As promised, Coach Birdy had posted lineups for the red and blue teams on the locker room wall by the time everyone began arriving for practice on Tuesday. Bailey Warner, Alex, and Johnny Ellis—the relief specialist—were listed as pitchers for the reds. Matt, Ethan Sattler, Don Warren, and Patton Gormley were on the blue team. Each was scheduled to throw forty pitches.
“I don’t want any of the pitchers throwing too much,” Coach Birdy explained when they gathered on the field. “It’s still March, and it’s cool. Plus, we’ve got a game on Friday, and I don’t want Bailey throwing more than eighty pitches in the first game. Which probably means we’ll need at least a couple of guys to come in behind him.”
Bailey Warner was the number one returning pitcher, so he would start the opener. That made sense. Alex wondered who would start game two the following Tuesday.
For the scrimmage, Coach Birdy had the pitchers batting last in the rotation. Alex knew that wouldn’t be the case when the real games began—especially when Matt was pitching. In the second inning, Warner was close to his allotted forty pitches when Matt came up with men on first and second and nobody out. None of Warner’s first three pitches came close to the plate.
“Come on—give me something to hit!” Matt growled, stepping out of the batter’s box.
Warner said nothing. He checked the runners and threw what looked to Alex like his best fastball, right down the middle. That was a mistake. Matt, batting righty because Warner was a lefty, turned on the pitch and hit a wicked line drive toward the left-center field gap. Alex figured it was going to drop in for a two-RBI double, but the ball kept rising.
And rising. It cleared the wall by about a foot as everyone stood and stared.
Jonas, who was playing center field for the reds, had raced into the gap as if he could make a play on the ball. He had no chance. Now he stood and watched as it sailed over the fence.
Matt jogged around the bases. He didn’t showboat—just put his head down and circled the infield quickly. Warner watched him, hands on hips, saying nothing. Coach Birdy, who was umpiring behind the plate, turned to Alex as Matt touched home plate.
“You’re in, Myers,” he said. “Warner, that was forty-one pitches. Come on out.”
“You couldn’t have gotten me out at forty?” Bailey said as he walked in the direction of the dugout. Everyone laughed. At least, Alex thought, Bailey still had his sense of humor intact.
Alex was glad to face the top of the order to start his stint on the mound, if only because it meant he didn’t have to pitch to Matt. Andy Hague was leading off for the blues, and happily for Alex, he swung at an outside fastball on the second pitch and grounded it weakly to second base. That helped quiet Alex’s jitters. He struck out the next two batters and walked into the dugout feeling very pleased with himself.
He got a few pats on the back, but most of the talk was about Matt’s home run off of Bailey.
“Did you see that?” Jonas asked, without even saying what “that” was.
“I was right here, Jonas,” Alex answered. “It would’ve been hard to miss.”
“Dude was wasting his time playing football,” Jonas said, ignoring Alex’s stab at sarcasm. “I mean…”
“Yeah,” Alex said.
He was trying to think of something else to say when he heard Coach Birdy’s voice: “Myers, you’re on deck. Grab a bat.”
Alex had forgotten he was due up second in the inning. Ethan Sattler had pitched the first two innings for the blues, but now it was Matt’s turn on the mound. Alex watched from the on-deck circle while Brendan Chu, the starting right fielder, took a strike down the middle, then hit a weak ground ball right back to Matt, who quickly threw him out at first.
Alex stepped into the batter’s box. He hadn’t seen enough of Matt the previous day to really have a sense of how hard he threw—although the two fastballs he’d thrown Chu had whizzed in with plenty on them.
Alex dug in and waited for the first pitch. Matt came out of his windup and whipped a pitch that appeared to be headed right for Alex’s chin.
He bailed out quickly, bat flying, only to hear Coach Birdy say from behind him, “Strike one.” Matt had thrown a curveball that had broken right across the plate. As Alex got up, feeling a little embarrassed, Matt said loudly, “Never seen a curveball before, Myers?”
Alex had certainly never seen a curveball like that one before. Not very many Little League or junior high school pitchers threw breaking balls, and those who did had very little control of them. Matt’s next pitch started at Alex’s chin again. This time, he hung in and managed to tap a weak foul ball off the end of his bat. Strike two.
Alex stepped out for a moment to gather himself. He wondered if Matt would throw another curve or a fastball. He guessed fastball. Sure enough, the next pitch didn’t start out at his chin but right down the middle of the plate. Alex swung his bat in a perfect arc to connect with the pitch as it crossed the plate, belt-high.
Only it didn’t cross the plate, belt-high or anyplace else. Instead, it took a last-second dip, breaking out of the strike zone and away from his flailing bat. Alex twisted himself into a pretzel, hitting nothing but air.
“That’s called a slider,” Matt yelled as Alex slunk from the plate.
The only good news for Alex was that no one else on the reds could touch Matt, either.
They played six innings in all. Alex gave up a run in his second inning on a double by Jeff Cardillo, a stolen base, and a sacrifice fly. He might’ve been pleased with the way he’d pitched if not for feeling completely inadequate compared with Matt. After they were finished, Coach Birdy told them they’d play another intrasquad game the next day and then have a light practice Thursday.
As they all headed to the locker room, Matt came up to Alex. “Remember what I said about you being the number two starter behind me?” he said.
“Yeah,” Alex said, ready to admit defeat.
“I was wrong,” Matt said, surprising him. “Warner’s better than you too. At best, you’re number three. Better work on your hitting.”
With that, he picked up his pace, leaving Alex in his wake—again.
Wednesday’s practice went a lot like Tuesday’s, and Coach Birdy told them he would post Friday’s starting lineup the next day. Alex figured Bailey Warner would be the starting pitcher. Jonas was clearly the team’s best outfielder. Matt would be in the lineup someplace, but where? Matt had told Coach Birdy his best nonpitching position was shortstop, but the team’s captain—Cardillo—was the shortstop. Alex usually played the outfield when he wasn’t pitching, so he was hoping he’d start in left field, if only because Billy Kellner couldn’t hit at all, even though the only person on the team faster than Kellner—from what Alex had gleaned in three days—was Jonas.
When he and Jonas got to the locker room on Thursday, the lineup, as promised, was posted. Jonas was leading off and playing center field. Warner was hitting third and pitching. No surprises there. Matt was hitting cleanup and playing shortstop. That was a surprise. Cardillo, batting second, was playing third base.
“A little Jeter/A-Rod thing, I guess,” Jonas said. “Except here the starter got moved, not the new guy.”
When Alex Rodriguez was traded to the Yankees in 2004, they put him at third base, even though he’d been a Gold Glove shortstop in 2002 and 2003, for the simple reason that the Yankees weren’t moving Derek Jeter. This time, Coach Birdy had done the opposite, moving the veteran in favor of the new arrival.
Alex looked at the rest of the lineup. Kellner was playing left field and batting ninth. He, Alex, wasn’t starting. Reading his mind, Jonas patted him on the back. “Coach’s just giving the senior the chance to start the opener,” he said. “You’ll start Tuesday. No doubt.”
Alex wasn’t so sure. He’d done okay during the two intrasquad games, but he hadn’t overwhelmed anyone. If Matt was right and he was no better than the number three pitcher, he wouldn’t get many chances to start. Since most of the regular season consisted of Tuesday and Friday games, having just two starters was enough for most teams. Offensively, he’d been okay, but—again—nothing special.
Alex understood that there were a lot of juniors and seniors on the team. They weren’t stars—except for Cardillo, who seemed to get on base every time he came up and was a very good fielder—but they had experience. Alex had to remind himself he was a freshman. He hadn’t even played a game yet. He had to be patient, the way he had been during football season.
“I guess I just have to wait my turn,” he said to Jonas.
“It’ll come soon,” Jonas said. “I guarantee it.”
Alex’s turn came a lot sooner than he had thought it would. Bailey Warner struggled right from the start against Wilmington South. It was a chilly, breezy afternoon, and there couldn’t have been more than a couple of hundred people sitting in the bleachers. Chester Heights’ baseball field was formally called Roy Campanella Field, in honor of the Hall of Fame catcher, who had grown up in Philadelphia.
Alex wondered how Campanella would feel about the honor if he were still alive: There were bleachers that stretched from just outside third base to just outside first base and seats—benches—that, when full, might hold a thousand people. They were nowhere close to full when Coach Birdy turned to Alex as the top of the fourth inning began and told him to get loose.
The score at that point was 5–5. Both Warner and Wilmington South’s starter had been knocked around early. The Statesmen had gotten three runs off Warner in the top of the first, but those runs had been answered quickly when Jonas and Cardillo both singled and, after Warner flied out to deep left, Matt crushed a home run over the right field fence in the first at-bat of his career. He had driven in two more runs with a double in the bottom of the third to tie the score again.
Alex jogged down the right field line with Coach Bloom, who caught for the pitchers when they warmed up during the game. He was nervous. For one thing, it had never occurred to him that Warner would get into so much trouble early. For another, the two intrasquad games had put doubt in his mind about his pitching.
It had never once occurred to him that he couldn’t do the job at quarterback when he got the chance to play during football season. Maybe that was because Matt had put the name Goldie on him right away, or maybe it was because he could see how much better he threw the football than the other quarterbacks every day in practice.
In basketball, he’d known from the first day he practiced with the varsity that he was the team’s best point guard. But this week had been different: He wasn’t close to Matt Gordon as a pitcher or as a hitter, and he wasn’t sure if he was even as good as Bailey Warner, who, at the moment, was having trouble getting anyone out.
That trend continued in the fourth. Warner walked the first two men he faced. He was tiring and afraid to throw strikes.
Coach Bloom stood up from his catching crouch. “You ready, Alex?” he asked.
“I guess so,” Alex said, not exactly sure what “ready” meant.
Coach Bloom turned to the dugout and held his hand up to indicate to Coach Birdy that Alex was warmed up. Coach Birdy started out of the dugout instantly. He walked over to the umpire for a moment, which confused Alex.
“He’s double-switching,” Coach Bloom explained. “You want to throw a couple more?”
Alex shook his head. He’d get five warm-up pitches when he got to the mound. That would be enough—he hoped.
Coach Birdy left the umpire and walked to the mound. He waved at Billy Kellner in left field and took the ball from Warner. Now Alex understood. Warner was a better hitter than Kellner, so he would move to left field and Kellner would come out. Coach Birdy waved his right arm at Alex.
“You’re up,” Coach Bloom said. “Go out there and have fun.”
Yeah, sure—fun, Alex thought. He nodded, forced a smile, and jogged to the mound.