Batting Order
Page 17
Teddy struck out the next batter. But damage done. Everything had changed with one swing of the bat, because that was baseball. Chris Conte, Mike Clark, Teddy—the bottom of their order—went out one-two-three in the bottom of the fifth. The game stayed 2–1. Pat struck out the side in the top of the sixth. What did that TV commercial say? Life comes at you fast. Everything seemed to be happening much too fast at Healey Park now.
Last ups for the Astros, top of the order, maybe for the last time this season if they couldn’t at least tie things up: José, Denzel, Matt.
Matt, who was sitting at the end of the bench, turned around and saw Ms. Francis in the bottom row of the bleachers, smiling at him, as if she’d been waiting for him to see her there. Then she slowly brought her hands up, as if taking a big, deep breath, as if they were in her office.
Matt nodded and did the same, even though they were in his office now.
Then he turned back to the field and saw José, who promised Matt he was going to get a hit his next time up, still angry at himself even though the bad hop hadn’t been his fault, drill a clean single to center.
Denzel hit a slow roller to first. Their first baseman made a neat play, closing on the ball quickly enough that he could get a tag on Denzel before Denzel was by him. But it was as good as a sacrifice bunt, because José made it to second.
So the tying run was standing right there. Matt walked around the ump and around Joey. He checked Sarge right before he stepped into the box. Then he looked down at his mom in the first-base coaching box.
She just smiled at him, and gave two quick pats to her heart.
Joey wasn’t saying anything now. Matt probably wouldn’t have heard him even if he had. He was that locked in. His mom had always told him to just focus on the moment, that everything else was just noise.
But Matt couldn’t hear anything right now, except maybe the beating of his own heart.
The first pitch was high and tight and backed Matt off the plate. Maybe Joey had called for their closer to come inside on Matt that way, get his feet moving. Fine if he had. That was baseball, too. The next pitch was a called strike. Matt didn’t think it had caught the corner. The ump said it had.
Matt swung over the next pitch.
Now it was 1-2.
“Only takes one,” he heard Ben say from the on-deck circle.
That pitch came next. It was up and over the plate. Might have been a strike to someone as big as Big Ben. Not for Matt. He jumped on it anyway, caught it on the sweet spot, the ball high and deep toward right field.
Matt had gotten all of it. He was pretty sure it was over the right fielder’s head even as the kid turned and chased. He was tracking the ball and so was Matt and so was everybody. It was going to be an extra-base hit at least. Matt was sure the game was about to be tied.
He kept following the ball with his eyes and was just about to first base when he saw the right fielder stop suddenly, his knees buckling, as the ball disappeared over the wall.
First walk-off home run of Matt Baker’s life.
Astros 3, Giants 2.
He seemed to float the rest of the way around the bases. His teammates were waiting for him at the plate, jumping up and down, ready to mob him.
Halfway between third and home, Matt tossed his batting helmet away.
Just like the big guys did.
FORTY-FOUR
When the celebration on the field was finally over and they were all waiting for the presentation of the championship trophy, Ben said to Matt, “Someday you have to teach me how to hit a big fly like that.”
They both laughed.
Matt’s mom had been cool, just because he would have expected nothing less from her, when the game ended. She just stole a quick moment, gave him a hug, and told him how happy she was for him.
“I’d tell you that you made me proud,” she said, “but you know that’s not my style. You made yourself proud.”
Sarge came over, shaking his head.
“All the way to the last pitch of the season,” he said, “they just didn’t get how hard you can hit a baseball.”
Matt shrugged. “Looks can be deceiving, I guess,” he said.
“Yeah,” Sarge said. “They sure can.”
He hugged Matt too.
When it was time for the ceremony, Sarge brought the Astros out and lined them up behind the pitcher’s mound. There was a table set up in front of them, with the trophy on it. The spectators, all the parents and other relatives and friends, were standing in the home plate area, facing the Astros.
The president of the league spoke into the standing microphone that had been set up, congratulating both teams, talking about what a wonderful game of baseball they’d all just witnessed.
Then he called for Sarge to make a few comments, which he did, before the president handed him the trophy and Sarge hoisted it in the air, and they all heard one more big cheer on this day.
After Sarge placed the trophy back on the table, he stepped up to the microphone, and said, “This trophy belongs to these players behind me. These games, and these seasons—and these memories—are about them.”
He paused.
“In that spirit,” he continued, “I would like to ask the boy who just won the game to step forward and make a few comments.”
He turned.
“Matt,” he said, “come on out here.”
There was another cheer, this time from the Astros.
Just not from Matt.
He looked at Sarge and shook his head, not moving. He looked over at his mom then, and Ms. Francis, who happened to be standing next to her near home plate.
He saw Ms. Francis mouth these words:
You . . . can . . . do . . . this.
Maybe he could. He didn’t want to.
Didn’t want to speak in front of the team, not today.
José leaned over. “You got this,” he said into Matt’s ear, and gave him a gentle push toward the microphone.
Somehow Matt got his feet to start moving, as he saw Sarge lowering the microphone for him.
You’ve already got the words, Matt told himself.
You practiced yesterday in front of Ms. Francis.
Now Ms. Francis was standing right there in front of him, as if she was on the other side of the desk in her office.
Just say a little of what you said to her into the microphone.
All he had to do was tell everybody how proud he was to be a part of this team. How proud he was of the way they came back today.
How excited they all were to be going to the state tournament.
I’m proud to be an Astro.
Just start with that.
His mouth felt as dry as the dirt on the mound in front of him. He couldn’t seem to take any air in. All the triggers, which is what Ms. Francis called them, were suddenly locked in, as he locked up.
Everybody looked at him, and waited.
“I-I-I . . .”
His mouth was wide open. But that was all that came out. He closed his eyes, feeling his face begin to redden, feeling helpless. He thought about how George Springer had managed to find all the words, perfectly, when he’d accepted the World Series MVP trophy, in front of the whole country that time.
Matt tried again.
Nothing.
Crickets.
It was then that he felt a hand on his shoulder.
Ben’s.
Ben had come out to stand next to him.
He smiled at Matt and said, “Don’t wait for me.”
He took his hand away then, and stepped back, as Matt finally began to talk.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo by Taylor McKelvy Lupica
MIKE LUPICA is the author of multiple bestselling books for young readers, including the Home Team series, QB 1, Heat, Travel Team, Million-Dollar Throw, and The Underdogs. He has carved out a niche as the sporting world’s finest storyteller. Mike lives in Connecticut with his wife and their four children. When not writing novels, he writ
es for the New York Daily News and is an award-winning sports commentator. You can visit Mike Lupica at MikeLupicaBooks.com.
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Simon & Schuster Book for Young Readers
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ALSO BY MIKE LUPICA
The Only Game
The Extra Yard
Point Guard
Team Players
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2019 by Mike Lupica
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Lupica, Mike, author.
Title: Batting order / Mike Lupica.
Description: First edition. | New York : Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers, [2019] | Summary: Twelve-year-old Matt Baker is the best all-rounder on his baseball team, but can he help Big Ben Roberson improve his hitting and stand up to his father?
Identifiers: LCCN 2018033652 (print) | LCCN 2018040055 (eBook) | ISBN 9781534421554 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781534421578 (eBook)
Subjects: | CYAC: Baseball—Fiction. | Stuttering—Fiction. | Self-confidence—Fiction. | Parent and child—Fiction. | Single-parent families—Fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ7.L97914 (eBook) | LCC PZ7.L97914 Bc 2019 (print) | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018033652