Carter leaned over the side of his bunk and looked down. “Yeah. What’s up?”
“You are!” Ash broke into a huge smile at his own joke.
Carter groaned. “That’s as lame as one Liam or Rachel would tell,” he whispered.
“Yeah. One more thing,” Ash said.
“What?”
“We made it to Regionals!”
Carter grinned. “I know. Now go to sleep.”
He rolled back onto his own pillow and, still smiling, closed his eyes. The night noises didn’t bother him again.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
Hey, did you bring your collection?” Liam asked Rodney.
It was Thursday, and they were sitting together on a bus along with their teammates and coaches. The bus was bound for San Bernardino, California, site of the Western and Northwest Regional Tournaments. Southern California, or SoCal as it was often abbreviated, was playing its first game of the Western Regional Tournament at nine o’clock Saturday morning.
Rodney gave him a confused look. “My collection of what?”
“Your trading pins!” Liam replied impatiently. Then it occurred to him that he’d never actually seen Rodney with a pin bag or any pins other than the ones he received for participating in a tournament. “You trade them, right?”
Rodney just shrugged.
“Well, then what do you do with them?” Liam demanded to know.
“I’ve been sticking them in my sock drawer,” Rodney replied. “Why? What am I supposed to do with them?”
Liam stood up and, bracing himself in case the bus suddenly lurched, grabbed his backpack from the carrier above his head. He sat back down, pulled out his pin bag, and opened it up.
“Holy cow!” Rodney stared in amazement at the vast assortment of colorful metal displayed on Liam’s lap. Other players looked over their seat backs or crowded into empty spots nearby to see the collection, too. “Where’d you get all those?”
“Carter and I have been collecting and trading for years,” Liam said. “His is just as good.”
He touched an unusual one that featured images of two well-known video game characters and the famous Olympic rings. “I got this one last year at the Little League Baseball World Series from a kid from China. It’s from the Summer Olympics. Neither of us understood a word the other was saying, but it didn’t matter. He had a pin I liked, I had one he liked, so we traded. It’s one of my favorites. Then there’s this one.”
Liam pointed to a more plain one that showed a simple orange-and-brown baseball diamond and the words Little League Baseball Division in gold print. “It belonged to my dad when he was a kid. He gave it to me to start my collection. I’d never trade it or the Olympic one away.”
He looked up at Rodney. “How have you never heard of this? It’s a huge deal, especially at the World Series! People come from all over to trade.”
“Do you have a collection?” Rodney asked Phillip.
Phillip nodded.
“Do you all have one?” Rodney asked the group at large.
Everyone nodded.
“How have I never heard of this?” Rodney wondered aloud.
Liam selected a pin from his bag and handed it to his friend. “There. Now you won’t go into it empty-handed. But after the tournament, make sure to get something like this bag to put your own pins in so you can take them with you when we go to Williamsport.”
Rodney raised his eyebrows. “You seem pretty sure we’re going to make it there.”
Liam shook his head. “No, not pretty sure. Absolutely positive!”
“What’s it like there, anyway? Did you ever get, I don’t know, homesick or anything?” The questions came from Matt. He was a big guy and one of Ravenna’s most consistent hitters. Usually, he exuded confidence. Now, though, he was chewing on his thumbnail and looking nervous.
Liam exchanged glances with Phillip. An unspoken agreement passed between them.
“What’s it like?” Liam echoed. “It’s unbelievably fun.”
“Baseball is the center attraction, of course,” Phillip contributed, “but there’s a rec room with video games, a huge pool—”
“—and Ping-Pong tables—” Liam added.
“—and the food is awesome!” Phillip finished.
Matt’s thumb left his mouth. “Sounds pretty good,” he said with a hint of a grin.
“Best. Time. Ever,” Liam said. “Seriously.”
The conversation ended then because the bus stopped to fuel up. Everyone was allowed off the bus to stretch his legs.
Coach Driscoll approached Liam and beckoned to Phillip. “I overheard you talking to Matt,” he said in a low voice. “It made me realize that you two are in a unique position as the only ones on our team to have experienced Regionals and the World Series.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Some of these boys have never been out of the San Fernando Valley before. Some haven’t even been away from their families overnight. A few parents have contacted me to express their concern that their children might have trouble.” He spread his hands wide. “I’ll do everything I can to put those boys at ease, but I’m hoping you might help, too. They might be more comfortable asking you questions than me. And, frankly, you’d probably have better answers, too.” He smiled.
Liam was more than willing to help out, and he told the coach as much. So did Phillip. Then they all boarded the bus to resume the journey.
An hour later, they pulled onto the road leading to the Western Region Headquarters.
“Cool!” Liam said, staring out the window. “Look at those giant baseballs!”
Lining the edge of the parking area next to the street were enormous concrete baseballs and softballs.
“They call them ‘bollards,’ ” Phillip informed his teammates as the bus rolled past and headed into the main lot in front of the headquarters entrance. “I think they’re there to stop vandals from getting into the lot. Anyway, each one was donated. My family bought one after we won the Little League Baseball World Series last year,” he added proudly. “It’s got a plaque on it and everything.”
“No way,” Christopher said. “I want to see.”
“Me, too. Can we, Dad?” Rodney asked.
When Coach Driscoll gave them permission, Phillip led the way to the proper ball. “See? Told you!”
Christopher stepped forward and read the plaque out loud. “ ‘Donated by the DiMaggio family.’ Then there’s a long list of names including Phillip’s.” Suddenly, he gave a yelp. He looked at the plaque, then at Phillip, and then back to the plaque. “There’s another name here, too. Joseph P. DiMaggio!”
Phillip nodded. “Oh, yeah. He was my great-grandfath—wait a minute.” He started laughing. “You’re thinking Joseph P. DiMaggio is the Joe DiMaggio, the great Yankee player from the 1940s, aren’t you? Well, sorry to burst your bubble, but the P in his name stood for Paul. Joseph Paul DiMaggio was Joltin’ Joe, the Yankee Clipper.” He pointed at the plaque. “The P in that name stands for Phillip. That’s where I get my name from.”
Liam’s jaw dropped. “So your great-grandfather’s name really was Joe DiMaggio?”
“Yeah.” A look of understanding crossed Phillip’s face. “Oh my gosh! I didn’t really lie to Carter that time in baseball camp after all. Of course, I still shouldn’t have let him think Grandpa Joe was the Joe. And I shouldn’t have played that prank on him. If I had told him the truth and been a little nicer, none of this would have happened.” He touched his chest, then his nose, and then pointed at Liam.
Liam laughed. “True. But if that hadn’t happened, then maybe neither of us would have worked as hard as we did to improve. And if we hadn’t, then maybe none of this”—he gestured to the facility around him—“would have happened either. So in the long run—”
“—it all worked out,” Phillip finished.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
Whoa, check out all the teams!” Raj exclaimed. “And look! There’s Dugout!”
&n
bsp; It was Friday evening, and Forest Park had just arrived at the Leon J. Breen stadium for the Opening Ceremony parade. Dugout, the Little League mascot, was at the front, ready to lead the teams onto the field. Besides Forest Park, there were five other State champs from the Mid-Atlantic region: New Jersey, New York, Delaware, District of Columbia, and Maryland. The remaining six teams were from New England: Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Connecticut, New Hampshire, Vermont, and Maine. Each team carried its State Championship banner. The players were dressed in their uniforms, forming a rippling ribbon of kaleidoscopic colors as they marched onto the field.
“Whoa,” Carter heard Raj say, “look at all the people!”
The stands were packed with spectators, all of whom were on their feet cheering and clapping as the teams processed before them. Once everyone was inside, two players, one from Vermont, the other from Maryland, stepped up to a microphone. They had been selected to lead the others in reciting the Little League pledge.
Next, a young woman recited the Little League Parent and Volunteer pledge on behalf of all the adults involved. Carter saw Coach Harrison mouthing the words as they were spoken: I will teach all children to play fair and do their best. I will positively support all managers, coaches and players. I will respect the decisions of the umpires. I will praise a good effort despite the outcome of the game.
The coach caught him watching and gave him a wink. Carter grinned and then turned his attention back to the activities. He cheered as several “first pitches” were thrown by brave men and women who had led rescue efforts in a coastal town nearly swept away by an enormous flood. He listened politely to speeches by the Little League regional director and his assistant director, and then to one by the mayor of Bristol. Her speech praised a former Connecticut Little Leaguer who had become a doctor and now traveled the world helping heal communities stricken with disease.
The ceremonies ended with loud roars and music. Carter was thrilled to be part of it all. But for him, the real excitement started at two o’clock the next day. That’s when Forest Park faced the District of Columbia for its first game of the tournament.
“Weird how DC is considered a state, huh?” Stephen commented to Carter in the dugout after their warm-ups. He chattered on for a few more minutes about how the name “Columbia” was the way people in the 1700s referred to the United States, “because, of course, it wasn’t called the United States then.”
Carter figured Stephen was trying to cover up his nervousness and let him talk without interruption. He hoped the first baseman would relax soon, though.
He was a bit jumpy himself, but he calmed as soon as he hit the field. He was playing third base that game, not pitching. He didn’t see much action in the hot corner the first two innings, but in the third he sparked a spectacular play.
The score was Pennsylvania 3, DC 1. DC had runners at first and second, no outs. The batter stepped into the box.
He’s going to bunt, Carter thought. He glanced at Coach Harrison for confirmation. Sure enough, the coach made a revolving motion with his hand, his signal to put a “wheel” style defense in play.
When the batter squared to bunt, the Forest Park players were already in motion. Allen raced from short to cover third. Freddie readied himself at second. Stephen was on first. Carter charged in to field the bunt.
Thock!
The ball rebounded off the bat and hit the grass. But it didn’t stop after a few feet, as the batter undoubtedly hoped. Rather, the ball dribbled right toward Carter!
Carter didn’t bother to put a glove on it. Instead, he barehanded the ball, spun, and flipped it to Allen. Allen stepped on third.
One out.
Allen rifled the ball to Freddie, who swept his glove down and tagged the runner sliding in from first.
Two outs.
And, amazingly, Freddie’s throw to first almost beat the batter. If it had, Forest Park would have had a triple play! As it was, DC got out a moment later, when its batter hit a weak grounder to Luke on the mound. Luke fired the ball to Stephen—and that was that.
Three innings and two runs later, Pennsylvania had its first win of the tournament. It added a second the next evening with a hard-fought victory over a tough team from New York.
Carter didn’t pitch that game and played only three of the six innings. He was slotted to pitch Tuesday, and even though Forest Park didn’t play Monday, Coach Harrison wanted to be sure his arm was fully rested.
That night after dinner and a long visit with his parents, Carter found a quiet spot outside under a tree. The orange and pink sunset was splashed across the horizon, looking as if it had been painted by a giant’s broad brush. He took a couple of photos with his phone and sent the best of them to Liam with a short text: Bet the Left Coast doesn’t look like this!
Liam replied instantly: Course not, dork. It’s only 4:30!
Carter started to text back but stopped when his phone rang. He grinned and answered, “Hey, doofus! How’s things in the West?”
“Things could not be better,” Liam boomed. “We won both games so far!”
“Us, too!” Carter was happy to report. “We’re off tomorrow, and then we play again on Tuesday.”
“Us, too!” Liam echoed. “What’re you going to do with your free time?”
“The usual,” Carter replied. “Swim, video games, eat, Ping-Pong.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m planning to do, too. Who’re you partnering with?”
“Ash. You?”
Liam chuckled. “Phillip. Weird, huh?”
Carter laughed softly. “Totally. Hey, we’ll have to play each other if…” He let his voice trail off, worried if he actually said the words “we both make it to Williamsport” out loud, he might jinx his team.
Liam knew what he meant, of course. “Not if, dork. When.”
The boys chatted for a while longer. Then the mosquitoes started attacking Carter with such viciousness he had to end the call. “Talk to you soon,” he said.
“See you soon,” Liam responded. “Like in a week!”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
After hanging up with Carter, Liam stood, stretched, and went in search of Phillip and the other Ravenna players. He found them in the recreation room watching a movie. Kids from other teams were there, too.
“Hey, any of you guys want to play some Ping-Pong?” The invitation came from a stocky boy with a buzz cut so severe Liam could see more scalp than hair. Another boy, with smooth dark skin, glossy black hair, and braces, was slapping a paddle against his thigh. The two were obviously partners.
Liam nudged Phillip. “Want to take them on?”
Phillip pulled himself up out of the deep, cushioned seat of his easy chair. “Definitely. This movie is boring. Plus, I’ve seen it three times.”
Buzz Cut introduced himself and his partner. “I’m Mike Worley, and this is Diego Rochester. We’re on the team from Little Lake, Idaho. You’re from Ravenna, SoCal, right?”
As Liam nodded, he felt Diego’s eyes on him.
“You look really familiar, you know that?” Diego said. He jerked his chin at Phillip. “I know who you are because I watched the Little League Baseball World Series last year.” He looked back at Liam. “But you…”
Suddenly, he snapped his fingers. “You were there, too, weren’t you? Oh, no way! Mike, you know who this is?”
Mike gave a huge shrug that made his neck disappear between his shoulders.
“It’s the kid from Pennsylvania who struck out in the U.S. Championship! In fact, you”—Diego jerked his chin at Phillip again—“were the one who struck him out.” He stared at Liam in consternation. “What the heck are you doing here?”
Before Liam could reply, Phillip slammed his Ping-Pong paddle down on the table. “I’ll tell you what he’s doing here!” he said hotly. “He’s here because he’s a great player, a great catcher, a great hitter, and a great teammate, that’s what! And if you have a problem—”
“Whoa, wh
oa, whoa!” Diego held up his hands in surrender. “I meant, what is he doing here in California? Of course he’s a great player or else he wouldn’t be here!” He pointed at the ground to indicate the Western Regional Tournament.
“Oh. Sorry.” Phillip picked up his paddle again. “He moved here last year. Now, you guys ready to play?”
The three other boys regarded him for a long moment. Then they all started laughing. “Yeah, we’re ready.”
Liam and Phillip lost to the Idahoans two games out of three. Then it was time for dinner. They parted company, but not before Liam challenged Mike and Diego to a rematch later in the week.
Mike’s face fell then. “I don’t know if we’ll be here still,” he mumbled. “We lost one of our games already.”
Eight teams annually represent the United States during the month of August in the Little League Baseball World Series played at Little League International in South Williamsport, PA. These teams are determined each summer by participation in the world’s largest elimination tournament. State champions from forty-nine states (one champion from the Dakotas) participate in eight Little League Baseball Regional tournaments hosted by Little League’s five regional centers in the United States. Two Regional champions (West and Northwest) are decided at the Western Region Headquarters in San Bernardino, CA; two (New England and Mid-Atlantic) at the Eastern Region Headquarters in Bristol, CT; and two (Midwest and Great Lakes) at the Central Region Headquarters in Indianapolis, IN. The Southeast Region Headquarters (Warner Robins, GA) and the Southwest Region Headquarters (Waco, TX) host tournaments that produce a single Regional champion to complete the United States bracket in the Little League Baseball World Series.
Liam reminded Mike that losing one game wasn’t the end of Idaho’s journey. He didn’t think his words had much effect, though. When Mike left with Diego, he was looking glum.
Since he wasn’t playing the next day, Liam made a point of attending Idaho’s game. He cheered for his new friends and was happy for them when they won.
“Maybe we’ll get that rematch in after all,” Mike said when Liam ran into him later on his way to the cages for batting practice.
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