Baseball Turnaround

by Matt Christopher

  “Well, Sandy,” said Coach Richards, chuckling, “that’s all the proof I need. You can play the game, and I’m willing to take a chance that you can coach it, too. If you want to give me some time, I’d like to have you help out.”

  “Only twenty hours, though, right?” Sandy asked.

  Mr. Richards checked his watch. “Nineteen, actually.”

  Sandy nodded. “Okay, you got a deal.”

  “All right, then, the team meets right here,” said Coach Richards. “Every Tuesday and Thursday from two-thirty to four. You can use your school pass on the bus to get there and back. That’s true from both Grantville and Newtown, by the way. Oh, and if your parents want to know anything about this, ask them to give me a call. Here’s the number.”

  Sandy took the piece of paper Coach Richards handed to him and shoved it in his pocket.

  “I’ll give it to them, but I doubt they’ll be calling you. They don’t really care about baseball,” said Sandy.

  The brothers exchanged a look. Coach Richards shrugged. “I see. Well, maybe they’ll change their minds. See you on Tuesday.”

  They waved to him and walked off.

  Sandy looked after them for a long time. Then he unlocked his bike and headed home.

  On Tuesday, Sandy brought his glove and his new Dolphins hat with him to school, along with a change of clothes. When the final bell rang, he ran quickly to the gym locker room and switched into his sweats. He wanted to be out before the baseball team came in. But he didn’t make it. Timmy Phelps came in just as he was leaving.

  “Dolphins?” said Timmy, pointing to Sandy’s hat. “Who are they?”

  “Just some team I’m coaching,” Sandy replied. “And I’m late, so look out.” He pushed by Timmy, who called out, “How come you have time to coach but not to play for the Raiders? I bet that’s not even what you’re really doing!”

  Sandy just kept on walking. Who needs you! he fumed. I can’t wait to get out of this town.

  Timmy’s comment rattled in his head the whole bus ride to Begley Field. By the time he got there, he was ready to slug more than one baseball out into deep center field.

  Then he remembered what Mr. Richards had said: He wouldn’t be right for this job if he let his temper get in the way. And when he caught sight of the members of the Dolphins team, he thought he understood why.

  Seated in a semicircle around Coach Richards was a ragtag group of kids, none of whom looked older than ten. In the parking lot behind them was a minivan with the lettering Grantville Homeless Shelter on the side.

  Coach Richards waved Sandy over. When the kids turned their faces up to him, his anger started to fade. They all looked so eager to learn.

  “How many of you have played the game?” Coach Richards asked the kids.

  A few hands were raised in the air.

  “A real game on an actual field with uniforms and protective helmets?”

  There were no hands raised now.

  “I thought so,” said Mr. Richards. “Well, this is Sandy. He’s played a lot of baseball, and he’s here to help us out. So half of you grab a glove and stay with him. He’s going to talk with you about the game. The other half, I’m going to take over there” — he pointed to the batting cage — “and we’re going to see how well you can hit a ball. After a while Sandy and I will swap groups.”

  And so it began. After a few hesitant starts, Sandy found himself talking easily to his group about the rules of the game. Most of them wanted to do nothing but hit the ball. Then Sandy explained how satisfying it could be to make a play, tag someone out, or make a tough catch. After that, they peppered him with questions.

  When their interest waned, he told them about some of his games with the Raiders.

  “So why aren’t you playing now?” asked a little girl nicknamed Newt. “Why are you here with us?”

  “That’s none of your business!” snapped Sandy. The girl recoiled, tugged her hat low over her eyes, and held her glove up to her face.

  Sandy wished he could pull the words back into his mouth. “Newt, listen, I didn’t mean anything by that. Come on, put your glove down. How do you expect to catch any fly balls holding it like that?”

  The girl slowly lowered her glove and peeked out from under her hat. Sandy gave her a half smile that turned into a full grin when she smiled back.

  Gotta watch that, Comstock, he reprimanded himself. Coach Richards might decide you’re too hotheaded for the job, and then where will you be? It may not be the Raiders, but at least you’re on the ball field instead of back in the apartment with boxes, tape, and twins!

  Still, by the end of the hour-and-a-half session, he was ready to head home. Coaching was harder work and the kids more demanding than he had thought they’d be. The team wasn’t much good, either. Yet to his surprise, he was looking forward to the next practice.

  He came back that Thursday afternoon and the following Tuesday and Thursday as well. On Wednesdays, he met with Mr. Richards to give him an update and record his hours. Mr. Richards listened with such interest that Sandy found himself talking about much more than just the coaching job. The attitude of the kids at school, wanting to keep what had happened a secret, and problems with his parents all came up.

  Mr. Richards told him again and again, “You just have to deal with the situations as best you can — head on, honestly, and directly is always better than avoiding them, I think.”

  Sandy half-wished that he could follow that advice. But his former teammates were barely talking to him anymore. His parents were so wrapped up in final preparations for the move that he couldn’t get a word in edgewise. And as for being honest about what had happened, forget that!

  His only bright spot during the last week of school was that he hadn’t run into Perry Warden in the school halls. When Sandy closed his locker for the last time, he breathed a sigh of relief.

  Good-bye, Grantville. Hello, Newtown! he thought. Where no one knows who I am or what I did. Or ever will.

  7

  The next day, Saturday, the Dolphins had their first scheduled game. Sandy tugged on his team T-shirt and put on his cap. He was ready.

  “Sorry we can’t come see your team in action, Sandy,” Mrs. Comstock said. “But the movers will be here any minute. We’ll pick you up afterward, though. I’d hate for you to get lost trying to find the house.”

  The Comstock household had been in total chaos for two weeks. Everything that could be packed or dismantled was stacked in one corner of the apartment. The whole family had been sleeping on mattresses on the floor, pulling clothes out of suitcases, and eating with plastic utensils and paper plates. Now at last they were moving to their new home.

  Sandy had noticed that the closer to moving day they got, the cheerier his mother and father were. They were still too busy to talk about anything but packing and moving, but their good moods were infectious. Sandy had started playing with the twins, hiding in the big cardboard boxes, then jumping out and scaring them until they dissolved into giggles.

  Sandy and the twins had first seen the house in Newtown a week and a half earlier. It was two stories, had a big backyard, a garage, and a huge basement. Sandy had his own room upstairs, the twins were across the hall in a room together, and in between was the bathroom. Mr. and Mrs. Comstock’s room was downstairs, with their own bathroom. There was a separate kitchen, living room, dining room, and even a small TV room. To Sandy, it looked like a palace after the cramped apartment.

  Now Sandy pulled his bike up from the basement storage room. “Okay, Mom, I’ll look for you after the game,” he called up to the apartment. “And sorry I can’t help with the moving.”

  Mrs. Comstock wrestled a box down the stairs. “Oh, I’m sure you’re really sorry,” she said, puffing and putting the box down with a groan. “But don’t you worry, there will be plenty of unpacking waiting for you at the other end!” She ruffled Sandy’s hair, something she hadn’t done for a long time. It made Sandy realize again just how happy she was
they were moving.

  The Dolphins were already on the field warming up when he pedaled up. “Hi, Coach!” squeaked Newt, the Dolphins’ first baseman. “I’m so nervous I feel like I have to pee all the time!”

  Sandy laughed. Over the last two weeks, he’d grown a soft spot in his heart for the small girl. “Listen, Newt,” he replied, “you don’t have anything to be nervous about. You just go out there and play a good game. That’s all anyone can do, right?”

  “Right!”

  Still, he had to admit that he was feeling a little nervous himself. After all, no matter how talented the players were, a ball team was only as good as the coaching it received. Even though he was only here because he had to be, he’d hate to feel he’d let the little players down.

  The opposing team, the Leopards, arrived ten minutes later. They were sponsored by the library and had use of the library’s minivan. The kids tumbled out, yelling encouragement to one another. Their head coach hopped out of the driver’s seat. Then an older boy emerged from the passenger’s side.

  Sandy’s stomach flip-flopped when he recognized the boy. Even though he couldn’t see his hair, it was a face he wouldn’t soon forget. Perry Warden!

  Perry spotted him a second later. Sandy saw him scowl, then heard him yell to one of his players to come get the equipment bag. The player jumped as if he’d been stuck by a pin and hurried to help.

  The two head coaches met to shake hands and greet the umpires. Coach Richards came back to the Dolphins dugout grinning.

  “I think we’re in for a good match today, Sandy!” he said. “It should prove to be interesting.”

  Sandy wondered if the coach knew who the Leopards’ assistant coach was. If he did, he didn’t let on. So even though he felt like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, Sandy returned the coach’s smile and gave him a thumbs-up sign. There was no way he was going to show him the tension he felt at the sight of Perry Warden.

  The Dolphins were up first.

  “Come on, Manning! Let’s go, Willoughby!” Sandy called from his coaching spot next to third base. As each batter stepped up to the plate, Sandy cheered him or her on. And whether the kids hit the ball or not, he had nothing but praise for them when they got on base or headed back to the dugout.

  “Nice going, Styles!” or “You’ll get ’em next time, Wallace!” he cried.

  Giving such positive encouragement was new to Sandy. At the beginning of the season, he had criticized a few of the kids and chewed out one boy for missing an easy catch. It was how he used to talk when he played for the Raiders.

  But somehow, he never felt quite right saying the same kinds of things here. Then one scrimmage, he had listened closely to Coach Richards. The coach found something good to say to everyone. The next practice, Sandy followed his lead. To his surprise, the kids played better than they had when he’d yelled at them.

  Apparently, that wasn’t something the Leopards’ assistant coach had picked up on. Every word out of his mouth was a slam. And he didn’t limit his comments to his own team; more often than not, he ridiculed the Dolphins.

  “C’mon, you Leopards, tear these slimy fish apart! They’re nothing!”

  And after a Dolphin outfielder had dropped a ball: “Hey, Dolphins, didn’t your coaches teach you how to retrieve the ball? Try doing it with your snouts next time!”

  Sandy ignored him as best he could. But one comment above all the others stuck in his craw. A Leopard runner had missed tagging second base on his way to third. Both Sandy and the second baseman had spotted it. Sandy called a time out and brought it to the attention of the umpire. The second baseman pointed out the shoe mark three inches away from the base.

  “I’m sorry,” the ump said to the Leopards’ head coach. “It’s just too obvious to let go by.”

  On the sidelines, Perry Warden looked disgusted, then yelled, “Shake it off, Leopards! These guys snitch all the time! They can’t let anything go by without whining about it!”

  Sandy knew the comment was directed at him. He turned beet red as his temper flared up.

  That kid is asking for it, he thought fiercely. Then he glanced over at Coach Richards. The coach was frowning slightly, but he only clapped his hands and shouted, “Good eye out there, good eye. Let’s keep it going, Dolphins!”

  Sandy swallowed his anger as best he could and turned his attention back to the game.

  At the end of the sixth inning, the score was tied. The two coaches announced that normally they would go into extra innings. But since this was their first game of the season and it was getting dark, they were going to call it a tie and let it go at that.

  It was with great relief that Sandy watched Perry Warden climb into the minivan and ride away.

  Coach Richards came over to him as they got ready to leave.

  “So, how did it feel to coach your first game?” he asked.

  “It’s great,” Sandy admitted.

  “Yeah, I love watching the kids’ enthusiasm for the game grow. I’ve always felt that was more important than winning or losing — although some coaches seem more intent on pushing their kids to win at any cost.” He gave Sandy a sidelong glance. “I’m glad to see you’re not one of those kind.”

  Sandy returned his look.

  “I guess coaching has given me a different angle on the game,” he said thoughtfully. “Someday I’d really like to go into it.”

  “Someday, huh? Let me guess, you’d rather be playing, right?” asked the coach.

  Sandy nodded.

  “Thought you’d say that. In fact, I’ve been wondering if you’d seen the notice in the newspaper about the Newtown summer league that’s starting up next week.”

  Sandy hadn’t.

  “It could be a good way for you to meet a bunch of kids in Newtown,” the coach continued. “The teams are sponsored by local companies. They hold regular practices and games.” He told him the date and time for sign-ups.

  “Oh, and Sandy, one more thing. I know that you’re only coaching with me to fulfill your community service. For what it’s worth, I’d like you to keep on after your twenty hours are up. The kids like you, and it’s only until the end of June, anyway. What’s three more weeks?”

  Sandy didn’t hesitate. “It’s a deal,” he said.

  Coach Richards broke into a big smile. “Hoped you’d say that” was his only reply.

  While Sandy helped pick up after the game, he thought about what the coach had said about the summer league. It would be a good way to meet some guys, he supposed. And the idea of being on a brand-new team where no one knew anything about him was definitely appealing.

  When his mother picked him up, he told her about the league. “I think I’d like to join it, if it’s okay with you and Dad.”

  His mother glanced at him and smiled. “Sandy,” she said, “I’m glad to hear that you want to look into this. It seems strange to not have you playing like you used to.”

  Sandy looked at her with surprise.

  “I know, I know,” she said in answer to his unasked question. “Your father and I kind of lost touch with your baseball last year. But we want to make up for it if we can. This will be a good way for us to start.”

  Sandy felt a warm rush of happiness flood through him. That feeling stayed with him as the car turned into the driveway of the Comstocks’ new house. He was about to get out of the car when his mother took hold of his hand.

  “Welcome home, son,” she said softly.

  Sandy nodded thoughtfully. “Thanks, Mom,” he said. “I think it’s going to be really great living here. Really great.”

  8

  The next Wednesday, Sandy was leaving Mr. Richards’s office after his regular appointment. He was in a good mood; he was just about halfway through his community service requirement. Mr. Richards had praised him for his decision to continue on with the Dolphins, too.

  But the minute Sandy walked out the door, his mood changed drastically. Seated in a chair outside another proba
tion officer’s door was Perry Warden.

  The redhead narrowed his eyes, then glanced down the hall, stood up, and sauntered over to Sandy.

  “Well, if it isn’t the snitch. I’ve been wondering where you’ve been hiding. Under some rock, I’ll bet, or in some slimy dark corner with the other rats.”

  Sandy tried to push past the boy, but Perry shifted so he was again in front of him. “What’s the matter? Aren’t you glad to see me?”

  “Listen, just leave me alone, okay? I’m not looking for any trouble,” Sandy muttered.

  “Yeah, well, maybe trouble will find you anyway. I’m keeping my eye on you, Comstock.”

  The probation officer’s door opened just then. “You’ll have to excuse me for now,” Perry said. “Thanks to you, I have an appointment that can’t be missed.”

  Perry gave Sandy one last glance. Then he strode into the office.

  Sandy tried to put the incident out of his mind by focusing on the upcoming sign-ups for the summer league. When the time came, he was among the first in line.

  He gave the man at the desk his name, told him he was fourteen years old, and that he had played baseball since he was eight. The man handed him a cap and a T-shirt with the name Raptors emblazoned on it.

  “That’ll be your team. Be sure to pick up the practice and game schedule in the envelope at the end of the desk.”

  Sandy did as he was told. He glanced at the schedule and saw that the first practice was in two days’ time. The team practiced in the early evening, from four-thirty until six-thirty, so he wouldn’t have to miss any Dolphins practices. Shoving the paper into his back pocket, he headed for the door.

  On his way out, he bumped into a burly boy with a crew cut. He apologized and was about to move away, when the boy caught his arm.

  “Raptors, huh?” the boy said, looking at the shirt in Sandy’s hand. “I was the Raptors’ catcher last year and should be again this year. Guess that’ll make us teammates.”

  The boy introduced himself as Ben Eaton. They shook hands, and Sandy told him he hoped to play center field.