie on the butt.

  “Puts his pants on one leg at a time,” Willie said.

  Cody grinned, then quickly put his glove in front of his face so Coach couldn’t see. The smack talk that ballplayers laid on each other was just as bad in Baltimore as it was in Milwaukee.

  Somehow, though, Robbie managed to settle down. Now he wasn’t trying to blow the ball past Justin. Instead, he threw two changeups for strikes that fooled the Yankees’ cleanup hitter, and followed them with two high fastballs, hoping the big guy would swing at a bad pitch.

  No such luck. The count was 2–2. Justin frowned and stepped out of the box and took a couple of vicious practice swings. Robbie paced around the mound, rubbing the ball and thinking about what to throw.

  Please, not a fastball, Cody said to himself. It’ll end up in the Inner Harbor.

  “Now you’re pitching!” Coach shouted to his son, pointing to his own temple. “Use your head!”

  And Robbie did just that. With Justin practically twitching at the plate and salivating for a fastball, Robbie threw him a slow curve. It was a great pitch. Justin seemed to freeze for an instant before lunging awkwardly at it. The guy was so big he was able, even at the last minute, to stick the bat out far enough for a weak single down the left-field line. Dante hustled over to retrieve it, but not before two runs scored.

  Everyone—including Justin, probably—knew it was a lucky hit. But Robbie didn’t let it rattle him, striking out the next three batters to end the inning. As the Orioles hustled in, one by one they slapped gloves with Robbie and said, “Nice job.”

  Yes, they were down, 2–0. But the idea that Robbie had held Justin in the ballpark almost made them want to celebrate.

  “Boys, it’s our game now,” Coach said. “Robbie’s back. He’s not pitching like a knucklehead anymore.”

  All eyes shot to Robbie, who bowed dramatically, then pointed at his teammates and said, “That’s Mister Knucklehead to you guys.”

  The rest of the Orioles cracked up. Even Dante was laughing. Cody shook his head in wonder. At times, he thought, playing for this team was like stepping into a real, live sitcom.

  “Now that we’re all on the same page,” Coach continued, grinning at Robbie, “let’s get some hits.”

  But that proved to be easier said than done. For the first time this season, the Orioles’ bats were struggling. A single by Dante in the third inning and back-to-back walks to Willie and Robbie in the fifth accounted for their only base runners. Cody flied out to left field twice and hit a bouncer back to the pitcher his third time up, despite silently pleading with his bat each time he walked to the plate.

  “What’s going on here?” Coach said. “Murderers’ Row is more like Murmurers’ Row.”

  The only good news for the Orioles was that Justin actually did seem to be human after all, going 0 for 2 after his excuse-me swing that drove in the two Yankees runs. The Yankees were still clinging to their 2–0 lead when the Orioles came up in the bottom of the sixth inning. The Orioles were down to their last three outs. If they didn’t get something going right away, they’d pick up their first loss of the season.

  “All right, everyone in here,” Coach said as he gathered the Orioles around him. “Look,” he continued, scanning each player’s face, “I believe in you guys. And I really think we’re going to win. But just to make sure, Cody’s going to lead us in the team prayer.”

  Now all eyes were on Cody—who went into an immediate flop-sweat panic.

  His mind raced: We have a team prayer? No one told me about a team prayer, did they? Or was I not paying attention? Because I don’t remember any—

  Just then, the rest of the Orioles burst out laughing.

  “Relax,” Coach said, grinning. “We don’t have a team prayer. Or if we do, it goes like this: Please let us hit it where they ain’t. That’s the oldest prayer in baseball. Now, let’s win this game!”

  Cody was so relieved, he nearly slumped against the railing as the rest of the team—except Dante, who was back in full glower mode—pounded him on the back and shouted, “Gotcha!” Then they put their hands in the middle of a circle and shouted, “One, two, three…Orioles!”

  Now Cody found himself smiling. Boy, he thought, Coach sure does have a strange sense of humor. But he had to admit it was a great joke, even if the joke was on him.

  Just as Coach had intended, the joke seemed to loosen up the Orioles
—and give them new life.

  Willie led off with a double against the new Yankees pitcher, a hard-throwing lefty. After Robbie lifted a lazy fly ball to the third baseman for the first out, Jordy followed with an RBI single up the middle to pull the Orioles to within one. Connor followed him with a single to put runners on first and third.

  The Orioles were alive and kicking.

  As Cody tapped the doughnut off his bat in the on-deck circle and headed for the plate, the noise from the stands was deafening. The Orioles were up and cheering in their dugout too, with Marty banging two bats together, making them sound like the thundersticks fans banged at pro basketball games.

  Knowing Marty, Cody thought, I wouldn’t be surprised if he brings vuvuzelas to our next game.

  Now it was the Yankees’ pitcher who was caught up in the moment and overthrowing. His first two pitches were high and would have sailed all the way to the backstop if not for two great plays by the catcher. But with the count 2–0, he grooved a fastball over the plate, and Cody turned on it. It wasn’t the best hit he ever had, but it was a sharp single to left field to score Jordy.

  Then the Orioles caught a huge break. Charging the ball to keep Connor from advancing, the Yankees left fielder overran it. It rolled ten feet past him, and by the time he hustled to retrieve it, Connor was steaming across the plate with the winning run.

  Final score: 3–2 Orioles. They were still undefeated. As the Orioles poured out of their dugout to celebrate and Cody ran in to join them, he glimpsed something out of the corner of his eye.

  Not everyone, it seemed, had raced out of the O’s dugout. Sitting there, with his cap pulled low over his eyes and his arms crossed, was Dante. And, once again, he didn’t seem too happy.

  But Cody had no time to think about that as the Orioles whooped and jumped on him and pounded him on the back. Then the two teams lined up to slap hands. When Cody spotted the sad-looking kid who had made the costly error in left, he said quietly, “Nice try,” and the kid nodded in appreciation.

  Looking around moments later, Cody noticed Dante was already gone. He was glad to see his mom was still in the stands, though. He decided he’d walk to the parking lot with her, just in case Dante was planning another surprise face-in-the-gravel chat.