by Joyce Grant
He went back into his stance. He checked his feet and then wound up and threw the ball hard over the plate. The umpire’s call, “Strike!” took the smirk off the batter’s face and he returned to his dugout, dragging his bat along the ground.
17
Double Play
For the rest of the game, every time Jock came up to bat the Pirates started chanting, “heyboy, heyboy, heyboy!” in high-pitched singsong voices.
Gnash could tell that the Pirates thought they were throwing punches at Jock’s weak spot. But Gnash knew that being gay wasn’t Jock’s weak spot.
“That noise just sounds like ignorance to me,” said Jock to Gnash over the Pirates’ hollers. “And that’s on them, not me.”
Now, approaching the seventh inning with the score tied, Gnash, Raj, Tami and the rest of the Blues were feeling more like a team than they ever had before. They were hanging tough — together. They wanted to wipe the field with the Pirates, and three Pirates in particular.
Raj had managed to pitch four strong innings, but he’d run out his pitch-count and had to be relieved. Tami came in to close the game, but she was having trouble finding the strike zone. She’d walked Stretch, so at the top of the final inning, he was on first.
And then it happened.
Stretch had taken a long lead off the base and was down in a running stance, staring at Jock. Stretch waggled his fingers at him again and again, going back and forth to the base and then taking another lead-off.
Finally, when the crack of the bat signalled a hit, Stretch put his head down and charged. But Stretch wasn’t heading for the base. He was heading for Jock. Stretch plowed into Jock with his full body weight before rebounding off him and rolling toward the base.
The umpire stepped in, but it was too late. Jock was on the ground holding his bandaged arm. Stretch was smiling smugly.
“Yer out!” yelled the umpire, holding up one fist and gesturing toward Stretch.
The tall boy slowly got to his feet and looked at Jock. He smirked. “That’s okay — Rani is gonna bring in the winning run,” he said, gesturing to the girl on first.
Then the umpire added, “And you’re out!” to Rani.
Both coaches headed out to the mound to talk to the umpire. It was Jock’s turn to smirk.
Coop called the team to the mound to explain that the umpire was throwing two Pirates out for “charging.” He said that if Stretch hadn’t charged Jock, the Blues would have had an easy double play. Stretch had cost the Pirates two runners instead of one and closed the top of the seventh inning.
Over in the Pirates’ dugout, Gnash could see the players turning their anger on a different enemy — their own teammate. Stretch was no longer grinning.
In the bottom of the final inning, Gnash handed Sebastian the bat. It was the Blues’ last chance to win the game and take the team to the provincials. They needed one run to win the game, and end the Pirates’ season.
In the batter’s box, Sebastian nervously eyed the pitcher, who threw the ball hard and fast straight down the middle. Sebastian swung late, his body momentum carrying him awkwardly forward.
“Strike!” the umpire said.
The next two balls got by Sebastian as well. He angrily clomped back to the dugout, kicking the dirt on the way.
“One out,” said Coop anxiously.
They needed a run. Just one run.
Gnash was up next. He adjusted his glove strap and then stepped into the batter’s box. He looked over at Jock in the on-deck circle, who nodded.
The pitch was hard and fast. All Gnash had to do was stick out his bat. It connected with the ball for a straight hit that streaked up the middle. The pitcher flung himself to one side as the ball whizzed past him and flew out to the grass. The outfielder charged at it and then sent it to the third baseman.
But it was a big enough hit for Gnash to get to second. He stood, panting, with one foot on the base, watching as Jock left the on-deck circle and walked to the plate.
Stretch had been benched by his coach for his unsportsmanlike conduct. Still, his jeers were easily the loudest in the ballpark as Jock entered the batter’s box. “Heyboy, heyboy, heyboy,” called Stretch.
Jock didn’t bother looking over. He crouched down and loaded up his bat.
The first pitch went by. “Strike!”
Gnash looked over at Coop and it occurred to him that their coach might actually faint, he looked so nervous. Gnash crouched lower, getting ready to run to third.
But the second pitch went by Jock, too.
The third one did not.
Jock found a big piece of the ball and cracked it with everything he had. The ball went up into the air, spinning high and white above the Pits. Jock took off for first.
Three of the Pirates dashed toward the ball in the outfield, their gloves up in the air. They were yelling at each other to back off. Their necks were craned so they could focus on the ball that was dropping like a rock into centre field. None of them backed off, and the three players came together with a crunch.
The ball dropped onto the grass between them.
The Blues’ parents cheered. Jock continued running to second base, pushing Gnash ahead of him to third, before one of the Pirates picked up the ball and sent it in to stop the runners.
“Time!” yelled the Pirates’ coach, striding out to talk to his team.
Gnash took advantage of the time-out. He called Jock over.
“Jock, I’ve got an idea,” he whispered, making sure the Pirates couldn’t overhear him.
Coop watched from the dugout impatiently. He paced back and forth along the third-base line, alternately spitting on the ground and running his hand through his hair.
When Gnash had finished explaining, he held out his fist. Jock bumped it, and then jogged back to second.
Miguel came up to bat. Gnash had one foot on third and his eye on the pitcher, who went into his wind-up. As the pitcher’s front leg came up and his arm came forward to launch the ball, Gnash pushed off from third. He was going to steal home.
“Strike!” yelled the umpire, as the baseball went thunk into the catcher’s mitt. But it was too late for Gnash. His momentum was already carrying him toward home plate. His feet slid on the dry dirt and his arms cartwheeled backward as he saw that the catcher had the ball.
Gnash backed up and twisted around to run back to third, with the catcher hot on his heels. The catcher threw the ball to the third baseman, who closed in on Gnash from the other side. He held out the ball to tag Gnash as he ran forward. Gnash turned again and ran the other way, back toward home. He’d only run two steps, when the ball was sent to another Pirate, who closed in. The boy took one step and Gnash knew he was doomed. He felt the ball touch his back. He was tagged out.
The crowd on the Pirates’ side clapped and hooted as the umpire made the call. Over the din, Stretch’s terrible, mocking voice was the loudest of all. Three of the Pirates were jumping in the air high-fiving each other along the third-base line, as Gnash walked slowly back to the dugout.
And then suddenly, there was a commotion along the third-base line. Gnash turned to watch Jock round third base and blow right past the celebrating Pirates.
The Pirates looked at each other in confusion. The Blues started cheering and the Pirates on the bench began screaming at their players to throw the ball, “Home! Home!” But it was too late.
“SAFE!” yelled the umpire, as Jock slid into home, kicking up an enormous cloud of dust, to score the winning run.
For a moment, no one could quite figure out what had happened. And then a great cheer went up from the stands behind the Blues’ bench. Gnash, Sebastian, Miguel and the rest of the Blues ran toward Jock and slammed into him, high-fiving and throwing their gloves in the air.
“We won! We won! We won!” Sebastian yelled over and over again as he and the others lau
ghed and jumped up and down.
Coop chuckled in relief, and spit out a mouthful of seeds. “Those two planned the whole thing,” he said, grinning. “Unbelievable.”
The cheering and jumping and piling on continued for at least ten minutes. Tami ran over and picked up Gnash in an enthusiastic bear hug.
“Put me down, you nut-job,” Gnash said, but Tami had already run off to hug someone else.
Gnash’s face darkened as he caught sight of his grandfather half-way up the hill on his way out of the park. Gnash was certain that his grandfather would be angry at him for helping a boy like Jock. He would never understand. Gnash hung his head, suddenly deflated. He was about to walk away when his grandfather turned and caught his eye. He held up his hand, beckoning Josh over.
“That was a smart play,” Gnash’s grandfather said as Gnash joined him on the hill. “And, boy, was I glad you wiped the smirk off that rich jerk’s face. Nash, I’m proud of you.”
Gnash didn’t have long to consider his grandfather’s words, because Sebastian and Raj suddenly launched themselves at him, knocking him sideways on the hill.
“Hey, man,” said Raj, ruffling Gnash’s hair, “great job.”
“YEAH!” said Sebastian, running up the hill and yelling as though everyone around him was deaf. “GREAT JOB! WOO-HOO!”
Gradually, they were joined by the other Blues, who had packed up their baseball bags and were lugging them up the steep incline. Gnash patted Jock on the back and put his arm around him. “Hey, welcome to the team.”
Just then, the sky began to darken over the Pits. The players heard rumblings in the distance and drops of rain began to fall. Before long, sheets of water were dousing the kids on the hill, which was quickly becoming a muddy, slippery stream.
Sebastian, who was at the top of the hill, turned and looked down at his teammates.
“MUDBALL!” he shouted, his voice cracking in excitement.
The teammates dropped their bags. Sebastian launched his rolling body down the hill, first careening into Jock and then Tami, Raj and Gnash.
The players scattered like bowling pins, a heap of muddy, laughing bodies — a team.
Acknowledgements
This is my first novel and there are many people who helped to make it possible.
Carolyn, who lovingly devoured the book, encouraged me relentlessly — and then helped me get the baseball scenes just right.
Bennett, for creating the game of Mudball and for showing me what it looks like when you truly love the sport of baseball.
Angela, who helped me focus the plot — and lots of other stuff.
Kat, my awesome editor, who took it all up a notch.
Ryan (Army) Armstrong, pitching coach at The Baseball Zone in Mississauga, for pointing Raj’s front foot forward.
Val, WTW, Paul and Gord for their encouragement and support.
My mom, who sells more of my books than anyone.
My in-person writing group and #write-o-rama, my virtual one.
Cathie, Katie, Stephanie, Julie, John and Scott, who made the book better.
All of the talented and supportive people at Lorimer.
Christie (yes, as in Christie Pits), the first one to know that I could write this book.
Karen, for a Post-It that I will never lose.
Coach Coop, who lent his expertise and his name — and who does not have a faux-hawk.
The Toronto Playgrounds and North York Blues organizations — the coaches, parents and, of course, players, who provided invaluable expertise, support and inspiration.
And as always, Andrew, my rock.
***
I’m grateful to The Ontario Arts Council for their financial support in aiding me research and write this book.
Christie Pits is one of my favourite places in Toronto, and there really was a riot there in 1933. Other than that, all of the places, events, teams, schools and players in this book are fictional.
***
These resources helped me get my facts straight:
The Baseball Codes: Beanballs, Sign Stealing, and Bench-Clearing Brawls: The Unwritten Rules of America’s Pastime. 2011. By Jason Turbow and Michael Duca.
The Riot at Christie Pits. 1987. By Cyril Levitt.
“The Christie Pits riot,” Wikipedia.
Copyright © 2016 Joyce Grant
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
James Lorimer & Company Ltd., Publishers acknowledges the support of the Ontario Arts Council. We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund for our publishing activities. We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts which last year invested $24.3 million in writing and publishing throughout Canada. We acknowledge the Government of Ontario through the Ontario Media Development Corporation’s Ontario Book Initiative.
We acknowledge the [financial] support of the Government of Canada.
Nous reconnaissons l’appui [financier] du gouvernement du Canada.
Cover image: iStock
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Grant, Joyce, 1963-, author
Tagged out / Joyce Grant.
(Sports stories)
Issued in print and electronic formats.
ISBN 978-1-4594-1075-6 (paperback).--ISBN 978-1-4594-1076-3 (epub)
I. Title. II. Series: Sports stories (Toronto, Ont.)
PS8613.R3653T33 2016 jC813’.6 C2015-907194-1
C2015-907195-X
This digital edition first published in 2016 as 978-1-4594-1076-3
Originally published in 2016 as 978-1-4594-1075-6
James Lorimer & Company Ltd., Publishers
317 Adelaide Street West Suite 1002
Toronto, Ontario
M5V 1P9
www.lorimer.ca