“What about Lincoln?” Jeff asked.
“Their biggest concern is pitching depth. They can run out two solid starters, and they need to rely on them to make it to at least the fifth inning to have a chance. Not that the freshman pitching relief isn’t good enough, it’s just they haven’t faced playoff baseball. Their lineup is solid, as far as hitting goes. If Bryan Callahan can hold Eastside in check, they should have enough to advance,” I said.
“Aren’t you forgetting that Dawson kid?” Jeff teased.
“He’s a flash in the pan. He’ll hit two home runs and maybe steal a base tonight.”
“What about Eastside?”
“Eh, they’re okay,” I said and shrugged, then looked around at the other reporters who were listening in.
“Not too high on them? Could it have anything to do with them being Lincoln’s biggest rival?”
“I didn’t even consider it,” I said to some chuckles.
Jeff changed the subject, and we talked a little football. He caught me up on his grandkids and how much they liked their baseball cards. We talked about the game as it went on. St. Joe had gotten to the Mt. Vernon pitcher in the first inning. They were up 5–1 at the bottom of the third when I had to go get ready.
◊◊◊
Sandy Range had sent me some new gear to try out. I usually wore sliding shorts to prevent road rash. What Sandy sent reminded me of the lacrosse pants I wore under my football gear. They had extra protection on your hips, butt, and outer thighs, and had a pouch you could slide your cup into. The shirt was formfitting and had additional padding on my ribs and back. I’d explained to Sandy that those were the two spots that really hurt if you were drilled with a baseball. She assured me this new protective shirt would help. I decided to try them out today because if anyone would throw at me, it was Eastside.
Sandy had also included a new batting helmet with a face guard similar to a football helmet. I wasn’t sold on it until she’d sent me a compilation video of batters getting hit in the face. It only took a couple of cringe-worthy hits to make me a believer. I showed it to Moose and Coach Haskins, and they asked if she could send more. My only complaint at first was it was a little distracting, but once I wore it a few days in batting practice, I was fine.
She had also sent me what she called a ‘batting sleeve,’ an elastic arm sleeve that covered you from wrist to bicep. It had hard plastic inserts to protect your forearm, elbow, and upper arm. When I had it all on, I felt like I was wearing my suit of armor. I worried at first that it would affect my swing, but it was surprisingly comfortable. I was ready for battle.
◊◊◊
Moose let us know it was the top of the seventh, and we needed to get to the field. We were in time to see the final out. If we won, we would play St. Joe on Saturday. I led us out onto the field to warm up.
Bryan Callahan was a little shaky in the first inning. He gave up a single to their leadoff man. Their next batter hit a long fly ball over my head that bounced off the fence. I played it off the wall and threw it to my cutoff man, Brock. The guy on first had to hold up in case I caught it, or he would have scored. Brock chased the batter back to first, so we had the bad guys on first and third. The next batter hit a grounder to Jim. Instead of taking the double play, he threw to home, and Johan tagged out the runner trying to put up the first score. That left runners on first and second. Another grounder and we turned the double play to get out of the inning.
What worried me was that every batter had hit the ball. It was essential that Bryan settle down, or they were going to put up big points for sure.
“Batting first for Lincoln High is … David Dawson!” was announced over the PA.
That was when my song started. Our fans were on their feet cheering and then began singing along with the intro to Thunderstruck.
Eastside’s pitcher was a tall kid who could really whip the ball. He threw the first two pitches low and away for balls. I made sure my back foot was dug in because this was a hitter’s pitch. I guessed right; he tried to get me to chase a high hard one, but I laid off. Now he had to either walk me or throw me a strike. He should have walked me. He tried to sneak a changeup over the plate, and his head snapped around to watch it leave the park.
That was when I had my ‘Ruh-roh’ Scooby-Doo moment. Whoever was running the PA embarrassed the pitcher. Brian Johnson’s voice rang out, declaring that the pitcher had been … well, you know—Thunderstruck.
Our crowd loved it. The Eastside pitcher’s neck and face turned red. As I ran around the bases, I held up my hands in apology. Moose was just as red-faced and sent Coach Herndon to track down whoever was running the sound for the game.
Luckily, Bryan settled down, and the Eastside pitcher was pitching lights-out. In the bottom of the third, it was still 1–0 when I came up to bat. Nick had had a good eye for the ball and drawn a walk. He’d taken second on a passed ball and then third on a groundout. There was one out, and I expected everyone assumed I would be left to swing away and hopefully put two runs on the board. This was where Coach Haskins’ experience came into play.
Nick was quick and seemed to know what he was doing on the base path. Coach Haskins called for the suicide squeeze bunt. That meant that on the motion to the plate by the pitcher, Nick would head for home. It was my job to bunt the ball into play. With the infield playing back, because of my power, it was a good call.
Well, it would have been, if the pitcher hadn’t decided to hit me. If it had been a normal situation, I would have turned away from the pitch, and the pitcher would have plunked me in the back or butt. Since I turned to bunt, the ball hit me in the front. In the nuts.
“Oh, shit!” their catcher exclaimed.
I collapsed more out of muscle memory than any real pain. With the cup and Range Sports’ new protective gear, I was fine. Did I know I’d been hit in the nuts? You bet! Anytime the twins are socked, even with a cup on, it stuns you.
I popped up, and their catcher must have thought I planned to charge the mound because he tried to tackle me.
“What the hell?!” I said.
“Stop! I said, STOP!” the umpire yelled.
The catcher had me wrapped up, and that was when I saw their pitcher charging in to hit me with a haymaker while I was being held. Screw that! I did the unexpected: I dropped straight down and basically did the splits. The pitcher hit his catcher square in the nose, which caused him to let go of me to grab his face, which was now a bloody mess. I did what Cassidy always threatened to do to me when she was in this position (thank God she never did): I punched the pitcher in the nuts. Should’ve worn a cup, dumbass.
I popped up and jogged to first. I looked over, and Moose had blocked the dugout entrance so our team was still inside it. Eastside had started to clear their bench, expecting a fight. They stood in stunned silence because it was over so fast. Most times, there would have been a lot of wrestling and holding onto each other.
Coach Herndon was the first base coach.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine.”
All the umpires huddled up to figure out what to do while the Eastside training staff worked on their two players. I was happy when they kicked both the catcher and pitcher out of the game. The umpire warned me, and both coaches, that if anything happened in retaliation, we would also be kicked out. I’d never seen them single out a player like that before, but I wasn’t arguing because I did hit the kid.
The whole incident threw Eastside off their game. Their new pitcher and catcher were not in sync. There were two passed balls in their next three pitches. Nick had scored, and I was now on third. Bryan walked, so we had runners at first and third. Jim came up and hit a double that cleared the bases to make it 4–0. That ended up being the final score.