Jake Parsons, crouching behind Chavez, heard the umpire start cursing.
The crowd was roaring. “CHA-VEZ…CHA-VEZ…CHA-VEZ.”
The umpire was still swearing.
Jake got ready for the crap hat was about to hit the proverbial fan. Any ballplayer worth a damn, would respond to a challenge, and his friend Bill always attacked, with a massive and malicious blitzkrieg. Sullivan had been warned, fined, tossed from games, and suspended, but he never relented, and was thus feared and respected. Every experienced batter knew any personal slight, crappy twitter, or snarky interview, about any MLB pitcher would eventually be answered by a bone crushing, potentially deadly one hundred mile an hour fastball in the hip or the ribs, putting you out of at least one game, or in the hospital.
The Cubs fans were shouting.
“CHA-VEZ”
“CHA-VEZ”
“CHA-VEZ”
The Dodgers fans were booing.
Jake was furious.
Chavez, enjoying the waning sunlight, let his smile grow into a grin.
The umpire wore a dark, disapproving grimace.
Jake tugged his mask tight, and again gave Bill the sign for a high inside fastball, knowing it would be ignored, happy he was wearing heavy pads.
Chavez kept himself loose as Sullivan went into his windup. Letting his eyes, mind, and senses meld together, he watched the ball leave the fingers of the pitcher. With intense focus Julio leaned two inches away from the plate, then locked on Sullivan’s eyes, as he felt the wind from the ball passing by his right temple with blistering speed.
Sullivan’s mouth dropped open.
Nobody just stood there. Everybody hit the deck, thought Bill.
The stadium was silent for one second, most of the crowd stunned and the rest glancing around, not really believing Sullivan tried to hit Chavez in the head.
Chavez’s teammates exploded off the bench, the fans screaming, as the Cubs raced toward Sullivan. The Dodgers players, ready to fight, were sprinting to Sullivan’s defense. Parsons and the umpire charged from the plate.
Chavez dropped his bat and stepped in front of his enraged teammates, putting up his hands in a “hold it” gesture.
The umpire stopped. What the hell?
The Cubs slowed.
Parsons kept going to the mound. Half of the Dodgers stopped in their tracks, while the rest went to surround Sullivan, including Coach Jackson.
The crowd noise dramatically dropped off.
“What the hell, Chavez? Let us pound that punk!” stated Tommy Rodriguez, Chavez’s close friend and first baseman. Most of the Cubs players were glaring at Sullivan.
“I started it,” replied Chavez. “I dissed him, in his stadium, in front of millions of viewers and fans. I had something coming.”
“Bullshit!”
Chavez, still holding up his hands, added a smile. “Trust me. Now Sullivan has to throw heat, and I’ll take care of this problem, right here, right now. But I’m going to need your help so listen up.”
“What the hell is the matter with you, Bill? You can’t bean a batter in a championship game! You’re damned lucky the ump didn’t toss your ass!” declared Parsons.
“That rookie knows better! Nobody taunts me!” replied Bill. “And I didn’t hit him, did I?”
“This is the divisional playoffs! You could have waited!” said Jake.
“Go back to the plate, Jake, and get out of my face!”
“Bill, Chavez is not afraid of you!” exclaimed Jake.
Coach Jackson spoke. “Everyone get back to their positions! That means you too, Jake. The rest of you get back to the bench…NOW!”
Jackson stepped close to Sullivan. “Control your temper, or I’ll pull you,” he said, then stalked off the field, signaling the relief pitcher to start warming up.
“Jim, I don’t believe what I just saw! For those just tuning in, Sullivan threw a pitch that almost hit Chavez in the head. Something strange is going on down there. It looked like it was going to be an all-out brawl, but Chavez stopped it. The Cubs are having a powwow, and the Ump looks like he could chew glass. The Dodgers coach is coming off the field and looks disgusted with his pitcher.”
“That’s right Ken, the only ones who appear calm are Chavez and Sullivan. Sullivan should have been tossed from the game, but the umpire let it slide.”
“Wait a minute, Jim. Maybe Sullivan shouldn’t have thrown that pitch, but Chavez deliberately insulted one of the best pitchers in the league, in his own house! That was a bone head move by the rookie if you ask me.”
Sullivan was fuming. The fans were fired up.
This time it was Chavez, still outside the batter’s box that was being heckled.
“Chavez, you never cease to amaze me. Get to it rookie!” said Parsons, with a big smile.