by Mike Knudson
Oh man, I thought. I knew my fake smile looked weird. I stopped smiling and gave a little thumbs-up to my mom. She smiled, and everything was back to normal.
My first two pitches to the next batter were really bad, but he swung at both of them. His coach yelled at him to swing at only the good ones. Finally, I got one over the plate, and the batter watched it fly by without swinging.
“Strike three!” the ump called, sending the kid to his dugout.
The next guy hit a hard line drive right to our shortstop, who caught the ball for the last out.
“Yes!” I hissed under my breath. “Three up, three down. No problem.” Things were looking good.
4
Coach Gramps
“THAT WAS GREAT work in the field, boys. Now we need some hits!” Coach Parker told us. Then he walked out of the dugout and stood in front of the bleachers. “Could I get a volunteer to help coach first base?” he asked the crowd. Zach’s dad usually helps coach, but with Zach out, he wasn’t there. All the parents looked around at each other, but no one raised a hand.
“I’ll do it!” came a scratchy voice from the back of the stands. It sounded like Gramps. I stood up and looked back. Not only did it sound like Gramps, it was Gramps.
“Nice, your grandpa’s going to help. I love that old dude,” Graham said.
“Yeah, me too,” I agreed. “It’s just that you never know what he’s going to say or do.”
“I know.” Graham grinned. “That’s why I like him.”
Gramps looked excited to help. He had told me a zillion stories about when he played baseball back in the olden days.
“Hi, Gramps,” I said as he came around the fence.
“That’s ‘Coach’ to you, sonny,” he said, passing me. He grabbed a hat from the bench and adjusted it to fit his bald head.
“Hey, that’s my hat,” Kevin complained. He had just set his hat down to put on a batting helmet. Gramps didn’t answer and walked straight out to coach first base.
The umpire got back into position behind the catcher.
“Batter up.”
Kevin walked up to the plate, took a few practice swings, and waited for the throw. He swung and hit the first pitch. The third baseman threw the ball. It was close.
“Out!” came the official call.
“What do you mean, out?” Gramps argued. “He was safe! What’s wrong with you? Did you even see the play?”
“Sir, the runner was out. Play ball!”
Gramps said some things under his breath and returned to his spot by first base.
I was up next and strolled to the plate confidently. I knew I could hit off this pitcher. I let the first pitch go by.
“Strike one,” the ump called out.
“Are you blind? That was in the dirt!” Gramps began again. “How much is this other team paying you to make calls like that?”
“Time-out,” the umpire announced, raising his hands in the air. He walked up to Gramps and removed his mask. “Listen, sir,” he said, “please let me call the game, and let the kids have fun.”
“How can they have fun if you’re giving the game away to the other team?” Gramps shouted. By then Coach Parker had run up and pushed his big body between Gramps and the ump. I couldn’t tell what he said, but they all calmed down and went back to their spots. Now Gramps started hounding the pitcher. He said things like, “This guy can’t throw!” and “Who taught you to pitch, your grandma?” It must have worked, because the next four pitches were all balls.
I walked to first base.
“Okay, I want you to steal second on this pitch,” Gramps said. “Just listen for my signal. I’ll tell you when to run.”
I took a couple of steps off first base and waited for Gramps’s signal. As the pitcher started his windup, I heard the loudest, most terrifying noise I have ever heard in my life. It was Gramps.
“RUUUNNNN!!!” he screeched. His voice was cracking, and he sounded like he was being attacked by killer bees. It was so scary that I fell to the ground trying to get away. He kept screaming. “RUN! NOW! RUN!” I finally made it back to my feet and started running. The catcher threw the ball. I knew it would be close, so I slid.
“OUT!” screamed the ump.
“What? He was safe!” Gramps screamed back.
The ump threw off his mask and ran up to Gramps. They both yelled at each other, and then the ump pointed to the bleachers. I couldn’t believe it. He had just kicked my grandpa out of the game. Gramps headed off the field. As he passed the bench he took off his hat and stuck it back on Kevin’s head. Then he found his spot back on the bleachers.
“Oooh, gross, old man sweat,” Kevin said. He took off the hat and wiped his head with his arm.
Gramps sat back down next to my mom and dad. He was smiling and talking to the other parents. It was like nothing had even happened. Graham came and sat by me on the bench.
“See,” he said. “That was great! Your grandpa is the best!”
I opened my Gatorade and took a swig. Just then Graham grabbed my shoulder to pull himself up, making me spill my Gatorade all over the front of my pants.
“She’s here!” Graham said. “Kelly’s here! And Heidi and Diane are walking up the sidewalk. This game is just getting better!”
I could feel the cold Gatorade in my lap. “Hey, you made me spill my Gatorade all over my pants! And it’s bright yellow!”
“Oh, sorry, Raymond,” Graham said. “It was an accident—whoa, look at your pants.”
“I know, I know. Everyone’s going to think I . . . you know,” I said.
“No, they won’t. No one will even notice. You’ll be fine,” Graham said. Heidi, Diane, and Kelly walked up to the fence.
Graham tipped his hat to the girls like they do in cowboy movies. “Enjoying the game?” I turned my back to them so they wouldn’t see my pants.
“Hi, Raymond,” Heidi said.
“Oh, hey, Heidi,” I answered, hoping she wouldn’t think I was weird for not turning toward them.
“Hey, Raymond, don’t be weird. Come over here,” Graham said. He grabbed my shoulders and turned me around. Diane started laughing.
“Back on the field, everyone,” Coach interrupted. “Same positions as last inning. Raymond, get on the mound.” He tossed me a ball.
I turned and walked out of the dugout and toward the pitcher’s mound. Graham hurried up to the plate, and we started warming up. I didn’t hear any laughing from the other team, so I figured they couldn’t see the bright yellow wet spot on the front of my pants. Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw someone waving from the bleachers. I looked up and saw my mom trying to get my attention. I gave her a little wave and went back to warming up. After another throw I heard a “Psst!” from the same place. I looked over and could tell my mom was trying to say something.
“What?” I whispered to her. I couldn’t tell what she was trying to say. Now she was mouthing it even bigger, with her mouth stretched open as far as it could go.
I looked away and tried to ignore her. I figured I could talk to her between innings.
“She’s saying bathroom! She wants to know if you need to go to the bathroom!” Gramps yelled. “Look at your pants!”
Everyone in the whole place started laughing.
“IT’S GATORADE!” I yelled. “I SPILLED GATORADE!”
“Yeah, sure it is,” I heard someone say from the Tigers’ dugout. Then they all cracked up even louder.
“All right, batter up,” the ump yelled, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. It seemed that my little wet pants episode was all the Tigers needed to get their confidence back. The first six batters hit the ball, and in no time it was 4–0 in their favor. Coach pulled me from the mound and put in Kevin. They got one more hit, and then we were able to get the next three batters out.
The game got worse from there. It was the bottom of the last inning, and we were down by five runs. There were two outs, and I was up to bat. The bases were loaded. A home run would bring u
s within one run. I was feeling gross. My pants were yellow, people were still laughing at me, and worst of all, the girl I really liked was sitting in the stands watching this whole disaster. I took a deep breath and stepped up to the plate. If there was ever a time I needed a hit, it was now. I dug in my back foot and pulled the bat back.
The first pitch was perfect. I could tell as soon as it left the pitcher’s hand. I whipped the bat around as fast as I could and . . . POW! I smacked the ball. It went soaring through the air toward right field. I started jogging to first base, knowing that this would be my first grand slam ever. Then some words that ruined the moment rang through the air.
“Foul ball!”
There were a lot of ooohs coming from our bleachers and dugout.
“Nice hit, Raymond,” Coach said, patting me on the helmet as I passed by on my way back to the plate. “Straighten it out this time.”
I picked up the bat and took my place at the plate again. The next pitch was really high. I started to swing but caught myself.
“Ball!”
The next pitch came in perfect. I swung so hard I almost fell over. Unfortunately, I missed the ball.
“Strike two!” the ump called.
I was getting nervous. One more strike and I’d be out.
The next ball looked perfect too, but I didn’t swing.
“Outside. Ball. Two balls, two strikes.” The ump held up two fingers on both hands. The Tigers’ coach complained that it should have been a strike. Then he asked for a time-out and walked up to talk to the pitcher. Coach Parker came over to talk to me too.
“Hey, bud. Be a swinger in there. If it’s close, give it a ride. You know you can do it.” There was something about Coach Parker that made me think he was always right about baseball stuff. So I stood there confidently waiting for the next pitch as both coaches went back to their spots.
The next pitch was almost in the ground. I let it go for ball three. One more pitch. I was really nervous. I could hear our fans cheering me on— Mom, Dad, Diane, Heidi, and Kelly. Gramps had a mouthful of nachos and was screaming something I couldn’t understand. Whatever it was, I’m sure it was good.
“Last pitch. If it’s close, you’ve got to be swinging, bud,” Coach yelled out. As the pitcher threw the last ball, it looked a little high, but something inside told me to swing. I swung as hard as I could. This time I hit the ball. It flew straight toward center field. There was no way this was going to be a foul ball.
I threw the bat down and raced past first base and toward second. The center fielder yelled, “got it,” as the ball sailed toward him. I rounded first base figuring I was going to be out. Luckily, the ball hit his mitt and fell to the ground. As I got to second base I heard Coach Parker yelling to keep going.
“Slide, slide!” Coach screamed as I got close to third base. Just as I slid, I saw the ball land in the dirt and bounce past the third baseman. As he ran to get the ball I jumped up and ran toward home. I was halfway there when the ball was thrown home. The catcher caught it and stood there waiting to tag me. I quickly turned back and ran toward third base. I could tell this was not going to end well.
Just then I saw the ball fly over my head and land in the third baseman’s mitt. I was caught between third and home. Before the third baseman could tag me, I stopped and turned for home again. This time I wasn’t going to stop. I slid just as I heard the ball hit the catcher’s mitt. I lay there in the dirt and stared at the ump. The catcher held his glove with the ball on my leg. Finally the dust cleared and the ump made his call: “Safe!”
Yes! I jumped up. A grand slam! Right there in front of my team, my family, the girls, Luke’s grumpy mom at the snack bar—everyone. My teammates ran out of the dugout, and we all jumped around together for a few seconds. I could see Heidi and Diane standing up clapping. It was the greatest moment of my life. Even with a big yellow spot on the front of my pants.
“Your turn, hermano!” I said to Graham, who was walking up to the plate.
“Thanks,” he said. Then, turning to Kelly in the front row of the bleachers, he said, “This one’s for you,” and gave her a wink. I just laughed and ran to the dugout and slid down the bench.
“Nice hit, Raymond,” Heidi said from the stands.
“Thanks, I—”
“That’s the way to swing that bat,” Gramps interrupted, swinging an invisible bat. He almost swung himself right off the bleachers. Dad grabbed him by the arm.
“Yep, just like your old grandpa back in the day,” Dad added.
“Thanks, Gramps!”
I turned back to the game to cheer Graham on.
Graham had a huge smile on his face. His run would tie it all up. He needed to get on base and make it all the way around to keep us in the game. The first three pitches were balls. I could tell he didn’t want to walk. He wanted a home run. “Come on, give me something to hit!” he yelled at the pitcher. Our whole team was on its feet. The next pitch was high, but Graham swung anyway.
“Strike one!” the ump called out.
“Come on, give me a good one!” Graham called out again, pounding the plate with his bat. The pitcher took a deep breath and threw as hard as he could. Graham swung hard. It was a line drive to the second baseman, who caught the ball without even having to move. Graham just stood there at home plate. He didn’t even have time to run. The game was over, and he was the last one out. I walked up to him and told him “good try.” It didn’t seem to cheer him up. He just stood there looking out toward the outfield where his ball was supposed to go.
“Come on, Graham, let’s go,” I said. I put my arm around his shoulders, and we walked back to the dugout. We grabbed our bats and gloves. Our parents gave us the ol’ “good game” and “you’ll get ’em next time” routine. Kelly left to go finish watching her little brother’s baseball game at the other end of the park. Diane and Heidi normally would’ve teased Graham, but they could tell he wasn’t up to it.
“At least you didn’t have to buy me a candy bar,” Diane said. She slapped Graham on the back.
“Yeah, that was just a lucky catch,” Heidi said as they headed off. “See you guys at school.”
“Nice game, but you might want to work on your bladder control,” cackled Geri. I could tell it would take her a long time to forget about my wetpants episode.
“I told you that umpire was rooting for the other team,” Gramps said.
“Oh, come on, Dad, they’re just kids. They’re here to have fun,” said Mom. “Right, sweetie?” she added, taking my bat and glove from my arms. “I’ll take these home with me.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I said. Graham and I grabbed our bikes and started down the road. It was a silent ride home. Now we had lost two games. Our final year in the minors just couldn’t end this way.
5
Say Cheese
THE REST OF the week was pretty boring. Then Friday came and it was picture day. I wanted a good picture this year. Last year my mom, who is not a professional haircutter, decided she would cut my hair the night before pictures. Let’s just say that didn’t go so well. My hair was long in some places, almost shaved off in others, and on top there were a few places where the hair stood straight up. I looked like a weirdo. The worst part is that my picture is hanging proudly in our family room for everyone to see. It’s also on my grandparents’ wall. I couldn’t wait to get a new picture this year. Plus, I had been thinking about what Graham had said. You know, about asking Heidi for a picture and giving her one of mine. I decided that’s what I would do.
This year’s pictures were going to be perfect. The day before, my mom took me to a real place to get my hair cut. After that, she took me to the clothing store, and we bought a brand-new shirt. She let me pick it out and everything. It was a golf shirt. They didn’t have the dark blue one I wanted in my size, but the store lady found a light blue one in the back room.
On Friday, I walked to Graham’s house before school as usual. I had to wait about five minutes for him to finis
h getting ready. When he finally came out, I almost didn’t recognize him.
“Whoa, what happened to you?” I asked, trying not to laugh. His hair looked all wet and wavy.
“What do you think?” he said with a huge smile on his face. Obviously, he didn’t think he looked as crazy as I thought he did.
“Um . . . well . . . it’s different,” I said. “You know, just really . . . different.”
“Yeah, it’s awesome!” Graham said. “I wanted to look really good for my picture, so I was looking at this magazine at the haircutting place and I saw a cool guy with hair like this and I told the lady that’s what I wanted. My mom tried to talk me out of it, but she finally gave in.”
“So what did they do? How did it get all wavy?” I asked. “And why is your hair so stiff?” I added, touching the hard red waves on his head.
“It’s gel,” Graham said proudly. “All the movie stars and people like that use it. It’s supposed to keep my hair looking like this all day. I have a whole bottle of it. Do you want some for your hair?”
“No way!” I said. “I mean . . . no, thank you. You should save it all for yours.” We started walking quickly to school.
“By the way, check out this new shirt I got last night,” I said.
“Yeah, I noticed it when I first saw you,” Graham said. “It looks a little . . . um . . .”
“A little what?” I asked.
“You know . . . the color,” Graham said. “That light blue looks kind of . . .”
“Kind of cool?” I said, finishing his sentence for him. “Yeah, I thought so too. At first I wanted dark blue, but they didn’t have any more in my size. But luckily the store lady told us to wait for a minute and she left and came back with this one.”
Graham had a weird look on his face, like he wanted to say something but just couldn’t get it out. By then, though, it was almost time for the bell to ring, so we ran the last block and made it to school just in time. We both walked through the classroom door at the exact same second. Someone immediately yelled out “nice hair,” and the sound of giggling started filling the room.