“Why the sad face?” I asked.
“Because I haven’t told Daddy that I might not join the Marines.”
I shook my head.
“Your dad will support you no matter what you do.”
“But he always was so proud of me when I said I wanted to be just like him,” she said, getting to the root of the problem.
“Do you really want to be in the Marines someday?” I asked.
“I thought I did; now, I’m not so sure.”
“Who says you can’t do both?” I asked.
She became quiet for a moment before responding.
“Sort of like you.”
I wasn’t sure if she was slamming or praising me. I decided to just nod.
“You’re right,” she said. “I don’t have to one hundred percent decide right now. I can take veterinarian classes and still join up if I decide to later.”
“You can still train me, too.”
“I guess I could,” she admitted and looked happy for the first time since we sat down.
“I need to ask you a favor,” I said to change to the topic.
“This doesn’t have anything to do with what you told Chrissy and Gina to do after Prom, does it?”
By now, hearing how fast the girl network worked no longer surprised me. I shrugged off her jab and powered through with what I wanted to ask.
“When I was in LA, I talked to a psychic. He suggested I ask you to start working with the little ones for their safety. Coby has been getting physical with other kids at daycare that he sees as bullies,” I explained.
Cassidy thought about it for a moment.
“I’d like that. When I’m done with them, no bully will dare cross their paths,” she predicted.
“Slow down. I was hoping you would curb that maim-and-chaos approach and maybe get them to focus on only using it for self-defense instead,” I suggested.
Cassidy rolled her eyes at me, which caused me to give her a stern look.
“Fine,” she conceded.
Why did I have visions of little ninjas exacting justice on the unsuspecting public?
Suddenly, a random thought jumped into my head: that would make for a great movie or TV concept. There were already turtles and spy kids. Why not tiny ninja do-gooders?
◊◊◊
Our second-round game in sectionals was against Saint Viator. I’d had to do a quick Internet search to discover it was a Catholic college-prep school located in Arlington Heights, a northwest suburb of Chicago.
Because Saint Viator had to make such a long drive, we were starting the game at seven. The game was being picked up by the Sports Network, which was a streaming service that broadcast local sporting events.
Before the game, I’d been asked to sit down with Corey Wilier, their color man who would be broadcasting the game.
Corey: “Joining me is David Dawson, this year’s Gatorade Baseball Player of the Year and MVP of the Pan Am games.”
David: “Thanks for having me.”
Corey: “I read that you’ve accepted a scholarship to play football at Oklahoma. Do you plan to also play baseball?”
David: “If I can. My first love is baseball. I just can’t turn my back on my football potential, though.”
Corey: “I’ve talked to several professional scouts, and they project you as a possible late first-round draft pick to third- or fourth-round. Have you considered playing baseball professionally and skipping college?”
David: “If the money was right, I would have to consider it. As I’m sure you’re aware, where you’re drafted can lock you in, income-wise, for a long time. The way things stand, I plan to go to Oklahoma.”
Corey: “Lincoln High hasn’t been this deep in the state playoffs since 1965. Do you think this might be the year you finally win it?”
David: “That’s a good question. It is our ultimate goal, but I’ve learned that you play the game in front of you and don’t look ahead. Saint Viator is one of a handful of teams that could actually win it all this year. I look at their lineup, and they really don’t have any holes in it. They’re also well-coached. This game will go a long way toward determining who wins state this year.”
◊◊◊
“You forgot to thank God,” Jeff teased.
“I hate those interviews when they simply assume you’ll win. You and I both know that if I didn’t do my ‘aw shucks, they’re the best’ routine, they would use it as poster material to kick our butts.”
“Are you going to win?” Jeff asked for my usual prediction.
“I honestly don’t know.”
“Why’s that?”
“In football, we have a week to prepare. I watch the game film of our opponent and help break it down so I learn their strengths and weaknesses. In a sense, up until now, I’ve had some idea as to how good the opposing team is. At this point, I really can’t tell how good Saint Viator is.
“I would guess they’re are damned good to have made it this far. All I know is we’re ready. I’m just not sure if it will be enough,” I explained.
“All that bullshit aside …”
I grinned.
“We’ll win,” I predicted. “I just can’t say by how much.”
“Good luck,” Jeff said and let me go get ready for the game.
◊◊◊
From the get-go, we were in for a battle. During the first three innings, we’d both left six runners on base, and the score was still 0–0.
This was one of those games where the pitchers struggled. Each team left two runners on base in each of those first three innings because our defenses came up with plays when we needed them. That was the hallmark of a good team.
In the top of the fourth, Saint Viator had another runner in scoring position at second base. Phil was on the mound and looked to be tiring. Moose had decided to let him remain in because we had our next game tomorrow if we won.
Saint Viator’s next batter hit a line shot between Don and me. When it was hit, I recognized that if it wasn’t caught, it would be at least a double and score their runner at second. For a split second, Don and I locked eyes, and he could tell I planned to go for it. That meant he had to back up the play, which caused him to take an angle behind where I was running toward to make a grab for the ball.
It became apparent that I wasn’t going to make it, so I grabbed my glove and threw it at the ball. No one was more surprised than me when I actually knocked it out of the air. I scooped up the ball and fired it to my cutoff man, who turned and fired home. Tim scooped up the ball as it bounced in front of the plate and spun to tag the runner out.
Saint Viator’s other runner was smart. He hadn’t slowed down when he got to second and tried to pick up a base. Most high school teams would have been caught flat-footed, and he would’ve made it to third without a problem. High school catchers would usually have been congratulating themselves for making the play at home.
Tim, on the other hand, had his head in the game and fired to third. Saint Viator’s base runner realized he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar and let Ty tag him out to get us out of the inning.
Or so I thought.
The umpires all got together and ruled that I’d intentionally thrown my glove. The kicker was that ALL runners were awarded three bases for that. It meant Saint Viator scored a run, and their other runner was now on third.
This was the sort of mistake that could turn a game against you. I was happy when their next two batters struck out. I was even more thrilled that when I got to the dugout, no one said anything about my bonehead play.
In our half of the fourth, we got one man on but couldn’t score. That meant that Bryan, Wolf, and I would be up in the fifth. It felt like we had to get a run, or we might not get another chance.
In the bottom of the fifth, we were still down 1–0.