No Fear!

by Steve Moore

  The three Benchkateers!

  Quick Time-Out about My Friends

  Sitting the pine is our common bond. Joey, Carlos, and I are benchwarmers who love absolutely everything about sports.

  Almost everything.

  We live in a sports lover’s paradise. There’s even a stadium right smack in the middle of our neighborhood. Goodfellow Stadium is where I got those dirty NBA socks that I sold to the memorabilia collector.

  When I ran into Carlos and Joey on the way to the sporting goods store, it was no coincidence. They were waiting for me, and Joey already knew about my decision to try out for the baseball team and my desperate need for a cup.

  How did he know? Well, Joey is a psychic, and I’m not even making that up.

  He can predict stuff like when a pitcher is going to lose control of a fastball and bean a batter right on the skull. That’s a handy thing to know ahead of time, especially if you’re the batter.

  One time in math class Joey predicted something during that quiet moment at the beginning of class after the bell but before the teacher starts yakking and scrawling alien symbols on the whiteboard.

  A few seconds later the teacher told us to close our books because he was giving us a pop quiz!

  Everyone was amazed (and sort of creeped out) except Jimmy Jimerino. He slammed Joey for not predicting the quiz sooner so that he could work up some cheat sheets.

  Joey is a small guy, and I’m talking teensy, but he can run faster than any student in our entire school. Maybe even the entire world!

  He’s like a flea. If you blink, he’s gone.

  It’s a survival skill found in all tiny creatures.

  Joey is the quiet middle child in the Linguini family. They have nine really noisy kids, so Joey gets drowned out and forgotten all the time.

  Joey really needs to work on raising his voice, though, especially when he has an important prediction to announce.

  Carlos is the opposite of Joey. He’s slow and loud and sort of overweight, although he calls it “big boned.” Carlos is a good guy, but he never stops complaining. He’s the biggest grouch at Spiro T. Agnew Middle School.

  Carlos gripes about everything, and he hates being a benchwarmer. Carlos believes that he’s better at sports than any of the hotshot athletes—including Jimmy Jimerino. He’s not, but don’t say that to Carlos.

  Carlos does have one amazing talent, though. He can burp and speak at the same time. I’m talking entire paragraphs in one belch!

  Anyone can belch a single word. It’s a cinch.

  But Carlos has enough gas bottled up in his gut to burp entire paragraphs.

  In youth sports his bodacious belches were morale builders. If our team was getting slaughtered in a game, Carlos would burp-speak in the dugout so loud that even the center fielder could hear it.

  If there was such a thing as Major League Burping, Carlos would be a first-round draft choice.

  By the time I met up with Carlos and Joey, they had also decided to try out for the middle school baseball team. That meant we would be going through the rite of passage together. But they needed gear, too.

  So the three of us headed off to O’Callahan’s Sporting Goods. I needed a cup, and Joey had to buy baseball socks, because he refuses to wear his older brothers’ germy hand-me-downs.

  Carlos wanted to buy a Frisbee. Why? I don’t know. It has nothing to do with baseball, but that’s just Carlos.

  CHAPTER 4

  When we arrived at O’Callahan’s Sporting Goods, Becky O’Callahan was at the checkout counter. Becky is the owner’s granddaughter.

  Quick Time-Out about Becky

  Everyone at school except Carlos likes Becky. Carlos says he doesn’t like her because she’s “stuck-up,” but the real reason is that he’s jealous. Becky is a way better athlete than Carlos.

  Becky is definitely not stuck-up. For one thing, she’s really good at video games. I heard that she reached Ultimate-Toad level in Bufo Combat, practically the most popular video game in the entire universe, and I’m not even exaggerating.

  I’ve only gotten to Tadpole level, and it took me three months! You can’t be stuck-up if you’re good at video games, especially Bufo Combat.

  Becky also has a great smile. It’s not too big and toothy, where you can see way up into her gums. And it’s not a tight-lip smile, where you don’t see any teeth at all.

  Becky has Nature’s Near-Perfect Smile. It makes you feel like you’re her best friend in the entire universe.

  By the way, I really, really like Becky, but no one knows. (Er . . . I guess everyone knows NOW since I’m spilling my guts in a book!)

  I can’t talk to Becky without stuffing my hands in my pants pockets or hooking my thumbs in the belt. It’s really awkward. If I don’t ditch my hands somewhere, they just sort of flail around in panic looking for a place to hide.

  Unfortunately, Becky has a boyfriend—Jimmy Jimerino.

  Jimmy was at the sporting goods store when we arrived. He was leaning on Becky’s checkout counter and trying to act all cool in a game-worn NFL football jersey that I sold him last summer for about four times what it’s worth.

  No way was I going to buy a cup from Becky, especially with Jimmy watching. He’d probably think I was putting the moves on his girlfriend.

  I needed someone to buy a cup for me.

  Joey couldn’t do it because he also has a cup-buying phobia. He uses a hand-me-down cup from one of his older brothers, which makes no sense to me. Joey refuses to wear used baseball socks, but he has no problem wearing a used athletic protector?

  Carlos said he’d buy the cup for me, but only if I paid for his Frisbee.

  What a buddy. I would’ve told Carlos to shove a Frisbee up his left nostril, but I was stuck. I needed his help.

  Joey and Carlos went to pick out their stuff. Joey was done in about five seconds. He took his new socks up to the checkout counter and stood there waiting.

  Meanwhile, Carlos had to examine every single Frisbee in the entire store, as if one Frisbee wasn’t exactly as round as all the others.

  I killed time in the baseball section. The store had official Major League baseballs on display. They were fresh out of the box and carefully stacked up in the shape of a pyramid. It must have taken someone an entire week to build.

  I wanted to buy a new baseball, but I didn’t have enough money because I gave every cent I had to Carlos for my athletic protector and his stupid Frisbee.

  While I was admiring the pyramid, a toddler who was about the size of Joey wandered over.

  A pyramid made of baseballs is a huge temptation for a toddler.

  He tried to grab one of the baseballs—one at the very bottom of the pyramid.

  I knew THAT wasn’t going to end well, so I stopped him. Then I reached up and grabbed the baseball at the very top of the pyramid. But when I turned to give it to the little tyke, my elbow bumped a baseball on the bottom row.

  Avalanche!

  The pyramid that probably took someone an entire week to build was ruined. I had about two seconds to act. Naturally, I chose to do what any intelligent person would do in that situation.

  I bolted.

  I ducked behind a hockey display and left the rug rat to take the blame. Then he started to cry, and my conscience got to me.

  I was just about to come out of hiding when Becky rushed over. She wasn’t upset about the collapsed pyramid, though. She was worried about the rug rat. Becky picked him up and gave him a hug and told him everything was okay.

  And then she gave him a brand-new baseball—for free!

  You see? That’s why everyone at Spiro T. Agnew Middle School except Carlos likes Becky O’Callahan.

  Carlos finally stopped fooling around and chose a Frisbee. (A round one!) He paid for the Frisbee and my cup and then joined me and Joey outside.

  Carlos handed me the athletic protector, and I looked at the box.

  Derp!

  I tried to get Carlos to exchange it for a smaller
size, but he was busy planning his future on the Professional Frisbee Tour.

  I went home and tried on the XXL cup.

  Fortunately, my dad bailed me out. I showed him my cup problem, and when he was finally done with his laughing fit, Dad drove to O’Callahan’s and bought me the right size.

  CHAPTER 5

  Now that I had all my gear together, the next step in preparing for the tryout was to practice my skills. In case you don’t know, in between seasons the human body can actually forget how to throw a baseball and swing a bat.

  I really wanted to at least toss the ball around, but I needed a second person, because it’s practically impossible to play catch with yourself.

  Dad had to leave on a business trip, so I asked my friends.

  Joey couldn’t play catch because he had chores to do at home. The middle child in a large family always gets stuck with unpleasant chores that none of the other kids will do.

  I asked Carlos to play catch, but he reminded me that he’s a natural athlete, so he had no need to practice for the baseball tryout. You can probably guess I had some serious doubts about that statement.

  I was on my own.

  O’Callahan’s Sporting Goods sells those fancy Toss-O-Matic gizmos that bounce balls right back at you. It’s almost like playing catch with yourself.

  One time Carlos tried the store display Toss-O-Matic. The baseball rebounded faster than he expected and conked him in the forehead. (So much for his “natural athlete” claim.) For two days, Carlos had a huge bump on his forehead.

  I wasn’t real motivated to buy a Toss-O-Matic and grow a nose on my forehead. And I didn’t want to go through the checkout line at O’Callahan’s Sporting Goods. Becky would think I was a loser with no friends who would play catch with me.

  I decided to improvise and throw a baseball against the fence in my backyard, then field the rebound as a grounder.

  It worked pretty well—except when the ball would hit a gap between fence boards and ricochet sideways across my backyard.

  I was just starting to get my arm warmed up when my next-door neighbor called the police. Mrs. Smoot is a pet hoarder with about ten million cats, by my estimate. No one in the neighborhood even knows what she looks like, because Mrs. Smoot never leaves the house.

  When the ball started banging against the fence, Mrs. Smoot’s stupid cats freaked out.

  I guess they thought a cat-eating Rottweiler was trying to break through the fence with a sledgehammer.

  A police officer showed up at my house.

  He was sympathetic about my need to practice for the baseball tryout, but he told me to quit throwing the ball against the fence.

  At that point I pretty much gave up on getting any practice in before the baseball tryout. I decided to just show up cold and wing it.

  Big mistake.

  CHAPTER 6

  The Mighty Plumbers baseball tryout was held after school on Valentine’s Day.

  We all gathered in center field. Our coach climbed up into the bleachers to address us.

  He was holding a clipboard, which is a coach’s most valuable possession. It contains top-secret notes about all the players.

  Clipboards also contain important wisdom that a coach needs to build a winning team.

  Coach Earwax blew his whistle to start tryouts and yelled, “Listen up!”

  Every coach in the entire world yells “Listen up!” It gets instant attention, like when a beach lifeguard yells “Shark!”

  We all instantly stopped yakking and squirming—except Joey. He’s kind of a fidgety guy, which is another survival skill found in most tiny creatures.

  But Joey had good reason to squirm. He forgot the first step in preparing for the team tryout.

  I blinked and Joey was gone.

  Coach Earwax told us that only fifteen players would make the team. Everyone except Jimmy Jimerino did a quick count. He wasn’t worried, because hotshot athletes never get cut.

  There were thirty of us (counting Joey) trying out for the team. That meant that by the end of tryouts, half of us would be hiding in restroom stalls without food for a week because of the shame.

  We looked around, trying to act all nonchalant and cool while we sized up the competition. Right away I spotted one kid who probably wouldn’t make the cut.

  Ricky Schnauzer was wearing khakis, a collared shirt, and hard-sole shoes! And it was pretty easy to tell that his glove was brand-spanking-new because there was an O’Callahan’s Sporting Goods price tag still attached to the webbing.

  Street clothes, hard-sole shoes, and a spanking-new glove! Ricky Schnauzer was toast.

  Joey returned with his glove. He had only been gone about thirty seconds—and his house is six blocks away! Then Joey had another one of his psychic episodes.

  Joey didn’t speak up, as usual, so we were all confused until about ten seconds later, when Vinny Pascual started gagging as if he’d just swallowed gum down the wrong pipe, which is exactly what had happened. It looked like Vinny was going to blow chunks, so I figured Joey had said “Hurl.” But that wasn’t the prediction.

  Vinny was choking on his gum because he was startled by the sight of a girl running toward us wearing metal cleats and carrying a baseball glove.

  Becky O’Callahan was trying out for the baseball team!

  Everyone was shocked—including Jimmy Jimerino. Apparently Becky had told no one that she was trying out for the team, not even her hotshot athlete boyfriend.

  We were all dead silent—except for Vinny.

  Carlos gave him a hard slap on the back, and the gum wad shot out of Vinny’s mouth and lodged in Skinny Dennis’s hair.

  Coach Earwax was caught off guard by Becky. It’s totally okay for girls to try out for the school baseball team, but it had never happened in the history of Spiro T. Agnew Middle School.

  Coach Earwax scribbled a top-secret note on his clipboard and mumbled his way through a “review” of baseball fundamentals that everyone should have learned back in Pee Wee league. Then he told us to run out and stand at the positions we wanted to play.

  That started a mad dash to the most popular positions, like pitcher, shortstop, and first base.

  One kid got so disoriented in all the excitement that he ran off the field and disappeared.

  One less competitor!

  Shortstop is a baseball position reserved for hotshot athletes, so naturally Carlos chose that position, along with two other fools who didn’t realize that Jimmy Jimerino already owned first-string shortstop.

  Becky ran to the pitcher’s mound and lined up behind three guys.

  Joey zipped out to second base because it’s practically a rule in baseball that tiny guys play second base.

  I jogged out to right field. No one in their right mind actually chooses to play right field, but it was a strategic move. If I was the only one trying out for that position, then I’d definitely make the team.

  Unfortunately, I had company. Skinny Dennis and Dewey Taylor somehow had figured out the same strategy.

  CHAPTER 7

  In case you’ve never been in a baseball tryout, the pace is really quick.

  Fielding—Badda-boom!

  Hitting—Badda-bing!

  Coach Earwax started hitting grounders to the infield.

  Jimmy was awesome, of course. Every time he fielded a grounder and made a perfect throw to first base, Coach Earwax would get all gushy.

  “Atta babe” is like “Listen up.” It’s another term that coaches use all the time. “Atta babe” means a player did something that will get a player picked for the team.

  After every spectacular play, Jimmy had to immediately look over at Becky to see if she was watching. She wasn’t. Becky kept her attention on the coach, which is exactly what you’re supposed to do instead of gushing over a hotshot athlete.

  Meanwhile, Carlos made a huge error in judgment.

  Coach Earwax actually stopped practice and reminded Carlos that he was no longer playing youth baseball, so
he’d better knock off the “baby stuff.”

  Ouch.

  I’m not sure if it was the pressure of trying out or the fact that Becky, the prettiest girl in school, was standing on the pitcher’s mound, but players were dropping balls, muffing grounders, and making bad throws.

  At one point Coach Earwax told Vinny Pascual to “keep your head down” when fielding grounders so the ball wouldn’t roll under his glove.

  Vinny took Coach a little too literally, and boy did he pay the price.

  The ball knocked out two of Vinny’s front teeth. He looked like an Ultimate Fighter dude who got karate kicked in the mouth. It was awesome.

  Vinny picked up his two teeth out of the dirt and ran home. Another player gone.

  Carlos continued to struggle. After his embarrassing “baby stuff” disaster, he missed three easy grounders. Each time he flubbed the play, Carlos would scowl at his glove as if it was the problem!

  Joey did pretty well at second base. He’s so fast, nothing got past him. But Joey’s arm is really tiny, so his throws landed halfway to first base and then rolled the rest of the way.

  Coach hit three hard grounders to Becky on the mound. She scooped up the balls like a pro and made perfect throws to first base. Coach looked pleasantly surprised. He didn’t say “Atta babe,” but he jotted a top-secret note on his clipboard.

  Then it was the outfielders’ turn to field hits. I was the first victim. Unfortunately, I was distracted.

  A few feet away, a gopher had poked his head out of a hole and glared at me. I was pretty sure it was challenging me to a contest.

  The gopher won only because my eyeballs dried out.

  I didn’t want to be distracted by a rodent and blow the tryout, so I tried to scare it back into its hole.