by Mike Lupica
“Here comes my heater,” she said.
It was funny, Matt thought, watching from behind the screen. If there were ever a time for Ben Roberson to shorten his swing, now was that time.
The second pitch came in hotter, and higher, than the first. Ben took his usual big cut, and missed.
Strike two.
“Just relax, big man,” Ben’s dad yelled over from behind the Astros’ bench. “This is your pitch.”
Matt’s mom didn’t throw the third pitch as high, or as hard. Matt was pretty sure that she would have been perfectly happy for Ben to put a charge into one.
Matt could see how tightly Ben was gripping the handle of the bat, holding it all the way down to the knob the way he always did.
He found himself rooting for Ben against his mom, just wanting him to put the ball in play somewhere.
The pitch came right down the middle, but Ben was trying way too hard to hit a home run, and swung over the pitch for strike three.
This time Ben was the one who seemed speechless. His dad wasn’t. He wasn’t yelling out to Ben this time. He only seemed to be talking to himself, and turned away from the field.
But Matt could hear him clearly as he said, “Terrific. My kid just got struck out by a girl.”
TWENTY-ONE
Matt turned back to the field and saw his mom go into her full mom mode, since now Ben Roberson had everybody on a baseball field staring at him.
“You struck out on purpose, didn’t you, Ben Roberson?” she said, hands on her hips.
“No, Mrs. Baker,” Ben said in a quiet voice.
She was smiling her biggest smile.
“I don’t want your pity!” she said. “If we ever do this again, you have to promise to try to get a hit, okay?”
“Okay,” he said.
Matt smiled to himself, watching her try to get everybody past this moment, and thought:
My mom might just have gotten her one and only save of the season.
She jogged in from the mound and bumped Ben some fist and said, “Thanks for making the old lady look good.”
“No worries, Mrs. Baker,” Ben said.
They walked off the field together. As they did, Matt heard her say to Ben, “Mind if I give you a quick batting tip? It might help you when you are trying to get a hit.”
“Sure,” Ben said.
“I’d listen to her,” Sarge said. “She’s always telling me Matt got his swing from her.”
“Sure,” Ben said again.
She didn’t talk about shortening his swing. She didn’t talk about leveling it off, or anything like that. She just grabbed his bat and went and took her stance.
“I noticed you’ve got a pretty big leg kick,” she said, “when you’re trying to drive the ball.”
As if he wasn’t always trying to drive the ball into outer space.
“I’ve always swung that way,” Ben said.
“Well,” she said, “I watch a lot of baseball on TV with Matt, and the other night they were talking about how high Shohei Ohtani’s leg kick was when he first got over here from Japan. And how he struggled in his first spring training until he started tapping the toe of his front foot before he swung. It just seemed to quiet his swing at the time, and that’s when he started driving the ball all over the place.”
“Okay,” Ben said.
“Just try it sometime and see if it might work for you,” she said.
“I could try it now, even with the softball,” Ben said, “if you don’t mind hanging around.”
“Ben!”
Mr. Roberson.
“We need to get going,” he said, “if softball practice is over for now.”
He looked at Matt’s mom and said, “No offense, Rachel.”
She smiled, but Matt knew she didn’t mean it.
“None taken,” she said. “My own son has to endure batting tips from me all the time.”
“My son gets his batting tips from me, too,” Mr. Roberson said.
Matt’s mom handed Ben his bat back. He went and got his glove. He and his dad left. Matt and his mom and Sarge watched them go.
“I’ve got to wear this,” Sarge said. “I shouldn’t have let you pitch to him.”
“His dad sort of insisted,” Matt said.
“I hope I didn’t offend Bob,” Matt’s mom said.
“He’s a nice enough guy, in his own way,” Sarge said. “But he’s another dad who thinks he invented baseball.”
“And his batting tips only seem to involve telling his son in a loud voice to crush one,” she said.
Sarge sighed. “Tell me about it,” he said.
“Are you absolutely certain you still want me to help you coach this team?” she said.
“More than ever, actually,” Sarge said.
He grinned and turned to Matt and said, “Not going to be dull having your mom around.”
“Never is,” Matt said.
Nothing was dull these days, on or off the field.
TWENTY-TWO
Right before Matt was ready to turn out his lights and go to bed, his mom came into his room.
“We need to convene a family meeting,” she said.
Matt felt himself smile.
“I don’t think you have to take attendance,” he said. “Everybody seems to be here.”
“Well then, I guess we can start,” she said.
“Sometimes,” Matt said to her, “I forget which one of us acts more like a twelve-year-old.”
“Got me there,” she said.
“What’s up?” he said.
“I don’t have to do this,” she said. “Be your assistant coach.”
“You’re not just my assistant coach, Mom,” he said. “Pretty sure you’d be everybody’s.”
“But I’m not everybody’s mom.”
“Lucky for me,” he said.
She smiled.
“Mom,” he said, “you probably should have coached Little League way before this.”
“It’s different for a woman,” she said. “And trust me, not just in baseball.”
Matt sat up.
“I can tell how much you want to do this,” he said. “We all saw how much fun you had tonight. Heck, you practically said yes to Sarge before he even finished asking you to do it.”
“You’re sure you want me to do this?”
“I want you to do this because I can see you want to do this,” Matt said. “And just the guys in the infield know they all got a little better tonight, in about fifteen minutes.”
“What about Ben?” she said.
Matt grinned.
“This is turning into a talk, isn’t it?”
“Sometimes I can’t help myself,” she said.
“Ben will be fine,” Matt said. “It’s his dad I always worry about, Mom.”
“Same,” she said.
“He seems pretty set in his ways,” Matt said.
“And maybe not just about baseball,” his mom said. “When he said ‘softball’ tonight you know what he was really saying was ‘girls’ softball.’ ”
Matt didn’t mention what he’d said about Ben being struck out by a girl.
“Seems to me,” his mom continued, “that he’s pretty stuck on how he thinks guys are supposed to act.”
“Not sure I understand,” Matt said.
“All the old stuff about how if guys don’t act strong, that must mean they’re weak, or soft,” she said. She grinned. “That they’re acting like girls.”
She put air quotes around “girls.”
“But you’re the strongest person I know,” Matt said to her.
She got up off the end of the bed and then leaned down and kissed him on top of his head.
“Thanks, pal,” she said.
“You think that toe-tapping thing might make Ben a better hitter?” he said.
“Yup.”
“Think he’ll actually try it?”
“Hope so,” she said.
She shrugged and said, “But only if
his dad lets him.”
“Think that will happen?” Matt said.
“Only if he thinks it’s a guy thing,” she said.
She didn’t make “guy thing” sound like a good thing.
TWENTY-THREE
The next night Matt’s mom was ready to go to Healey Park for the Astros’ game against the Putnam Valley Mets before he was.
“Remember the other night when I had to remind you that you didn’t get to take BP?” Matt said.
“It was hurtful,” she said, “but yes.”
“So you know you’re just coaching and not playing tonight, correct?”
“You don’t have to rub it in,” she said.
She had her glove on the kitchen table. She was wearing an Astros cap that he’d never seen before. Matt asked if she’d bought the hat today.
“Might have remembered there’s a Lids store at the mall,” she said.
“Maybe think about curving the bill a little more,” Matt said.
“Oh,” she said, “you get to play and coach.”
The game was scheduled for six-thirty. They were at the field an hour before that, before Sarge or any of the other Astros players, throwing on the side. When Sarge and the rest of Matt’s teammates did show up and it was time for infield practice, Sarge said, “You handle it, Rachel. Guys on our team might as well start getting used to the idea that the two of us are a team, too.”
Sarge worked with the outfielders, and then threw batting practice, the way he always did. As soon as it was Ben’s turn, Matt noticed that Ben was lifting up his front foot the way he always did. He didn’t hit any BP homers tonight, even if he came close on his last swing.
“No worries, save it for the game!”
Matt didn’t even have to turn around to recognize Mr. Roberson’s voice. He’d missed their last game, but obviously wasn’t going to miss this one.
“Let’s get ready to play some old-fashioned hardball tonight!”
Matt thought: Everything about this family is big.
Ben nodded to acknowledge that he’d heard his dad. But Matt was pretty sure they could hear him at the Candy Kitchen.
Matt was worried that it might be a long baseball night at Healey Park. Just not in a good way.
• • •
The Putnam Valley Mets were new to the All-Stars this year, so Matt and the guys didn’t know any of their players.
“But they look good to me,” José said.
“Everybody looks good to you,” Denzel said.
“I like to be prepared,” José said.
“You know what Sarge always says,” Matt said. “They want to win too.”
Then it was José quoting their coach.
“Expect them to do great things,” he began.
“. . . just the way we expect ourselves to do great things,” Matt said.
“Wait a second!” José said. “You get to finish my sentences?”
Matt laughed. “Lo siento mucho!” he said.
So sorry.
Teddy Sample was starting tonight for the Astros, which meant Mike Clark was back in left field. Denzel was leading off, José was second, Matt was in his usual third spot.
Ben was back batting cleanup.
Matt looked up the Putnam Valley starter in Sarge’s scorebook. His name was Tyler Brewer. Matt watched him warm up, the way he always watched the other team’s starter warm up, after Teddy breezed through the top of the first, striking out the side. Tyler didn’t seem to be throwing particularly hard, but that didn’t mean anything. Sometimes a starter just saved it for the game.
What Matt did notice was that the Mets catcher hardly had to move his glove for any of the warm-up pitches once he set it behind the plate. If nothing else, this guy had solid control. Matt told himself to be ready to swing. Then he actually laughed to himself, because when didn’t he go up there ready to swing?
“What’s so funny?” Ben said.
Matt turned to him.
“Kind of laughing at a dumb thought I just had.”
“Can’t be about baseball.”
“Actually, it was,” Matt said. Then he said, “Ready to have some fun?”
Ben nodded out at the first-base coaching box.
“Maybe not as much as your mom,” Ben said.
“You think?” Matt said.
Denzel hit the first pitch he saw for a single right over Tyler Brewer’s head. Denzel made a big turn, the way he always did, trying to maybe scare the Mets center fielder into rushing his throw back to the infield. But when the ball was back in the infield and he was back to the base, Matt could see his mom right next to Denzel, talking away and pointing. Denzel kept nodding as she did.
Yeah, Matt thought, she is having herself some fun.
She was so into this, just one batter into the game.
Matt looked up into the bleachers as he walked to the on-deck circle, and saw as many moms as there were dads. Maybe more. Why shouldn’t more moms be on the field the way his was tonight?
José drew a walk.
First and second, nobody out.
Matt got into the box. This time the Mets catcher didn’t say anything to him, just nodded as Matt gave his shin guards a tap with his bat.
Matt gave a quick look down at Sarge in the third-base coaching box. The only sign Sarge gave him was putting his fists together and making a swinging motion. Be a hitter. As if Matt had to be told. Then he gave a quick look down to his mom, who smiled and smacked the palms of her hands together, making a loud noise.
She really does look twelve, Matt told himself.
Then he focused on Tyler Brewer. With no outs, two on, and having just walked José, Matt knew he had to want to throw a strike in the worst way, not risk walking Matt and loading the bases for Big Ben. And when a pitcher was thinking that way—and Matt tried to think along with pitchers all the time—there was a good chance he might groove one.
Tyler grooved one.
The pitch was “middle in,” as the announcers like to say.
Matt was all over it, almost too much. He covered the pitch so quickly with his bat that he was almost too far out in front and pulled it foul. But he didn’t. The ball went screaming down the line before their third baseman could dive, on its way toward the sign for Franco’s restaurant in the left field corner. Denzel scored easily. José went in to third base standing up. Matt did the same at second. Run in, still two runners on, still nobody out. The Astros had a great chance at a big inning. Now Matt was the one clapping his hands together.
Ben walked to the plate. Matt looked in at Ben and shook a fist, encouraging him. From third base he heard Sarge say, “Just get the barrel on it.”
But Sarge’s voice was quickly drowned out by Ben’s dad.
“All you, big man!”
He was hanging over the fence, the way he usually did at Healey, almost even with first base tonight. Matt saw his mom turn at the sound of Mr. Roberson’s voice before she focused all of her attention on Ben.
She didn’t say anything to Ben. She hadn’t said anything to Matt once he had been in the batter’s box. But Matt could see from her face how much she wanted Ben to do well in this spot; how much she wanted him to get a hit. The infield was playing back. Ben didn’t even need a clean hit to bring home another run, or even get the ball to the outfield. Just a ground ball to anybody except Tyler Brewer would do the job.
“Give her a ride!”
Ben swung and missed for strike one, swung so hard it was like he was trying to hit a six-run homer instead of a three-run homer.
Tyler threw the next pitch in the dirt. Before their catcher did a nice job blocking it, and holding José at third and Matt at second, Ben swung right over the pitch.
Sarge took a couple of steps toward the plate and said, “Just takes one, son.”
Tyler threw the next pitch up in Ben’s eyes, his biggest fastball of the inning. Ben showed his big leg kick, and did manage to get his bat on the ball. But the best he could do was a little pop fly
right back to Tyler for the first out.
Then Stone lined out to the first baseman. The Astros still had two runners in scoring position. But now there were two outs. Kyle struck out. The game stayed at 1–0. The Astros were ahead. They all felt they should have been ahead by more.
When Matt got back to the bench Ben started to say something, but stopped himself before simply reaching over and handing Matt his glove.
“Lot of baseball to be played tonight,” Matt said, then ran out to second before he got a response.
The Mets scored two runs off Teddy in the top of the second. The Astros came right back with two of their own to take a 3–2 lead. The game kept going like that. By the top of the fifth, the Astros and Mets were tied 7–7. Both teams had their third pitcher of the game in there by then. Other than the top of the first, when Teddy had struck out the side, no pitcher had seen another one-two-three inning.
Ben led off the bottom of the fifth for the Astros. He had struck out twice by then, to go with the easy out he’d handed Tyler in the first. But this time, on the second pitch he saw from the Mets left-handed reliever, he blooped a single over the second baseman’s head and into short right.
It wasn’t much of a hit. It wasn’t close to being a home run. But Ben was on first. He was the potential go-ahead run. Matt’s mom was up on her toes, trying to come as close to Ben’s ear as she could, talking away with her mouth and her hands, smiling as she did. Matt knew what she was telling him: Run hard on any ground ball. Play it halfway on a ball in the air to the outfield. If Stone hit a single to right, try to pick up Sarge as soon as possible, because Sarge would let him know whether or not to try for third. Just the basics. But always worth hearing, every time you were on base.
Matt’s mom kept talking away while Stone dug in at the plate. Ben kept nodding.
Then he didn’t go halfway on a ball that looked like it might be caught by the left fielder, but then fell in front of him. Matt heard his mom say, “Halfway.” But either Ben didn’t hear, or just froze as the ball came off Stone’s bat, and when he did start running hard for second, it was too late. The left fielder threw the ball to the Mets second baseman for what should never have been a force play, but had become one.
