Robbie’s heart pounded as the first Blue Jays batter stepped in against him.

Thanks for the heads-up, Dad, he thought. What did I get, a whole nine pitches to warm up?

Then he realized his dad probably did him a favor by waiting until the last minute to tell him he was relieving Mike. That was the smart thing to do with wacko pitchers who couldn’t throw strikes. Don’t give them too much time to think. Just run them into the game. And hope they throw the ball near the plate and get someone out.

Not that there’s any pressure on me, he thought. He looked over at the Orioles’ cheering section, which was into the game for the first time all season. Then he turned and checked out his amped-up teammates, who were on their toes and pounding their gloves and hollering encouragement.

No, he thought, all I have to do is close out our first win—maybe our only win of the whole season.

Or else everyone on the team will hate me forever.

“Time!” Joey said suddenly and shuffled out to the mound.

“You okay?” he asked. “You look like you’re gonna faint.”

“I look that good, huh?” Robbie said. He managed a weak grin. “I’m okay. Just a little nervous, is all.”

Joey nodded. “Okay,” he said, “we’ll make it easy on you. If I put down one finger, you throw the fastball. If I put down two fingers, you throw the fastball. If I put down three fingers—”

“Let me guess,” Robbie said. “Fastball?”

“Correct,” Joey said. “Just throw like you did before the game. Fire it in there. Don’t worry about anything. Remember, this is the Loser Bowl. No Babe Ruths in their lineup either.”

As Joey shuffled away, Robbie shook his head in amazement. Joey was possibly the dumbest kid he’d ever known. But he was a great catcher. And every once in a while the big guy was capable of uttering simple truths that could both calm and inspire his teammates.

He’s right, Robbie thought. No Babe Ruths in that lineup. What’s there to worry about?

Just the usual stuff, it turned out.

He walked the first Blue Jays batter on four balls. He walked the second on five balls. Now he could feel his face getting hot and the sweat starting to trickle down his cheeks. Here we go again, he thought. He realized he was squeezing the ball so hard his hand ached.

Luckily, the Orioles caught a break when the third Blue Jays batter swung at a pitch a foot off the plate and hit a weak dribbler to Jordy for the first out as the runners moved up.

“How could you swing at that?!” Robbie heard the Blue Jays coach say as the kid slunk back to the dugout. “Their pitcher just threw nine straight balls! Don’t help him out!”

Robbie suppressed a smile and thought: Leave him alone, Coach. Heck, that kid’s got my vote for MVP of the game.

“TWO MORE OUTS!” Willie shouted, and now the rest of the Orioles took up the chant: “TWO MORE OUTS! TWO MORE OUTS!”

Like it could ever be that easy, Robbie thought.

Somehow he managed to get two quick strikes on the next batter, who wasn’t about to swing after the tongue-lashing his teammate had just received. But Robbie followed that with four straight balls outside, and the batter trotted down to first as the Blue Jays dugout erupted.

Bases loaded.

Winning run on first base.

“TIME!” a voice cried. Ray Hammond popped out of the Orioles dugout. When he reached the mound, his voice was surprisingly gentle.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Oh, you know,” Robbie said, wiping his face with his sleeve. “I’ve been better.”

His dad grunted. He took the ball and rubbed it up with both hands for several seconds, looking thoughtfully at his son. Then he handed the ball back and said, “I know you can do this. But you have to know you can do it.”

With that he turned and walked slowly back to the dugout.

Out of the corner of his eye, Robbie could see his teammates glancing at each other uneasily.

“Two more outs!” Willie shouted again. But he sounded tentative now. And Robbie noticed the chatter behind him had decreased noticeably in volume.

Robbie was pitching tentatively, too, almost trying to will the ball over the plate now. He took so much off his fastball that the next batter promptly slapped a single to right that drove in two runs.

Tie score: Orioles 2, Blue Jays 2. The noise from the Jays dugout was deafening. It grew even louder moments later when, still trying to aim the ball, Robbie walked the next batter on five pitches.

Bases loaded.

Again.

Winning run just sixty feet away.

Now Robbie was furious with himself. He slammed the ball into his glove and stalked around the mound. That’ll never happen again, he vowed. If I get beat, I get beat. But it’s going to be with my best stuff.

He was still seething when the next Blue Jays batter dug in. Robbie’s first pitch was a fastball right down the heart of the plate. The kid took a big swing. But there was no catching up to this kind of heat, not with Robbie this pumped.

Strike one.

The next pitch was another missile that the kid missed by a mile.

Strike two.

Behind him, the Orioles’ hopes began to flicker again. This was the hardest they’d seen Robbie throw all season. At least for right now, he looked like a completely different pitcher from the jittery kid with flop sweat who had started the inning.

Now Robbie wasted a couple of fastballs outside, hoping the kid would chase a bad pitch. Didn’t happen. The kid didn’t swing at the next pitch, either, which just missed low and away.

Now the count was full. Robbie stared in at the batter and murmured, “You have no chance to hit this. None.”

He kicked and fired another missile, maybe his fastest pitch yet. The kid held up again. But the pitch appeared to catch the outside corner of the plate.

For an instant, the crowd seemed to hold its breath. So did the Orioles. Robbie leaped in the air.

Come on, ump! he pleaded silently. Ring him up! Stee-rike three!

But the umpire’s right hand didn’t move.

“BALL FOUR!” he said. And now the runner on third was smiling and bounding to the plate with his hands raised in triumph as the Blue Jays poured out of their dugout to celebrate.

Game over.

Final score: Blue Jays 3, Orioles 2.

Robbie walked off the mound in a fog. He was still in a fog as the two teams lined up and slapped hands, the Blue Jays whooping and laughing, the Orioles stunned and downcast.

A dozen thoughts raced through his mind. It was all so unbelievable! They were the losers of the Loser Bowl. How bad did you have to be to do that?

And to lose to the freaking Blue Jays! And all because he blew a two-run lead. No, his teammates would never let him forget this one. They’d never forgive how he let them down.

And what about Willie? Was the little guy serious about quitting baseball forever now that the Orioles had lost to the worst team in the league? That’ll be my legacy, Robbie thought sadly. Psycho kid pitcher causes teammate to quit the game he loves.

He watched as the rest of the Orioles silently gathered up their equipment and trudged off, some of them turning to look at him and shake their heads sadly.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. Looking up, he saw it was his dad. “That was a tough call,” Coach Hammond said quietly. Now someone else was at his side too. It was Marty, telling him not to worry, it was just one game, he was still a great pitcher, he just had to work on a few things and everything would be fine.

But Robbie didn’t feel fine.

He thought he was going to be sick.