Barry hated to see Friday afternoon come. It was the day of the game with the High Street Bunkers — the day he had to hit two home runs off Alec Frost or avoid striking out twice. Otherwise, good-bye glass dog.
What terrible odds Alec had given him! I seldom strike out, Barry thought, but I’ve never hit two home runs in a game in my life!
Another terrible thing was that he couldn’t even pretend he was sick and stay home. He had to play.
Dressed in his blue uniform, his glove stuck in front of his pants, he walked with Susan to the ballpark. Neither one of them said more than three or four words all the way. It was windy, and Barry had to pull his cap down tight to make sure it wouldn’t blow off.
Both teams took their batting practice, then fielding practice, and, at exactly four-thirty, the game began. The Peach Street Mudders had first bats, and Barry, as usual, led off.
He saw that smirk on Alec’s face and wished he could wipe it clean off with one hot drive right at him. Or maybe one hot long one over the left-field fence.
Alec breezed the first one by him for a called strike. Then he steamed in two pitches that just missed the outside corner. Two balls, one strike.
Alec paused, then steamed in another pitch. “Ball three!” bellowed the ump.
Barry stepped out of the box for a moment, feeling good. Maybe Alec will walk me, he thought. At least it won’t be a strikeout.
Alex pitched. “Strike two!” cried the ump.
Barry took a deep breath. He really had to watch this next pitch. It came in. Barry swung. Whiff!
“You’re out!” shouted the ump.
Barry walked out of the box, feeling sick. One more strikeout and he — and Tommy — would never see that dog figurine again.
Turtleneck singled, and José got on by virtue of an error. Then T.V. flied out, and Randy struck out to end the top of the first inning.
Barry picked up his glove and ran out to left field, pulling his cap down tight again to keep the wind from blowing it off. It was blowing from right to left, an advantage for a left-handed hitter because the wind would tend to keep his ball in fair territory, a disadvantage for a right-handed hitter because the wind might blow it foul.
Only Tony Workman, the Bunkers’ third batter, and Alec, batting cleanup, got on base, but neither could score during the bottom of that inning.
Nicky Chong led off for the Mudders in the top of the second inning and flied out to center. Barry stepped out of the dugout, put on his helmet, and leisurely picked up his bat as he waited for Alfie to take his batting turn.
Alfie struck out. Oh, man, Barry thought. Alec’s on a roll today. He’s already got three strikeouts, including me.
Left-hander Zero Ford, the Mudders’ pitcher, lined Alec’s second pitch between first and second for a single, and Barry stepped into the batting box. Again he saw that smirk on Alec’s face, but he tried to ignore it. Just pitch it to me, Smart-Alec, he thought.
Alec did. “Strike one!” cried the ump.
In came another. “Strike two!”
Barry’s heart pounded. He stepped out of the box, tapped the end of the bat a couple of times against the plate, then stepped in again.
Alec pitched. It looked like another strike.
Barry swung. Crack! The ball left his bat and zoomed out between left and center field. Deep … deep … deep …