Little League Heroes

by Joe Jackson

Two days after the win over Lakeview Michael heard the news of the trouble in the Miller Mills. He knew Coach Anderson had a job at the mill and had been there for a number of years.

  Cris Martinez, whose father also worked in the mills, told Michael about it.

  “Coach was up for a promotion in his department,” Cris explained. “Everybody thought he was surely going to be a superintendent, but another man got the job and we all know why.”

  “What do you mean?” Michael asked slowly.

  “Mr. Miller didn’t like it that coach took Josh out of the game against Lakeview,” Cris said bluntly. “That was his way of getting back at coach. He could not fire coach because the union would not let him. That’s how Mr. Miller got around it.”

  “But,” Michael spluttered, “Josh was tired. He even knew himself that it was better he be relieved. Coach Anderson even told him why he had to take him out.”

  “I guess Josh’s father didn’t look at it that way,” Cris growled. “He probably thought his precious son was knocked out of the game since coach did not leave him in to finish it. He probably felt that coach embarrassed Josh in front of thousands of people. Therefore, he retaliated by not giving coach the promotion he deserved and was supposed to get.

  “Does Josh know about this?” Michael asked.

  “I haven’t seen Josh since the Lakeview game,” Cris said, “but I’ll bet he knows it and I’ll bet he’s glad.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Michael said firmly. “Josh is not like that.”

  “I don’t know what he’s like,” Cris said. “All I know is that coach was supposed to get that promotion and he didn’t get it. Pop says all the people in his department are talking about it.”

  Michael went immediately to coach’s house. It was nearly four-thirty in the afternoon and coach was due back from the plant in a few minutes. Michael sat on the porch waiting for him, feeling a little sick about the whole business, knowing the effect it would have upon the team. Josh Miller was their star pitcher and without Josh, they would go nowhere in the tournament. Now, a good many of the players might dislike Josh intensely and think he had been behind the trouble at the mill.

  Coach came down the sidewalk carrying his lunch cooler. As he eased up on the porch, he looked at Michael and smiled saying, “How goes it, captain. What’s going on?”

  Michael was not sure how to begin. He finally blurted out, “Is it true, coach, that you didn’t get a promotion at the mill because you took Josh out of the game against Lakeview?”

  Coach Anderson looked at Michael and frowned. “Who’s making that kind of talk up?” he asked quietly.

  “It’s, it’s going around,” Michael stammered. “Is it true, Coach?”

  Coach Anderson scratched his chin and then laughed. “Look kid,” he said, “maybe a lot of people thought I was in line to be promoted and if they did, they thought wrong. Maybe this other fellow got the promotion because he is the better person for the job. I’m not upset about it.”

  “But it’s wrong,” Michael protested. “If Mr. Miller was behind it because you took his son out of the game that is wrong. Obviously, Josh had never been removed from the mound before and Mr. Miller didn’t like it.”

  Coach laughed again. “As far as I’m concerned,” he said, “Mr. Miller doesn’t even know I work at the mill. There are over two thousand men and women at that plant. I’m just one little guy in one small department.”

  “”I want to talk to Josh about it,” Michael said.

  Coach Anderson shook his head emphatically. “I don’t want you to do that, Michael,” he said quickly. “Keep Josh out of it. If there is anything behind this crazy story, Josh had nothing to do with it. I’ll personally guarantee that.”

  Michael left after a while, promising that he would not speak to Josh about it, though he certainly did not feel very happy about the situation.

  There was a practice session scheduled for the next evening with the second game of the district tournament to take place the following day. They had drawn Marshall, a town sixty miles away.

  Michael arrived at the park practice field a little before five o’clock, walking down with Willie Brown. As he crossed the street and entered the park, he saw a tight knot of Cougar players on the infield and then he heard the sounds. They were not pleasant at all.

  “It’s a fight, Michael,” Willie said quickly.

  His heart pumping, Michael raced toward the scene. It had been a long time since any of the Cougar players had fought another, but there was a fight and they were throwing punches. As Michael got closer, he could see two boys in the middle of the group, pummeling each other.

  “Carlos,” Willie Brown panted.

  Michael thought at first that Carlos was fighting Matthew Davis because there had been bad blood between them, but when he pushed through the crowd of yelling boys, he saw that Carlos’s opponent was Josh Miller. Josh’s nose was bleeding, but he seemed to be holding his own, giving as much as he got.

  “Hold it!” Michael yelled.

  Willie Brown grabbed Josh and Michael came up behind Carlos, holding his arms and pulling the two fighters apart.

  “All right,” Carlos snarled. “Let me alone, Michael.”

  “What’s the matter?” Michael asked him. “This is foolish, Carlos.”

  “It’s not funny to our coach,” Carlos snapped. “That guy’s father gave him a dirty deal at the mill just because his prized son was taken out of a game.”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about,” Josh flared. “I just heard the story here.”

  “You put him up to it,” Carlos said bitterly. “You’re a spoiled rotten brat and you can’t take it.”

  Josh tried to break away from Willie Brown and throw a punch, but Andy Wilson stepped in to help Willie and they both held Josh firmly.

  “There is coach now,” Daniel Garcia called. “Better break it up.”

  Michael released Carlos as Willie and Andy let Josh loose. Josh walked away, pinching his nose to stop the bleeding. Coach Anderson strolled up, his face expressionless. Michael was positive he had seen some of the fight from a distance, but he said nothing about it.

  “Let’s get going gang,” the Cougar coach said.

  They held an easy practice session that included batting and bunting practice, drilling the infield with grounders and game situations, and plenty of fly balls to the outfield. Josh came over to Michael after the infield session and asked slowly, “What’s all this about, Michael?”

  Michael explained the rumor going around while Josh listened, biting his lip.

  “Father never tells me anything about his business,” he said slowly when Michael finished.

  “I was sure of that,” Michael said heartily. I’m not blaming you if it did happen that way, Josh.”

  “I’m going to speak to my father about this,” Josh promised. “I’d rather not pitch anymore than have this happen.

  “If you don’t pitch,” Michael told him, “we’ll never get beyond Marshall tomorrow evening. Willie Brown is pretty good, but we need you against these top teams.”

  Josh said slowly, “Coach told me I was starting against Marshall tomorrow. It doesn’t look as if he’s trying to get back at my father, does, it?”

  “Coach isn’t built that way,” Michael said.

  “He has a right to though,” Josh murmured. “He should have been sore and he should have started Willie Brown out of spite.”

  “Coach wants to win,” Michael said. “That’s all he thinks about and I’m sure he doesn’t believe you were behind any of this business. He said he thinks this whole story is nonsense. Besides, being spiteful or vengeful is not part of who coach is.”

  “I don’t believe it was a mistake,” Josh said. “I, I’m really sorry about my father’s decision, Michael. I wished it had never happened.”

  At the end of the practice session as it was getting dark, coach called a halt. When the players came in from the field, he said quietly,

 
; “Everybody sit down on.”

  The Cougar squad sat down, with Coach Anderson standing up in front of them. Michael started to chew on the edge of his batting glove. He looked up at the Cougar coach outlined against the pink-orange evening sky. Coach seemed very tall and did not look so homely in the dim light. As Michael stared at him, it appeared as if coach’s features had changed. He was still thin in the face with his carroty hair mussed a little, but the twilight sky made him look stronger.

  Coach Anderson said, “We’ve had a little more trouble on this team and I guess we all feel bad about it. I do not like it because this is a good team and it could go a long way in this tournament. I do not believe I have ever seen a more gifted and talented Little League team anywhere. Each of you seems to have a natural ability to play this game, every one of you wants to learn how to get better, and I feel honored to have the privilege of coaching you.”

  The players were listening quietly, hardly moving on the turf.

  “This is a good team,” Coach went on, “but not a great team. However, you boys are so close to being one, a team that could go all the way and win this thing. We have pitching, we have fielding, and we have hitting. However, we do not have that one combination we really need to become a great team. We have no team spirit and we lack unity.”

  Michael saw him put his hands in his pockets and look down at the ground.

  “I don’t know,” he said almost helplessly. “I don’t know what to do. Maybe the fault is mine. Maybe it is because you are from so many different backgrounds that you think you cannot get along simply for that reason. There is nothing I can do about those wheels turning inside your heads, but I can tell you one thing, and that is, we all bleed the same color. We can most certainly get along.”

  He was speaking earnestly now, moving his hands to state a point. “We have to recognize our troubles and try that much harder to work them out because each one of you knows what it means when we do. Winning this tournament is a pretty, big deal. We can get there and we will get there, but only as a team of one. You must understand, the letter I is not in the word TEAM. Each one of you is going to have to give a little and take a little to get where we want to be as a team. Our wheels must be spinning in the same direction for the same goal or we can pack it in. Now if we do come together, please understand you will never forget these moments in your life or forget one another for as long as you live.”

  No one made a sound. They sat on the grass in the park, their faces outlined from the evening light and then Michael noticed the star, bright and shining, directly above Coach Anderson’s head. It was a very big star, the evening star.

  “There are a dozen of us here,” coach said slowly, “and all of us are members of a Little League baseball team called the Springdale Cougars. Even though each one of you might come from a different part of town or lead a different life away from this team, when we come together on that field of play, we have to show the world that we do get along with each other, that we are one team. Right here and right now is the place where we must prove that we are a team, that we are dedicated to each other for our team goal.”

  He shoved his hands in his back pockets and he looked down at them for a moment in silence before going on. They could no longer see his face, but an outline of it. The sky was getting dark while he stood with his back towards the remaining light.

  “Maybe this baseball team isn’t important to you personally,” coach said, “and maybe the name Little League and the Little League World Series Championship doesn’t mean anything to you, either. If that is so, then we do not need to waste any more time, especially that of our fans, friends and relatives, who are really pulling for us. They are spending a lot of their time and their hard-earned money to see us through to the end.

  Coach paused and his voice became slightly emotional. He said, “If you boys want to win this thing, if you want to experience something you will never, ever forget, then we have to come together as one. We have to forget about who we are and focus on what we want to be. We have to be willing to help each other any way we can to get to that ball field in Williamsport and it has to start right here, right now. You think long and hard about what you want and I will see you boys on the bus tomorrow. But remember one thing, there is no letter I in the word TEAM.”

  He turned and walked off into the shadows. The Cougar team sat on the grass, not one of them getting up. They just sat there, saying nothing. All of a sudden, Michael saw a cigar’s glow in the shadows. A man had been standing there with a cigar in his mouth. Michael realized that the man was J. C. Miller, owner of Miller Mills. He was the richest man in town and he had been listening to coach’s talk.

  Michael stood up. He had to say something as captain of the team, but there was nothing left to say. Coach Anderson had said it all. Or had he?

  “Okay,” Michael muttered, “the team meeting is over. We’ll meet at the bus station tomorrow afternoon for the ride down to Marshall.” Then Michael did something he had never done before. He stuck his hand out, palms down, and shouted with glistening eyes, “I’m in. Who’s with me?”

  Suddenly, as if a lightening bolt had hit the ground, the Cougar players all jumped up at once as one unit, trying to be the first to grab Michael’s hand. They formed a team huddle in doing so, jumping up and down. Then Carlos Rodriguez shouted out, “Let’s go get ‘em, boys, let’s go get ‘em.” The rest of the Cougars replied screaming the words slowly and in rhythm,

  “Get it done, get it done, get it done...”

  They all shook hands and slapped each other on the back, and then the conversation turned to beating Marshall. Laughing and yelling, some with eyes glistening, the Cougars acted as if they were ready to play right now.

  Michael walked home with Willie Brown and neither of them said anything until they were near Michael’s door, and then Willie said slowly,

  “You know something, Michael?”

  “What is it?” Michael responded.

  “That Coach Anderson,” Willie murmured. “He’s a great man, Michael.”

  “I know.” Michael nodded. He had known that for quite some time.

  Mr. Smith was sitting up in the shadows on the porch, the newspaper on the floor next to his chair, when Michael walked up the porch steps. Michael heard the chair squeak a little and then his father said,

  “How did it go, Michael?”

  Michael went over and sat down on the porch ledge, “I guess it’s was all right,” he muttered.

  “You’ve been worried the past few days,” his Dad said quietly. “Get it off your mind, Michael. Is it the team again?”

  Michael nodded and told his Dad about the fight between Josh Miller and Carlos Rodriguez and of coach not getting the promotion at work. However, when his talk turned to the team speech from coach, Michael’s face lit up and his Dad saw it.

  “Things are never as bad as they seem, son,” his Dad told him. “You will see. You would never think a small baseball team of boys could become so complicated, but I suppose it is the same with boys just as it is with grown men. Your teammates have had their troubles, Michael, but I simply see it as a team with growing pains. I believe you’re going to work through these problems, your team is going to continue to grow, and I really believe better things are ahead for you and that Cougar team of yours.”

  “Do you?” Michael asked with wide, excited eyes.

  “I think it’ll all work out before you know it,” his Dad assured him. “Just keep your chin up. Do not let anything discourage you. Always remember that if you want to see a rainbow, you must have a little rain.”

  “Okay,” Michael grinned. “I feel better already, Dad.”

  “That’s my boy,” his Dad said softly.

  A NEW TEAM