Team Players

by Mike Lupica

  Scott grinned. “Even you?”

  Cassie said, “I was referring to you guys.”

  They watched as J.B. threw a fastball and the Rawson center fielder hit a weak pop-out to Jerry at second. The inning was over. The game stayed at 6–4.

  “Told you,” Cassie said.

  The Cubs tied the game in the top of the sixth when Gus hit his first homer of the season, a two-run shot to right. J. B. Scarborough, getting into a groove now, then pitched a scoreless bottom of the sixth. As Cassie ran over to the third-base coach’s box for the top of the seventh, she realized she felt ridiculously excited, about a game she wasn’t even playing. But this was the way sports were supposed to make you feel.

  The bottom of the order was coming up for the Cubs. Max Conte hit a long fly ball to right that looked as if it might get into the gap, but their center fielder chased it down. Gregg Leonard beat out an infield hit to deep short, but then Brett struck out swinging. There were two outs now, the go-ahead run still at first.

  J.B., whom Mr. Anthony had moved up to second in the order tonight, walked. Now the Cubs had first and second with Jack Callahan coming to the plate. He was no longer a player- coach in this moment. Just a player.

  Jack didn’t even look down at Cassie. His focus was on the kid the Rangers’ coach had brought in to pitch the seventh. Jack didn’t look nervous, or excited. He looked completely relaxed, as if this were exactly where he was supposed to be, and wanted to be.

  The pitcher, who’d played first base at the start of the game, threw Jack a ball, away. Jack didn’t move as the ball went past him, just gave a quick look to see where the catcher’s mitt was when he caught it.

  Then came ball two.

  If the next pitch was ball three, it meant this was like what the announcers like to call an “unintentional intentional” walk. They were trying to get Jack to swing at a bad pitch, something Cassie knew he hardly ever did, and if he didn’t, they were going to put him on and take their chances with Gus, even though Gus had gone deep his last time up against the Rangers’ first relief pitcher of the game.

  The next pitch wasn’t ball three. Maybe the pitcher was thinking Jack would be taking with a 2–0 count. Maybe he thought he could sneak a strike past him. So he threw him a strike, about belt-high, maybe just a little to the outside of the plate.

  Jack’s happy zone.

  He didn’t try to pull the ball. He just went with the pitch to right-center, hitting a screaming line drive that was on the ground and skipping past both the center fielder and right fielder before they could cut the ball off, both of them chasing the ball like dogs chasing a car as it rolled all the way to the wall. Gregg scored easily. J.B., running all the way with two outs, scored easily. By the time the ball was back to the infield, Jack was on third with a stand-up triple, and the Cubs, who had been trailing 6–0 when Sam Anthony and his father had left the game and the field, were now ahead 8–6.

  Jack should have been out of breath, but wasn’t. Sometimes Cassie got surprised, no matter how hot the day was, when Jack even worked up a sweat. He was smiling as he leaned over to Cassie, gave her a quick low five—so quick that Cassie wondered if anybody else on the field even saw it—and said, “Okay. Now we’re having fun.”

  Jack decided to stay with J.B., who pitched a one-two-three bottom of the seventh. The Cubs were 3–1 for the season.

  Jack was 1–0 as a coach.

  TWENTY

  The board of directors for Walton Baseball fired Mr. Anthony as the Cubs’ coach the next afternoon.

  They said it wasn’t because he’d gotten ejected from the game. It was because he had made contact with the umpire. They managed to interview several of the parents who had been at the game, and every one, according to Jack’s mom and dad, said the umpire had done nothing to make the situation worse. They thought the umpire had been right, and well within his rights, to tell Sam Anthony to retrieve his glove.

  It was Mr. Anthony who had made things much worse, according to all the Walton parents at the game. Then he’d put his hand on the ump. The vote, Jack told Cassie, was unanimous.

  “What about Sam?” Cassie asked Jack on the phone.

  “Far as I know, it’s up to him if he wants to stay on the team.”

  “My dad says they could’ve given him a one-game suspension for throwing his glove, because you can get that even if you throw your bat accidentally after hitting a ball. Or for throwing a helmet.”

  “He got off easy,” Jack said. “I just think they didn’t want it to look as if they were piling on the whole family. Anyway, it’s up to Sam now. Or maybe just his dad.”

  “What do you think he’ll do?”

  “Honestly?” Jack said. “I think the guy could turn out to be a pretty decent pitcher now that his dad is out of the way.”

  “Does Teddy want him back?”

  “Teddy’s a good teammate. In the end he’ll do what’s best for our team.”

  Cassie laughed. “Don’t you mean after you tell him what’s best for the team?”

  “Nah,” Jack said. “Teddy’s too smart not to figure things out for himself.”

  “Who’s gonna coach?”

  “Probably one of the other dads.”

  Cassie said, “They should have you keep doing it.”

  “Right,” Jack said. “Like that’s gonna happen.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “Unfortunately, I know you are. But Mr. Leonard and the other people on the board will pick the right guy.”

  Mr. Leonard had coached Jack’s team last season, and all the guys loved him. But he was traveling too much to do it again this year.

  Jack said, “Actually, my dad and Mr. Leonard are going to coach our practice tomorrow, so we can have a team meeting about the new coach. They say they want us to be part of the process, which is kind of cool.”

  The Red Sox didn’t have practice or a game the next night. Cassie told Jack she was coming.

  “One night coaching third,” Jack said, “and the girl thinks she can practically take over.”

  “You should coach,” Cassie said. “You know what my dad is always saying, right? That Little League would be a whole lot more fun if we could just get the parents out of the way.”

  “Can’t lie, Cass,” Jack said. “You’re good.”

  “I know,” she said, with feeling, and ended the call.

  • • •

  The next night Jack’s dad and Mr. Leonard put the Cubs through a practice that lasted about forty-five minutes, just basic stuff, batting practice, infield and outfield, a few situational baserunning drills. But Cassie could see everybody on the field going at every one of the drills hard, smiling a lot, laughing, as if they were all still riding a high from the way the Rawson game had ended.

  When they were done, Mr. Callahan and Mr. Leonard asked the players to go sit in the bleachers behind first base.

  First Mr. Leonard explained the decision about Mr. Anthony, telling them that no player in the league was allowed to put a hand on another player, and so they certainly weren’t going to tolerate an adult doing that.

  “What we gathered from talking to some of your parents,” Mr. Leonard said, “is that what had been a bad situation around this team from the start simply escalated in Rawson.”

  “But this is still a good team,” Mr. Callahan said. “Potentially a great team. And now we mean to do right by it.”

  “Some other dads have offered to step in for Mr. Anthony,” Gregg’s dad said. “Mike Sutter is one. And Bill York. Neither one of them can make a full-time commitment because of their jobs. But they said that if they team up, they can handle it.”

  “But,” Jack’s dad said, “we wanted to get some input from you guys.”

  Nobody said anything at first. The guys on the Cubs looked around at one another.

  Finally Teddy stood up.

  “I want Jack to coach,” he said.

  Gus had been sitting next to Teddy. He stood up and raised a hand. �
�I vote for Jack too.”

  J. B. Scarborough stood up. “Jack.”

  Jerry stood up. “Jack,” he said.

  It went like that, the Cubs standing up one after another, until the only one seated was Jack Callahan, who Cassie didn’t think was doing a very good job of hiding his embarrassment, his face even turning a little red, as if he didn’t know what to do or how to act.

  Cassie stood up now. “I actually had my dad look it up, just for fun,” she said. “He said there’s no language saying a player can’t coach, as long as there’s at least one adult on the bench.”

  The Cubs cheered.

  Mr. Leonard said, “But what about you, Jack? This will be a lot of pressure.”

  Teddy said to Jack, “Uh, Jack, pressure is this thing where you get nervous in big spots.”

  “Very funny,” Jack said.

  “Seriously,” Mr. Leonard said. “I know you handled things great for one game. Do you really think you could for the rest of the season?”

  “I think I can, Mr. Leonard,” he said. “I’ll just need a little help.”

  Just as she had in Rawson, Cassie said, “Thought you’d never ask.”

  The two dads looked at each other. Mr. Leonard shrugged, and grinned and said, “I’ll have to sell it to the rest of the board. But as far as I’m concerned, it’s a done deal.”

  Now the Cubs were cheering and stomping their feet on the bleachers and high-fiving each other. As they did, Cassie looked out at the field.

  In the distance, near the playground, she saw Sarah Milligan, hand on her bike, watching them. As the celebration for the Cubs continued, Cassie started walking toward Sarah, and this time she didn’t take off.

  “Hello,” Cassie said.

  “Hello,” Sarah said, and then asked Cassie why everyone was so happy.

  Cassie told her what had just happened.

  Sarah frowned.

  “Their team isn’t like our team,” she said. “And our team isn’t anything like their team.”

  “Yet,” Cassie said.

  “There’s a lot about sports I don’t understand,” Sarah said, and Cassie told her there was a lot she didn’t understand too, and not just with sports.

  Then Sarah got on her bike and rode off, almost as if she wanted to prove Cassie’s point.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Cassie couldn’t go to every Cubs game, or practice. But when she printed out the Red Sox schedule and theirs, she saw only a couple of Cubs games she had to miss between now and the end of the regular season. Fine with her. She was happy to have softball and baseball in her life just about every day for as far as she could see into the rest of the summer. It was a good thing, and not just because both teams kept winning games.

  There was something more going on with the girl who had always prided herself on being so tough, even though she would only admit this to herself:

  Spending even more time with the guys was making her feel less lonely.

  Because being around her own team did make her feel lonely. A lot. She still loved being on the field, for either practice or a game. Once the games started, she could see that the other players on the Red Sox wanted to win as much as ever. But there was something off about it all. They weren’t pulling for one another the way they were supposed to. Even when she and Gus had gotten sideways with each other, even when she’d been worried that the tension between them might pull their team apart, it had always pulled together once the game started.

  Cassie had finally felt like she was a part of something in basketball, even though she knew that Gus wasn’t the only one who hadn’t wanted her on the team at first. Right now, though, she didn’t feel like a part of anything in softball. And on top of everything else that had happened around their team, Brooke Connors, who’d started taking riding lessons, had managed to fall off a horse, break an ankle, and end her season.

  So now Cassie really only had Lizzie to talk to, because even though she’d talked to Sarah that night at Highland Park when Jack had officially become coach of the Cubs, Sarah had once again pulled back, from Cassie and everybody else.

  Through it all, though, the Sox kept winning over the next couple of weeks. So did the Cubs.

  And after two games away, Sam Anthony texted Jack and asked if he could return to the team. Jack told him to come ahead. Sam told Jack in the same exchange that he still wanted to pitch. Jack told him he was going to get his chance.

  “Do you know what you’re doing?” Cassie said.

  “Heck, no,” Jack said.

  “You guys are going good,” she said.

  “It must have been hard, him asking me to come back,” Jack said. “That tells me how much he wants to play.”

  “But can he pitch?”

  “We’re gonna find out,” Jack said, “aren’t we?”

  • • •

  Sam’s second game back, Jack started him against Clements, a Thursday night game at Highland Park, and Sam promptly gave up three runs in the top of the first, before finally striking out the last two Clements batters with two guys still on base.

  There’d even been a moment, before Sam’s last strikeout, when Teddy called time and started out to the mound, before Sam waved him off. Teddy stood there and briefly stared at him, before he turned and went back behind the plate and got into his crouch.

  When the inning ended, Teddy was off the field first. When he got back to the bench and started taking off his chest protector, he whispered to Cassie, “Here we go again.”

  Sam was getting a drink of water at the fountain behind the screen.

  Cassie said, “He didn’t pitch that badly. And you gotta admit, the ump wasn’t giving him a very big strike zone.”

  “He still doesn’t act like he wants to be here,” Teddy said.

  “But he is here,” Cassie said.

  What she was really thinking was this: Maybe Sam is the one on this team who doesn’t know how to fit in.

  The Cubs jumped all over the Clements starter, scoring five runs in their half of the first. Jack left Sam in the game. He’d give up another run in the top of the third, but it didn’t matter, because everybody on the Cubs was hitting tonight, and by the time the third inning ended, they were winning 9–4. Jack left Sam in there through the fifth. The Cubs ended up winning 12–7. Cassie thought she might have seen Mr. Anthony watching from a distance, behind a tree near the playground. But after Sam was out of the game, he was gone too.

  When the game ended, Sam left without saying good-bye to anyone.

  The next afternoon Cassie and the guys were sitting on the Walton side of Small Falls, near the bridge that Teddy Madden had been terrified to cross once, before he’d overcome those fears, and a lot of doubts he’d once had about himself. Today they’d all brought sandwiches and were having lunch up here.

  “I still don’t know why we need that guy,” Teddy said.

  They all knew he was talking about Sam.

  “I think he can pitch,” Jack said.

  “You must be joking,” Gus said.

  “Nope,” Jack said. “He threw the ball way better last night, especially once he got out of the first.”

  “Yeah,” Teddy said, “this time he only gave up four runs instead of six.”

  “But he competed,” Jack said. “He didn’t give up.”

  “He competed after we scored him a million runs,” Teddy said.

  “He competed in the first when he struck out the last two guys,” Jack said.

  Gus said, “You know he’s gonna cost us a game, right? And that game might cost us the play-offs.”

  “He deserves a chance,” Jack said. “He could’ve just quit after the way he acted and his dad acted. I wonder how many teams he’s ever played on in his life that his dad didn’t coach.”

  “But now you think you can coach him,” Gus said.

  “I’m lucky I know how to coach you guys,” Jack said, smiling.

  “J.B. would be a better starter,” Teddy said.

  “Oh, I
get it,” Jack said. “Now you want to coach.”

  Teddy turned and looked at Cassie. “Admit we’d be better off without him.”

  “It is too nice a day and I am having too much fun to spend any more time talking about Sam Anthony,” she said.

  “He doesn’t belong,” Teddy said.

  “You sound like one of my teammates talking about Sarah,” Cassie said.

  “You’re comparing me to them?” Teddy said. “That’s cold.”

  “Tell me how you’re different,” Cassie said. “You don’t just want to freeze out Sam. You want him off the team.”

  Teddy shook his head. “It’s not the same.”

  Cassie propped herself up on an elbow and smiled at Teddy Madden. It was her way of letting him know that they were always going to be on the same side, even when they were on the different side of an argument.

  Cassie said, “If you’re the one on the outside, it’s always the same.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  The Red Sox were playing the softball team from Clements, called the Astros. Cassie was pitching, trying to continue the Red Sox winning streak and not only get them to 7–1, but tie for first place with the Astros, who came into the game at 7–0.

  Cassie knew it was more than just first place being on the line. Amy Lewis was starting for the Astros. And if Cassie was the best pitcher in their league, Amy was 1A. Last season they’d faced each other twice, and Cassie had gotten the wins in both games, first 2–1, then 2–0.

  For this one day, everything that had been going on with the Red Sox and was still going on, got shoved aside. It was Cassie’s best against Amy’s best. Cassie’s doing her job was the only thing that mattered, not Kathleen and the Shunners, which was the way Cassie had started thinking of them, as if they were a new girl band. She couldn’t worry about them, or her continuing non-relationship with Sarah.

  I’m the one on an island today, Cassie thought.

  The pitcher’s mound.

  On the way to Highland Park, her dad said to her, “You’re still sure you don’t want me to talk to the other girls’ parents?”

  “No!” Cassie said. Loudly.