Curveball

by Derek Jeter

  Some of the kids were about Derek’s size, and some were as big as his cousin Zach. Some were wearing uniform jerseys very much like the ones he’d worn in Kalamazoo, but a lot of these shirts looked too small for the kids wearing them. Others wore just T-shirts, even ripped ones.

  Derek stopped walking. “Hold on a second,” he told Grandma and Sharlee. “I’ve got to check this out.”

  The bases were loaded, and the players on his side of the diamond (you couldn’t really call it a “dugout,” because there were just one or two pieces of wood left on what used to be the benches) were rattling the fence in front of them, yelling for their man to get a hit.

  As Derek watched, the other team’s pitcher threw a bullet right past the hitter, who swung but hit only air.

  On the next pitch the batter hit a screaming liner over the shortstop’s head. But at the last moment the kid at short leapt high into the air and snagged the ball in the webbing of his mitt! He then fell flat onto his belly, but, amazingly, he hung on to the ball.

  A roar went up from all the other kids on the field—and from Derek, too. It had been an incredible catch, one Derek himself would have been proud to make, and one that he would have dreamed about for weeks afterward.

  Suddenly he wished he were out there with those kids, playing in this game, being part of the action.

  “What’s the score?” he asked the kid nearest to him, on the other side of the chain-link fence.

  “It’s 5–5,” the kid answered, then turned back to the game.

  “What inning?”

  “Ninth,” said the kid without taking his eyes off the action.

  “Whoa . . .” Derek was entranced.

  “Derek,” his grandma said, putting a hand on his shoulder, “are you coming? We’ll miss batting practice.”

  Derek felt suddenly torn. He wanted to see batting practice, all right. He’d brought his mitt with him just in case, hoping against hope that he’d snag a ball. But he also wanted to see what happened next in this game right here in front of him.

  “Come on, Derek. I want to go get some cotton candy!” Sharlee said impatiently.

  “Grandma, can we stay for a few more minutes?” Derek pleaded. “It’s the ninth inning, and I’ve got to see how this game turns out!”

  “Ninth inning? I thought they only play six innings in Little League.”

  “Yeah, but it’s in extra innings!” Derek explained. “It’s bases loaded! Pleeease?”

  Grandma chuckled and shook her head. “I suppose so,” she said. “If Sharlee doesn’t mind.”

  “I do mind!” Sharlee said hotly. “I want my cotton candy!”

  “Hey, Sharlee,” Derek offered, “if we stay for a few minutes, I’ll give you half of my giant pretzel, okay?”

  Derek always gave her half of it anyway, but the promise seemed to mollify Sharlee. “Okay, but just for five minutes,” she said.

  So the three of them stood against the fence and watched as the sandlot game went into the tenth inning.

  Derek could tell right away that these kids, even the ones his own age and size, were fantastic players. Every one of them was as good as the best players in his league back home. The pitchers threw bullets and didn’t walk a lot of batters. The hitters were tough to strike out, and they hit line drives. The fielders snagged those liners like they were easy pop-ups.

  Especially the kid at shortstop, the one Derek had first noticed when he’d made that spectacular overhead leap and catch. The others all called him “Jumbo,” though he was tiny—even smaller than Derek. The team that Jumbo led—and from the way his teammates looked up to him, it was obvious he was their leader—scored the go-ahead run in the top of the tenth.

  Then the other team, which seemed to be led by its catcher, a huge, tough-looking, tough-talking kid with a chipped tooth whom the others called “Tiny”—clearly another joke—tied the score in the bottom of the tenth!

  For the next twenty minutes, as the game went on, the teams seesawed back and forth. Even Sharlee stopped complaining as the action drew her in too.

  In the eleventh inning the kid in center for Jumbo’s team dived for a fly ball he had no chance of catching. He skidded ten feet on the hard ground, while the left fielder retrieved the ball and threw in to second base to hold the runner there.

  When the center fielder got up and brushed himself off, Derek saw that his shirt was ripped, and he had cuts on his hands, elbows, and shoulder. But he waved off all offers of help and got right back into position for the next hitter.

  “Way to be tough, Pokey!” Jumbo yelled to him, pointing at him with his glove. The kid in center tipped his cap in return.

  On the next play a huge argument started over whether a sharp grounder had gone foul or stayed fair. Derek watched as they yelled back and forth about it. In Kalamazoo the umpire would have made a call, and that would have been that. But here there were no umpires. The kids were making the calls themselves.

  Finally they decided on a do-over, and everyone calmed down and got back into the game, which remained tied when the hitter struck out to end the frame.

  Derek liked these kids. He liked their sense of humor, their baseball skills, their toughness—and, most of all, their passion for the game. On top of it all, they seemed to have so much fun with one another!

  Even though Kalamazoo felt like a world away, a small town next to this big city, baseball was the same game. In his own love of baseball, Derek felt close to them. Even though he knew it was impossible, he wished he could somehow get into the game and be in their league.

  “Derek, we’d better go now,” his grandma said. “The others will be getting there soon, and they’ll wonder what happened to us.”

  “And I’m hungry for my cotton candy—and my pretzel, too,” Sharlee added, in case her big brother had forgotten his offer.

  “Five more minutes? Pleeeease?” Derek begged. He had to see how this game turned out!

  But five minutes came and went, with the score still relentlessly knotted. “Come on!” Sharlee demanded. “We’re going to miss the national anthem and everything!”

  “Really, Derek, it’s a quarter to seven,” his grandma added, checking her watch anxiously. “The others will be wondering what became of us.”

  Derek sighed. “Okay. I guess we have to—”

  Before he could finish his sentence, the batter fouled a fastball high in the air behind home plate. The ball flew right over the chain-link fence and was coming down toward the curb—where a big, fancy car was parked right in harm’s way!

  Derek flew into action. Jamming his mitt onto his left hand, he ran toward the spot where the ball was going to land. Leaning as far over the car as he could, he jumped for it, stretching his glove out as far as it would go.

  The ball was headed right for the car’s windshield and surely would have shattered it. But instead it landed in the webbing of Derek’s mitt. He held it up to show everyone that he’d caught it—and was thrilled to hear the sound of all the kids whooping it up, applauding his windshield-saving catch!

  “Over here!” Tiny yelled, motioning for Derek to throw it back to him. Afterward he motioned for Derek to come over to the fence.

  “Nice catch,” said Tiny with a chipped-tooth smile, touching mitts through the chain link as a sort of high five.

  Jumbo the shortstop also came over to the fence to introduce himself. “Hey, man,” he said to Derek, shaking his head and grinning, “you looked like me catchin’ that ball!”

  “Thanks.” Derek could feel his face go red with pleased embarrassment.

  “Why don’t you come on back next week and get in the game with us?” Jumbo said. “I’ll put you on my team. You can hit, can’t you?”

  “Definitely!” Derek couldn’t believe he was actually being invited! “But . . . isn’t this some kind of league or something?”

  “No, man, not anymore,” Tiny said. “It used to be, but a lot of kids couldn’t afford it, so it fell apart. But we don’t ca
re—we keep playing anyway. Every Wednesday, three o’clock, all summer. Who cares about trophies and uniforms? We just want to keep on playing ball. We can’t not play.”

  “We’d be here every day of the week if we could,” said Jumbo, “but most of the time the big kids take over everything for themselves.” He gestured to the other three fields, where other games were going on, with players no younger than fifteen or sixteen. Then he turned and spat on the ground by his feet.

  Derek recoiled slightly. Kids in Kalamazoo didn’t spit like that, though he’d certainly seen baseball players do it on TV. It was kind of gross, he thought, but he didn’t let it bother him. If these kids were going to invite him to play with them, he wasn’t going to pick fights with them. He felt like it would make him a better player if he could pick up some of their skills by watching them, and playing alongside them.

  Tiny did say something, though. “Cut that out!” he yelled at Jumbo. “You think spitting makes you look cool? You should see yourself.”

  “I didn’t ask you for advice, man,” Jumbo shot back, “so don’t be giving it to me, okay?”

  Derek thought for a second that they might start fighting, so he interrupted the argument. “That really stinks about not having a league. Every kid who wants to play ball should have one to be in.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s not like that around here,” said Jumbo, still looking annoyed but backing off the fight he’d been about to start. “So what do you say, kid? See you next Wednesday, three o’clock?” he asked Derek.

  “I’ll have to ask my grandma.” He gestured toward where she and Sharlee were standing—Sharlee looking more impatient every second. “I don’t live around here, see.”

  “Where you from?” asked Jumbo.

  “HEY! YO! Play ball!” yelled one of the kids on the field. Obviously, Sharlee wasn’t the only impatient one.

  “One second! Pipe down and cool your jets!” Tiny shot back. Somehow he had such respect from everyone there that the other kids all settled down and waited.

  “I’m from Michigan,” Derek told him. “Kalamazoo. But I’m in Jersey for the summer with my grandparents.”

  “Kalama—what?” Jumbo said.

  “Zoo, man,” said Tiny. “You know, as in animals?”

  “I’ve got to go,” Derek said. “Sorry—we’ve got tickets . . .” He nodded toward the stadium across the street.

  “You’ve got Yankees tickets?” Jumbo replied, his eyes going wide. “Man, I wish I could go to a game. I’ve never been.”

  “Never?” Derek couldn’t believe it. This kid lived right here in the neighborhood.

  “Most of us have never been,” Tiny said. “It’s a lot of moolah.”

  “Moolah?”

  “Money. Cash. Bucks. Dinero.”

  “Derek!” his grandma called, sounding impatient herself now.

  “See you!” Derek said, and took off to join his sister and grandmother. The two kids went back to their game. Derek wondered if he’d ever find out who won, or if he’d ever see them again. He wished he could come back and play with them, and be part of their “league.” But how could he ever make that happen?

  Anyway, now was not the time to think about that, he figured. It was time to watch baseball at its finest. “Yankees–Red Sox!” Derek said out loud. “It doesn’t get any better than this!”

  Chapter Four

  ON HALLOWED GROUND

  As they passed through the turnstile into Yankee Stadium, noise seemed to echo in the air—the sound of thousands of excited people. But Derek was totally silent, taking it all in. So, he noticed, was Grandma. Even Sharlee stood there openmouthed, taking in the chaotic scene.

  They rode up three sets of escalators, higher and higher, and then, when they finally emerged through the passageway to the upper deck, they stopped and stared.

  The outfield was impossibly green, and huge. Beyond it the infield looked perfect, and the bases shone bright white in the sun. All around them were thousands of people, and the huge video board and scoreboard out in center field were flanked by the bleachers, where the “Bleacher Creatures” were chanting their cheers loudly.

  Derek, Grandma, and Sharlee stared for a long time—until someone waiting behind them in the aisle said, “Uh, excuse me?” They got out of the way, then found their own seats and settled in.

  A lot of the seats around them were still empty, partly because of the incredible traffic jam outside, and also because lots of fans were busy buying food and drinks to bring to their seats. Derek figured that was where the rest of his family was right now.

  Grandma had a system of her own. She had prepared sandwiches and had brought them in a big shopping bag. They always ate those first. Only after they’d finished their “healthy foods,” as Grandma called them, were the kids allowed to spend their food money for the day on popcorn, hot dogs, cotton candy, soda, pretzels, and ice cream.

  Grandma and four of Derek’s aunts and uncles were the grown-up chaperones for tonight. There were twenty kids with them in all, ranging in age from three to fifteen.

  As Derek, Grandma, and Sharlee ate their sandwiches, the Yankees took the field. A roar went up from the crowd, and Derek yelled right along with them. “Woo-hoo!” Sharlee shouted, joining in the excitement.

  The game began, with the great Ron Guidry on the mound for the Yanks. Derek could see Rickey Henderson out in center field. Don Mattingly was at first, and Willie Randolph at second.

  And there was Dave Winfield right down below him, patrolling right field. Even from way up here, you could tell how big he was—a giant of a man.

  Right away the leadoff hitter smacked a screaming line drive that looked like it would be over Winfield’s head, but at the last moment he jumped and grabbed it before slamming into the wall!

  “Wow! That was awesome! Did you see that?” Derek said, high-fiving his cousin Oscar, who was seated to his left.

  “I didn’t think he’d ever catch that one!” Oscar said, wide-eyed.

  “He’s the best!” Derek crowed. “Did you know he was drafted in three sports out of college—baseball, football, and basketball?”

  “Really? That’s so cool!” Oscar said. “Are you gonna do that too?”

  Derek had never considered the question. But he had to admit, it sounded pretty cool. “Sure,” he said. “Maybe. Why not?”

  The game grew tense in the third inning when, with two outs, the Red Sox offense came to life, helped by a walk, a wild pitch, and a bloop hit. But Guidry pitched his way out of the jam and gave up only one run.

  The game remained 1–0 until the seventh, when Don Mattingly singled and Winfield came to the plate. On the 2–2 count, Winfield belted a double to right. Derek heard the ball smack off the wall, although, since the wall was right below him, he couldn’t see the ball hit, because his view was blocked by the wall itself.

  Mattingly kept going around third base, barreling toward home as the throw came in. It ricocheted off his foot as he slid into the plate, and the Yankees tied the game!

  Winfield had taken third base on the throw, and now Derek could see him creeping down the line, trying to make the pitcher nervous.

  Sure enough, the pitcher tried to throw behind Winfield and pick him off at third. But the third baseman was off the bag and muffed the catch. When the ball trickled away from him, Winfield turned around and scrambled for home!

  “Safe!” Derek screamed, but he couldn’t even hear himself amid the roar of the crowd as Winfield popped up and clapped his hands. “We’ve got this! Yeah!” Derek shouted.

  Now it was 2–1, Yanks, and that was how it stayed, because Willie Randolph pulled off an incredible double play to snuff out the Red Sox’s last gasp in the ninth.

  “New York, New York” played from the loudspeakers as the happy crowd started to file toward the exits.

  The whole family packed their bags. They were walking down the long ramps leading down to ground level when Derek thought again about what had happened before the gam
e—namely, the invitation those kids at the sandlot had offered him, to come back and play with them next week.

  He’d been thrilled and honored to be invited. Those kids were great players, and they’d only seen him make one catch, although Derek had to admit it was one of his best ever. Clearly they thought he could play in their “league,” and he wanted to think so too.

  But he’d never know unless he got the chance. And how was he going to get Grandma to agree to take him all the way back to the Bronx?

  It wasn’t like she had a lot of free time.

  Derek realized it was a lot to ask, but he wanted so badly to play ball with those kids that he felt he had to try.

  He, Grandma, and Sharlee passed the sandlot again on their way back to the car, but the kids he’d watched play had long gone. In their place was a bunch of high-school-aged kids.

  Derek waited until they were almost back to the George Washington Bridge before he got up the courage to mention it.

  “Grandma,” he began, “do you think maybe I could come back next Wednesday and play in a game with those kids?” When she didn’t immediately answer, he added, “They invited me!”

  “Yes, I did hear that boy invite you, Derek,” Grandma said, nodding. From the backseat he couldn’t see the expression on her face. “And that was very nice of him. It was a really amazing catch you made there, saving that car’s windshield like that.”

  Derek smiled. But she hadn’t answered his question, had she? “So . . . can I come back and play with them?”

  “Oh, hon,” she said with a sigh, and he could tell that she was about to say no.

  But she didn’t—at least not right then. “Why do you want to come all this way to play ball, when you can play all you want at the lake with your cousins and their friends?”

  “Aw, Grandma, it’s not the same! I mean, it’s fun playing Wiffle ball and teaching the little kids to play catch. But those kids today were better than anybody I’ve ever played with! It would make me better if I got to play with them, I know it would! I mean, how am I ever going to get good enough to play for the Yankees if I pass up golden opportunities like this?”