The Diamond Champs

by Matt Christopher

  Books by Matt Christopher

  Sports Stories

  THE LUCKY BASEBALL BAT

  BASEBALL PALS

  BASKETBALL SPARKPLUG

  TWO STRIKES ON JOHNNY

  LITTLE LEFTY

  TOUCHDOWN FOR TOMMY

  LONG STRETCH AT FIRST BASE

  BREAK FOR THE BASKET

  TALL MAN IN THE PIVOT

  CHALLENGE AT SECOND BASE

  CRACKERJACK HALFBACK

  BASEBALL FLYHAWK

  SINK IT, RUSTY

  CATCHER WITH A GLASS ARM

  WINGMAN ON ICE

  TOO HOT TO HANDLE

  THE COUNTERFEIT TACKLE

  THE RELUCTANT PITCHER

  LONG SHOT FOR PAUL

  MIRACLE AT THE PLATE

  THE TEAM THAT COULDN'T LOSE

  THE YEAR MOM WON THE PENNANT

  THE BASKET COUNTS

  HARD DRIVE TO SHORT

  CATCH THAT PASS!

  SHORTSTOP FROM TOKYO

  LUCKY SEVEN

  JOHNNY LONG LEGS

  LOOK WHO'S PLAYING FIRST BASE

  TOUGH TO TACKLE

  THE KID WHO ONLY HIT HOMERS

  FACE-OFF

  MYSTERY COACH

  ICE MAGIC

  NO ARM IN LEFT FIELD

  JINX GLOVE

  FRONT COURT HEX

  THE TEAM THAT STOPPED MOVING

  GLUE FINGERS

  THE PIGEON WITH THE TENNIS ELBOW

  THE SUBMARINE PITCH

  POWER PLAY

  FOOTBALL FUGITIVE

  THE DIAMOND CHAMPS

  Animal Stories

  DESPERATE SEARCH

  STRANDED

  EARTHQUAKE

  DEVIL PONY

  Copyright

  COPYRIGHT © 1977 BY MATTHEW F. CHRISTOPHER

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. NO PART OF THIS BOOK MAY BE REPRODUCED IN ANY FORM OR BY ANY ELECTRONIC OR MECHANICAL MEANS INCLUDING INFORMATION STORAGE AND RETRIEVAL SYSTEMS WITHOUT PERMISSION IN WRITING FROM THE PUBLISHER, EXCEPT BY A REVIEWER WHO MAY QUOTE BRIEF PASSAGES IN A REVIEW.

  Hachette Book Group

  237 Park Avenue

  New York, NY 10017

  Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com

  First eBook Edition: December 2009

  ISBN: 978-0-316-09594-5

  Contents

  Books by Matt Christopher

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  To Vic and Bonnie

  1

  KIM! ON YOUR TOES!” yelled Coach Gorman E. Stag from home plate.

  Heart pounding, Kim Rollins watched the coach toss the baseball up, then wallop it with his bat.

  The ball shot up into the blue sky until it looked no larger than a pea, then started to descend.

  “Stay with it, Kim!” cried Larry Wells, standing nearby with other outfielders of the Steelheads team.

  Sure. It's easy for you to say, thought Kim as he tried to judge where the hall was going to drop. You've played before. I haven't. I'm as green as grass at this game. I shouldn't even be here!

  The ball was coming toward him. He raised his gloved hand, never taking his eyes off the fast-dropping sphere for a second. He had learned to do that much when he had missed the first three flies Coach Stag had knocked out to him.

  Thunk! The ball dropped into the pocket of his glove and stuck there.

  “Hey, man! You did it!” Larry exclaimed.

  Someone applauded, and Kim blushed as he saw that it was Cathy Andrews, the only girl among the outfielders.

  “Nice catch, Kim!” she said. “That was hit higher than the ones you missed, too!”

  Kim took a deep breath, exhaled it, and winged the ball back in to home. Coach Stag praised him for the catch too, and proceeded to hit him another. Kim caught it, and caught the next, but dropped the fourth one.

  “Okay, Kim!” yelled the coach. “You did all right! This one's for Cathy!”

  He knocked one to her as high as he had for Kim. She got under it, caught it with no trouble, and threw it back in.

  “Did Coach Stag call you up and ask you to play with the Steelheads, too?” Kim asked Cathy.

  “Yes, he did. He called up everyone on the team.”

  “What about the infielders?” asked Kim curiously. “And the catcher? The pitcher? Where are they?”

  “They're practicing tomorrow,” Cathy answered.

  “How do you know?” he asked.

  She blew at a lock of hair that had fallen over her face. “Coach Stag asked Jo Franklin to play second base. She's a friend of mine and she told me.”

  Jo Franklin? He knew her, too. They were in the same grade. A whiz kid in social studies. A wizard with a tennis racket. But a baseball player?

  “Cathy, don't you get the feeling that something's really strange about Mr. Stag calling us all up and making a baseball team out of us?” Kim said. “Two girls, and me and the rest of the guys. I've never played baseball in my life, except pitch and catch. My bag is football and track.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “I don't know. I told him that I had never played before, but he said he didn't care. He'd have us practice every other day so that we'd learn the game as quickly as possible, and then enter us in the Bantam League. It sounded challenging. He wants us to win the championship.”

  “The championship?” echoed Larry. “He must be a dreamer! We'll end up at the bottom! That's where we'll end up.”

  “Bottom is right,” admitted Kim glumly.

  He began to wonder about the coach as the short, barrel-chested man with dark sunglasses knocked out flies to Moe Harris and Sam Jacobs, the other outfielders. Who was he, anyway? None of the kids Kim had asked had ever heard of him before. And why was he so interested in organizing a team composed of both girls and boys? Although there was no ruling that a girl couldn't play on a boys' team in the Bantam League, most of the girls in town had their own baseball league.

  Well, the only way to find out is to ask him, Kim said to himself.

  After half an hour of catching fly balls, the players took batting practice. Coach Stag himself stood on the mound. He threw pitches that were easy to hit at first, then gradually he threw them faster.

  The worst hitter of the lot was Kim. He remembered knocking out flies a few times while playing with friends, but that was before he had become interested in football and track. He couldn't remember ever picking up a bat once those activities had gotten into his blood, and could hardly believe that he was playing baseball now.

  Man! he thought. Coach Stag has certainly sweet-talked me into it!

  “Don't worry about it,” the coach had said to him over the telephone when he had invited Kim to play on his new team. “You just come to the practices and do as I say. I'll mold you into a baseball player before the season's half over.”

  “But you know I've never been on a team before,” Kim had told him. “I've hardly played at all in my whole life.”

  “I know, Kim,” the coach had said. “But I still want you to play on my team. Why don't you stop worrying about it, okay? I'm the coach. Let me do the worrying. All I ask of you is to play. Can I have your word?”

  Kim had taken a while to think about it. Finally he had agreed. “Okay, Mr. Stag. I'll play,” he promised.

  “Fine! I'm calling the team Steelheads, Kim. It's a good, solid name to go with a good, solid team,” Mr. Stag had said proudly.

  Then he had named the pract
ice dates, adding that he had already made arrangements for uniforms and all the other necessary equipment. He would even get Kim a glove if he didn't have one, he had said.

  But Kim had remembered the old glove his father had sitting in the back porch closet. He had used it the few times he had played pitch and catch. It was still in good, usable condition.

  So now here he was, being “molded” into a baseball player, as Coach Gorman E. Stag had promised.

  Finally the coach called it quits, breathing tiredly himself after almost an hour of continuous practice. He was the only one wearing a baseball uniform, a plain white outfit with STEELHEADS printed across the front of the jersey. Kim had wondered when the players would be given theirs, but he wondered no longer as Coach Stag asked the outfielders to follow him to a blue car parked in the lot behind the third-base bleachers.

  A man sitting behind the wheel got out as the group approached.

  “Kids, meet Bernie Reese,” said the coach. “He'll be my assistant.”

  While greetings were being exchanged, Kim saw a stack of white boxes piled on the back seat. He didn't need two guesses to know what was in them. The coach opened the door, took the boxes out one at a time, and handed them to the players.

  “I've found out your sizes,” he said, “so these uniforms should fit you perfectly.”

  Kim stared at him, but refrained from asking the coach any questions. He was too happy now anyway about getting a uniform—and a brand new one, at that.

  Oohs and aahs bubbled from the players as they opened their boxes and dragged out their uniforms.

  Coach Stag chuckled. “How about that?” he said. “Nice, aren't they?”

  “They're beautiful!” Cathy exclaimed, her eyes wide and happy.

  “They're far out, man,” said Kim.

  “Glad you like them,” the coach replied. “Well, I've got to go. The next practice is the day after tomorrow. Same time, same place.”

  He opened the door on the passenger side of the car, and started to get in when Kim yelled to him, “Coach! Just a minute!”

  “If you're wondering about our infield, Kim, they're practicing tomorrow!” called the coach as he got into the car. “See you the day after!”

  “No, Coach!” Kim said. “It's something else!”

  But the car had already backed up and was swinging around toward the road. Apparently the coach hadn't heard him.

  2

  PUFFBALL CLOUDS FLOATED across the sky the following afternoon as the Steelheads' infielders practiced. Jo Franklin, Cathy's friend, was alternating at second base with Roger Merts. She was wearing a baseball cap and shorts, and handling the grounders with the ease of an expert. As a matter of fact, Kim thought that she was even better than Roger, who acted somewhat nervous as Coach Stag's sizzling grounders came at him.

  Eric Marsh, practicing at third base, seemed uncomfortable in his position, too. He missed a few grounders before finally catching an easy hopper. Then his long, left-handed throw to first pulled A. J. Campbell off the base. But A. J., who seemed capable of handling his position, caught the ball easily, winged it hack to Kim, and Kim threw it to Nick Forson, the Steelheads' catcher.

  “That's crazy,” said Larry Wells, sitting in the stands with Kim.

  “What is?” Kim asked.

  “A left-hander playing third base,” replied Larry. “He should change positions with A. J. A right-hander can catch a ball and get the throw off quicker at third than a left-hander can. I don't get it.”

  Kim shook his head. “Neither do I. Man, Coach Stag sure has some weird ideas about organizing and coaching a team.”

  “Telling me?” said Larry. “I've never seen anything like it.”

  Kim smiled as a thought crossed his mind. “Know what? It sure would be something if we won the championship!”

  Larry laughed. “Win the championship? You're far out, man!”

  Kim shrugged. Maybe he was, but the way Coach Stag was making the team practice could make winning the championship possible. Coach Stag was no ordinary coach. As a matter of fact, there was something very extra-ordinary about him. He was putting so much effort into training his players that you'd think he was getting paid for it.

  Yet the method he was using to make a good, solid team was odd. He seemed to know and understand the game well, yet he had a few peculiar ideas. Whoever did hear of a left-hander playing third base? Could he possibly be seeing a potential in Eric's playing that position that other fans or players could not?

  But what about me? Kim thought. What potential could he see in me? I'm just a beginner. There must be other guys around he could have selected instead of me.

  But the team's roster had been formed, and the coach apparently wasn't going to change it.

  There was a short, redheaded kid standing in front of the backstop wearing a glove, backing up the catcher on wild throws. Until now Kim hadn't paid any attention to him.

  “What's Don Morgan doing here?” he asked finally, recognizing the boy, with whom he played football.

  “I don't know.” Larry cupped his hands and shouted. “Hey, Don! What are you doing? Chasing balls?”

  Don turned, smiled, and shrugged. “I'm manager. When the league starts I'll be scorekeeper, too.” Cupping his hands, he added in a lower voice, “It's for the birds!”

  Kim laughed. “Good luck!” he said.

  “What are you guys doing here?” Don inquired.

  “We're outfielders,” explained Kim. “We practiced yesterday, and we're practicing again tomorrow.”

  Don's eyes narrowed as they settled on Kim. “I thought you didn't play baseball.”

  “I'm playing now,” replied Kim.

  Don shook his head perplexedly as he turned away to chase after a ball that had bounced past the coach to the backstop.

  It seemed, thought Kim, that he was learning something new about the Steelheads every time he saw another face. He was sure that Don had played on a team in the Bantam League that had finished in second or third place last year. Why would be want to play with the Steelheads this year, a brand new team that included at least one very inexperienced ballplayer?

  “I can't believe that Don would take that job,” he said. “He likes action, competition. You don't get any of that handling equipment or keeping score.”

  “It's Coach Stag,” said Larry. “There's something about him and his strong will to have a winning team that really got to us.”

  “That must be it,” agreed Kim. “He's got everybody really believing that.”

  “Right,” said Larry.

  After batting practice, Kim was amused to see Don picking up the bats and balls, and dumping them into a green canvas bag, while the infielders followed Coach Stag to the blue car behind the third-base bleachers to get their uniforms.

  “Hurry up, Don!” Larry called to the manager. “Or you won't be getting a uniform!”

  “That's what you think!” Don answered.

  Kim and Larry left the stands, walked to the car, and watched the coach pass out the uniforms. The infielders' reaction was the same as the outfielders' had been yesterday, an assortment of happy oohs and aahs.

  Kim noticed that Bernie Reese was again behind the wheel. When is he going to start assisting Coach Stag? Kim wondered. Oh, well, obviously Coach Stag has his own peculiar way of doing things.

  He was handing out the uniforms so fast that Kim wondered whether Don Morgan would get there in time to receive his. It turned out that the coach had to wait about a minute for Don, who finally came on the run, carrying the equipment bag on his shoulders.

  He ripped open his box as soon as the coach handed it to him, lifted out his sparkling white uniform, and held it up against him.

  “It'll fit you,” Kim assured him. “Don't worry about that.”

  The coach, lifting the equipment bag into the trunk of the car, shot him a sidelong glance and grinned. “Kim's right,” he said. “The suits will fit you all perfectly.” Then he closed the trunk and got in
to the car. “Well, see you infielders and pitchers the day after tomorrow.”

  “Are we going to have a practice game before the league starts, Coach Stag?” Jo Franklin piped up.

  “We certainly will,” he answered. “But I want to make sure that we can make a decent showing first. Take care now!”

  With that Mr. Reese started the car and they drove off.

  “A decent showing?” Kim grimaced. “I could practice all summer and still wouldn't be able to make a decent showing!”

  Larry laughed. “Maybe you'll surprise yourself,” he said.

  “I sure would!” said Kim. “Hey, Don,” he went on, “if you think being manager is for the birds, why did you take the job?”

  Don shrugged. “I don't know. I told the coach I would rather play, but he kept saying that a manager is almost as important as a player, and that a manager had to be really depended on, and he was sure he could depend on me.”

  “That's just what he said to me,” said Brad Hamilton. “About depending on me, I mean.”

  “Me, too,” said Jo. “But what's strange about that? You wouldn't want to play ball with any old coach, would you?”

  “Right,” agreed Doug Barton. “Coach Stag is number one in my hook.”

  Kim looked at him. “Did you know him, Doug?”

  “Not until now.”

  “Did any of you know him before he asked us to play on his team?” Kim inquired.

  All said no.

  “So what?” Doug scoffed. “Are we supposed to know all the grown-ups that live in Blue Hills? Don't make a big deal out of it.”

  He folded his uniform, stuck it back into the box, and started to leave. “Anybody going my way?” he asked.

  All but Larry and Kim took off with him.

  “Come on,” said Larry finally. “And forget about the coach, will you? So what if nobody knew him before? Like Doug said, it's no big deal.”

  3

  DURING THE SECOND WEEK of practice, the coach had the entire squad working out together from two to three hours a day. By Friday Kim saw an improvement in himself that surprised him, although he knew that a performance in practice was often better than that in a real game.

  He had refrained from speaking to Larry or anyone else on the Steelheads team about Coach Stag, but in the meantime he had learned that the parents of at least four team members didn't know Coach Stag either.