The weather during the parade had been picture-perfect, but on Thursday morning, Carter woke to see gray clouds scudding across the sky. By nine thirty, the clouds had darkened to an angry black.
“Think the opening ceremonies will get rained out?” Charlie S. asked Carter as they dressed in their Mid-Atlantic uniforms.
Carter hoped not. He liked the pageantry of those ceremonies almost as much as the Grand Slam Parade.
The parade had been a blast. The streets had been packed with fans. Though the signs and banners in support of the “home” team from the Mid-Atlantic Region outnumbered those for the other regions, the cheers and applause had been for all the players. The best moment for him, however, was seeing the astonished look on Ash’s face when Coach Harrison delivered Liam’s message.
“Do you think he really meant what he said?” Ash asked Carter later.
“Absolutely,” Carter assured him.
Ash chewed his lip. “Do you think I should stop worrying about him and focus on playing awesome baseball?”
Carter laughed. “Absolutely!”
“Then that’s what I’ll do.”
“Me too,” Carter said.
Miraculously, the storm held off, and the opening ceremonies started at eleven o’clock as planned. First up was Dugout, the Little League mascot, who led flag bearers around the infield of Volunteer Stadium. Then, as the song “It’s a Small World” piped out of the loudspeakers, all the teams marched onto the field behind their banners, the players waving their caps at the crowd. The umpires joined the teams on the field, too.
After that, the mayor of South Williamsport gave a short speech. The mayor of Williamsport followed with a speech of her own. The Little League president and finally the league’s chairman of the board also spoke. All congratulated the players on their achievements, thanked the parents and volunteers for their support and tireless efforts, and offered their hopes for a competitive yet fun-filled tournament.
They also talked about the opportunities for the players to make new friends. “We are proud and honored to welcome people from all over the world to this baseball haven,” the chairman said as he gestured to the fields and buildings nestled snugly at the foot of a mountain. “In the days ahead, the players from our sixteen teams will have the chance to learn about the different cultures represented here today.” He smiled. “And if previous tournaments are any indication, one of the top questions will be ‘What’s your favorite food?’ ”
Laughter rippled throughout the stands and the players and officials on the field.
“A second question often is ‘Who is your favorite player?’ ” the chairman went on. “After recitation of the player and Parent and Volunteer pledges, it will be my pleasure to introduce you to one of mine.”
Most of the pledges were given in English, but others were in the teams’ native languages. As Carter listened to Kita Hiro from Japan, he was struck by how different Japanese was from English—and impressed when he overheard the boy speaking English to one of his team hosts later.
If I get the chance, I’m going to ask him to teach me some Japanese phrases, he decided.
His thoughts were interrupted then by a final announcement from the chairman. “Ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm welcome to one of my favorite players—Nathan Daly!”
Carter applauded wildly as an athletic-looking man trotted to the mound. Nathan Daly was a legendary professional pitcher. He’d been at the top of his game four years ago, his incredible fastball serving up more strikes than any other hurler at the time. His image had graced the covers of several sports magazines, the arresting stare of his grass-green eyes and his nearly white blond hair making him instantly recognizable.
Then two seasons ago, he stunned the baseball world by announcing his retirement. Fans had been up in arms—until they learned the reason why.
Daly’s young wife had cancer and wasn’t expected to live. Nathan Daly chose to be with her during the time she had left. It wasn’t long. Six months after she was diagnosed, she passed away with Nathan by her side.
Daly kept out of the spotlight for a while after that. Recently, though, he’d put his glove back on and taken to the mound again—not as a professional player, but to help raise funds for cancer research.
“I can’t believe he’s here,” Carter said excitedly to Ash. “He started his career in Little League, you know, just like us!” He watched as Daly went through his windup and threw to the catcher. “Man, what I wouldn’t give to pitch like him.”
Ash nudged him with his shoulder. “Dude, you keep throwing the way you do, and someday you will.” He nodded as if the truth of this statement was evident. “You will.”
“I’d be happy just to meet him.”
As the words were leaving his mouth, Carter glanced at the West players. There he saw a sight he’d never seen before: Phillip DiMaggio staring in openmouthed adoration.
In the past, Carter had seen Phillip look smug, had watched him swagger with self-satisfaction, had endured his arrogant comments. But see him follow someone with worshipful eyes? Never!
“Guess he’d like to meet him, too,” he murmured.
“What’d you say?” Ash asked.
“Nothing,” Carter replied. “Just thinking out loud.”
The ceremonies concluded. All but two teams made their way to the Grove dining hall for lunch. Mexico and Canada were scheduled to play the tournament’s first game at one o’clock at Volunteer Stadium.
As Carter passed the nervous players, he gave them a big smile and a thumbs-up. “Good luck!”
“¡Sí!” Charlie S. echoed in Spanish, “¡Buena suerte!”
A few of the Mexican players nodded at Charlie S. with appreciation. “¡Muchas gracias!” one called back.
Charlie S. waved his hand. “¡De nada!”
Carter stared at his teammate. “Since when do you know Spanish?”
Charlie blushed. “My grandmother has been teaching me since I was little. I promised her I’d use it here if I could.”
Just then the team from Japan made its way past them, the players chatting excitedly in their native tongue. Charlie S. and Carter smiled and waved to them, and they returned the gesture with slight bows and wide grins.
“Guess you don’t always need to speak the same language to get the message across,” Charlie S. commented.
“But we do speak the same language, remember?” Carter spread his arms wide as if to embrace their surroundings. “Baseball!”