Batting Order

by Mike Lupica

  “It is weird,” José said, “because he does seem to care what you think.”

  “Here’s what I think,” Matt said. “I just tried to help him. And you’re right, it’s not like I went to him and asked to be his batting coach.”

  “Maybe it’s like you said, and he never really wanted to change, but he wanted you to think that he did,” José said. “Does that make sense?”

  “Why would he care so much about what I think?” Matt said. “I’m just another guy on our team.”

  “If you really think that,” José said, grinning, “then let me give you a real easy Spanish word you can use: You’re loco.”

  They heard somebody calling their names then, and looked up and saw Kyle waving at them from his dad’s car as they went through town. Matt and José waved back. It was good to be an Astro today. They had played well and won a game. They had gotten on the board. Sarge always talked about how important it was to score the first run of a game. It felt more important today to have their first win.

  “It didn’t bother me as much what he said about his swing than what he said about finishing my sentences,” Matt said.

  “Maybe he just took it the wrong way when you asked him not to do that,” José said. “But it wasn’t like you were singling him out. We all know the deal. You want to work your way through stuff yourself.”

  “What I really don’t get,” Matt said, “is why he even came out to talk to their catcher in the first place.”

  Matt felt his phone buzzing then. He took it out of his pocket and saw that it was his mom, telling him she’d be there to pick them up in about ten minutes.

  “You know what I think?” José said. “I think that maybe Ben is more complicated than he looks sometimes.”

  “I’m not looking to be his best friend,” Matt said. “Sometimes you don’t get to decide who your friends are. But I want to be the best friend to him that I can be, and the best teammate.”

  “So just keep doing what you’re doing,” José said. “Because what we found out today is how important both of you are to our team.”

  “It’s not just Ben and me,” Matt said. “We can’t win without you playing your best, either. And if you don’t think that, you’re the one who’s loco.”

  José smiled.

  “You’re Altuve,” he said. “He’s Judge.”

  “And who’s your favorite shortstop?” Matt said.

  “You know it’s Carlos Correa,” José said. “He plays next to Altuve for the Astros the way I play next to you.”

  “Then you’re Correa on our Astros,” Matt said.

  They bumped fists.

  “Thanks for the compliment!” José said.

  In a quiet voice Matt said, “Thanks for being such a good friend.”

  NINETEEN

  Matt had an appointment with Ms. Francis, the day before the Astros’ next practice and two days before their game against the Putnam Mets.

  “So what’s new?” Ms. Francis said when Matt sat down.

  “A lot,” Matt said.

  He told her everything that had happened since their last visit. He told her about freezing up when the Glenallen catcher asked him if he’d really gotten hit by that pitch. He told her the things Ben said.

  Matt didn’t rush. He didn’t stop. He didn’t want to stop. The words came spilling out of him today. There were times when he could talk like this with his mom. His mom was just about the smartest person he knew. But Ms. Francis was smart too. Sometimes he wanted to be in this room with her, and not outside.

  “Of the things you just described,” she said, “what bothered you the most?”

  Matt didn’t answer right away. Ms. Francis liked to say that serious questions required serious answers.

  “Ben,” he said.

  “Did you think he was being mean by asking if it was all right to complete a sentence?” she said.

  That was a question Matt kept asking himself.

  “I don’t think he’s mean,” Matt said finally. “I’ve never seen Ben go out of his way to be mean to somebody else. And I can’t get too mad at him, because he was out there speaking up for me when their catcher called me out the way he did.”

  He stopped.

  “What is it?” Ms. Francis said.

  It was as if in that moment Matt had chosen silence, instead of silence choosing him the way it did sometimes.

  “I was just thinking how ashamed I was when I couldn’t speak for myself to that guy.”

  “The catcher,” she said.

  “Yes,” Matt said.

  “We’ve talked about that,” she said. “You know there’s nothing to feel ashamed about.”

  “I can tell myself that all I want,” Matt said. “You can tell me that all you want. And my mom can. But those feelings don’t go away. That doesn’t change.”

  “But you’re changing,” she said. “Whether you realize you are or not. I can hear it during our sessions. You understand yourself a lot better than you did before we first began meeting.”

  “But the other day, when I just stood there feeling like a dummy all over again,” Matt said. “I felt worse than when I got to the front of the ice cream line.”

  A robin landed on the windowsill behind Ms. Francis, stared in at them, then flew away, as if it didn’t have a care in the world.

  “Why was it worse?” Ms. Francis said.

  “Because it was baseball,” Matt said.

  He could feel himself stepping hard on “baseball,” the way you stepped hard on home plate sometimes.

  “Baseball is supposed to be your safe place,” she said in a gentle voice.

  “Yes,” Matt said.

  “Yes.” The word he couldn’t get out of his mouth for the Glenallen catcher.

  “It was like everything at once,” Matt said. “It was that scared feeling that comes over me when I get called on in class and I’m not ready with an answer. I don’t just feel like everyone in class is looking at me, and waiting for me. I feel as if the whole world is waiting for me to say something I can’t.”

  “Has it ever happened to you before?” she said. “On a ball field, I mean.”

  “Not like that,” he said. “I mean, I know it started because that kid was acting like a jerk. But I felt that my mom and the parents sitting in the outfield were staring at me too, even though I knew they couldn’t hear what was going on.”

  “Then when it was over, it wasn’t the catcher you thought was making fun of you,” she said.

  Matt shook his head.

  “I don’t think the catcher was making fun of me,” Matt said. “I don’t think he knew I stutter. I think he was just messing with me, the way he had been when he asked if I could see over the plate.”

  “What he said about you being small didn’t bother you?” Ms. Francis said.

  “Not saying I like it,” Matt said. “But I’m used to it by now.”

  “But then Ben was the one messing with you,” she said, “even after standing up for you.”

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “And how did that make you feel?” she said.

  “Small,” Matt said.

  Now they were both silent.

  “Maybe,” Ms. Francis said finally, “you don’t know Ben as well as you thought you did.”

  “And he doesn’t know me,” Matt said.

  “Maybe,” Ms. Francis said, “you and Ben need to talk things out one of these days.”

  Matt smiled.

  “Oh, great,” he said. “More talking.”

  Just what he needed.

  TWENTY

  Matt’s mom asked if he minded if she watched his whole practice tonight. He said he’d love it.

  “I know some of the other dads come and hang out from the time practice starts,” she said. “Why should they get to have all the fun?”

  Matt grinned. “Is there a good answer for that other than ‘no?’ ” he said.

  “No!” she said.

  “You know as much about
baseball as most of those dads, and probably more,” Matt said. “You know as much as Sarge.”

  “Let’s keep that last part between the two of us,” she said.

  Then she sounded like a little kid when she asked, “Do you think I should bring my glove?”

  “Absolutely,” Matt said.

  She had her glove on her left hand when she and Matt came walking onto the field at Healey Park. As soon as Sarge saw that, he said, “You know I’m going to put you to work, right?”

  “Send me in, coach,” she said.

  “Would you rather work with the infielders or the outfielders?”

  “Well,” she said, “having been to both games your team has played so far, I do think your second baseman needs a little work on fundamentals.”

  “You know,” Sarge said, “I was thinking the same thing.”

  “The two of you are so funny,” Matt said.

  “You work with Matt and Ben and José and Kyle,” Sarge said to her. “I’ll be in the outfield.”

  “Deal,” Rachel Baker said.

  She went over to where Matt had dropped his bat bag and took out his bat. Then she walked over to home plate, where Stone was waiting for her. The rest of the infielders took their positions.

  Before they started, José put his glove in front of his mouth and said to Matt, “Your mom, dude. Really?”

  “Just watch,” Matt said.

  There was no reason why any of them should have known how much game she’d had when she was young. But Matt knew. He knew that his baseball mom could do all the things that baseball dads could do. She had pitched in softball and played shortstop when she wasn’t pitching. And Matt knew, from reading up on her, that she could really swing a bat back in the day.

  He also knew from the times when it had been just the two of them on this same field, and they’d brought one of her old softballs with her, and Matt had pitched to her and seen her spray line drives all over the place. One day he had said to her, “You know, your swing looks a lot like mine.”

  “Other way around, buster,” she’d said.

  At the plate now she called out to the Astros infielders and said, “You boys ready to work?”

  She didn’t wait for an answer, and immediately smacked a hard ground ball at Kyle Sargent, who fielded it cleanly and threw a strike across the infield grass to Ben.

  After that they did work, and hard. She hit hard ground balls at all of them, and to their left, and right. Every once in a while, she’d mix in a slow roller, to make sure they were paying attention. Then she started to call out game situations, telling them to throw home as if there were a play at the plate, or telling Ben to start a 1-6-3 double play, or simply yelling out, “Turn two!” before she’d hit a rocket right at Matt.

  She was smiling the whole time, and looked completely happy.

  After they’d successfully turned a few double plays, she suddenly choked up on the bat and laid down a perfect bunt in front of Ben, the ball dying between home and first before he could get to it.

  “I wasn’t expecting a bunt, Mrs. Baker,” Ben said after he finally picked up the ball.

  “The other team isn’t going to make an announcement either,” she said.

  A few minutes later, she tried to surprise Ben with another bunt. He was ready this time. He closed quickly on the ball, barehanded it, did a neat spin, and made a perfect throw to Matt, who had sprinted over to cover first.

  Matt thought to himself, Maybe my mom should have tried to be Ben’s batting coach.

  But right now, she was coaching up everybody, but good. Even Matt. One time he made what he thought was a really sweet backhand stop near second base, stopped himself, and snapped off a sure throw to Ben.

  But his mom said, “You should never have had to backhand that ball, Matt Baker. You had enough time to get in front of it.”

  “Are you gonna ground him, Mrs. Baker?” José called in to her.

  “No,” she said. “But if it happens again, no dessert.”

  “I made the play, Mom,” Matt said.

  “Yes,” she said. “It just wasn’t the right play. Isn’t that right?”

  The answer came right out of him.

  “Yes, Mom,” he said.

  Sarge had finished with the outfielders a few minutes ago, and had been watching from the bench as Matt’s mom put him and the guys through their infield drills. When they finished, and had come over for a water break, Sarge said to Rachel Baker, “What would you think about becoming my permanent first base coach?”

  “Are you serious?” she said. “I haven’t even made it through a whole practice yet.”

  “Totally serious,” he said. “You run a better practice than I do.”

  “Not sure about that,” she said. “But before I give you my answer, let me get one out of my friend at second base.”

  She turned to Matt and said, “What do you think?”

  “I think,” Matt said, “that I need to start calling you Coach Mom.”

  Then his mom turned back to Sarge, cool as could be, and bumped him some fist as if she were an Astro already.

  “I’m in,” she said.

  As José and Matt were grabbing their water bottles, José leaned in close to Matt and said, “What just happened here?”

  “Pretty sure my mom just became one of the boys,” he said.

  When it was time for the Astros to take batting practice, Matt walked over to his mom and said, “You know you’re not getting to hit, right?”

  She lightly slapped the side of her head with her hand in mock anger and said, “Darn it! I was afraid of that.”

  The only thing that changed from one batting practice to another was the order. Tonight Ben got to lead off. His swing looked the same as it always did. He didn’t try to hit to the opposite field. Didn’t try to use all fields. Just tried to go deep. He finally did on his second-to-last swing. He didn’t seem to be trying to go to right field, but did. If the clump of trees behind the right field fence hadn’t gotten in the way, Matt imagined the ball rolling all the way to the South Shore train station.

  “Well, that swing definitely wasn’t too long,” Matt said.

  Ben looked at him, as if confused. Maybe he didn’t even remember what he’d said to Matt the other night.

  “Huh?”

  “Just saying that was some shot,” Matt said, and put up his hand for a high five as a way of ending the conversation. Sometimes it was better not to say anything.

  BP was the last thing they did that night. By the time they finished, a lot of the other parents had already arrived for pickup, including Ben’s dad.

  Matt and his mom were standing near the screen behind home plate.

  “So how was my first night as a coach?” she said to Matt.

  Before he could answer, Ben said, “For a mom, you did awesome, Mrs. Baker.”

  Matt didn’t think Ben was trying to be funny, or sarcastic. It was, Matt thought, his way of being nice. He was smiling. So was she. But then they heard Sarge whistle, and say, “Uh oh? For a mom?”

  Matt saw Ben’s face redden.

  “I was just trying to give Mrs. Baker a compliment,” he said.

  “And I thank you for that, Ben,” she said. “But Matt can tell you: In our house, we sort of don’t think there was ever a law passed that only dads know baseball.”

  “Do you know what a great softball player Matt’s mom was?” Sarge said.

  Ben said, “I think Matt might have told us.”

  “Well, back in the day,” Sarge said, winking at Matt’s mom, “she was the best pitcher in the state. And probably the best player.”

  He went over to the ball bag then and reached around inside and came out with a softball that looked older than Healey Park.

  Then he looked around at the Astros players and said, “Who wants to take a few cuts against her right now?”

  Matt wasn’t putting up his hand. There had been times when he’d asked her to show him her fastball. Mostly what he’d d
one, even against the bigger ball, was swing and miss. A lot. No way he was going to let her make him look bad in front of his teammates. And he knew his mom well enough to know that she wasn’t going to want to look bad in front of the team.

  No one spoke until Ben’s dad called out, “You do it, Ben.”

  Ben didn’t look over at him. He looked at Matt’s mom. As if Matt’s mom could somehow save him from his own dad.

  “I don’t want to hit against you, Mrs. Baker,” he said.

  “And you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” she said in a quiet voice.

  “C’mon, Ben,” his dad said. “Let’s see how far you can hit one of those balls.”

  “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” Rachel Baker said to Sarge.

  But he was smiling.

  “Be a good way to for these boys to see how good the girls are in this sport,” he said.

  “What if I hit one right back up the middle?” Ben said, even though Matt knew Ben hardly ever went right back up the middle.

  “I’m still pretty good with a glove,” Matt’s mom said, “even for an old lady.”

  The Astros players were into this now. Stone put his chest protector and mask back on. Matt asked Sarge if he wanted the rest of the Astros to go back into the field. But Mr. Roberson heard that and laughed and said, “Not gonna need any fielders, Matt.”

  Matt’s mom put her glove back on, took the ball from Sarge, headed out to the mound, where she soft-tossed a few warm-up pitches, picking up steam on the last few.

  “Wait,” Ben said, “you’re going to pitch underhand?”

  “Big Ben,” Sarge said, “have you ever watched a softball game?”

  “Not exactly,” Ben said.

  “They throw pretty hard underhand,” Matt said to Ben.

  “Guess I’m about to find out how hard,” Ben said.

  Matt wasn’t sure his mom threw her first pitch as hard as she could. But she threw it hard enough. Ben didn’t seem to be ready for it at all, but managed to get his bat on the ball and hit a weak grounder up the first base line.

  Ben stepped out. Matt could see how determined he was to do better on the next pitch. He didn’t want to look bad.

  Matt didn’t think his mom wanted Ben to look bad, either. But she was clearly having fun with this.