Losing a game felt about as good as getting kicked in the teeth. Losing to the Haymakers felt worse. Like maybe getting kicked in the teeth by a horse with brick hooves.
Real bricks would have been nice. We could have used them to build a shelter from the wind.
As it was, we ducked into the dugout for our traditional postgame huddle. My cheeks stung like they’d been rubbed with sandpaper, they were so raw from the blow. My eyes watered and my nose ran. It reminded me of a corny joke my dad liked to tell.
Question: “Why was the kid called the upside-down boy?”
Answer: “Because his nose ran and his feet smelled!”
I was about to share the joke with Ducks, when Skip Lou clattered down the dugout steps to give his postgame pep talk.
“You guys should be proud,” he said, tucking his clipboard under his arm. Behind him, clouds of dust swirled across the infield. “You played hard in really difficult conditions. Slingshot pitched a great game. We had lots of good at bats. Don’t let the final score get you down. It’s a long season and we can’t expect to win them all. Especially not against a team as tough as the Haymakers.”
Gabby scribbled his words in her notebook. I knew they’d find their way into her game report and that I’d read them in the paper in the morning. I wondered if Gabby noticed the one thing Skip left out of his speech. Namely Stump’s tough day. What was there to say, really? When your shortstop commits four errors, the best thing to do is try to forget it.
I glanced over at Stump. Sitting by himself off to one side of the bench, he stared at the cement floor hard enough to crack it. While I watched, Mr. Bones jumped up next to him. My dog licked my friend’s face like it was an ice-cream cone. Normally that will make anyone laugh. But Stump didn’t even crack a smile.
I guess he really didn’t want the attention, because he suddenly jabbed his elbow at Mr. Bones. The dog yelped and leaped out of the way.
I jumped up from the bench. Mr. Bones was just trying to be friendly. Everybody knew that. Stump had no right to take out his frustration on Mr. Bones.
“I’m sorry!” Stump exclaimed before I could say anything. He looked like a graveyard at midnight: spooked. “You know I would never touch Mr. Bones!”
“You just did,” I pointed out.
My face burned. And not just from the wind. Everybody was staring at us.
“I didn’t mean to!” Stump cried, flapping his right arm wildly.
“Stop doing that!” I shouted.
“I…I…I can’t stop!” he said as his arm continued to jerk and jiggle like a hooked fish.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I’ve been trying to tell you,” Stump cried. “My arm has a mind of its own!”
When he said that, all the air seemed to rush out of the dugout. None of us said a word. None of us moved a muscle. None of us breathed. The dugout suddenly felt like a coffin, tight and airless and perfectly still. The stillest place on earth in the middle of the windiest day on record.
It might have stayed that way forever. Except for one thing. Stump’s right arm. It flung itself away from him as though it meant to leave his body for good. Then, like a dog reaching the end of its leash at a full sprint, it gave a mighty jerk and fell flat.
“I’ve got it bad,” Stump whispered. “Real bad. I’ll never be able to play in the All-Star Game!”
My jaw dropped. My heart dropped with it. Those bad throws he’d made hadn’t been flukes. The wind hadn’t taken him. He had a full-blown case of the yips, for sure. I’d heard stories about the yips actually taking over a player’s arm. Making it twitch like a dog with fleas. But I’d always thought they were urban legends. Now I knew it really could happen. My anger turned to dread. There was no known cure for the yips.
“Of course you’ll play in the All-Star Game,” said Skip Lou. “Everybody muffs a throw now and then. It’s nothing to get all upset about.”
He meant to be comforting, but I could tell Stump didn’t buy it. I didn’t either.
Probably better than anyone, I understood how Stump felt. Once I’d fallen into a hitting slump so deep and dark, it made Carlsbad Caverns seem bright. Carlsbad Caverns is a series of deep caves in the state of New Mexico. They plunge hundreds of feet below the earth and stretch for miles and miles in every direction. They’re also full of bats. Compared to that slump I had, or to Stump’s case of the yips, those caves are sunny.
Forget about locusts and crazy wind. The number one thing we needed to worry about was Stump. We had to find a way to cure him.
And we had to do it fast.
Before the All-Star Game.
The only question was…how?
We filed out of the dugout and onto the bus. From time to time during the ride home, a gust of wind tried to push the bus off the road. A cow or two sailed past the windows. But we all were too gloomy to pay much attention.
Stump, Slingshot, and I sat in our usual places in the back. Mr. Bones curled next to Stump, his head resting in Stump’s lap. Mr. Bones is not the type to hold grudges.
Gabby finally broke the silence.
“Stump,” she said softly, “I hate to bring it up, but I’m going to have to mention your game in my story.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Stump said dejectedly. “Write what you saw.”
“Nothing personal, you know. If you don’t mind, I’d rather just leave the yips out of it. It doesn’t seem right to go there.”
“To me it looked like the wind,” I said. “Gave everyone fits today. The ball did crazy things.”
“Definitely,” Gabby said.
Stump started to say something, but I cut him off.
“You saw how those fly balls behaved,” I said firmly. “It was the wind, all right.”
Gabby nodded.
We said no more on the subject.
The minute Skip Lou pulled up at Rambletown Field and cranked open the door, everybody cleared out of the bus. Nobody said anything, but I could tell the guys wanted to put some distance between themselves and Stump. Fast. Nothing like the yips to kill a party. Not that the game or ride home had been much of a party.
More like a funeral.
Picking our way around branches downed by the storm, Stump, Slingshot, and I went to get our bikes. The wind hammered less forcefully than before. When I turned my back to it, my ears didn’t get folded into origami.
The yips weighed so heavily on my mind that it took me a minute to notice that more than the wind had quieted.
“Hey,” I said. “You guys hear that?”
My friends cocked their heads and listened.
“I don’t hear anything,” Slingshot said after a few seconds.
“Exactly,” I agreed. “The buzz is much fainter.”
We jumped onto our bikes and rode onto the diamond to have a look around. Mr. Bones charged ahead of us. He must have thought he was finally going to get a shot at those critters.
“Whoa!” Slingshot whistled as we wheeled toward the mound, which the wind had lowered by a good three inches. The whole field looked like it had been run through a blender.
Grasshoppers had torn the turf to smithereens. Sections of outfield wall lay toppled by the storm. Beyond the field, in Rambletown Park, uprooted trees sprawled every which way, their branches tangled like the tentacles of giant squids spit out by the sea.
“Three days until the All-Star Game,” Slingshot said.
“The grass will never grow back in time,” Stump said. “Not that I’ll be playing. Grass or no grass.”
From the distance came a familiar whine.
Slingshot nodded toward a cluster of large trees still standing beyond the ruined wall. Packed tightly together, they’d shielded one another from the storm and survived without damage.
“It’s coming from there,” he said. “The wind must have picked up the grasshoppers and swept them into those trees.”
“Think they’ll come back to the field?” I asked.
“Not unless the wind changes direction,” Slingshot said. “Even if it did, there’s not much left for them here.”
Mr. Bones ran barking around the dirt. Dust puffed up at his every step. The diamond looked more like a giant sandbox than a place to play ball.
“They’re gone, boy!” I called. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
With that, we turned our bikes into the breeze and headed for home. When we reached our block, Stump and Slingshot peeled off one way, and Mr. Bones and I went the other.
“See you guys tomorrow,” I said.
Slingshot waved.
Stump did, too.
At least I think he did. His arm definitely fluttered. But for all I knew, it might have been the yips.