by Derek Jeter
The Tigers were 4–4, and if they won this game, they had a legitimate shot at the upcoming play-offs. That had to be why Coach Kozlowski had decided to make his move now. The trouble was, today they were playing the Orioles, who were in second place behind the Yankees, at 7–1. In fact, their only loss was to the Yankees, by one run.
“Those kids look huge!” said Sims, coming up alongside Derek.
“Yeah, they do,” said Derek. “Wonder what they’re eating.”
That cracked Sims up. Then he said, “Hey, glad you’re at short.”
“Thanks.”
“Let’s make some plays, huh?”
“Yup.” Derek high-fived Sims and got ready for the game to start.
It was hard to concentrate in the beginning, since he was so excited. Here he was, at short! He could scarcely believe it. He hadn’t said a word. He’d just let his play in the field speak for him, and the coach had noticed!
It was a lesson Derek promised himself he would never forget. If he’d gone to the coach and complained—or even mouthed off to his teammates about it—this would probably never have happened.
But if he’d made it to his first goal this fast, it had to be possible for him to reach higher, more difficult goals—including his ultimate dream!
Derek forced himself back into the present moment. He’d gotten here by playing well, and if he meant to stay at shortstop for the rest of the season, he had to show he could handle the job.
Pete turned out to be a pretty good pitcher. He had the strongest arm of anyone on the Tigers, for sure. His only problem was the same one he’d had that first day, when he and Derek had pitched to each other on the sidelines. Pete couldn’t get it over the plate to save his life.
He struck out the first Orioles hitter, who swung at balls in the dirt and over his head. But the other Orioles, watching from the bench and the on-deck circle, quickly saw that Pete was wild. And if they hadn’t noticed, their coach sure had. “Take two strikes!” he told his team, loud enough for Pete to hear.
Soon there were two men on base. Each had walked on four pitches. Coach Kozlowski paid a tense visit to his son on the mound. After that, Pete hit the next batter square in the backside.
With the bases loaded and a gigantic kid coming to the plate, Derek knew the Tigers were in trouble. He also knew that Coach couldn’t come to the mound again without changing pitchers.
Derek quickly jogged to the mound, realizing that Pete needed help. “Hey,” he said, ignoring the look Pete was giving him. “Don’t worry about letting them swing at a strike. They can’t hit you.” He could have yelled at Pete and told him to throw it over the plate but he knew that wouldn’t have helped. So he pretended to think Pete was throwing wild on purpose.
Pete seemed startled to get encouragement from Derek, but he didn’t say anything. He just nodded, took a deep breath, and blew it out. “Go get ’em!” Derek said, clapping him on the back with his mitt and heading back to short.
Pete composed himself. He blew two fastballs right by the hitter, right down the middle of the plate.
By the third pitch, though, the hitter was ready for another fastball. Now was the time for Pete to change up and throw a slow pitch, to confuse the hitter. But Pete hadn’t been practicing pitching all season, and Derek knew he probably didn’t have a slow pitch.
Derek shifted a little to his left. If Pete threw a fastball, the hitter probably wouldn’t be able to pull the pitch. He was more likely to hit it up the middle.
Sure enough, that was just what happened. The batter hit a line drive right over Pete’s head. Pete ducked, but Derek reacted in a flash, running to his left and leaping to make the grab.
“THIRD! THIRD!” he heard Sims yelling.
Derek wheeled and threw to third base. The runner, having assumed that the batter had gotten a hit, was already halfway to home plate. The throw beat him back to third, and Sims applied the tag to complete the double play, ending the top of the inning with the score still 0–0!
The Tigers came over to high-five Derek and Sims as they jogged off the field, and even Pete chimed in with, “Nice going, guys.”
The Tigers had dodged a bullet, but that didn’t mean it was going to be an easy battle from here on in. The Orioles’ pitcher had an even better fastball than Pete’s, and he got it over the plate more than half the time.
He blew Chris away, but Derek had gotten a good look at those fastballs from the on-deck circle. He came to the plate ready and jumped on the first pitch to lace a liner to right.
Too bad it was straight at the right fielder for the second out. And too bad Pete struck out behind him to end the inning.
From that point on, the game was a fierce pitchers’ duel. Pete seemed to have found the plate and kept his focus on throwing strikes instead of wildly trying to blow people away.
When an Orioles hitter did make contact, it was either a feeble grounder or a pop-up. Derek made a great play on a dribbler in the third, grabbing it bare-handed and firing to first across his body, nipping a very fast runner by a hair.
On the other side, the Orioles pitcher did not allow a run through the end of the fifth. Not even Derek could catch up with his blazing heater. And so the game remained scoreless going into the top of the sixth.
Pete was still on the mound. Derek was sort of surprised that Coach hadn’t brought Ryan in, but not that surprised. Pete, after all, was mowing down the mighty Orioles like no Tigers pitcher had done to any team all season. And he hadn’t looked a bit tired doing it either.
Now, though, all that throwing seemed to start taking its toll. Pete went 3–0 on the leadoff hitter before getting him on a sizzling grounder to Derek’s left. Derek dove for it, snagged it in the webbing of his mitt, popped to his feet, and fired a bullet to first for the out. That made three key hits he’d stolen from the Orioles that day!
But after striking out the next hitter with bad pitches, Pete hit the following batter on the arm. Now there was a runner on first with two outs. Pete started the next hitter off with a sizzling fastball for a strike. But just as the catcher threw the ball back to Pete, the runner on first took off for second, trying to get into scoring position.
“Second base!” Derek yelled. He had seen the runner go before anyone else. Ryan at second was caught off guard and didn’t cover the base, so Derek sped over to take the throw.
Pete wheeled and fired, but he misjudged the timing, and the ball almost went into the outfield, which would have sent the runner to third at least! Luckily, Derek was able to knock the errant throw down and keep the ball near enough to hold the runner.
The count went to 1–2 on the hitter, and the next pitch was a ball. But Derek saw that the runner was trying a second time to sneak a steal on the throw back from the catcher. Quickly, Derek dashed back to the base ahead of the runner and yelled, “Pete!”
Pete, who had just caught the ball from the catcher, saw that there was daylight between Derek and the runner, and fired the ball to second. Derek was set to make the tag, and the ball got there before the runner. Unfortunately, Pete’s throw was in the dirt, and the ball got by Derek and skipped into the outfield.
The runner, who had slid back into second, saw the ball get by Derek and ran for all he was worth. Vijay caught up with it and threw it in, but the Oriole runner scored easily, and the Tigers were down, 1–0.
“You idiot!” Pete yelled at Derek. “You let that throw get right by you!”
“Hey, Pete! Knock it off!”
It was the coach’s voice, and Pete seemed stunned to hear it. Derek was surprised too. Never before had Coach Kozlowski told his son to hold his tongue!
Pete kicked the dirt of the mound as his dad came out to take the ball from him and give it to Ryan. Then, to Derek’s shock, Coach sent his son to the bench and brought out Elliott to play second!
Jeez! thought Derek. He had ne
ver thought he’d see that happen. He just hoped having Elliott, who’d never played in the infield, at second for one more out didn’t come back to cost the Tigers.
Luckily, Ryan got the kid at bat to ground out to first, ending the inning. Now the Tigers had three outs to get a run and save their play-off hopes.
Derek grabbed a bat and was headed out to the on-deck circle when he heard Pete mutter something as he passed by. “What did you say?” Derek asked him, turning.
“I said I heard that you think you’re gonna be shortstop for the New York Yankees someday.”
“So?”
“You stink at shortstop, Jeter. You’ll never play in the pros at any position, let alone short.”
Derek had heard worse, but he still felt a wave of rage go through him, followed by another wave of doubt. Was Pete just doing a “sour grapes” thing? Or had that error really been Derek’s, not Pete’s?
Was he kidding himself about being the Yankees’ shortstop someday? Or was he just letting somebody else’s bitterness throw him off track? Derek forced himself to shake off all the negative thoughts and turn his attention back to the game.
The Orioles’ starter was still pitching, and he struck out Chris for the third time that day. Then Derek came to the plate, expecting a fastball, and was amazed when he swung right through the first slow pitch of the day!
“He should have saved that for strike three,” Derek muttered under his breath, getting back into the batter’s box. He rapped the next pitch up the third baseline. The third baseman made an incredible play, but his throw was wild, and Derek wound up safe at first with one out.
Pete came to the plate, and Derek had a decision to make. If he tried to steal second and failed, Pete would never let him hear the end of it. On the other hand, the Tigers hadn’t made much contact today. If Derek didn’t get himself into scoring position, they probably had no chance to score.
Derek wanted to run on the first pitch, but that nagging sliver of doubt froze him, and he never made his move. The same thing happened on the next pitch. And then Pete hit a soft liner that the pitcher snagged. Derek found himself still at first, and now there were two outs!
He took off on the very next pitch, determined to give his team at least a shot at scoring a run. He slid in just ahead of the throw, and was about to start clapping his hands when he heard the ump say, “OUT!”
“What?” Derek couldn’t believe it. “I was safe, Ump!” he pleaded. “Safe by a mile!”
“No, you weren’t,” the ump insisted, although Derek knew he’d been safe. He’d tried to get them a run and had wound up making the last out of the game!
“NO!” he shouted. “No! I was safe! Aw, man . . .”
As he made his way back to the bench, eyes on the ground, he heard Pete calling his name. “Nice work, Jeter,” he said bitterly. “You just cost us our entire season.”
• • •
Derek’s family was waiting for him in the bleachers, and they looked concerned.
“I was safe!” he told them. “Did you see how badly the ump missed that play?”
His mom put a hand on his shoulder. “Never mind, old man,” she said. “You played a great game against a really tough team.”
“Dad, you saw it, didn’t you?”
“I saw it,” his dad confirmed. “Derek, I’m not the umpire, and neither are you.”
“But—”
“These umpires give their time because they care about kids, and they know how good it is for kids to have a chance to play sports. Now, I know they’re not perfect, and sometimes they get it wrong. It’s just too bad for you that your team got a bad call today. But these things even out. The point is, the umpires deserve respect and gratitude—not arguing. Remember what we wrote in your contract? ‘Respect others’? Umpires are included in that group.”
“Derek,” his mom said, “your father’s right. I’m sure that umpire would feel bad if he knew he’d gotten the call wrong. But he’s out there trying his best, just like you. And he’s doing it for your benefit, not his own.”
Derek hung his head and sighed. He knew they were right. But it just wasn’t fair!
And now his team was out of the play-off picture. What had started off as a great day, with him getting his chance at shortstop, had ended in disaster, with his dreams of a championship destroyed!
Worst of all was the feeling deep down, where it mattered, that Pete was right—that it had been Derek’s fault for not catching that pickoff throw from the mound.
Derek knew it would have been a really tough catch. But in his heart he felt he should make every catch, every time—and that if he didn’t, it was always his fault.
Chapter Thirteen
CHECKMATE
“Check. Your move.”
Derek stared down at the chessboard that sat in the center of the kitchen table. His white pieces were all bunched up in the corner of the board, while his father’s black pieces were closing in from both the front and the side.
Derek moved his king and sighed. He rested his chin on his fists, with his elbows propping him up as he leaned forward on the table.
“You sure you want to move there?” his dad asked.
“I don’t care,” Derek said miserably.
“You know, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you get this down,” his father said. “You want to talk about it?”
“It’s just . . . I don’t know,” Derek said. “If we’d won that game, we’d still be in the play-off hunt. Now it’s like . . .” He fell silent, words failing him.
His dad tried to guess where Derek was going. “You know, sometimes it just doesn’t work out, no matter how much you want it. Even the New York Yankees don’t win the pennant every year.”
“I know, but . . . I just wish we had more really good players, like the Yankees and the Orioles,” Derek said, his mind still on Little League matters.
“Well, that’s the thing about team sports, Derek,” his dad said. “You’re only as good as the team you’re on. That doesn’t mean you can’t help your teammates be the best they can be and help your team play as well as it can—as a team.”
Mr. Jeter paused, considered the board, and moved his queen. “Of course, in individual sports, like chess, the better player almost always wins. By the way, checkmate.”
Derek slumped in his chair. “I’m tired of losing!” he said, knocking some of the pieces off the table. “I hate losing, and I lose every single time! At The Price Is Right, at Scrabble, at chess, at basketball . . .”
“Then how come you keep coming back for more?”
That question stopped Derek cold. He had no answer for it.
“Let me help you,” said his dad. “You keep coming back because you want to win so badly.”
“But I never do!”
“Yes, but that doesn’t make you a loser. It makes you a winner. Because every time you compete, you’re learning and getting better. You’ve been coming close lately at chess—although not today. You have other things on your mind today, and I can’t say I blame you.”
He got up and stood beside Derek, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Anyhow, one of these days you will beat me, old man. And when you do, it’s going to feel really, really good. You know why?”
“Why?”
“Because you’ll know you earned it with hard work and patience and downright stubborn mule persistence. You keep that up, and apply it to everything you do, and you’ll end up in Yankee Stadium yet.”
He gave Derek’s shoulder a squeeze, then said, “Don’t forget to clean up in here.” Then he went into the living room.
Derek picked up the pieces and put away the chess set, then went over to the sink and got busy washing the dishes. He knew his dad was right. He knew his dad was only trying to teach him a valuable lesson.
Derek could see the day coming in th
e future when he would beat his dad at chess, and even at basketball. Although he could never see beating him in Scrabble, or The Price Is Right.
He really appreciated his dad’s mentioning his big dream, too, and saying Derek could get there if he just kept on competing and coming back for more.
Still, none of that made him feel one bit better about not making the play-offs.
• • •
Derek’s mom came home late, after a Parents’ Association meeting at the school. Lying on his bed in the dark, Derek heard her come in and greet his dad. When their voices got quiet, he wondered what they were talking about. Probably about the little tantrum he’d thrown after getting beaten at chess, he figured.
Sure enough, he soon heard her footsteps coming up the stairs. “Derek? You awake?” she asked, knocking on the half-open door and stepping into the room.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Your dad tells me there were some fireworks. You all right?”
“I guess.”
She sat down on the side of his bed and ran a hand through his hair. “It’ll be all right, old man. You’ll feel better about things tomorrow.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Hey, come on now,” she said. “That’s not my Derek talking. Don’t you have three more games left in your season? What’s your record now?”
“Um, 4–5?”
“Okay. So let’s do some baseball math, Derek. Pay attention now. What would the Tigers’ record be if you won your next three games?”
“Uh . . . 7–5.”
“And that means what?”
Derek sat up in bed, realizing that he did still have something to play for. “We’d end up with a winning record!”
“Exactly,” said his mom, getting up. “I rest my case. Plus, you already accomplished one of your goals. You got to play shortstop, didn’t you? So . . . I wouldn’t waste another minute lying around moping. That’s not going to get you anywhere. And while you’re at it, why don’t you try to make the All-Star team as well?”