CHAPTER 20

The final on Sunday night was carried by local TV stations on the West Coast, including Vegas. Great! I thought, because I hoped Dad would be able to watch. But Sunday morning he called me to say he was on his way to San Diego.

“Dad, you’re supposed to rest!”

“I am resting, Trip. I’m using the chauffeur, and Pop Mancini’s granddaughter is riding down with me. We’re on the road right now.”

“Lisa? Can she talk?”

“Yo, Trip! Can’t wait to see you!”

“You amaze me, Lisa. Is Dad okay?”

“Now there’s a question with a complicated answer,” she laughed. “But healthwise, he’s doing great.”

“All right. See you tonight. Thanks!”

The final pitted the Roadrunners of Las Vegas against the Seattle Tide. Not a team we knew, and they didn’t know us.

In the bus on the way to the ballpark, Coach gave us his usual scouting report: “These guys have power, and they have speed. It doesn’t always show up. But when it does, look out. We have the same stuff, but you know I talk all the time about consistency. I’m almost a little worried about how easy we’ve had it this week.

“If it’s tough tonight, don’t be surprised. Don’t panic. Dig deeper. Their pitcher has probably the best—no, not the best, but the fastest—fastball round. I’m talking ninety-five on a good day. His change is almost impossible to identify. But he has a tendency to lean on that pitch when he’s behind in the count. So on the first pitch think fastball, then watch the count. Once in a while he’ll try a curve. He shouldn’t, though. If you are fortunate enough to see that pitch, chances are it’s a hanger and killable.”

There was a capacity crowd for the final. I looked around for Dad and Lisa and finally spotted them a few rows back behind the Runners’ dugout. I waved, and they waved back. For just a few seconds I thought about how lucky I was to have a friend like Lisa.

We were the visiting team tonight, decided by a flip of the coin. So we batted first. The six-foot-six Tide pitcher, Brandon Becker, was as fast as advertised. Tonight was going to be a guessing game. With two out, Nellie guessed right and sent a change over the fence in left. So we were up 1–0.

Carson was the star he always thought he was. All of us on the team joked about Carson’s ego. He was confident, which was good. You just didn’t want to be the captive audience when he started talking about himself. But that night would fuel Carson’s self-love for a long time. He was, for five innings, unhittable.

Scouting reports are helpful, but not so much for single, important games. The Tide were used to rolling behind Becker, and when Carson frustrated them they started to get nervous.

In the sixth we brought in our second run on a fielding error and led 2–0. With two outs in the eighth, Carson struck out the batter. At least we thought so, but the ump called a ball and kept him alive. Coach almost got thrown out for arguing. Umps get really defensive when they know they’ve blown a call.

On the next pitch the Tide batter homered. It was 2–1.

In the top of the eighth Becker was still burning them in. It would have been a fun batting exercise, trying to hit ninety-five, if we knew ninety-five was coming. But Becker’s well-disguised change was around eighty. He struck out all three of our batters.

In the bottom of the eighth Carson walked the leadoff guy, who then stole second. He got the next batter on a grounder and the guy after that on an infield fly. But the next Tide batter wouldn’t go gently. He took Carson to 3–2.

Carson has a good fastball—around eighty-five, with a sink on it. But the problem is that Carson thinks it’s even better than it is. If you guess it’s coming, you’ve got a good shot at golfing the ball into the wild blue yonder. When Carson started shaking off Nick’s signals, we all knew what was coming, and so, apparently, did the Tide batter. One swing later, it was the Tide leading 3–2.

I was coming up fourth in the ninth, if it got to me. But then Nellie and Sammy went out and it was down to one—Gus. I think he was at the plate for five minutes, fouling off pitches, taking random time-outs, and doing everything he could to rattle the pitcher. Finally he walked. It was up to me to keep us alive.

I caught some motion among the spectators and looked up. It was Dad, next to Lisa, and he was sending signals. I hadn’t seen Dad do this since I was maybe nine, but I remembered all of them. The signal he was giving me from the seats was “Take!”

I don’t know why, but I did. And the first pitch was a ball. The next pitch was obviously inside for ball two. I looked back at the stands to see Dad signaling “fastball.” What the heck. I dug in and prepared for the heater.

I connected, and from the way it felt off the bat I wasn’t surprised to see the ball clear the fence. The cheering was making me deaf as I crossed the plate. I pointed to where Dad was sitting and took in his grin. I’m not sure I’d ever felt so good about anything before.

The Tide led off the bottom of the ninth with a double. Carson struck out the next guy, but he walked the batter after him. We really needed a double play. But Carson was again shaking off Nick’s signals. Finally Nick called a conference on the mound. Coach came out and all the infielders gathered around.

“What’s going on?” Coach said.

I spoke up. “Carson, everyone knows you lean on your fastball. Shaking off Nick is a tell.”

“Okay,” Carson said to Coach. “What do you want?”

“Do what Nick asks you to do,” Coach said.

The next batter was way ahead of Carson’s curve and wound up striking out. The third guy, a pinch hitter, nailed it, but it went right to Darius in left. We were the champions.

When you win something big, you know there’s a party in your future. And the Runners knew how to party. But instead of celebrating with the team, I ran up into the seats to Dad and Lisa.

Lisa just held me very tight for a minute. Dad had a comical shiner, but otherwise he was a happy man and, he told me, a proud father. I felt years older, and so much happier, than I had just a few weeks before.