The double play seemed to have given Abe new energy. He threw four pitches to the next Wolverine batter. The first was a ball. The second zoomed past for a called strike. The batter clipped the third, sending it foul for strike two. He whiffed on the fourth pitch, a blazing fastball that socked into Manny’s glove with a satisfying pop to make it strike three—and game over!
The Grizzlies infield surged toward Abe, laughing and cheering. The Wolverine batter, meanwhile, kicked at the dirt. Then his coach appeared at his side, put a consoling arm around his shoulders, and led him to their dugout.
Manny watched them with an envious eye. Would Coach Flaherty have done that if it had been one of our batters? Probably not.
He pulled off his catcher’s mask and joined his teammates in the dugout.
“Nice pitching, Abe!” Kiyoshi Satou, the third baseman, was saying as Manny sat on the bench.
Abe grinned but pointed a finger at Manny. “He’s the one we should be thanking,” he said. “Seriously, Manny, you jumped on that bunt so fast I thought the batter told you what he was going to do!”
Manny leaned forward to loosen his leg guards. “He sort of did, I guess.” He explained about the cleat taps.
Sean Wilson whistled in appreciation. “I can’t believe you picked up on that.”
Stu sat down next to Manny and gave him a friendly clap on the back. “That’s our Manny—always using his keen powers of observation to get one step ahead of the other guys!”
Coach Flaherty approached the dugout then. He was smiling with satisfaction. “Good game, boys, good game,” he said in his booming voice. “It was a close one, but you pulled it off. Now take a seat so I can tell you what you have to do to win us that championship title.”
So much for the celebration, Manny thought as he moved over to make room on the bench.
The coach waited until they were quiet before speaking. “We’ll be facing the Sharks on Wednesday. They’re a tough team, but under normal circumstances I’d say we could beat them.” He crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. “Unfortunately, we may be playing under circumstances that aren’t normal—not for us, anyway.”
The Grizzlies looked at one another, puzzled.
“I’ve just finished talking with Jason’s father,” the coach explained. “Jason’s not here today because he has Lyme disease. You know what that is?”
“He’s allergic to citrus fruits?” left fielder Gary Thompson asked.
Everyone broke up laughing.
Coach Flaherty remained stone-faced. “I doubt Jason would think that was funny,” he said. “If it’s not caught in time, Lyme disease can lead to terrible health issues like swelling of the joints, memory loss, and erratic mood changes.”
The players sobered up at the thought of Jason experiencing any of those problems.
“Did they catch it in time with Jason?” center fielder Patrick McGwire asked.
“They did,” the coach replied, “but only because he recognized one of the early symptoms, a red bull’s-eye rash that surrounds a tiny tick bite. The good news is that he is on medication now, so he’ll be fine. The bad news is he’s not sure when he’ll start feeling up to playing ball again. That means one of our subs may be starting at shortstop against the Sharks.” He searched the Grizzlies until he found Sean Wilson. “Are you up for the job, Wilson?”
Manny saw Sean swallow hard. “I-I think so,” he stuttered.
The coach grimaced. “You think so? Well, are you or aren’t you? Because if you aren’t, I can choose someone else!”
Sean straightened. “I am. You can count on me!”
His voice rang with confidence. But later, after the meeting had broken up and the players were gathering their gear, he looked anxious.
Manny noticed his discomfort. He nudged Stu. “He doesn’t look too good, does he?” he whispered, jerking his chin toward Sean.
Stu glanced over at the sub. “He looks like he’s going to be sick!” Stu stood up. “Come on. If we’re going to win that championship, we’ve got to get him in tip-top shortstop shape!”
Stu walked over, planted himself in front of Sean, and said, “Tomorrow’s Sunday, so there’s no official practice. But can you meet me and Manny at Belford Park at two o’clock in the afternoon?”
Sean looked from Manny to Stu and back. “Why?”
Stu threw an arm around Manny’s shoulders. “We’re going to teach you everything we know about playing shortstop, that’s why!”
Sean blinked. A small smile tugged at his lips. “Really? You’d do that for me?”
Stu snorted. “Dude, you’re part of our team. The better you play, the better we do as a team. So we’re doing it for us—all of us.” He let go of Manny. “So, two o’clock? I’ll bring some baseballs. Manny, you bring a bat, and we’ll all bring our gloves.”
Sean was grinning broadly now. “Two o’clock at Belford Park,” he said. “I’ll be there!”