Moose had me move back to my regular position. We were now into the heart of State’s order and what should be their best batters. Justin threw a big curve that was smoked. Fortunately, it rocketed right to Yuri who threw his glove up in self-defense and caught the ball. Our guys almost bounced off the field, they were so happy we’d taken them down in order the first inning.
The crowd came to their feet when I stepped out of the dugout, and Thunderstruck began to play. I admit to being an attention-hound sometimes, and when they played the song before I batted, it fired me up.
I waited for the stomping and singing to stop before stepping into the batter’s box. Moose had warned me they would try to throw a fastball by me to start the game. I’d been practicing with the pitching machines set at maximum. If I could hit those balls, I could hit a college pitcher. I took a deep breath and remembered everything I’d been taught. It gave me a rush when I saw that Moose was right.
I heard it before I saw it—the sound of a ball well hit. The pitcher’s head snapped around as he watched the ball rise out of the park. He was pissed that a kid had just gone yard on him. Our fans acted like we’d just taken the lead in the World Series. I’d never heard so much noise at a baseball game. My entire team waited for me at home plate. The State infield was out at the mound, talking to their pitcher to calm him down.
He did just that and got our next three batters out. State hadn’t scored when I came back up in the third with two outs and no one on. Coach Haskins signaled for me to bunt. State respected my power and played their infield deep. I’d hit six home runs in my last six at-bats, information the announcer so helpfully provided. I think it surprised everyone when I squared around to bunt and laid it down the third base line. The third baseman almost killed the pitcher as they both arrived at the ball at the same time. I was easily safe.
The State pitcher hadn’t had to face a baserunner all game. Coach Haskins wanted me to steal if I got the chance. On the second pitch, I took off. If the catcher hadn’t thrown it high, he would have gotten me. With two outs, I’d be going on the sound of contact. Yuri hit the ball hard up the third base line. Coach Haskins waved me home. The outfielder tracked the ball down and came up throwing to the third baseman. He spun and threw home. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the ball bounce into the catcher’s glove. I didn’t try to sneak in but used my size, strength, and speed to run him over. Something I was really good at was hitting someone on a football field. The ball went sailing to the backstop.
The pitcher ran to get the loose ball as Yuri rounded second. He came up throwing, but Yuri beat the tag. We were now up 2–0.
State complained that I wasn’t allowed to run over the catcher. They were right, of course, but I hadn’t made it obvious what I was doing; I’d reached for the bag. There was also a rule that a fielder couldn’t block the basepath. The umpire pulled in his colleagues, and they talked it over. They decided to let the call stand.
Bryan was up next. He, too, laid down a bunt. Yuri was held at third, but Bryan was able to safely reach first. Jim was now up. He hit one over the head of the first baseman. Because Bryan was running on contact, he was able to score from first. Jim had a stand-up double. We were now up 4–0, and that was how the inning ended when Brock struck out.
State did manage to score three times to make the final 4–3. They were gracious in defeat. Baseball is a funny game. Any given day, you can be beaten; it just wasn’t their day. With our extra pocket money, we celebrated by going to Monical’s for pizza. We invited the State players to join us, and some of them did. They were good guys, even if they did eat a lot of pizza.
◊◊◊ Monday April 11
I got my picnic table to paint; Wolf showed it to me before school. They’d painted the top and seats orange and the supports blue like I’d asked. My idea was to paint our bulldog logo in the center of the table. Stacy said she would pencil it in for me; it made it sort of like paint-by-numbers, which I could handle. When we were done, Wolf would have the shop class seal it to protect the design.
As I walked into the building, I found Pam leaning against the wall in the hall, holding her back. She looked about ready to pop. The doctor had said she would have our baby either this week or the next.
“You need me to rub your back?” I asked.
She looked up and nodded. Pam made happy moaning noises as I massaged her lower back.
“This baby better come soon. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”
“How’s our boy doing?”
“I think he’s trying to kick his way out,” she said. She grabbed my wrist and pulled my hand to her side so I could feel him kicking.
“Whoa, he’ll probably be a soccer player.”
“Or a swimmer,” Pam said.
One of the reasons Pam and Lacy had moved into their condo was that it had a pool. Pam planned to have our child in the water at an early age. She loved to swim, and I was sure our son would share that love.
We’d also hashed out what we were going to name him. Pam had a friend who had died named Jacob, Jake for short. His nickname had been ‘Otter’ because of his love of water. I added Jeffrey as a middle name to honor my best friend, who had also died while swimming. We were torn as to whether we would call him JJ or Jake. Pam also suggested we call him Ott, short for Otter. She said otters were fast, clever, loveable, and sneaky. Her explanation put a smile on my face. Other suggestions were Coby or Jeb as a nickname for Jacob. I liked Jake, but Pam pointed out that Greg’s youngest was Nate. She was afraid they would get confused. I finally made the calclass="underline" Coby.
Something we’d decided for sure was his last name would be Dawson and not hyphenated with Pam’s last name. I was willing to do it, but Pam decided he didn’t need two last names.
She and Peggy had finished preparing a bedroom for Little David and our son. We’d set up another bed in the kid’s playroom for when Pam spent the night. I’d also put together another crib in my apartment. I doubted they would let the boys spend the night with me, but was prepared if they did. Dad just shook his head at me. I don’t think he was telling me everything.
◊◊◊
Today was my day to host another lunch-buddy table. I’d agreed to do it once a week. The other hosts were Johan, Jan, Zoe, and Brit. I was happy to see that my table held a mix of people who I didn’t know very well and who didn’t hang out together. It was working out like we intended, in that people met each other and possibly found new friends.
Ms. Jaroslav, our guidance consoler, had given us techniques to facilitate as hosts. The goal was to get people talking to each other. The hard part was drawing out some of the shyer ones. Ms. Jaroslav planned to follow up with the participants and get feedback.
◊◊◊
After baseball practice, I was at the dojo getting the crap beat out of me by Coach Hope. I think he enjoyed teaching me to box. Actually, it was me learning to fight in cramped spaces where I couldn’t move. It forced me to stand toe-to-toe with Coach and punch. Cassidy had taught me to use my superior athletic skills to move in a way to avoid most blows. When I’d been forced to face off with the boxer in the tight confines of the airplane, it highlighted my need to be able to deal with close quarters. I wouldn’t always be able to dance out of danger, as Coach Hope called it.
It wasn’t all bad, though. Coach Hope couldn’t run from me, either. He was a bull of a man and outweighed me by at least twenty pounds. One benefit of using a weighted Bo staff was it had strengthened my wrists and forearms. Combined with quickness, that translated into punching power. I’d watched Coach Hope walk right through punches Fritz had thrown. He’d learned quickly that I had more pop in my punches. The problem was that once he was in range, he could pound my body with devastating effect. It was the classic case of speed and jabbing ability against brute strength.