“Dude, you smacked yourself! With your own glove!”

“Yeah, that was awesome!”

“It was almost as crazy as Dog Boy gnawing on his shirt!”

It was two days after their win over the Yankees, and the Orioles were loosening up before practice on a field behind York Middle School. Moments earlier, Coach Hammond had gathered them on the bench to announce they’d be playing a best-of-three series for the championship against the Red Sox, who had beaten the Braves, 6–2, behind a two-hitter by Billy Burrell.

The mention of the Red Sox elicited a spirited round of booing. More boos greeted Billy’s name, especially when Coach called him “probably the best pitcher in the league—no offense to Robbie, of course.”

Naturally, everyone had then glanced at Robbie, who leaped to his feet, held up two fingers on each hand and started chanting, “We’re number two! We’re number two!” to much laughter.

Now, as they played catch on the sidelines, the hot topic of discussion was Connor’s post-error antics against the Yankees, which everyone agreed belonged on America’s Funniest Home Videos.

And it might just get there, Connor thought, thanks to Melissa Morrow.

“When you dropped that throw, I thought you’d lose it again for sure,” Willie said.

“So did I,” Connor said, shaking his head at the memory. “I was so mad at myself.”

“So how’d you keep from exploding?” Jordy asked.

“I’m not exactly sure,” Connor said. “It was like a little voice in my head said ‘Stop! Think what you could lose!’”

“You hear little voices inside your head?” Marty said. He pretended to edge away from Connor. “Now you’re really starting to scare me.”

“I know it sounds wack,” Connor said. “But it worked. I felt better right away.”

“Oh, sure,” Willie said, rolling his eyes. “I can definitely see how hitting yourself with a hard piece of leather would make you feel better.”

“All right, gentlemen!” Coach shouted. “Big game Friday. Let’s do some hitting.”

For the next hour, the Orioles took batting practice, with Coach Hammond on the mound throwing fastballs and breaking balls and even a few changeups to keep them on their toes.

Coach had been a pretty good high school pitcher, and he fired the ball in there to each batter, trying to give them a taste of what Billy Burrell would be throwing. Some of the Orioles were hesitant about digging in against Coach—you could see how fidgety they were in the batter’s box. But Connor was so locked in he hit three balls over the fence and ripped line drive after line drive with his fifteen swings, causing Coach to grin and shout, “He’s tearing the cover off the ball!”

They followed batting practice with a half hour of infield and outfield practice, and then Coach called them together near the pitcher’s mound.

“Time to work on our trick play,” Coach said.

The Orioles looked quizzically at each other and then back at Coach.

Finally, Jordy said: “Uh, Coach…we don’t have a trick play.”

“We do now,” Coach said. “We’ll call it the ‘X Play.’ It might even win us the championship; you never know.”

They could tell Coach was excited. “All right, pay attention,” he said. “We’ll use this play when we have base runners on first and third and fewer than two outs. The runner on first breaks for second, okay? Halfway down the line, he’s going to trip and fall down.”

“Coach, we already have that play,” Willie said. “It’s called ‘The Marty Loopus.’”

As laughter erupted, Marty took a deep, theatrical bow and said: “If anyone needs tips, I’m available after practice.”

“No,” Coach continued with a smile, “the runner’s going to pretend to trip and fall. Which means he has to do a really good acting job. And as soon as the catcher throws down to second to nail that guy, the runner on third breaks for home and scores. Everybody got it? Okay, let’s practice it.”

For the next thirty minutes they worked on the play, each Oriole taking a turn as the runner on both first and third. Coach showed them exactly where on the base path they should trip and fall, and how to make sure the catcher’s throw went all the way through to second base before breaking for home.

“The Red Sox could have a trick play of their own to counter our play,” he warned. “They could have the pitcher take the throw from the catcher and nail our runner on third. So you have to be heads-up.”

Finally, Coach pronounced himself satisfied that they had the play down pat, although he said none of them would win an Academy Award for his tripping performance.

“And here I was hoping you’d be calling me ‘Hollywood,’” Willie said with a grin.

When practice was over, Coach gathered them on the bench once more. “Well, this is it, guys,” he said. “Just two more wins and we’re the champions. We’ve had a terrific season. But it’ll be even sweeter when we beat the Red Sox in this series. Play hard Friday, use your heads, and keep your emotions under control. If you do that, I have no doubt you’ll be come out on top. Okay, hands in the middle….”

Connor wondered if that business about keeping your emotions under control was meant for him. But by the time the team huddled up, put their hands in the middle, and shouted “ONE, TWO, THREE, ORIOLES!” he decided Coach was simply reminding all of them to stay calm in the upcoming games, no matter what happened.

As they were leaving the field, they passed the Red Sox players, who were just beginning to straggle in for their own practice. Leading the way was Billy Burrell, flanked, Connor noticed, by his usual surly mini-posse.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the Snoreoles,” Billy said when he spotted them. Kyle and Marcus snickered on cue.

“You think that up all by yourself?” Jordy said.

“Yeah, that’s a good one,” Willie added. “Your brain must be tired.”

Billy stopped and glared at them. “You won’t be laughing when we’re holding the championship trophy,” he said. His eyes locked on Connor. “And you, Psycho Sully,” he snarled. “I’ll be ready for you this time, too. Unless you get thrown out of the game again.”

Connor moved toward Billy, then caught himself. No, stay cool. Deep breath. He could feel himself getting furious, but all he did was grin. Bullies, he knew, hated when you grinned at them. A grin showed you weren’t afraid.

“Nice to see you in a good mood again, Billy,” Connor said. “This is two times in a row. That’s a personal record, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I am in a good mood,” Billy said. “Just picturing that trophy. See you soon, losers.”

Billy walked away, Kyle and Marcus trailing behind him like obedient Labrador retrievers. No, that’s an insult, Connor thought. To Labradors.

As the rest of the Orioles drifted out to the parking lot to get their rides home, Connor, Jordy, and Marty headed for the bike rack behind the school. There they came upon a disturbing sight: both the front and back tires of Connor’s bike were slashed.

A jagged piece of broken bottle lay nearby. Connor bent down to examine it.

“Don’t touch it!” Marty said. “The police can dust for fingerprints.”

“You’ve been watching too much CSI: Miami,” Connor said. “Like the cops are going to drop everything to investigate a kid’s vandalized bike.” He tossed the glass in a trash can and looked down at the two gaping holes in the knobby rubber tires.

“Who could’ve done this?” Jordy said angrily, looking around.

“I have a pretty good idea,” Connor said, staring back at where the Red Sox were practicing.

“You gonna tell Coach?” Marty asked.

“Nah. No proof. But now I’m even more psyched to play the Red Sox. They’re taking this whole thing very personally, aren’t they?” Connor unlocked his bike and sighed. “In the meantime, guess I’ll be walking. Or riding with Australian Carol.”

Jordy looked at him and shook his head. “This new attitude of yours, C,” he said. “You sure you didn’t knock a screw loose when you smacked yourself?”

“Maybe I did.” Connor pulled out his bike. “But at least now Marty isn’t living by himself in Bizarro World.”

“Hey, welcome to my planet, bro!” Marty said.

Then all three boys laughed as they started walking their bikes home together.