The days of spring dropped into place as the seniors began their official “Fifty - Day Countdown to Graduation.”And the Panthers’ unusual pitching duo of Nunez and Stone continued at such a hot pace that the local newspaper even commented on it.
“Young Stone has converted nicely into a varsity-level hurler,” Big Max conceded. “The man does his homework between games, it seems, doing oppo research on the upcoming teams. Knows the game cold: he hasn’t committed an error since his second outing. And word is he has a secret weapon he’s not sharing with his legions of fans. Could our godly friend actually be in touch with a Higher Power after all?”
The last regular - season game turned out to be a laugher for the home team. It was Nunez’s turn on the mound, and Bucky and Dan seemed to come up with the bases full of Panthers every single time. The slugging superstars combined to drive in a total of eight runs. Back - to - back - to - back homers with the catcher, Anthony, brought the capacity crowd to its feet in the seventh inning as the three long balls stretched the score to an embarrassing 12-1 blowout.
“Fifteen and five. Not bad.” Bucky walked around the locker room, giving high fives to every single member of the squad. “Good going, you guys.”
Coach Demerest strode into the room, a big smile on his face. “You gents are amazing,” he praised. “Good game from all of you. Nunez, thank you, sir. We appreciate you holding these turkeys to one run. And listen up. You guys keep swinging the bats like that, I think for sure we can take three in a row in the playoff round.”
“Sweet!” Brian, hopping off the bench just in his skivvies, did a jerky little dance, and the rest of the team howled with laughter, pelting him with wet towels. “Let’s win the whole thing, you nuts!”
After church that weekend, Bucky and Dan talked about it while Julie and Lisa spread out their picnic lunch at the lake. “So you pitch the first game plus the final?” Dan wanted to know.
The younger athlete nodded. “Yeah. Bummer that it turned out that way, but since Nunez pitched the whole game the other day, he can’t be ready again by Monday.”
“Huh.” Dan reached down and plucked at a blade of grass. “You figure when we were already up seven to one after the third inning, Coach could have let Matt take the rest of that game. Then we could have gone Nunez, you, then Nunez again.” He paused. “‘Course, actually, by now, maybe you’re Coach’s number one guy. You’ve won three in a row, man.”
Bucky flushed, enjoying the praise. “I just . . . got lucky, maybe.”
“Some,” Dan conceded. “But you worked your tail off too, and the whole team knows it.” He offered a high five. “You and me, Stone.” He paused. “‘Course all our big dreams here might be worth zip. After all our what - iffing, we might get beat on Monday.”
“No way.” Bucky waved at the girls. “With cheerleaders like these?”
And after Monday evening’s contest, it certainly did look as if the Panthers had a rendezvous with destiny. Bucky pounded out three hits and mowed down eight players with strikeouts, breaking off wicked curve balls and then punching the enemy batters out with his sizzling fastball. Dan’s down - the - line double and late - inning homer pushed his average up above .450, leading the district. The two senior girls went out with them to celebrate the 10-7 triumph.
“Jeff’s game is tomorrow,” Dan told the others as they enjoyed the camaraderie at the ice - cream parlor. “Think we should go?”
“Up to Dixon, right?”
Mr. Willis had given Bucky the week off from work, so the foursome did make the drive up I-80 to see the Devils in their playoff opener. And Jeff was true to form, allowing only two runs in an efficient complete - game performance.
“Can you pitch again Friday afternoon?” Bucky asked him after the game as the group met in the parking lot.
“That’s the plan. Morales goes in Round Two tomorrow, and then if we win that one, I guess I’ll be back on Friday.”
“Your arm’s OK?” Dan asked.
“Sure.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he laughed. “Why isn’t God answering our prayers?” They wished the pitcher the best of luck before pulling back out onto the freeway.
Wednesday afternoon before government class Dan slapped a newspaper column down on Bucky’s desk. “One of the kids just gave me this.”
“What is it?”
“Read.”
A sports columnist for the Sacramento Bee had pieced together a story about the burgeoning friendship between Bucky and Jeff Hilliard. “Are these two athletes, now spiritual soulmates, destined to meet again on a baseball field?” the writer queried. “For the past month, Dixon’s ace hurler has been sharing both his Christian faith and his wily tricks of the trade with his counterpart in Hampton Beach. If the Devils and Panthers both win tonight, the East Bay may well get the opportunity to witness a classic clash of two Christian titans. Dare we call Friday’s varsity baseball contest a kind of . . . Arm-ageddon?”
There was a special intensity to night games, Bucky decided, as he and Dan trotted out to their positions that evening. The stands were packed with Hampton Beach students and a large contingent of adult fans as the Panthers again rolled to a win under the lights. Nunez faltered a bit as the game wore on, and Pleasant Hill tried to come back in the late innings, but Bucky and Dan keyed a four - run rally in the sixth to ice the victory. Over in the corner of the dugout they saw Coach Demerest talking on a cell phone.
“It’s Dixon,” he told them afterward. “I guess they clobbered Vallejo by about eight runs.”
Bucky felt a strange and sudden glow of spiritual anticipation. A coveted baseball trophy was waiting for a winner to claim the prize. Could it actually be that he would face his highly regarded friend and spiritual companion in a classic final game?
Chapter Thirteen: Endings and Beginnings
It was hard to concentrate Friday morning during classes. Everyone at Hampton Beach High School was planning to be at the big varsity final that afternoon, and even the teachers seemed to be infected by playoff fever. Mr. Rojas spent the entire period reminiscing about a Dodger - Yankee World Series game his dad had taken him to when he was just a kid – and how that proved the United States of America had a wonderful government.
With all of the emotional ups and downs in the past few weeks, Bucky found it hard to imagine the pressures of being in a varsity final – and him standing on the mound, the focus of all attention. After so much media buzz, what if he messed up? Had a bad game, or made a bonehead play that cost his high school a championship trophy? After four long, arduous years of building toward this one pivotal moment?
He felt buoyed up a bit by a phone call he’d received that morning during breakfast. “Just wanted to let you know I’m thinking of you men and praying for you,” Pastor Jensen told him. “You and Dan both. Plus Jeff,” he added. “Your testimony for Jesus is a very precious thing to our church family, and we’re awfully proud of you.”
Just as school let out, Lisa approached him in the parking lot. “Did you see this?” she asked, waving a copy of Highlights, the school newspaper.
“Huh uh. What is it?”
“There’s something about you and Jeff.”
Taking the student newspaper, he leaned against the Toyota to read. In the editor’s box was a large headline: Mano y Mano.
“Did Tracy write this?” For some reason he’d seen little of the redhead genius the past semester.
“Yeah. I think it’s good.”
He read through the brief editorial, feeling a stir of memories from last year. “The story’s leaked out that today’s game has a unique twist to it,” she had written. “Two men will ascend the hill, and for both of them, a baseball trophy isn’t their grandest dream. Our own Bucky Stone, and Dixon’ ace hurler Jeff Hilliard will face each other as close friends and partners in doing God’s work in this broken world.”
She went on. “If a fight breaks out, you can know these two champs will not be part of it. If a batte
r gets hit, rest assured it’s an accident. Because both Bucky and Jeff have told their coaches that they don’t indulge in headhunting or the destructive juvenile game of tit-for-tat payback.
“But the key thing is this. The excellence they display isn’t simply for love of school and team . . . although both guys have demonstrated plenty of that in four years of competition. They play well to glorify God, to show the rest of us that a life of obedience is marked by discipline and zestful enthusiasm and victory and the pure love of doing well, of touching the lives of others by your unselfish goodness.”
Bucky shook his head slowly, his heart fluttering. “Wow.”
“Read the rest of it,” Lisa urged.
There was one more paragraph. “Maybe you don’t understand what motivates them. ‘We don’t get it,’ we say. But perhaps that’s because some of us never looked hard enough or deep enough. All we can see is a championship. Sure, we want that big silver cup. And maybe tonight, our own hero, Bucky Stone, will come out on top – and his rival and soul mate will stand on the mound and salute him. But, speaking for just this one reporter, the victory is going to come the minute the umpire calls out ‘Play ball!’”
He carefully folded the newspaper and slipped it into his notebook. “Did very many of the kids see this?”
“It’s all over the place,” Lisa responded. “Everyone in the hallway was talking about it.”
Pregame practice was a short, tense affair, with Coach Demerest wordlessly motioning them through quick drills in the field. Bucky breathed a silent prayer as he finished batting practice. “I want to play this whole game for you, Jesus,” he whispered. “Please, Lord, help make this contest count. Everybody’s watching.”
The Dixon team bus pulled into the parking lot right on schedule, and the Devils poured out, bouncing around their coach in eager little steps. “There’s Hilliard,” Dan observed. “Wonder how he’s feeling?”
“Nervous, just like us,” Bucky grinned. “Come on, let’s go say hi.”
“Nah.” The Devil’s coach had just whistled the visiting squad onto the playing field for their allotted warm - up time. “Wait till game time.”
The two Panther members rejoined their own team in the locker room for a last - minute huddle. “Well, men, this is what we’ve prepared for,” Coach Demerest told them. “And we’re going up against one of the scary pitchers in our division. But we’re a better team, and we’ve got Stone on the mound.” He glanced around at the squad of eager faces. “Now, don’t make him do all the work. Be alive on every play, let’s back him up with a lot of chatter and hot leather, and for heaven’s sake, let’s give the man some runs. If we can jump out with a two- or three-run lead, I think we’ve got the trophy in the bag.” He paused and his face, usually all business, softened just a bit. “I’m proud of each of you players. Win or lose, we had a terrific season.”
“Forget that win - or - lose stuff, Coach,” one of the relief pitchers said. “Let’s win!”
Dan and Bucky found themselves alone in a corner of the dressing room just before game time. It suddenly hit the younger player that this was going to be their final contest together. “Man, Litton, this is it,” he said, feeling a flood of nostalgia. He and Dan had been through so much.
“Don’t go weepy on me, Stone.” Then Dan himself had to blink hard. “That’s heavy, though. We’ve played a lot of games together.”
A huge roar went up from the crowd as the PA announced the starting lineup. “And on the mound for your Hampton Beach Panthers, Number Seven, Bucky Stone.” Bucky could see dozens of copies of Highlights in the grandstands as he trotted past the crowd. “Tracy must have run off extras for the whole town to read,” he muttered to Dan.
“Let’s go say hi real quick to Jeff,” the older player suggested.
“Sure.”
Jeff saw them coming and tugged on the sleeve of a teammate. “Hey, you guys, this is Fidel. Plays in right and totally born again.”
“Awesome.” Bucky and Dan offered handshakes.
Jeff glanced at the crowd. The umpires were just now conferring at home plate. “You guys want to have a quick prayer?”
“For sure.” Bucky grinned.
The four players, their home and road uniforms blending into a spiritual unit, draped their arms around each other and bowed their heads. “Lord Jesus,” Jeff began, “this is just so awesome and cool. We’re here to play a game, and try hard, and hope we win, but the main thing is to love and obey you. Please help us to play this game in the spirit of your kingdom. Keep us all safe, and don’t let us do anything that jeopardizes our witness.”
“Amen.” The other three athletes murmured their assent in unison, almost not realizing it.
“And Jesus, we just thank you for the friendship we have because of being in your family. Dan and Bucky are just amazing friends, and I care about them and love them. When we all go off to college, give them fantastic lives of service to you. Bless all that they do. Please set it up so that we keep seeing each other and enjoying the fellowship that only you can bring us. We ask all this in your mighty and awesome name, Jesus. Amen.”
There was a quiet pause as the prayer concluded, and Bucky savored the moment. In his soul, that very moment, bonded in unity with fellow Christians and muscular varsity athletes, was a pinnacle experience. To have Jesus trump all other callings, all other desires and ambitions . . . was sweetness itself.
The quartet opened their yes, and saw an umpire facing them, a disdainful look on his face. “Enough with that,” he barked. “We got an anthem and a game to play.”
The Hampton squad stood at attention, baseball caps over their hearts, as the familiar notes washed over the ball field. The words of Jeff Hilliard’s prayer kept ringing in his ears, though. The fellowship that only you can bring us . . .
A sustained cheer went up from the home crowd as Bucky walked to the mound moments later. He felt a delicious tingle. Seven innings. Twenty-one batters. Two hours and fifteen minutes. How would the balls bounce, and how would God unveil his perfect will? Bucky had long ago realized that God didn’t really care who won ball games, but heaven was most certainly interested in drawing people into the family of God. Would today’s game do that?
Anthony settled into his familiar crouch and grinned through the metal grate protecting his face. “Let’s get ‘em, Stone,” he called out. Fluttering his fingers between his ankles, he signaled for a high strike. Bucky wound up and delivered a blistering fastball that split the plate, waist-high. The ump gave a guttural bark that passed for “Strike one!” and shot his right arm in the air. The crowd whooped its approval, and the infield behind him began a colorful litany of supportive chanting.
The first two players on the Devils’ squad hit squib grounders, expertly scooped up by the infielders. The third player, the muscular left field from Dixon, wagged his bat menacingly back and forth, worked the count full, then lunged at a wicked curve ball and struck out.
“Sweet!” Anthony gestured his approval and waited until Bucky caught up with him. “Perfect so far, dude.”
Bucky praised his infielders for their sharp defensive play, then went to the rack and picked out a bat. “Come on, you guys, let’s get some runs.” He watched from the far end of the dugout as Jeff Hilliard took his eight warmup pitches. The strikes were whistling in with a vicious pop! as they hit the catcher’s mitt.
The home fans buzzed with approval when Ochoa, the wiry shortstop for Hampton Beach, let a borderline 3-1 pitch go by for ball four. But the second baseball popped up, and when Ochoa tried to steal, Jeff’s battery mate gunned him down with ease. Bucky stepped into the batter’s box, the bases empty, with a tight smile on his face as he peered out at the mound. Baseball protocol frowned on any communication between rival players during a contest, and the butterflies fluttering in his midsection nixed the idea anyway. He dug in for good footing and waited for the pitch.
The first two fastballs missed the plate, low and outside, but the third off
ering was a tempting target. He swung hard and made solid contact as the ball rocketed deep into left field. Sprinting in desperation, the opposing fielder dove at the last second and snagged the ball in the webbing of his glove. The crowd groaned in frustration and Bucky pulled up short, halfway between first and second.
Bucky mowed down the rest of the Devils’ lineup with methodical precision, grinning to himself as he induced Jeff to pop up right into the infield. Waving away his own third baseman, he gloved the little fly himself and giving his adversary a teasing look of triumph.
“Three innings, ain’t nobody got on base yet,” his catcher said approvingly. “You’re on fire, Stone.”
“Yeah, but what’s it gotten us?” The Panthers had gotten two free passes to first base, and the Panther first baseman had hit a scorching grounder that tied up the Devil shortstop for an error, but so far the home squad hadn’t capitalized for any runs. “We got to get us some hits.”
Bucky led off the bottom of the fourth, and felt a twinge of frustration when Jeff struck him out on a beautiful back-door slider that just grazed the “paint” on the outside edge of the plate. “Tough pitch,” Coach Demerest commiserated as he trudged back to the dugout.
With five pristine innings in the books, the score was knotted at twin zeroes and a rare double no-hitter. A quiet kind of awed hush had settled over the Hampton Beach crowd, exquisitely aware now that they were witnessing an almost sacred kind of sporting gem.
Bucky stood on the mound, alone, savoring the on-fire but elegant slivers of athletic perfection that were within and without him. On the first pitch of the sixth inning, the Devils’ hitter hit a foul pop-up that seemed well beyond the stocky catcher’s reach. But Anthony, determined to defend and buttress his battery mate’s still perfect game, made a desperate dive for the elusive ball, tumbling into the jagged concrete slab that supported the visiting team’s bleachers. He held the ball aloft in triumph, then fell awkwardly, clutching at a badly scraped knee.
Bucky Stone: The Complete Adventure (Volumes 1-10) Page 102
