CHAPTER 8

When I woke up the next morning it took me a moment to remember why I was feeling so sad. I thought maybe I’d try to find Dad, but I didn’t see him around anywhere. By noon I was dressed in my uniform and driving to the field.

We were playing a team we knew well, the Carson City Capitals. If they televised games at our level, the Caps would probably get lots of airtime because of one player, their right fielder Bo “Beast” Bronsky. That dude is fun to watch if you want to see power.

The Beast is totally developed into his adult size, which is almost six and a half feet tall and around 240 pounds. One time I asked Carson Jamison, our pitcher, what it was like to pitch against Beast. He laughed.

“Embarrassing,” he said. “If he catches one it’s going to go a long way.”

In fact, he’d had one measured last year at 456 feet.

“But you know,” Carson went on, “he’s a football player too. Hitting moving objects is what he’s all about. It’s like a reflex, so he’s not disciplined. He strikes out a lot.”

We didn’t take the rest of the Capitals lightly, either. Tim Pesci was a fine hitter who batted right after Beast and drove in a lot of runs. And they had a lefty pitcher, Brian Groh, who was already getting scouted. He had three pitches—a wicked fastball, a slider, and a change. And he could locate all of them. Groh would be pitching against us today.

 

. . .

When I got to the dugout, Coach Harris looked totally focused on the game. You wouldn’t have thought he had anything else on his mind. I did my best to follow his example, even though I wasn’t in the lineup.

Coach had put Dave Teller, our utility man, in my spot at short. Dave is quiet, careful, and unspectacular in every way, but he is solid and consistent. He’d start with most of the other teams at our level.

A couple of guys came up when they saw the lineup. “Trip, you hurt?”

“Nah,” I said. “Just getting a rest.”

As the game got underway, it felt strange to be watching from the dugout. I thought I’d feel relief at not having to play; instead I just felt kind of antsy, like didn’t have anything to do. Wash must have noticed, because he came over with his notebook and asked me to keep score.

On the very first pitch—Carson was on the mound—the Cap batter hit a high hopper to short. Dave let it play him. He caught it awkwardly close to his chest, and by the time he got a handle on the ball the runner was safe at first. It would have been a hard play for anyone to make, let alone someone who wasn’t used to playing there.

The second batter struck out, and then the hoots and yells from the crowd started as Beast Bronsky came to the plate. He swung and missed at the first pitch, but the swing was like everything else about Beast: huge. You could almost imagine a breeze coming from the direction of home plate. But Carson handled him. Beast got under the 2–2 pitch and hit a mile-high fly to center. Danny could have made a phone call while he waited for it to come down.

Tim Pesci then hit a sharp grounder to short, and this time Dave handled it smoothly and tossed to second for the third out.

We came to bat, and it was clear right away that Brian Groh had his stuff. Darius got called out on a third strike. Gus popped to second. And Nellie—no Beast, but plenty powerful—fanned on three straight pitches. He came back to the dugout shaking his head and talking to himself: “Whoa, Nellie, slow down next time, okay?”

Carson held them in the second. Dave doubled in our half, but we left him stranded. When he came back in the guys said, “Nice hit, what did you do?”

Dave just laughed. “I have no idea.”

It was shaping up to be a pitchers’ duel when Beast led off the fourth. Carson tried to sneak a first-pitch fastball past him, but the big man was all over it. Everyone heard the metal clank of the bat, and the crowd began yelling. Carson didn’t even look back to see how far it went. And Sammy in right didn’t leave the spot where he was standing; he just turned around and watched it sail away. It was 1–0.

That was still the score in the top of the fifth, with two outs and the Caps’ number-two hitter at the plate. A scary power hitter often makes life at the plate better for the guys who hit immediately before and after them. Since power hitters get walked more often, the batters who follow them see men on base more often and have a better chance to do some damage.

The hitters right before the power guys, well, pitchers have extra incentive to throw them strikes. First, they don’t want a guy on base in case the big man dings one. Second, with two outs—and this was the situation here—they can get out of the inning and avoid facing a Beast until the next inning, when he’s guaranteed to come up with the bases empty.

So what I’m saying is Carson wanted the Caps’ pre-Beast hitter out in a special way. He wasn’t going to try fooling him with pitches off the plate and risk a walk. Unfortunately he missed his spot on one and the batter knew what to do with it, lining it just over the fence near the foul line in left. Beast struck out, but the damage was done, and we trailed 2–0.

There was no change until we came to bat in the bottom of the eighth. Then, like rainclouds on the horizon after a drought, we noticed signs that Brian Groh was tiring. He walked the first two batters. Carson was due at the plate, but Coach had already decided his day was done.

“Costas,” he called down the bench. “You hit for Jamison.”

I jumped up and grabbed a helmet and a bat, took a few practice swings and took my place in the batter’s box. Since Groh had started tiring he was missing mostly high. I thought I had a good chance to walk like the others, but I was also looking for one that might stray to where I could hit it. On the third pitch, with a 2–0 count, I got it. A fastball up and over the plate.

It felt good when I hit it, but I didn’t look up till I was near first, and I saw the ball rolling into the gap in left center. I made it into second standing up; both runners scored, and we were tied.

The Caps brought in a reliever, but our offense seemed to be rolling now. By the time we were out of the inning, we led 5–2. I played short for the ninth inning, while Shotaro came in to relieve the pitcher and retired the side in order.

Sweet, right? I should have felt great, but I didn’t.