Steal That Base!

by Kurtis Scaletta

  Spike reached the seating area steps and ran up. The second base umpire went back to his spot on the field.

  The mascot bounded up the steps and gave Petunia the bobblehead. The little girl jumped up and down and then gave Spike a big hug.

  Nate Link pitched, and the batter bounced into a double play. The inning was finally over.

  “The Finches get three runs on four hits,” said Victor Snapp. “The inning also had two walks, a wild pitch, a distracted batboy, and a disruptive mascot. Figure out how to put that on your scorecards! We go to the bottom of the eighth inning.”

  It was mostly a happy ending, except for the fact that the Porcupines were losing—and I didn’t have a bobblehead.

  • • •

  George “President” Lincoln batted first for the Porcupines. He was the second baseman. He hit a single. Tommy was next, and he hit a single, too. Myung came to the plate and grounded out. The runners were able to advance, so at least the Porcupines had two runners in scoring position.

  Mike Stammer hit a double, and the crowd went wild as both runners scored. Now the Porcupines only needed one more run to tie the game, and there was a runner at second base.

  Sammy Solaris came to the plate. The crowd stood up and clapped.

  He took a ball, then swung at the next pitch and missed, then hit a foul ball.

  I felt my stomach tie up in knots. Sammy had been on base every at-bat this game. What were the odds he could do it again?

  He swung and smacked the ball. It soared toward the fence. The crowd gasped.

  The ball hit the fence and bounced back. That was enough to score Mike Stammer. Sammy turned at first base.

  “Go! Go! Go!” people shouted at Sammy, but he didn’t go.

  The center fielder fielded the ball and threw to the second baseman. He had an arm like a cannon. Maybe Sammy made the right choice by staying put. If he’d tried to go to second, he might have been out.

  Grumps turned back to look at the bench. He nodded at Luis Quezada, a utility infielder and pinch runner. Luis leaped up. Grumps was taking Sammy out of the game. He went to signal to the umpires that he was putting in a replacement. He stopped and brushed at his leg. He slapped his left thigh three times. He drummed his fingers on his right shoulder. He took off his cap and swiped at his shoe while hopping on one foot.

  I didn’t know the signs, but Sammy’s eyes lit up.

  Todd was still pitching. He glanced at Sammy, saw he was still on base, and turned back to face Wayne Zane at the plate. He pitched.

  Sammy took off.

  The crowd roared. Grumps turned purple.

  Wayne didn’t swing. The catcher fumbled with the ball.

  Sammy kept on running. He was halfway to second base.

  Jonny finally got a grip on the ball and flung it to second. The second baseman caught it and braced himself to tag Sammy.

  Sammy put on the brakes and started back to first.

  Grumps covered his eyes.

  Gustavo, the Finches’ first baseman, caught the ball and got ready to tag Sammy as he bolted back to first. Sammy stopped, turned, and headed back to second.

  “They have Sammy picked off,” said Victor Snapp.

  It was the slowest rundown I ever saw. Sammy strode to second. The second baseman toed the bag and waited for Gustavo to throw back the ball.

  Gustavo took a few steps, and pumped. But he didn’t throw the ball. He took another few steps and made like he was going to throw, but the ball didn’t leave his hand. He gave up and started running after Sammy.

  Sammy slid. The second baseman got out of the way. Sammy’s heel reached the bag a split second before Gustavo caught up and tagged him. The second base umpire signaled . . .

  SAFE!

  “He’s safe!” Victor Snapp shouted. “Sammy Solaris just stole second base! That’s the first stolen base in his career. What a game!”

  The crowd stomped and cheered.

  The Finches’ pitcher shook his head in disbelief. Gustavo tried to throw him the ball, but still couldn’t get it out of his hand.

  Todd had to go take it by force. He glared at the ball and tossed it to the umpire for another.

  Gustavo wiped his hand on his pants, and suddenly I knew what had happened. He couldn’t make the throw because he had a hand full of marshmallow goo!

  Grumps called a time-out and sent Luis to pinch-run for Sammy. Sammy got a standing ovation as he came in from the field. He was beaming. His smile could have lit up a night game.

  “I stole second base,” he said. “I can’t wait to call Wendy!”

  “I didn’t give you the sign to steal,” Grumps barked.

  “It sure looked like you did. You touched your leg and took off your cap. That’s the sign, coach. All that other stuff was funny to watch, but it didn’t change the sign.”

  “I had a spider on me! I was shaking it off,” Grumps said. “Can’t you tell the difference?”

  “I can’t see a spider all the way from first base,” said Sammy.

  “Bah.”

  “Coach, it’s OK,” said Sammy. “I was safe. All’s well that ends well.”

  “You got lucky.”

  “I’ll take lucky,” said Sammy. “Or magic.” He patted his hip pocket and gave me a thumbs-up sign, then went to the locker room to call his niece.

  I started to ask Grumps what happened to the spider, but decided it was not a good idea. He was called Grumps for a reason.

  Wayne Zane hit a long single, and Luis Quezada sped home. The Porcupines took a one-run lead. Ryan Kimball, the Porcupines’ closer, started warming up in the bull pen. Teddy Larrabee struck out, and then either Danny O’Brien or Brian Daniels flied out to right field.

  “The Porcupines get four runs on five hits, and the strangest stolen base I’ve ever seen,” said Victor Snapp. “So we go to the top of the ninth!”

  I went to the dugout door and searched the ground. I didn’t see Sparky. I didn’t see a dead spider, either, so that was good news.

  ylan and I searched the field for an hour after the game. We found plenty of bugs but no spiders.

  “You know,” I said, “a spider is pretty small, and a ballpark is really big.”

  “I know,” Dylan replied. “What’s one little spider, anyway? There are billions of spiders in the world.”

  But he kept searching the grass.

  “I’m going home,” I said. “I have to get back in time for supper.” I stood up and jogged toward the locker room. Just in the nick of time, I spotted a tiny black splotch against the white line around the on-deck circle. I almost smooshed it but stopped short. I hopped a couple of times before I got my balance. I knelt and took a closer look. Something wiggled. It could have been Dylan’s spider, but it was hard to be sure.

  “Psst. Dylan.” I waved him over and pointed.

  “Is that Sparky?”

  “I think so.” He put his hand out and let the spider crawl into his palm.

  “And you’re sure it’s not the biting kind?”

  “Yep. Unless you’re an insect,” said Dylan. “I’m going to move him outside the ballpark. Too many people stamping around in here.”

  “That’s all baseball is to you?” I asked. “People stamping around?”

  “I guess it is fun sometimes,” Dylan admitted. The spider tried to crawl out of his hand. He swapped it into his other hand. “When the two guys were chasing Sammy back and forth. And when the mascot tore across the field. That was awesome.”

  “Yeah. Those sure were highlights. And you know, when Sparky makes a web. That’s pretty awesome, too.”

  “Well, it’s not exactly a high-speed chase,” he said.

  “Neither was that rundown!”

  He laughed. “Thanks for helping me find Sparky,” he said. “I just like animals. No matter how small. Some people don’t get it.”

  “It’s not much different being a big fan of Single-A baseball,” I told him.

  • • •

  There was
a green car parked in our driveway. I saw it from the corner and took off running. I would know that car anywhere, even before I saw the ballpark bumper stickers plastered all over it.

  “Uncle Rick!” I shouted, banging through the front door.

  “Hey, it’s the all-star batboy!” Uncle Rick jumped up to give me a hug. He looks like Dad, but with more hair and less stomach. It turned out he’d just arrived, and Mom and Dad hadn’t even known he was coming. Uncle Rick lives in the city. He explained that he’d been driving back from a trade show and took a detour to surprise us.

  Uncle Rick is the biggest baseball fan I know. He’s the one who explained the rules of the game to me when I was little, and taught me all the ballpark slang, and showed me how to keep score. He even gave me all his baseball cards. That was huge. I knew Uncle Rick loved those cards. “They just sit around at my place,” he’d said. “I don’t have much time to enjoy them, but you do.”

  When Uncle Rick goes on vacation, he figures out a route where he can see as many baseball games in as many different ballparks as he can. Some years he goes to spring training in Florida or Arizona. I hope one day he’ll take me with him. Uncle Rick has a great life for a grown-up, even if he spends most of his days selling dental supplies.

  Over dinner I told Uncle Rick all about being a batboy. I told him about Grumps’s nickname and Wally’s mustache and Wayne Zane’s bad jokes. I told him about Mike Stammer’s unassisted triple play and Sammy Solaris’s stolen base.

  “You never know what’s going to happen,” Uncle Rick said. “That’s why I never leave until the game is over.”

  “I did leave a game before it was over,” I admitted. “It was just last night. I missed a great walk-off hit.”

  “I made him do it,” Dad explained. “It was way past his bedtime.”

  “Well, do what your parents say, even when they’re wrong.” Uncle Rick winked and got himself some more spaghetti. “I left a game early once,” he admitted. “I found out later the pitcher finished a no-hitter. I could have been there for a historic moment, but I left after only four innings.”

  “Why?” I couldn’t believe that Uncle Rick of all people would leave in the middle of a no-hitter.

  “I found out my nephew was coming, and I wanted to be there to meet him,” he said.

  “What?” I was his only nephew, and I didn’t remember that. Then I realized what he meant—the day I was born.

  “I can’t believe you missed a no-hitter for that,” I told him.

  “Well, it was only the fourth inning,” he said. “I didn’t know it was going to be a no-hitter . . .”

  Mom and Dad laughed, but I think Uncle Rick was being serious.

  ncle Rick spent the night. We have a small house, but the couch in the office pulls out into a bed.

  “Are you driving home after breakfast?” I asked him.

  “Well, I was hoping to see a ball game,” he said. “I want to root for my favorite batboy. I just hope there is a game.” He pointed out the window at dark, gloomy clouds. “It looks like a big storm is coming.”

  Sure enough, it started drizzling when I was out walking Penny. I tried to jog home, but she started panting and I had to slow down.

  “Sorry, girl. I forget how short your legs are.” She used to keep up with me, but my legs used to be shorter. Besides that, she was getting plump. Mom was right.

  We were both damp when we got home.

  “Did Wally call?” I asked. I was afraid they’d canceled the game already.

  “Nope,” said Dad. He was in his favorite chair, reading a thick book about farming in the Middle Ages. He’s always reading thick books about weird things.

  “Are you coming with us?” Uncle Rick asked him.

  Dad shook his head. “Sorry. I’ll be at the next game. I really want to finish this book. There’s another one I want to get to.”

  “Is it about the history of the rutabaga?” Uncle Rick guessed. “Or how worms worm?”

  “Fungi,” said Dad. “It looks really interesting.”

  “Well, at least a book has never been called on account of rain,” said Uncle Rick. “Let’s go, Chad!”

  • • •

  The ticket office wasn’t open yet, but the guard let both of us in.

  “Morning, Chad!” he told me. I felt pretty cool leading a grown-up past the gate and into the “Employees Only” entrance.

  “I’ve never been behind the scenes like this,” Uncle Rick said.

  “Really?”

  “I’ve been to a lot of ballparks, but I’ve never seen the guts of one,” he admitted.

  “Wow.” I couldn’t believe it. I could actually teach Uncle Rick something about baseball!

  Wally had just made coffee, and the machine was whistling and blowing steam.

  “Wally, this is my uncle Rick. Is it OK if I give him a tour?”

  “It’s all right with me, as long as you get everything done,” Wally said. “There probably won’t be a game, anyway. They just never call it until the last minute.”

  Some of the players were sitting on the benches in the locker room.

  “Hey, guys, this is my uncle Rick.”

  “Teddy Larrabee.” Teddy shook his hand. “You got a good batboy for a nephew.”

  “He’s not only good, he’s great,” Mike Stammer said. “I’m Mike Stammer.”

  “You’re the one with the unassisted triple play!” Uncle Rick said.

  “Yep,” said Mike.

  “Chad’s more than great,” said Wayne. “He’s outstanding in the field. Especially during batting practice. Ha! Get it?” Nobody laughed. “Just sayin’,” he added.

  “And you must be Wayne Zane,” said Uncle Rick.

  • • •

  There was a bolt of lightning and a crash of thunder during batting practice. It started to pour. We ran off the field so the crew could roll out the tarp. Uncle Rick had gone to buy his ticket, but he’d probably have to take a rain check.

  Sammy was in the dugout studying the Bengie Molina card.

  “Can I keep this a while longer?” he asked.

  “I guess.” I didn’t like breaking up my page of Molina brothers in the binder. “If you think it’ll help you steal another base.”

  “I don’t need to steal another base,” said Sammy. “I just wanted to steal one in my career, and now I have. But I see here that Bengie’s got five triples.” He pointed at the stats on the card. “I think he hit another one since then, too. I want to hit a triple before I’m done.”

  “Did your niece put you up to it?”

  “No, I wanna do this one for me.” Sammy tucked the card into his pocket. “By the way, I think I’ll skip the corn dogs today. I need to put my mind to dropping a few pounds.”

  I started setting up the bat rack, knowing it was probably for nothing.

  “The game is now postponed,” Vincent Snapp announced over the PA system. “You can exchange your ticket stub for any remaining Porcupines’ game this season. Thanks for coming, and try to stay dry!”

  I hoped that Uncle Rick had made it to the ticket office. If he had bought a ticket, then he’d have to come back this summer and see a game. Dylan came running from the other dugout.

  “Guess we get a day off,” he said. “But I hope Sparky’s all right out there.”

  “Spiders can take a little rain,” I said. “If they couldn’t, there wouldn’t be any spiders left.”

  • • •

  Abby caught me and Dylan on our way out of the ballpark. She was dressed like Abby, not like Spike.

  “Oh, good. You’re still here.” She flipped the hood of her rain poncho. We stood under the overhang by the gate, where it was dry. I could see Uncle Rick’s green car in the distance. He flashed his lights to show he’d seen us, and started cruising across the lot to get us.

  “This is for you.” Abby handed me something damp. It was covered in plain white paper with baseballs drawn on it.

  “Wow. Thanks. What is it?”


  “Yeah, what’s that?” Dylan asked.

  “Chad gave me his Spike bobblehead so I could give it to a little girl. She loved it, by the way! I wanted to make it up to you . . .”

  I tore open the paper. There was a white box. The same box the bobblehead had come in!

  “You found another one?” I asked Abby. I opened the box. There was something inside, bundled in Bubble Wrap. I unrolled it. “Where did you get another bobblehead? Oh!”

  I was holding a misshapen, handmade Spike bobblehead made of modeling clay. It was the kind of clay you dry out in the oven.

  Abby hadn’t found another bobblehead. She’d made one.

  “I did the head separate, so it bobbles,” said Abby. “See?” She gave it a tap. “My dad helped me put the pieces together.”

  The head wiggled—not really a nod, more like the clay porcupine was trying to shake water out of its ear.

  “It’s awesome!” I said.

  I had something rarer and cooler than a Spike bobblehead. I had the only Spike bobblehead in the world that was made by Spike!

  Kurtis Scaletta’s previous books include Mudville, which Booklist called “a gift from the baseball gods” and named one of their 2009 Top 10 Sports Books for Youth. Kurtis lives in Minneapolis with his wife and son and some cats. He roots for the Minnesota Twins and the Saint Paul Saints. Find out more about him at www.kurtisscaletta.com.

  Eric Wight was an animator for Disney, Warner Bros., and Cartoon Network before creating the critically acclaimed Frankie Pickle graphic novel series. He lives in Doylestown, Pennsylvania, and is a diehard fan of the Philadelphia Phillies and the Lehigh Valley Iron Pigs. You can check out all the fun he is having at www.ericwight.com.