by Steve Moore
Jimmy launched into a far-fetched story about how he was in the gym lifting weights the night before the Big Game and afterward he was so exhausted that he could not even lift a pencil.
Wow. What a pathetic excuse. Completely bogus.
So naturally, Mr. Spleen swallowed the whole tale and let Jimmy Jimerino the hotshot athlete completely off the hook.
Jimmy strutted out of the classroom, and under his breath he said, “See ya later . . . Goose Egg.”
After watching Jimmy get away with his lame story, I figured my honest and understandable “the snake ate my homework” excuse would be fine with Mr. Spleen.
But . . .
He offered me one final chance to redeem myself. Mr. Spleen scribbled on the board a mind-boggling equation from some alien planet. Probably Pluto.
If I solved it, I could play in the Big Game.
I looked at the equation. All I could think about was the Goose Egg.
I had one minute.
Time ticked away. All was lost. I buried my head in my arms and mumbled something about Bean-O-Phobia and Goose Egg and a baseball season without getting even one hit.
Mr. Spleen was totally bumfuzzled.
He pointed to the door. I was free to go.
To the Big Game!
CHAPTER 23
I sprinted to the locker room and put on the rest of my uniform. I put on my cleats and baseball cap. Then I reached into my gear bag and discovered that I hadn’t followed Dad’s “ninety percent preparation” rule.
I forgot my glove.
Derp!
The team headed out of the locker room for the field. I didn’t have much time.
I would have asked Joey to run and fetch my glove, because he would be back in about thirty seconds and I’m not even exaggerating. But Joey had already dashed like a flea to the field way ahead of everyone else.
I had no choice. I ducked out the back door of the locker room and sprinted for home.
It was awkward running in cleats on cement sidewalks, and it made a really loud racket that attracted all kinds of attention.
I ran into the house and grabbed my glove. On the way out of the room, I glanced at the terrarium. The lid was open, and there was no sign of Fido.
I thought maybe he was just doing his free-range thing, so I looked all over the house: kitchen, laundry room, family room, Mom’s bathtub.
No Fido. He was gone.
There was no time to spare. I had to get to the game and hope that Fido would free-range himself right back into his terrarium.
I sprinted all the way back to school and made it to the stadium just as the Mighty Plumbers were running onto the field.
If I had been a starting player, Coach Earwax would have noticed that I was late. But benchwarmers become pretty much invisible at game time. Besides, Coach was a little distracted.
I slipped unseen onto the bench.
CHAPTER 24
The Chaney Middle School Werewolves were our opponents for the League Championship. And, yeah, they were a scary team.
I don’t live in a tough part of town. We’ve got a couple of abandoned buildings, and a few years ago someone dumped detergent in the central park fountain and suds spilled out onto Seventh Street. But that’s about as tough as it gets.
The Werewolves were from a really tough part of town where even Mother T. would have had a hard time keeping the peace. We were told Chaney Middle School has uniformed guards and front doors made of steel and cement walls that are three feet thick. It’s practically a fortress built to withstand anarchy or barbarian invaders.
The Werewolves had a reputation for poor sportsmanship and for starting a brawl if you even looked at them the wrong way.
Before the game, Coach Earwax instructed us to avoid eye contact if a Werewolves player confronted us. And, if threatened, we were to roll into a fetal position and pretend to be dead.
We were all worried, but the game got off to a good start. Becky was pitching, and for the first five innings she had another no-hitter going—even with the spaghetti stains on her jersey.
But Skinny Dennis forgot about the no-hitter jinx rule. He told Becky she was “bombdiggity” because she hadn’t allowed a hit.
The very next batter lined a double to left field, and that was the end of Becky’s no-hitter.
The game was still scoreless in the seventh inning. I think the Werewolves were beginning to wonder if their scary reputation had lost its effect, because they brought in a Secret Weapon.
Our stadium announcer introduced the new Werewolves pitcher, but he made the mistake of using his real name.
Biffy gave the announcer a scary Werewolves stink eye. He was quickly reintroduced by his preferred nickname:
Beast was probably six feet ten inches tall, and I am not even exaggerating. He had freakishly thick arms and stringy hair that spilled out the back of his baseball cap like tentacles.
The Werewolves crowd chanted all deep-throated and scary as he lumbered like Godzilla out to the mound.
Beast threw blazing fastballs with little or no control. In the dirt. Wide right. Wide left. Way, way, WAY high.
All game long I had been hoping for one last chance at bat, but I lost my enthusiasm after watching Beast warm up. Maybe I could live with the Goose Egg after all.
Our first batter was Tommy Hanks, who was the second-smallest player on the team and the starting second baseman, ahead of Joey.
Beast threw his blazing fastball to Hanks, and the ball skipped in the dirt and ricocheted right into his shin, which as you know is one of the most sensitive bones in the entire body.
Tommy was carried off the field on a stretcher. He was done.
Coach Earwax looked over at the bench. He motioned for Joey to go in for Tommy and take his place at first base as the pinch runner.
Our next batter was Otto Bertolero, our center fielder. When Otto stepped into the batter’s box, Joey went into psychic mode all the way from his spot on first base.
Seconds later, Beast threw another fastball way inside. The ball smacked Otto right in the lower back.
P.S. Getting hit by a fastball in the kidney is almost more painful than getting hit in the shin. Poor Otto took a ride to the doctor in Mr. Joseph’s filthy pickup truck.
Coach Earwax said he had to show “an abundance of caution.”
Coach Earwax looked over at the bench for another pinch runner. You could tell he was struggling to decide what player to put in the game in place of Otto. Who does he choose: Pink Goose Egg or Big-Bone Malcontent?
He chose Carlos.
I didn’t need Joey to predict what would happen next. After watching two players get clobbered by Beast, the next three Mighty Plumber batters were stricken with Bean-O-Phobia.
They closed their eyes and swung wildly at every pitch. Three batters up, three strikeouts. Suddenly, I didn’t feel so alone in the world.
CHAPTER 25
At the start of the ninth inning, with the game scoreless, the Mighty Plumbers took the field. Joey was at second base and Carlos was in center field. I sat on the pine.
Beast was the first batter up. I think Becky was trying to do a little payback, because her first pitch was high and inside. That probably was a bad decision.
Beast hit the dirt. He got back up and was so mad you could practically see smoke coming out of his ears and nostrils.
Beast swung at Becky’s next pitch and drilled the ball deep to right field. Skinny Dennis backpedaled as fast as he could. Back, back. Way back.
A little TOO far back.
Skinny Dennis was out cold. The ball bounced off the fence, and Beast made it all the way to second base.
Coach Earwax helped load Skinny into Mr. Joseph’s filthy pickup truck for the “abundance of caution” trip to the doctor.
Coach looked over at the bench. He was down to one replacement. No other choice. He gave me “the nod.”
I ran out to right field and got into proper position, with weight on the balls of m
y feet and my knees bent. Then I mentally prepared myself for action.
Becky struck out two Werewolves in a row. I was pretty sure that she was going to strike out the next batter, so I sort of lost focus and glanced over at the bleachers.
Dad was at the game!
He was sitting next to my mom, and when Dad saw me look over he waved. Instantly, I was struck with Dad-O-Phobia. My stomach did a somersault. My legs shook.
I tried as hard as I could to fight off a total dork meltdown right in the middle of the Big Game. I was trying so hard, I didn’t see the Werewolves batter hit the first pitch.
I picked up the ball and threw it as hard as I could toward home, but Beast had already scored from second base.
Becky struck out the next batter, but the damage was done. The Werewolves were ahead, 1–0.
The Mighty Plumbers slouched off the field. Joey and I tried to get Carlos to belt out one of his famous burps to boost team morale, but his guts were all tied up in knots because of Beast.
CHAPTER 26
The Mighty Plumbers had one last turn at bat. The timing could not have been worse.
Joey went to bat and tried to bunt, but he popped it up to Beast, who caught it easily. Carlos belted a shot deep into left field, but it drifted foul. Then he struck out.
My moment of truth had arrived.
I looked over at the bench from the on-deck circle. Everyone’s faces were glum—all except Becky’s. She smiled That Smile and gave me a thumbs-up.
Jimmy was up after me. He told me, “Get on base, Goose Egg.” Or else.
I walked over to the batter’s box. The catcher, er, complimented me on my pink jersey.
The Bean-O-Phobia video began playing in my mind: Blood. Sideways nose. Baseball the size of a meteor. The first pitch came right at my head. I dove into the dirt. When I got up, my knees were shaking.
The next pitch was high and way outside, but I closed my eyes and swung anyway. Derp!
I had two strikes with two outs, and my team was behind by a run in the final inning of the League Championship.
I stepped out of the batter’s box and pulled my dad’s FEAR prescription out of my back pocket.
I took a deep breath and looked up into the bleachers.
The entire Spiro student body and faculty—all dressed in teal-colored clothing—were on their feet and hoping for a miracle. Even Mother T. was there with her hands folded as if in prayer.
I stepped back into the batter’s box. Beast grinned at me. I think he was drooling.
I blocked Beast out of my mind and focused on hitting the baseball.
Forget Everything And Relax.
No fear!
Beast threw a fastball right down the middle. I kept my eyes wide open. The ball seemed to be as big as a meteor! I didn’t actually swing. It was more like I just stuck the bat out over the plate, and it collided with the ball.
I hit a soft blooper over the third baseman’s head. It landed in front of the left fielder, and he picked it up, then bobbled the ball. By the time he got hold of it again, I was running for second base. In his panic, the fielder made a bad throw, and I sprinted for third.
I knew it was going to be a close play, so I pulled off one of my excellent headfirst slides into the bag.
No brag. It’s just a fact.
The home crowd erupted in cheers. Mom and Dad jumped up and down and hugged each other. Mother T. actually cracked a smile.
On the bench, Mighty Plumbers bumped chests and slapped hands.
Coach Earwax helped me up at third base. I was sweating like a hotshot athlete and covered from head to toe in dirt. It was awesome.
And I think Coach Earwax really meant it.
My Bean-O-Phobia was conquered—and the Goose Egg was smashed!
CHAPTER 27
The fate of the Mighty Plumbers now was in the hands of Jimmy Jimerino.
A base hit would tie the score. A home run would win the game and the League Championship. Hotshot athletes like Jimmy Jimerino dream of these high-pressure moments.
He stepped into the batter’s box. He was brimming with confidence. Beast glared at Jimmy. Jimmy made direct eye contact and glared right back at Beast.
Right about then I saw something move in the grass in front of home plate. A small head popped up and looked around.
Fido!
My free-range snake had followed me all the way to the ball field! I think he was full of guilt for eating my homework, and he wanted to apologize.
Just as Beast was going into his windup, Jimmy Jimerino spotted Fido in the grass. Jimmy’s eyes bulged. His legs shook. His arms turned to rubber.
Textbook case of Snake-O-Phobia.
Jimmy scrunched down into a fetal position just as Beast unleashed a blazing fastball.
Jimmy’s bat was sticking up over his head. The ball hit the bat and dribbled like a puny Pee Wee league bunt right to the pitcher’s mound.
Beast bent over and picked up the ball with his bare hand. Then he walked—walked!—over to where Jimmy was cowering at the plate.
Jimmy was tagged out. The game was over. The Chaney Middle School Werewolves were League Champions.
I ran over and scooped up Fido. I stuffed him down my shirt before he could do any more emotional damage to Jimmy.
The Mighty Plumbers quietly gathered up their gear. No one said a word to Jimmy—not even his hotshot athlete posse.
Everyone was left wondering: what happened to Jimmy Jimerino?
Only me and Jimmy and Fido knew the truth.
Becky walked over to Jimmy and patted him on the back. Translation: shake it off.
She turned to me and flashed Nature’s Near-Perfect Smile. Then Becky gave me a big hug, right in front of Jimmy, and winked!
My knees did not wobble. I was solid as cement. I smiled right back at Becky O’Callahan.
The Mighty Plumbers shuffled off the field. Jimmy and I were alone in the dugout.
I walked over and stuck out my hand. Jimmy hesitated, then he shook hands. I told him not to feel bad. Everyone struggles with some kind of fear.
I don’t know if he had expected me to make some sarcastic remark or if he was still in Snake-O-Phobia shock, but Jimmy just stared at me wide-eyed and didn’t say a word. (Fido tried to crawl out of my shirt to mess with Jimmy’s brain, but I quickly shoved him back in.)
Mom and Dad were waiting for me by the bleachers. Dad swatted me on the butt the way hotshot athletes always do. Mom gave me a big hug and a sloppy kiss the way moms always do.
Then she wiped the lipstick off my face with her germy spit.
I would have ridden home with my parents, but there was one more thing I needed to do.
I went into the Mighty Plumbers’ locker room. Not once during the entire season did I take a shower after practice or games, because ace benchwarmers like me rarely get dirty and drenched in chick-magnet sweat.
So it felt good when I hopped in the shower, lathered up with soap, and finally was able to wash actual dirt and sweat right down the drain.
And along with it any remaining trace of Bean-O-Phobia.
EPILOGUE
I wasn’t exactly the hotshot athlete hero of the Big Game, but I did single-handedly defeat the humiliating phobia that almost ruined my first baseball season at Spiro T. Agnew Middle School.
And like I already told you, I don’t even want to be a BJOC like Jimmy Jimerino.
You’ve got to win at everything, and who needs that kind of pressure?
I’m fine with sitting on the bench—at least for now.
Besides, I’m probably better at it than anyone else my age in the entire universe. End of the pine. Middle of the pine. Doesn’t matter.
I’m King of the Bench!
No brag. It’s just a fact.
CREDITS
Cover art © 2017 by Steve Moore
Cover design by Katie Klimowicz
COPYRIGHT
KING OF THE BENCH: NO FEAR! Copyright © 2017 by Steve Moore. All rights
reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
www.harpercollinschildrens.com
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ISBN 978-0-06-220330-4
EPub Edition © March 2017 ISBN 9780062203311
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