You put your hands down, that’s what you did wrong,” Mr. Teacy answered grimly. “You do that when you’re sliding and you’ll snap your wrist in two or jam and scrape your fingers! Ever try catching, throwing, or batting with a broken wrist or bloody, bent fingers? Not so easy. Lift your hands and cup those fingers like you’re holding an egg in each palm.”
Syl did as he was told. Now he was sitting in the dirt with one leg bent beneath him, the other out in front, and his arms held high. “Like this?” he asked, wobbling as he tried to balance on his hip.
Mr. Teacy blew out an exasperated breath. “You slide on your backside, not your leg! The seat of your pants should be filthy when we’re through! Now raise your right foot higher. Bend that right knee when you hit the bag! You keep it straight like you did before and you’ll destroy the joint, guaranteed.”
Once more, Syl made adjustments to his position. Mr. Teacy circled him a few times and then nodded. “Better. Now get up.”
Syl lowered his hands, intending to push himself up.
“No!” Mr. Teacy roared. “Use your legs to pop you up, like you would in a real slide!”
Syl tried his best to get to a standing position by just using his leg muscles. But he couldn’t.
“Just get up,” Mr. Teacy finally said. “You think you can put everything together? Do a slide that will get you safe on base?”
“I think so,” Syl said, but his voice lacked confidence, even to his own ears.
Mr. Teacy snorted. “Well, we’ll see. Back to home. I’ll watch from here.”
Syl hurried to home plate. At Mr. Teacy’s signal, he took off running. To make sure he went as fast as he could, he pictured Mr. Teacy chasing him. The tactic worked magic. He chewed up the base paths faster than he could have imagined possible.
When he reached the point for his slide, he bent his left leg, dropped onto his backside, held his hands high with cupped fingers, and reached out with his right foot for the bag. His momentum was just right, carrying him across the dirt and past where Mr. Teacy was standing. His aim was right, too; his toe tagged the bag but didn’t sail over it. When it touched, he let his knee give a little to absorb the impact. Best of all, he managed to pop up to a standing position—without using his hands.
“I did it!” he crowed.
“You did it once,” Mr. Teacy corrected. “Do it again.”
Sylvester’s second slide went just as well as his first—and so did the one after that, and all those that followed. After his tenth trip down the base paths, sliding felt so natural it was as if he’d known how to do it all along.
But when he said as much, Mr. Teacy looked at him like he was crazy. “Anyone can slide into an empty base,” he scoffed. “How will you do when you face a player protecting the bag? Or when you’re trying to steal?”
Sylvester’s happiness evaporated. “Guess I still have a lot to learn,” he mumbled.
To his surprise, Mr. Teacy smiled. “That’s the first smart thing I’ve heard you say all day,” he said. “The ballplayer who thinks he knows everything is the ballplayer who finds himself sitting on the bench.” He folded his arms across his chest. “You were lousy at bunting. We fixed that. You were lousy at sliding. We fixed that. Are you lousy at stealing, too?”
“I don’t know,” Syl mumbled.
Mr. Teacy snorted again. “That’s closer to a yes than a no,” he said. “So tell me, if you’re a runner planning to steal, what part of the pitcher’s body should you watch?”
“His shoulders or his head,” Syl replied confidently, “because he’d turn to look at me.”
“You’re only half-right,” Mr. Teacy said. “An inexperienced right-handed pitcher will turn his head and shoulders in order to look at first base. If he’s going to throw to first for a pickoff, his head and shoulders will rotate even farther in that direction. But if he’s going to pitch, he’ll turn back—and bam!” He slapped his fist into his palm. “That’s when you take off!
“But,” he continued, “if you have a pitcher who knows what he’s doing, you watch his feet. If he’s a righty, he’ll lift his front foot before he pitches.” He demonstrated by raising his own foot. “When it goes up, you go! But,” he added, “if the back heel comes up, get back to the bag fast because chances are, he’s about to pivot and throw to his first baseman.”
“That makes sense,” Sylvester said, nodding. “But what if the pitcher is a lefty?”
“A southpaw is already facing first base so he doesn’t have to pivot. Watch just his front foot. He’ll raise it and then step toward home plate if he’s pitching —”
“— or toward first if he’s going for the pickoff, right?” Syl finished.
Mr. Teacy nodded.
Syl looked at the empty mound. “Too bad Mr. Baruth isn’t here to pitch. Then I could work on bunting, sliding, and stealing.”
Mr. Teacy’s good humor ebbed away. “You don’t need him to do that. Get on the mound and pitch it to me. Field the ball, pitch again, and then cover second.”
Wondering what Mr. Teacy had in mind, Sylvester found a ball and trotted to the mound.
Mr. Teacy strode to the batter’s box. He hefted his bat and glared at Syl.
“Pitch!”