Next up was Bryan Callahan. Mike concentrated more on his pitching because he knew Bryan was a better batter than Yuri was. Not that Yuri was a weak hitter; he simply didn’t have the experience Bryan did. Mike threw over to first twice. I acted disinterested in stealing and was able to get back without having to dive in the dirt.
That was when I noticed Mike had a tell. If he was going to first, he held his hands further from his body than if he planned to throw to the plate. I watched three pitches to confirm my observation and then signaled to Coach Haskins that I could steal on him. He gave me the green light. When Mike’s hands settled closer, I broke as he began to move. Mike caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and tried to hold back the throw. It would have been a balk if he had, which would’ve meant I took the base anyway. Instead, he threw it into the dirt.
A catcher’s mitt isn’t designed to handle a grounder; that’s why they try to block them like a hockey goalie. The ball caromed off the catcher’s leg pad. Coach Haskins waved me to continue to third. The catcher lunged for the ball and knocked it further towards first base. He finally grabbed it and came up throwing. I reached for the back of the bag. It was a bang-bang play, and the third-base umpire indicated safe.
The Wesleyan coach lost his mind and ran onto the field. I called time before I made a mistake and got called out. The umpire called it and then turned to face their coach. The cocky look had been wiped off Mike’s face. Their coach finally gave up and returned to his dugout. Mike was so shook-up that he walked Bryan.
Bryan took a lead at first. I just stood on third until Mike looked over his shoulder at Bryan. That was when I began to sneak down the third base line. He held his hands in the way that indicated he planned to throw to first. When he twitched, making his move, I broke for home. Mike was instead going to third to try to pick me off. Well, oops.
Bryan had played enough baseball to know to take off towards second. The third baseman caught the ball and fired it home. I stopped on a dime and darted back towards third. Meanwhile, Bryan rounded second and ran for third. The catcher moved to throw it back to third when I whirled and came straight at him, screaming at the top of my lungs and holding my hands up high. The poor kid was sure he was going to be run over; apparently, my reputation from football for hitting hard preceded me. If I could jar the ball loose, I would be safe. The catcher squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself for impact. I dove around him, held my hand out, and touched the corner of home plate.
“Safe!” the umpire called.
The catcher turned to complain just as Bryan took his legs out from under him as he dove for home.
“Safe!”
Mike threw his glove into the back of the catcher. I smiled when their teammates had to separate them. It looked like Mike was making new friends. I laughed all the way to the bench. I hadn’t seen that bad a play since Little League. You would think by high school, the catcher would keep track of where everyone was. It was bad enough he let me score, but Bryan, too … that was just insane.
Jim was up next. When Mike threw at him, Mike got a warning from the umpire. His coach had had enough and sent him to play second base.
Their next pitcher got Mike out of the jam and retired the side. Then Justin took down theirs in order. It got interesting in the fifth inning. Mike was up first. Justin earned his way back onto my Christmas card list when he drilled Mike square in the back. That one hurt.
I was at a full run when Mike turned and got ready to charge the mound. He saw me and ran to the dugout. Rather than chase him, I stopped at Justin and shook his hand. Justin was booted, along with Moose, and Bryan came in to pitch. We were up 4–3.
On his first pitch, Bryan gave up a two-run home run to give Wesleyan a 5–4 lead. That’s where it stood until the bottom of the seventh, the last inning. Up to this point I’d been hit and had walked three times. It was time for some heroics. We managed to get a runner on, and there were two outs when I came up again.
The crowd began their chant.
I walked up in the role I’d been born to fulfill. Even my archenemy looked like he was about to be sick. I dug in with my back foot and prepared to go down as a legend in my own mind. Everyone was on their feet like it was game seven of the World Series. Damn, the Cubs needed me for this very situation.
The pitcher ignored the runner. He shook off the catcher twice before he settled on the pitch he wanted. The ball looked good to me as it left his hand. I began my stride, and everything felt like what I’d practiced hundreds of times. My bat was flat through the zone, and I felt the contact. I heard it before I saw it.
Shit!
Instead of the satisfying ‘crack,’ there was a ‘tink’ sound. I’d missed the ball, making contact a bit under, and hit a long high fly ball to center field. As I ran down the baseline, I prayed as the ball seemed to go higher, and the center fielder drifted back. I took a little hop when he reached the fence. The ball seemed to lose power and dropped into the glove of the center fielder. The Wesleyan players rushed the field and swarmed their center fielder.
We weren’t going to win them all. We lined up to shake hands, but Wesleyan ran off the field. Mike apparently wasn’t the only jerk. Coach Haskins handed me a Sharpie, and I wandered over to the stands and signed autographs. The first person in line was Kendra Bianco.
“I gave you an autograph last night.”
“We wanted to know if you were free for dinner tonight.”
I motioned for Melinda to join us and Kendra asked again.
“Tami told me you were all going to a pizza place,” Melinda said.
“It sounds like the team is going to Monical’s. You’re welcome to join us. It’s not fancy, more of a family-oriented place,” I said in case they expected something else.
Kendra said that would work.
◊◊◊
Everyone had waited for me on the bus. Moose had made it clear that I should make sure to sign autographs until there were no more to be signed. Since the Star Wars video, everything had changed. It really was a big deal to be associated with that franchise, even if it was only as a potential member of the cast.
I talked to Jim, and he said the plan was for us all to go to Monical’s, and then to the party at State.
I arrived home to be swarmed by my niece and nephews.
“Unca David, we get kitty,” Kyle told me.
“You got a kitty?” I asked.
“I wuv it,” he told me earnestly.
“So does that mean you get a horse?” I asked Mac.
She squealed and ran to her mom so she could tell her she was getting a horsey—’cause Unca David said.
If looks could kill. Maybe I could talk Zoe into letting her think one of their horses was just for Mac to ride.
Mom told me that Melinda was in my apartment. Greg stopped me before I ran up.
“You really do suck,” he told me.
“I was only teasing about the horse,” I said.
He ignored my deflection.
“Where did you find this one?” he asked.
“I did a photo shoot with her. She is kinda cute,” I said, playing it off.
“Dad said she’s a Victoria’s Secret model.”
“Dad better be careful, or Mom will superglue his junk to his leg,” I said. “She has talked to Kendal.”
“Tell me she’s terrible in bed,” he persisted.
“I can’t do that,” I said, meaning I wouldn’t tell him about my sex life.
“You’re killing me.”
“You better be careful, or Angie will take care of you, and not in a good way,” I warned.
“I know, I know … it’s just … damn … sometimes I’m jealous of the hot women you spend time with.”
“You had your share. You also get to wake up next to Angie each morning and have three little ones who love you to death. I see what you have, and I’m jealous.”