Mickey was no psychologist, but he could sense intuitively right before a big game whether his team was ready to play or not. And in the moments before the Orioles took the field against the Twins, he knew the mood in the O’s dugout was all wrong.

You didn’t want to see players so loose that everyone was just joking around and not warming up properly and not concentrating. But you also didn’t want them so tight that they looked ready to crack, each player worriedly running through what his dad called “what-if scenarios”:

What if I strike out with the bases loaded?

What if I drop a fly ball in a critical situation?

What if I just plain suck today and it costs us the game? And maybe the championship?

Right now, Mickey sensed, that’s where the Orioles were mentally, deep in the dark jungle of what if? With no clue how to hack their way out.

The noise level in the dugout? Crickets. It was as if someone had just died. The only thing missing was the corpse.

He looked down the bench. Katelyn sat silently with her glove in her lap, rocking back and forth. Mickey had never seen her this quiet before a game. Usually, she was the one walking up and down the dugout, firing everyone up, spouting wisecracks and trash talk and vowing to personally destroy the other team with a superhuman 4-for-4, two-homer night.

Sammy was nervously stuffing handfuls of sunflower seeds into his mouth and spitting out shells like a machine gun. Corey and Ethan tossed a ball between them listlessly, until Corey waved his hand and barked, “Stop! You’re driving me crazy!”

Hunter had already leaped off the bench and gone to the men’s room three times in the past ten minutes, a sure sign of major jitters.

Even Gabe looked tense, chomping furiously on his bubble gum and staring out at the field as the Twins finished infield practice.

Then there was Zoom.

As usual, the kid had arrived about fifteen minutes before game time, strutting up to the field with his boys, each of them sucking noisily on huge sodas. A few of the Orioles, who had just heard about his lifesaving role in the restaurant—a local TV station had picked up the story and was now calling him “The Heimlich Hero”—had clapped him on the back and offered congratulations.

But Zoom had simply shrugged and warmed up quickly, throwing alongside Danny, who liked to loosen his arm early, even though he was the late-inning reliever.

Now, however, Zoom sat alone in his usual spot at the end of the bench. His face shone with a thin sheen of perspiration, despite it being another relatively cool night, and his feet jiggled incessantly.

Apparently, the big-game pressure was getting to him, too.

This is crazy, Mickey thought. There’s no life here. No confidence. We’ll lose by ten runs if we come out this tense. Somebody has to say something!

He was about to jump to his feet when his dad clambered down the steps.

“All right, listen up. Here’s the batting order,” he began. He ticked off the usual names and positions and then paused. “…And Danny will be starting on the mound.”

There was a collective gasp.

No one moved. It seemed as if no one was even breathing now. The rest of the players cut furtive glances at Zoom and Danny.

Zoom’s jaw dropped and he stared wide-eyed at Coach. It was the first time Mickey had seen him without either a frown or a smug look.

Meanwhile, all the color had drained from Danny’s face.

“Uh, Coach,” Danny stammered at last, “do you really think that’s a good idea? This is, you know, such a, um, big game and all. And me starting, well, I—”

Mickey’s dad cut him off with a dismissive wave.

“You’ll do fine, Danny,” he said. “We have a lot of confidence in you. All right, let’s take the field. Important game, sure. But go out there and have fun, people.”

Mickey was so shocked that it took him a few seconds to process what his dad had said. He grabbed his mask and glove and turned for one last look at Zoom.

Slowly, the boy lowered his head and covered his face in his hands.

Never thought I’d see the day, Mickey thought. He’s going to break down and cry. Bet it’ll be the Niagara Falls of tears, too.

But when Zoom looked up again, Mickey saw that he was wrong.

There were no tears. Instead, Zoom’s jaw was clenched and his eyes were twin dark slits. He shot a murderous glare at Coach, who had his back turned as he taped the lineup to the dugout wall. Then Zoom draped a towel over his head, folded his arms, and stared straight ahead.

Guess Dad has finally had it with all of Zoom’s antics, Mickey thought, not just the crazy Z slashes after the strikeouts.

But to bench him in a game with so much on the line…

There was no time to think about that now. Mickey needed to get Danny ready to go.

And Danny was a basket case.

He sailed the first two warm-up pitches over Mickey’s head. The third one bounced ten feet in front of the plate. Mickey jogged out to the mound.

“Okay, I’m no expert at this,” he began, hoping to get Danny to smile and relax, “but it seems like your control might be off a tiny bit.”

It didn’t work. Danny was even paler now. He licked his lips nervously.

“You know I’m not a starter!” he hissed, slamming the ball into his glove. “I know I’m not a starter. What’s wrong with your crazy dad?”

Mickey put a hand on his shoulder.

“You can do this,” Mickey said. “Ever hear the story about Justin Verlander’s first start for the Detroit Tigers?”

“Stories?!” Danny squeaked. “We have time for stories now?”

“It’s a quick one,” Mickey said. “Verlander was so nervous he could hardly grip the ball. The pitching coach came out and told him to imagine every batter naked. It helped calm him down right away.”

Danny looked horrified.

“Ewww!” he said. He glanced at the Twins lead-off batter, a short, chunky kid taking warm-up swings in the on-deck circle, and shook his head. “You want me to imagine that dude with no clothes on? That’s the sickest thing I ever heard in my life!”

“Maybe,” Mickey said, “but it worked. All of a sudden Verlander wasn’t worried about getting the ball over the plate.”

“Seriously?” Danny said. “That’s the best you got? Picture the batter naked? Well, that’s not gonna happen.”

Mickey shrugged. “Fine, it’s unconventional. You want conventional? Take a couple of deep breaths and relax.”

But Danny couldn’t do that, either.

He walked the first two Twins batters, then was so rattled that he took five miles per hour off his fastball and started aiming his pitches. The result was predictable: Yanni Mendez, the Twins best hitter, drove a two-run double to left. And the next kid up hit a single up the middle to score Yanni.

Danny finally settled down, striking out the next two batters and getting the number eight hitter on a weak comebacker to the mound. But the damage was done.

Twins 3, Orioles 0.

When he jogged off the mound, Danny headed straight for Mickey, wagging his finger.

“Thanks for totally messing me up,” he said. “I couldn’t even concentrate out there. All I could think of was those guys naked.”

Overhearing this, Katelyn whirled around and stared at Danny.

“Nerd, that is so totally gross!” she said. “Are you like some kind of sicko perv?”

With that, she took off her cap and smacked him over the head with it before walking away. Danny started to protest, then shook his head sadly and sat down. Mickey stifled a laugh.

This would be hysterical, he thought, if we weren’t getting our butts beat.

But the Orioles came right back in the third inning when the Twins pitcher, Billy Adelman, began having his own control problems. He walked Ethan, the lead-off batter, and followed with another walk to Justin. Then he promptly drilled Danny in the left shoulder to load the bases.

“Serves the little sicko right,” Katelyn muttered as Danny jogged to first, rubbing his new bruise.

Hunter followed with a clutch two-run single that had the Orioles on their feet and whooping. Katelyn popped out to the third baseman and Sammy struck out on a nasty curve by Billy. But Mickey followed with a sharp single to left and decided to try for second when he saw the left fielder bobble the ball momentarily.

He made it in safely with a showy pop-up slide, then smiled and pumped his fist. The Orioles dugout was a sea of noise now, everyone up on the top step, whooping and slapping hands and chanting, “MICK-EE! MICK-EE!”

Well, not everyone. One kid was conspicuously absent from all the celebration. And that kid sat at the end of the bench with his arms crossed and a towel over his head, glowering.

Sorry, Zoom, Mickey thought. This time it’s not all about you.

It was still 3–3 in the fourth inning, the Orioles coming to bat, when Zoom suddenly rose and began stretching his shoulder and windmilling his arm.

The rest of the Orioles watched him and nodded to one another.

The unspoken thoughts rippling through all of them were: Good. Zoom’s coming in to lock this baby up. Danny’s looking shaky again. Good move by Coach. He taught Zoom a lesson—sure, a powerful lesson—about the need to be a better teammate and not be such a jerk.

But now it was time to bring the heat and win this game.

Mickey’s dad watched Zoom impassively for a few seconds.

Then he looked down the bench and said, “Sammy, go warm up. You’re coming in for Danny.”

It was hard to tell who was more stunned, Sammy or Zoom or the rest of the Orioles.

Sammy hadn’t pitched since the third game of the season, when Danny was home sick and Sammy had to come on in relief of Gabe. Now he was looking at Coach as if to say, You’re kidding, right? This is all a joke?

Zoom seemed even more confused. Slowly, he sank back on the bench and let out a low moan. He leaned forward and buried his face in his hands again.

But this time when he looked up, all the rage and defiance were gone.

This time there were tears streaming down his face.