by Mike Thaler
CHAPTER 7
Going Batty
Everyone’s pretty quiet on the
bus home. Penny’s not talking
to Eric since he struck her out
five times. Derek isn’t talking to
Penny because she took up
all of recess at bat. Randy has
started figuring out our stats,
and I’m dreaming about when I’ll
be at bat. . . .
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The pitcher looks to the right,
he looks to the left, he lifts his
leg, he raises his arms, and he
hurls the ball right over the plate.
Strike one.
I shake the bat on my shoulder.
I stare straight at him. He looks
to the right . . . he looks to the left.
He raises his leg, lifts his arms,
and hurls the ball right at me.
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I close my eyes and swing with
all my might. Strike two.
Hey! Whose daydream is
this anyway? It’s not strike
two —it’s a hit!
I feel the bat connect, there’s a
loud crack, and the ball is sailing
up into the air. It’s going, it’s
going, it’s gone. The fans go wild
as I circle the bases.
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“You’re home,” says Freddy,
nudging me.
“I know,” I answer, keeping my
eyes closed.
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CHAPTER 8
Hits, Runs, and
Terrors
That evening, Grabber and I
watch a baseball video together
just to get in the mood. It’s the life
of Babe Ruth. He was the greatest
hitter ever. He was so famous.
They even named a candy bar
after him. Maybe they’ll name
gumdrops after me—“Hubie
Beans.”
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That night I have another
dream. It’s the final game of the
World Series. It’s the bottom of
the 9
th
inning and the game is
tied. There are two outs and I
step into the batter’s box.
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But it’s a real box. A big box
and someone closes the lid. It’s
dark.
Outside, I hear “Strike one,
strike two, strike three . . . you’re
out!” I hear all the fans booing. I
never even saw the ball!
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I wake up and my head’s under
my pillow.
It’s Saturday. Time for tryouts!
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CHAPTER 9
Diamonds Are a
Boy’s Best Friend
I get to the ballpark early. No
one’s there. I stand at home
plate and look out over the
field. Soon this diamond will
sparkle with the brilliance of my
skills: batting, catching, running,
jumping, skipping, hopping, and
throwing. I’m going to be the
most valuable player on the
team. I’m going to be a star.
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Eric and his dad arrive. Mr.
Porter has a bag full of bats and
balls. “Go out in the field, boys,
and I’ll hit you a few.” Eric and I
head out. Boy, it’s a long walk.
“Here it comes!” shouts Mr.
Porter. He hits a high fly ball.
“It’s mine!” shouts Eric and he
catches it.
“Good, son,” says Mr. Porter.
“Here comes another one ...”
Crack!
It’s another high fly. “It’s mine,”
shouts Eric, and he runs over and
catches it.
“Good catch,” shouts Mr.
Porter and he hits another one.
This is the highest one yet. It
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looks like its dropping out of a
cloud.
“It’s yours,” I shout to Eric. He
runs over, leaps up, and catches
it. He winks at me and throws the
ball back to his dad.
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“This one’s for you, Hubie,”
says Mr. Porter.
“It’s okay,” I say. “I don’t mind
sharing.”
“Here it comes, Hubie,” says
Mr. Porter, taking a tremendous
swing that lifts the ball high into
the sky.
I don’t even see it for a while.
Then I do. It’s a tiny missile
and it’s heading straight for me.
If I miss this one I’ll never get
another chance. I won’t make the
team. I may not even make the
bench.
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It’s dropping fast. I won’t get
a cap or a team T-shirt. I’ll be the
batboy or the water boy.
Should I run in? Should I run
back? Should I run away?
It’s headed straight for me and
it’s bringing the whole weight of
the sky with it. I hold up Grabber
and close my eyes . . . Whomp!
It lands right in my pocket. I open
my eyes, and there’s a white ball
resting in my glove like an egg in
a nest. I take a deep breath, wink
at Eric, and throw the ball back
to his dad.
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CHAPTER 10
A Rose by Any
Other Name
“Well, what will we call our
team this year?” asks Eric’s dad.
“The Red Sox!” declares
Randy.
“The White Sox!” insists
Doris.
“The Smelly Sox!” laughs Eric.
“The Pantyhose,” says Penny.
“The Firehose,” jokes Eric.
“Hose on first?” asks Freddy.
“I don’t know,” says Penny.
“No, he’s on third,” laughs
Derek.
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Anyway . . . an hour later
we have our name. We’re The
Bobcats, since the coach’s name
is Bob, and we’re his cool cats.
I’m glad his name isn’t Jim,
or our team name might be The
Jim Socks.
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CHAPTER 11
The Rest Is History
Well, I make the team. I get the
cap and the T-shirt. Since I’m not
so tall, Mr. Porter tells me to play
shortstop. You get to stand in
the infield and it’s not so lonely.
Eric plays second base and
Derek plays third. We can
talk and tell jokes throughout
the whole game.
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The ball doesn’t come high
in the air. It’s usually rolling on
the ground. That’s a lot easier.
There’s always someone behind
you if you miss it. I just have to
scoop it up and throw it to first
base.
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Mr. Porter says I have a good
arm. I even made a double play
during the last game. I flipped
the ball to Eric and he threw it
to first. He has a good arm, too.
I’m proud of all of our arms. I’m
proud of our whole team.
We’re doing bette
r this year.
Our record is 3-and-3 so far.
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I even got a hit and made it to
first base. Mom told me never to
be dishonest, but I stole second
anyway. Then Derek hit a double,
and I ran home and scored.
Everyone cheered. Mom
clapped. And Tailspin wagged
his tail.
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What a wonderful feeling it
was crossing home plate, and
seeing the numbers change on
the scoreboard.
I felt important, like I really
added something to my team.
Like I’m real.
Like I count.
Like I’m a baseball player.
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