The DH

by John Feinstein

  Alex was upset he hadn’t made the catch but consoled by the fact that he’d held Krenchek to a single. He looked in at Matt, who was standing to the side of the mound, hands on hips, clearly not happy. He started to shout Sorry, Matt, but stopped himself. For one thing, he’d done everything possible to make the play. For another, they still had three outs to get.

  Coach Birdy, understanding that his pitcher might need a minute after having lost the no-hitter, trotted to the mound and put his arm around Matt. Alex could see Matt nodding, and then Coach Birdy went back to the dugout.

  Matt’s first pitch to Mercer’s cleanup hitter went straight to the backstop. Krenchek took second on the wild pitch. Obviously, Matt was a little rattled. Alex wondered if Coach Birdy would come back to the mound. If he did, he would have to change pitchers. Matt walked around the mound in a circle, as if gathering himself. Watching him, Alex thought back to football season, when it seemed as if nothing rattled Matt.

  His next pitch rode inside and hit the Mercer batter squarely on the arm as he tried to dive out of the way. He was up quickly and jogged to first. This time, Coach Birdy did come out of the dugout. Alex saw Matt wave him back, but it was too late. Alex was trying to imagine the conversation—Matt was extremely agitated—when he saw Coach Birdy signal in his direction.

  Alex was surprised. Johnny Ellis was the relief specialist. And Patton Gormley had been an option to pitch in this game too. But Coach Birdy wanted him, so he trotted to the mound and saw Kellner running out to left field to take his spot. Matt was waiting, the ball still in his hand. He glared at Alex as he handed him the ball. “Don’t screw this up,” he said—and left the mound to a standing ovation from the crowd.

  Coach Birdy and Lucas Mann were on the mound. “You okay?” Coach Birdy asked Alex, who was still a little bit in shock from Matt’s tone.

  “Fine,” Alex said.

  The home plate umpire was approaching. “Come on, Coach, let’s get this done before dark,” he said.

  “Work the corners,” Coach Birdy said to Alex. “You don’t have to throw your fastball a hundred. Just throw to Mann’s glove.”

  Alex nodded.

  “Play for a bunt,” he added. “That’s the right move for them.”

  He was correct, of course. A good bunt would move both runners into scoring position with one out.

  Alex recognized the first hitter he faced as another basketball player—Mercer’s point guard, Tom O’Toole. Smartly, O’Toole took the first pitch, then bunted the next pitch perfectly, forcing Alex to field it near the first base line. Alex got the out at first, and the runners advanced.

  Coach Birdy came a step out of the dugout and held up four fingers, indicating he wanted Alex to walk the next hitter intentionally to load the bases. That would set up a force play at home or a potential game-ending double play on a ground ball.

  Alex threw four pitches outside and then faced the number seven hitter in the order, a left-handed batter whom Matt had blown away with fastballs in his first two at-bats. Alex worked him carefully, knowing that a single would probably drive in two runs. But at two balls and two strikes, he got antsy. He didn’t want to put himself one pitch away from walking in the tying run, so he knew he had to throw a fastball and make sure it was over the plate.

  He threw a good pitch, in the strike zone, but down near the knees. He got exactly what he was hoping for, a one-hop ground ball right up the middle. He reached for the ball, gloved it, and started to come home for a force play at the plate on Krenchek. But he could see that Krenchek had somehow gotten a great jump from third—probably because Alex hadn’t been paying enough attention to him—and was now bearing down on Mann. They could get the out there, but there would be no chance for a double play.

  He made a split-second decision and turned and saw he had plenty of time to get the runner at second. Cardillo was charging toward the bag to take the throw. Alex threw the ball right at the bag, fully expecting Cardillo to flash across it, glove the throw, and then throw to first to end the game.

  Cardillo got there, but for some reason, so did Oliver Flick, the second baseman. One of the cardinal rules of baseball was that the shortstop always took a throw from the pitcher in a double-play situation because he’d be going toward first base, whereas the second baseman would be going away from it. The play was much easier for the shortstop.

  And yet there was Flick, cutting in front of Cardillo to try to take the throw. The two collided and the ball ticked off Flick’s glove and rolled into center field. Jonas hadn’t thought for a second that the play was going to be messed up and was standing frozen to the spot. Krenchek had already scored, and so had the runner from second. By the time Jonas realized what had happened and gotten to the ball, the runner who should have been forced at second was on his feet and was all the way around third. Panicked, Jonas uncorked a throw that was about ten feet over Mann’s head and ten feet to his right. The third runner scored standing up, and since the hitter had already rounded second while the fielding follies were playing out, he was awarded third and an extra base since Jonas’s wild throw had gone into the stands.

  Instead of a double play to end the game, Mercer had scored four runs on a one-hop ground ball to the mound. Their fans celebrated wildly while everyone from Chester Heights stood wondering what in the world had just happened.

  Alex was standing on the mound in complete shock too when Coach Birdy arrived. “This isn’t your fault,” he said. “But I’m going to get Ellis in here.”

  Instinctively, Alex turned to head back to left field. “Let Kellner finish there,” Coach Birdy said softly.

  Alex understood. He was done for the day.

  So was his team. Ellis got the last two outs, but Albers, given a second chance he never expected, retired the Lions one, two, three in the bottom of the seventh. Final score: Mercer 4, Chester Heights 1.

  As they went through the handshake line, Krenchek found Alex. He put his arm around him and said, “We were lucky. You missed making that catch on my ball by an inch.”

  Alex couldn’t think of a response. Krenchek continued for another moment. “I was surprised I even made contact. Boy, is Gordon good.” He paused and squinted. “Hey, where is he?”

  Alex had been near the front of the line. Now he turned to look at his teammates, who were lined up behind him. Matt Gordon was nowhere in sight.

  As soon as Alex had shaken the last Mercer hand, he saw Christine standing by the dugout. Kim Gagne, who had covered the football team in the fall, was talking to Coach Birdy a few feet away from Christine. Alex was surprised that Christine and Kim were the only media members in sight. He’d noticed some TV cameras during the game.

  “Are you guys the only ones here?” Alex asked, gesturing in Kim’s direction as he walked up to Christine.

  “We’re the only ones still here,” she said. “Everyone else went after Matt.”

  “Where did he go?” Alex asked.

  Christine pointed at the school building. “The locker room. As soon as the last out was made, he took off.”

  “I guess he was upset,” Alex said.

  “Ya think?” Christine said, giving him her now-familiar “too stupid to live” look.

  For once, it bothered Alex. “Look, I don’t really care how upset he was,” he said. “You stick around for the handshakes. He’d have led the parade if he’d pitched the no-hitter or even if we’d won the game. You can’t have it both ways.”

  “It wasn’t exactly a routine loss, though, was it?” Christine said. “If you hadn’t frozen on Krenchek’s fly ball, he might have had the win and the no-hitter.”

  Alex had to give Christine credit for understanding the subtleties of the game. But the implication that he had somehow cost Matt the no-hitter and his team the game stung.

  “Look, the ball was right at me, and it was one of those shots that looks like it’s well-hit off the bat and then dies,” he said.

  “I’m not blaming you,” she said.


  “Yes, you are,” he said. “And I’m sure Matt is too. Which isn’t fair.”

  “How about the double-play ball that turned into Keystone Kops?”

  “That was not my fault. Did you ask Oliver about it?”

  She shook her head. “He took off too. Steve will try to talk to him after he’s talked to Matt—if Matt’s talking to anyone.”

  “I’m surprised they didn’t send you,” Alex said. “I’m sure he would have talked to you.”

  Christine narrowed her eyes for a second, then took a notebook out of her pocket.

  “I need a quote from you on Krenchek’s hit and on the blown double play,” she said. “And I haven’t got time for your sexist cracks. We’re getting our stories in for tomorrow’s Roar. They pushed the deadline back, but I’ve only got until seven.”

  Alex figured it had to be close to six now.

  “Can you write that fast?” he asked.

  “If you stop stalling, I can,” she said.

  He sighed and mumbled something about it only being the second game and how they still had some fielding kinks to work out. But Matt had been a star, blah, blah, blah. It had been a long afternoon.

  Most of the guys were showering by the time Alex got back to the locker room. Jonas was already out of the shower and putting his clothes on.

  “You okay?” Jonas asked.

  “Christine acted like I blew the game,” Alex said. He looked around. “Where’s Matt? In the shower? I want to talk to him.”

  Jonas shook his head. “You aren’t going to talk to him now. He talked to all the media guys, came in here, changed, and bolted. Didn’t even shower.”

  “What’d he say to the media?”

  Another head shake. “No idea. I didn’t stop to listen. I did hear someone say that the scouts had him at ninety-four on the radar gun.”

  An average major league fastball came in at somewhere between 90 and 92 miles per hour. The hardest throwers could hit 96 or 97 consistently, but there weren’t too many of those. The Mets’ Matt Harvey and the Nationals’ Stephen Strasburg had been in the 98-to-99 range before each had hurt his elbow and been forced to have Tommy John surgery. Great finesse pitchers—Alex’s favorite was Tom Glavine because he was from Billerica, the same Boston suburb where Alex had grown up—could get away with throwing 85 to 87.

  For a high school junior to throw a fastball at 94 miles per hour was extraordinary.

  “Did they say he was hitting ninety-four consistently or just on one pitch?” Alex asked.

  “No idea. I just heard somebody say ‘The kid hit ninety-four’ as I was walking by.”

  Alex sat down heavily on the bench in front of his locker. He saw Oliver Flick approaching, a towel around his waist.

  “Myers, I’m really sorry,” he said. “I thought Jeff was deep in the hole and couldn’t get to the base for the force.” He shook his head. “I really blew it. You had the game won, and I screwed it up.”

  “No worries, Oliver,” Alex said. “I know you didn’t do it on purpose. We all make mistakes. I probably should have caught Krenchek’s shot to start the inning. If I’d had that one, none of the rest of it happens.”

  Flick, who was a senior, put out his hand, which Alex shook.

  “You’re a class act, Goldie,” he said. “I wish I could say the same for your pal the user.”

  That, Alex thought, is a cheap shot. He gave Flick a look and said, “What are you talking about?”

  Flick shrugged. “Ask the other guys. Soon as he came in here, he pushed me up against the wall and started asking me if I’d ever played baseball before and what the eff was I thinking. I tried to explain, but he just stormed off.”

  Cardillo, who had also just come out of the shower, patted Flick on the shoulder. “I’ll talk to him, Oliver,” he said. “I’m the captain. I’ll smooth this out.”

  “Let me do it,” Alex said. “We’re friends—I’ll do it.”

  Cardillo raised an eyebrow. “You sure?” he said. “Probably won’t be an easy conversation.”

  “I’m sure,” Alex said. “I’m very sure.”

  He had a lot he wanted to talk to Matt Gordon about.

  Alex thought about calling Matt that night but figured the next day—in person—would be better. Plus, it would give Matt some time to cool down. It wasn’t like him to behave the way he had with Flick, and Alex wondered if something else was going on. He knew that things had been tense at home after football season, but he’d seemed okay during basketball season. Of course, Matt didn’t play basketball.

  Because Matt was a junior and Alex was a freshman, they didn’t have any classes together. So as soon as the bell rang to end fourth period, Alex bolted from his history class and headed straight for the cafeteria. He didn’t even pause to put his books in his locker.

  He was standing just inside the doorway when Matt came in, walking with Christine. That didn’t thrill Alex, but he didn’t have time to worry about it.

  “Matt, got a minute?” Alex asked, hoping he sounded casual.

  Matt was surprised to see him standing there. Normally, they all gathered at their table in the corner.

  “Now?” he asked. “I’m kinda hungry, Goldie.”

  Alex was glad to hear Matt use his football nickname. It seemed like a good sign.

  “It’ll take five minutes, max,” Alex said. “Need to ask you something.”

  Matt shrugged. Christine’s eyes were narrowed in her “What’s going on?” look, but she said nothing. “Meet you at the table,” Matt said to Christine, and he walked back into the hallway.

  The two of them were like salmon swimming upstream, with the rest of the school going into the massive cafeteria. Matt led the way to an empty classroom.

  “This okay?” he said.

  Alex nodded, and they walked inside. Matt leaned against the teacher’s desk, and Alex stood awkwardly a few feet away.

  Matt folded his arms and looked at Alex expectantly. “You have the floor,” he finally said.

  Alex took a deep breath. He hadn’t really thought about where he wanted to start. He remembered something his dad had told him about the tactics he used when cross-examining a witness in court: “Start with the easy stuff. Make the witness comfortable.”

  So he started with the easy stuff. “Listen, I’m sorry I didn’t get to that ball yesterday,” he said. “I just didn’t break on it fast enough….”

  Matt held up a hand. “Don’t give it a second thought, Goldie,” he said. “If there’s one thing I know about you, it’s that you always give a hundred percent. I was just a little hot about losing the no-hitter. I know you tried. It’s not your fault that you aren’t much of an outfielder.”

  Whoa! Alex had been thinking the old Matt was back…until the last line.

  “Not much of an outfielder?”

  Matt shrugged. “Remember when I told you last fall you were a great quarterback?” he said. “I was telling you the truth. I’m telling you the truth now. Your legs are fast, but you don’t read the plays quick enough. That’s what happened on that play. You broke wrong for a split second. I’m going to suggest to Coach that he move you to first. We need your bat in the lineup.”

  “First base? What about Andy Hague?”

  Matt shrugged. “He can DH sometimes. You think he’s Mark Teixeira or something?”

  “No, but…”

  “Anything else?” Matt said, looking at his watch.

  Alex had gotten sidetracked. And a little bit upset.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Flick—”

  “Already taken care of,” Matt said. “Saw him this morning. He explained what happened. I accepted his apology.”

  Now Alex was very upset.

  “You accepted his apology?” he said. “Did you apologize to him for slamming him into a locker and humiliating him in front of the team?”

  Matt abandoned the casual, arms-folded, leaning-against-the-desk stance. He walked right over to where Alex was standing. He wasn’t that much
taller than Alex—about six three to Alex’s six one—but he outweighed him by a good thirty pounds.

  “What are you trying to say, Myers?” he said, his voice low but menacing. Alex couldn’t remember Matt ever calling him Myers, except on the field.

  “You’re not the only one who lost that game,” Alex said. “And I’m confused. You’re the best teammate and leader I’ve ever been around in my life. At least, you were during football season. But now you’re different. The Matt Gordon I knew last fall would have gone after anyone who treated a teammate like you treated Oliver. Now you’re upset with me for asking what’s going on?”

  Matt took a step back. Then he paced around the room.

  “I’m sorry,” he finally said. “You’re right. Look, you can’t understand what it’s been like to be me the last few months. I know that’s not an excuse, but…” He held up a hand as Alex started to say something. “I know what you’re going to say, and you’re right: I did it to myself.”

  He had read Alex’s mind.

  “The thing you don’t understand is that makes it worse. If I’d gotten hurt, I could just say I was unlucky. If I’d gotten benched unfairly or…” He paused and smiled ruefully. “If someone had framed me for taking PEDs when I hadn’t—well, then I could look in the mirror and say I got a raw deal.

  “But I can’t do that. I look in the mirror and say, ‘How could you be so stupid?’ There’s no way for you to know how that feels, Alex, because you’ve never done anything that stupid—and you probably never will.

  “Like I said, I’m not telling you that’s an excuse. I’ll find Oliver before practice and apologize. And I apologize to you for saying you aren’t much of a left fielder. You’re perfectly fine out there. You’re just a little bit inexperienced—which is understandable. You’re only a freshman.”