by Joe Jackson
On Monday evening, they played the Bulldogs, the team that had beaten Dusty Taylor’s team a few days before. Coach Anderson had Josh Miller back on the mound. For three innings, Josh was superb, not allowing a hit while striking out four batters.
The Cougars broke the game wide open in the fourth inning when Ethan, hitting the way Coach had taught him, punched a single to right field. Michael dropped down a nice sacrifice bunt to advance Ethan to second and then Tyrone hit a ball over the left-field fence for his first Little League home run.
Most of the Cougar players whooped it up in the dugout, but Michael noticed Jake out at home plate, watching Tyrone trot around the bases as the crowd applauded him. Jake did not smile. When Tyrone crossed the plate, Jake was swinging two bats, looking the other way. He said nothing.
Jake swung at a bad pitch and lifted a weak foul to third base that the Bulldog third baseman caught easily. He came back to the dugout, scowling, shaking his head in disgust.
Coach Anderson said to him cheerily, “Don’t let them get you on those bad pitches, Jake. Make ‘em put the ball in your zone, then hit it hard.”
“Okay,” Jake said stiffly. “Okay.”
It was 2 to 0 for the Cougars going into the fourth with Josh still pitching smoothly, so far a no-hitter. Another big crowd was watching the game and Michael saw Josh’s parents in their usual spot, away from the rest of the spectators. Obviously, Josh’s father was very pleased with his own son’s pitching. There was a broad smile on his bulldog face and he puffed his big cigar as if he really enjoyed it.
A new spectator was in the stands this evening, sitting a few rows below the Miller family. A squat, round-faced, dark-eyed man with a clay pipe in his mouth, he was Carlos Rodriguez’s father. He was watching his very first baseball game; looking a little puzzled by it all, particularly the garish catcher’s equipment his son wore behind the plate.
The Cougars picked up another run when Daniel Garcia walked and promptly stole second, sliding into the bag beautifully, drawing a big cheer from the crowd. He scored on Carlos’ ringing double to right center field and when the crowd yelled, Michael noticed Carlos’ father standing up, staring, the pipe in his hand, watching his son sprint around first and slide into second with another beautiful hook slide, exactly the way Coach Anderson had taught him.
Mr. Rodriguez started to grin when he realized the crowd was cheering his son and he stood there, very much pleased, but not quite certain about what just happened.
In the fifth inning, the Bulldogs came to life. Josh could not find the plate and the first two Bulldogs walked. The third man hit a ground ball down to third and Matthew Davis fumbled it. Now the bases were loaded. It was the redhead’s first error and it made him mad.
The Bulldogs first baseman then slammed a ball against the fence in left field and three runners scored as Andy frantically chased the ball after it bounced from the fence. The score was tied 3 to 3 and the Bulldogs were screaming happily in their dugout with a runner on third base. There were no outs.
Coach Anderson went out to talk with Josh and as he did so Michael, glancing towards the stands, saw Josh’s father stand up with his jaw thrust out, hands on his hips, as if he were defying Coach to take his son out of the game. Michael wondered vaguely what he would do if Coach did remove Josh from the pitching circle.
Josh stayed on the mound however, and the Bulldogs scored another run when one of Josh’s curves got away from Carlos. The passed ball let the runner in and it made Carlos mad. He fired the ball back at Josh when he recovered it and young Miller stared at him, his jaw tight.
“Keep it up,” Carlos snapped. “Keep it up with a runner on third.”
The pitch had been low, bouncing in front of Carlos’ mitt and spinning away from him. However, Carlos should have put his body in front of it, especially with a runner on base. That was a catcher’s biggest responsibility with runners on base.
In the dugout, after the Bulldogs were retired, the pitcher and the catcher had a few words about the pitch, and Michael heard Josh say angrily,
“I can’t put every one over the plate. What do you want?”
“Take it easy, gang,” Coach Anderson called. “Everybody in here, we’ll get that run back.” It was 4 to 3 for the Bulldogs now and it was still 4 to 3 in the bottom of the sixth when the Cougars came to bat for the last time.
Tyrone Johnson led off and Michael prayed he would duplicate his early home run and tie up the game. The tall Tyrone did not hit a home run, but he did hit a single right up the middle, the ball bouncing over second base and into center field.
With Jake, Matthew, and Carlos, the big guns of the Cougar batting order were coming up again, and the crowd began to make some noise. Michael wondered what Coach would do now. With no one out the logical call was to bunt and advance the runner to second, giving Davis and Rodriguez the opportunity to bring him home and tie up the game. However, Jake was the Cougar’s big hitter and you did not often call upon your home run hitter, the clean up man, for a bunt.
Sitting on the edge of the bench Michael glanced down toward Coach Anderson. Coach was touching his hip, his chin, his right shoulder, his ear, back to his chin. The bunt was on because Jake batted fourth and his spot was the right shoulder. Coach had definitely touched his right shoulder.
Michael glanced at Jake quickly, knowing that the squat Jake would not like that signal from coach. Jake had not hit a home run this evening and he was anxious to get one. A home run would break up the ball game and give the Cougars three straight wins.
Jake had caught the signal because he had touched his cap automatically in acknowledgment. Matthew was out in the batters on-deck circle, kneeling on one knee and Carlos was picking his bat out of the bat rack. Things looked very good for the Cougars and Michael felt excited about that.
Jake was to bunt on the second pitch and Tyrone Johnson watched from first base, ready to break for second. The first pitch was in over the plate and Jake took it for a called strike. It was the kind of pitch Jake liked, a waist high fastball.
There was a little smile on Jake’s face as he stood up at the plate, waiting for the Bulldog pitcher. The pitcher put the ball in again, another waist high fastball, and Jake, instead of squaring around to bunt, took a free, full swing.
With a solid “tunk” sound, the ball rocketed off the bat as if shot out of a cannon. It headed for the distant center field fence. The crowd stood up yelling. Cougar players tumbled out of the dugout, howling as the ball passed out of sight over the fence, a home run and another Cougar win.
They gathered around Jake as he came in from his “home run” trot around the bases. Everybody pounded his back. Even Michael came up to slap him on the shoulder, but he felt a little queasy inside. Jake’s third homer of the season won the game for the Cougars, but he had deliberately ignored Coach Anderson’s bunt signal.
Michael looked toward the dugout. The crowd was coming out on the field. Friends and relatives were swarming around the victorious Cougar players. Jake’s family was there, his father and two older brothers, grinning and laughing together. Mr. Miller was speaking with his son, rubbing his shoulder, very pleased.
Coach Anderson stood alone in the dugout, smiling also, with his hands in his pockets. He had the hottest team in the Springdale Little League with three straight wins, but Michael Smith saw the troubled look in the tall man’s pale blue eyes.
When Jake finally broke away from his family and came to the dugout to pick up his glove coach called to him. Michael was standing close enough to hear the conversation.
The Cougar coach scratched his chin, looked across the field and said slowly, “You see my signal, Jake, the signal to bunt?”
Jake was unabashed. “Sure,” he replied glibly, “but the ball was right over the plate. I thought I could drive it right up the middle and I did.”
“You didn’t miss the signal, then?” Coach asked softly.
“No, I didn’t,” Jake said stiffly. “But the homer won the game, didn’t i
t?”
Coach Anderson nodded. “We play the Red Sox on Thursday night, Jake. Do not wear your uniform to that game.”
Jakes eyes bulged. “What?” he sputtered.
“You’re suspended for one game,” Coach told him calmly, “for disobeying a signal.”
He walked away leaving Jake staring after him, open-mouthed.
“I hit a homer,” Jake sputtered, looking at Michael. “I won the game!”
Michael did not say anything.
“What a lousy coach,” Jake squealed. “What a lousy, rotten coach!”
“Everybody has to obey the signals,” Michael tried to tell him. “Coach is working for the good of the team.”
“I’ll quit the team,” Jake snarled. “I won’t play anymore or I’ll play for another team. That’s what I’ll do.”
“You can’t,” Michael said. “You can if Coach decides to trade you.”
“Then he’d better trade me,” Jake snapped, so angry there were tears in his eyes. “I hit a home run. I won the game!”
He could not get over that. He kept repeating it every time he spoke to one of the other players about the suspension, but that Thursday evening when the Cougars took the field against Dusty Taylor’s Red Sox, Jake Jones sat in the stands with one of his brothers, watching grimly. He was not in uniform. Cris Martinez was in right field, taking his place.
Some of the Cougar players did not like it very much, either. Matthew Davis said tersely,
“What’s the matter with coach, anyway? Jake’s our best hitter and he won the game against the Bulldogs.”
“That’s not the point,” Michael tried to tell him. “Suppose everybody on the club didn’t obey the signals? We would have complete chaos on the field. Suppose Jake hadn’t hit a home run and we’d lost that Bulldog game?”
“But, he did hit a home run,” Matthew Davis said. “That’s what counts. Maybe coach shouldn’t have given him the bunt signal to begin with.”
Michael shook his head in exasperation. “We can’t look at it that way, Matthew. We cannot have nine players on the field doing whatever they want, whenever they want. There must be order.”
“I would like to see a coach like Dusty Taylor handling this team,” Davis told him.
Michael’s lip tightened. “All right,” he snapped. “The Red Sox are in last place and we’re in first. What does that look like?”
“It looks to me,” Matthew told him evenly, “that we’re just good, regardless of the coach.”
Michael looked at him hopelessly. In addition to all the other troubles they were having, the Cougars were now letting their egos get in the way. Their heads were swelling!
He noticed that Ethan and Matthew did not talk to one another at all. Since the fight at the water cooler, each played as if the other did not exist. There was also definite tension between Davis and Carlos. That, Michael realized, might some day break out into a real brawl.
Willie Brown was on the mound for the Cougars when they took the field against the Red Sox. Ethan Moore, leading off for the Cougars, promptly slapped a single into left field on the first pitched ball and Michael could see that coach’s time spent with the little shortstop was paying off. Ethan was coming around quickly.
Coach Anderson flashed the bunt signal from the dugout steps, touching his left hip as he went through a series of spots on his tall frame. Michael acknowledged him and then bunted the second pitch down the third base line, nearly beating the throw to first.
Tyrone Johnson flied out to right field. Then Carlos, hitting in Jake’s clean-up spot, slammed a hard single to center field. Ethan scored on a nice slide, beating the throw to the plate and the crowed yelled.
Again, Michael saw Carlos’ father in the stands, seated with two of his friends, the three of them grinning broadly when they realized that the cheers were for the stalwart catcher.
Then Matthew scored Rodriguez with a long double to right-center field, bringing in the second Cougar run while Jake, sitting in the bleacher seats, looked a little forlorn, realizing that the Cougars could play and win without him.
The Cougars scored three runs in the first inning, getting off to a nice lead. Willie Brown pitched good baseball for four innings, allowing three hits and one run. In the fifth inning, however, the roof fell in on Willie and the Red Sox socked him around for four runs.
Coach had Joseph Williams warmed up in the bullpen and was able to relieve Willie to stop the slaughter. Joseph got them out of the inning with no more pain, but the damage remained. It was 5 to 3 for the Red Sox now and the Cougar dugout was very quiet. The Red Sox pitcher, after his bad start, had settled down and was moving along steadily.
Michael nicked him for a sharp signal in the fifth inning, but could not get beyond second base. In the last inning, while it was still 5 to 3 for the Red Sox, the grumbling started on the Cougar bench.
Matthew Davis said, “We’d be ahead if Jake was in the line-up.”
Michael realized that there was good reason in his statement too, because Cris Martinez, who was filling in, had no hits in his three at bats, failing twice with runners in scoring position.
Coach Anderson was out talking with Garcia before Daniel went up to bat at the start of the sixth and last inning.
Michael said, “We’re not whipped, yet. We pulled the Bulldog game out of the bag in the last inning and we will do the same with this one too.”
“With Jake in the lineup,” Davis commented.
Carlos Rodriguez said from the other end of the bench, “How many coaches do we have on this team anyway?”
The redhead stood up and looked down at him. It was the first time Carlos had addressed him since the trouble at the park field. Davis said slowly, distinctly,
“Somebody ask you, Rodriguez?”
“I’m telling you,” Carlos snapped, “Jake got in trouble because he wanted to hit a home run. It was his own fault he disobeyed coach by not bunting. This team is not about what Jake wants.”
Michael felt elated that someone besides himself was now supporting Coach Anderson, but the elation was short lived because he now realized how close Davis and Rodriguez were to fisticuffs.
Coach Anderson came back and neither player said another word on the subject, but the embers were smoldering and all it needed was a small breeze to bring them to a blaze.
Daniel Garcia dropped down a beautiful bunt and beat it out for a hit, giving the Cougars new life in the last inning. It brought up Cris Martinez, who was a weak hitter, so Coach Anderson called time to substitute Josh Miller in to pinch hit for Cris. With no bunt signal, Josh was clearly hitting away.
When Matthew Davis saw that, Michael heard him say tersely,
“He lets this guy hit away, but poor Jake had to bunt. Why is that, because Miller’s rich?”
“That’s silly,” Michael scowled. “We need two runs tonight. Against the Bulldogs we only needed one run.”
Josh hit into a double play and then Ethan flied out to right field. The game was over and the Cougars now felt what it was like to lose a Little League baseball game.
They walked off the field glumly with the cheers this time for the Red Sox, who had played good baseball and deserved the win.
Michael walked with Andy Wilson and Willie Brown. Willie was upset because the Red Sox had knocked him off the mound. Up ahead of him he saw Carlos walking with Tyrone Johnson and they were discussing the game.
Jake had come over to join the team after the last out and he was walking with Matthew Davis. From the expression on Jake’s face, Michael could see he was selfishly pleased that the Cougars had been unable to win without him. Michael heard him say smugly to Davis as the two players walked by,
“What did you expect? You can’t win games with a coach like that.”
Carlos overheard the remark, also, and he turned around, his mouth hard. He said grimly, “You still crabbing, Jake, because you were told to bunt and didn’t?”
“Never mind,” Jake growled.
“Maybe,” Matthew Davis said, “he has a right to crab. Maybe you would too, Rodriguez, if you had to sit on the bench.”
“It was his own fault,” Carlos snapped. “If we lost the game tonight because he wasn’t playing, that was his fault too.”
“No, it was coach’s fault,” Jake told him thickly. “Don’t you think I wanted to play ball?”
“Don’t listen to him, Jake,” Matthew Davis advised. “He’s a dumb…”
The redhead never finished the sentence. Carlos leaped at him, punching with both fists and Davis fought back with relish. They were swinging at each other, grunting, with Michael trying to get in between them when Coach Anderson came up.
The tall coach stepped in between them, parting the fighters. He was not smiling now and Michael noticed that his mouth was tight. Coach said quietly,
“That’s the last fight on this club, boys. The next time I catch anyone using his fists he will be suspended for five games. Remember that. Am I clear?”
The other Cougar players stood in a small circle, some looking down, others looking away. Carlos was rubbing his hands. Matthew’s nose was bleeding a little, but his eyes were hard and cold.
They were outside the ball field and not many people had witnessed the quick exchange of blows, but a few had and had paused curiously. Coach Anderson went on slowly,
“The Little League was organized to help boys and girls your age learn about the great game of baseball in an organized fashion. It is a fantastic organization and it is very important we keep it that way. It has a great reputation for good sportsmanship and clean play, with boys behaving like men, girls behaving like women, and all of us behaving like big leaguers. You fellows didn’t look like gentlemen, let alone, big leaguers tonight.”
They were all listening to him now and Michael saw Matthew look down at his shoes.
“Just like most teams, we’ve had our little troubles,” coach went on slowly, “but this team of ours, I really believe, is special. We can go places if we stick together. I am doing the best I can. I know I may not be the best coach in the league and that most of you fellows would have rather played with Dusty Taylor’s Red Sox, but I cannot help that. All I can do is teach you what I know about this great game. Maybe Dusty knows a lot more. But, you guys will have to learn someday that when you play baseball you have to play it all out, give everything you’ve got and then reach back and give some more, regardless of who you are playing for.” He turned away and he said gruffly over his shoulder, “You boys better go home now.”
He walked towards his old jalopy alone and then Michael ran after him.
“Coach,” Michael called. “Coach!”
Coach Anderson turned around as he was opening the door of his car. “What’s the matter, kid?” he asked.
“I’ll play ball for you,” Michael choked, “and uh, and I’m glad I’m playing for you rather than Dusty Taylor.”
Coach Anderson looked down at him and then he looked away. It was getting dark now outside the ball field and Michael could not see his face clearly.
“Kid, I only got as high as Class A ball. I was a catcher. I wish I could have gotten up to the big leagues like Dusty and starred in it, but it did not work out that way for me. I do not know why, maybe I just didn’t have it. I gave it everything I had, but it was not good enough. That is how it worked out for me, but I still love this game Michael. I would love to manage a club, a big club in organized baseball, but if this is the best I can do kid, then so be it. I am not going to regret it. However, I will promise you one thing and that is I will work just as hard with this Little League club as I would if I were managing a big league club. You can count on it, Michael.”
“I know,” Michael nodded. “I know you will, coach.”
Coach Anderson put a hand on his shoulder. He said softly, “I am glad I got one little buddy on this club. Thanks a lot Michael. Maybe we will lick ‘em anyway. They might try to keep one good guy down, but they can not ever keep two of us down.”
“That’s right,” Michael grinned. He was feeling better already, even though he knew the Cougars were troubled and a team in that condition seldom got anywhere.
WINNING THE PENNANT