The Only Game

by Mike Lupica

  Jack hoped he was saying the right things, but he had no idea whether he was or not. Had no idea if Teddy was really hearing him.

  But what he did know was this: Teddy had to do this himself.

  “You didn’t think you’d ever play ball, but you proved you could do that,” Jack said. “You can do this.”

  “You always think I’m better than I really am!”

  “Now that you do have wrong,” Jack said. “I see you for who you really are. I saw that before you did yourself.”

  “I can’t make it back!” Teddy shouted.

  “You’re not going to.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means you’re going to turn around now and do what you came here to do and make it to the other side.”

  They stood there now, like it was some kind of stare-down on the playground, neither one of them saying anything over the howl of the wind and the water.

  “One foot in front of the other,” Jack said. “Go on.”

  Maybe only Teddy knew how much effort it took to turn himself back around. Or take his first step away from Jack. But he did. He walked slowly. He stopped a couple more times. Every time he did, Jack thought that time really had stopped this afternoon.

  But Teddy finally made it to the other side.

  When he did, he turned and looked at Jack and gave a slight nod of his head. Like he was saying yes. Then he was nodding again and again. Yes, yes, yes.

  Then it was Jack’s turn. He didn’t look down himself, and he wasn’t very happy being out on this old bridge in a wind like this. He wasn’t walking too quickly either. But he made it to the other side.

  When he stepped off the bridge, Teddy said, “Thank you.”

  Jack shook his head.

  “It’s like I told you about baseball,” he said. “You did this, not me.”

  Then they walked back across the bridge together, without stopping once.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  The White Sox had already played their way into the championship game, winning 4–2. Now the Rays would try to do the same.

  The plan was for Andre to pitch the first four innings, depending on his pitch count, and Jerry York to pitch the last two.

  Because the Rays had finished second and the Mariners third, the Rays were the home team. Before they took the field, Coach Leonard led them down the rightfield line and then gathered his players around him. Jack was waiting for his teammates there. He’d been down there by himself, sitting by himself the way he always did before games. Tonight the quiet time seemed more important than ever.

  “Don’t do this for me tonight and don’t do it for your parents,” Coach said. “Find the best in yourselves tonight for yourselves. I’m not going to tell you to have fun the way I usually do, because if you can’t have fun with a game like this, you need to find another hobby.”

  He turned in a slow circle as he spoke, so it felt as if he were talking to each one of them individually.

  “It’s nights like this you remember when you’re my age,” he said. “Now go make it one all of us will never forget.”

  They walked back to the bench to get their gloves. Jack looked up in the stands and waved to his parents. He closed his eyes and pictured his brother up there, pointing at him and smiling the way he always did. He touched his back pocket, where Brad’s note was. Then he felt himself smiling too.

  Teddy was next to him, adjusting the straps on his chest protector, making sure it wasn’t too tight. He and Jack and Gus had watched the whole White Sox game together. Jack hadn’t brought up what had happened earlier at Small Falls, and neither had Teddy.

  “You good?” Jack said to him now.

  Teddy said, “Let’s do this.”

  Gus came walking over and put his first baseman’s mitt in the air. Teddy tapped it with his catcher’s mitt. Jack did the same with his Pedroia.

  Gus turned to Jack and said, “Take us out.”

  Jack led Gus and Teddy and his teammates onto the field. It had been a long wait for the first pitch. But man, had it been worth it.

  • • •

  Teddy did throw out the first guy who tried to run on him. It was the Mariners’ second baseman, Nick Tierney, who’d singled off Andre with two outs. The batter took the pitch, and Teddy came up throwing like a pro, giving Jack a perfect ball to handle at second. Jack put the tag on Nick. Before he ran off the field, he pointed at Teddy. Teddy, standing at the plate with his mask in his hand, pointed back at him. Game on.

  But by the time they were in the bottom of the fifth, the Mariners had just scored three times off Jerry to take a 5–3 lead. Gregg Leonard nearly made an unbelievable diving play with two outs and the bases loaded. But he couldn’t quite get to the ball before it hit the ground. The ball rolled behind him, and three guys scored. The Mariners were up two. Two at bats left for the Rays, maybe in their season.

  It looked as if the score would stay that way in the bottom of the fifth when there were two outs and nobody on. But then Andre singled between first and second, and Jerry, who’d just given up that triple, doubled him to third.

  Teddy came to the plate. He was 0 for 2 on the night and had struck out twice, even though he had played his best game behind the plate so far. He had thrown out another base stealer, nearly gotten another. He’d also made a terrific diving play on a bunt, laying out as he caught the ball in the air, throwing to Gus from his knees to get a double play.

  Let him get a hit, Jack thought. Let him prove to himself that he can do that, too.

  Nick Tierney was on the mound for the Mariners, having moved in from second. His first pitch to Teddy knifed down and bounced off home plate. Teddy swung at it anyway.

  Then he swung through the next one, a belt-high fastball.

  With an 0–2 count, wanting the strikeout right here, Nick threw the same pitch again. Teddy barely got a piece of it but stayed alive when their catcher couldn’t hold the foul tip. Teddy stepped out and banged his helmet with his right hand. He’d missed another good pitch and knew it.

  Jack was seated next to Gus on the bench.

  “Wait,” he said in a low voice.

  Gus nodded. Nick came to the stretch. This fastball was still belt high, but a little more inside than the last two. Teddy waited on this one.

  When his new Easton bat came through the hitting zone, he was all over it, lining a single over shortstop. With two outs, Jerry was running as soon as the ball was hit, rounding third as if he were trying to catch Andre at home plate, Coach Leonard waving him home. Their leftfielder threw home. It wasn’t even close. Jerry slid across the plate, and the game was tied.

  Two-out, two-run hit for Teddy.

  T.W. struck out to end the fifth. When Teddy came off the field, he ran quickly through the high fives from his teammates, sat down, and started strapping on his shin guards.

  “You can at least look happy,” Jack said.

  “We’ve got more work to do,” Teddy said.

  “You sound like a player.”

  “Yeah,” Teddy said, “I do, don’t I?”

  Then he allowed himself one smile and said to Jack, “Second-best thing I did all day.”

  The Mariners came right back. They had runners on first and third against Jerry with two outs. Their third baseman, Jake Mosedean, was at the plate. Max Conte was on third.

  With the count 0–1 on Jake, they tried a double steal you saw a lot in Little League. The runner on first took off for second, and the runner on third took off for home as soon as the catcher released the ball. It worked a lot if the catcher didn’t know enough to hold the ball.

  As soon as Teddy came out of his crouch and came up throwing, Max headed home.

  Only Teddy didn’t throw. Not only did he fake out the runners with the kind of pump fake quarterbacks made in football, he faked out Jack, who was already putting down his glove at second base.

  But the ball was still in his hand. Max was about ten feet away from the plate when Teddy turned and ran at
him. Max had no chance to turn around and try to get into a rundown; he just stood there while Teddy put the tag on him.

  The game stayed 5–5, just not for very long.

  Gregg led off the bottom of the last with a bloop hit that landed a few feet fair down the rightfield line, and he legged that into an easy double. Nick pitched too carefully to Jack and walked him. Gus Morales then hit the first pitch he saw from Nick off the leftfield wall, missing a three-run walk-off homer by about three feet. Gregg Leonard ran home with the winning run. Jack looked behind him and saw Gus’s right arm in the air as he came around first. They were in the championship game.

  They all mobbed Gus between first and second. Then Jack grabbed Teddy by the shoulders.

  “I never taught you to hold the ball like that on a double steal,” he said.

  “Nope,” Teddy said. “Some things you just gotta figure out for yourself, right?”

  THIRTY-NINE

  The championship game on Saturday night was scheduled for seven o’clock. It was another big Walton baseball game, under the lights. But it was also another long day of waiting.

  Jack and Gus and Teddy and Cassie had spent the day together, Cassie acting as intense about the game as if she were playing it. They went to Fierro’s for lunch, then to Baskin-Robbins for ice cream, then back to Jack’s house for Wiffle ball.

  Teddy and Gus finally left, telling Jack they’d see him at Highland Park at five thirty. As Cassie was leaving, she asked if his parents could pick her up on their way to the field.

  “Hey,” she said, “I’m not missing any of this.”

  “I wouldn’t have even made it this far without you,” Jack said.

  “I hate to admit it,” Cassie said, “but you’re absolutely right.”

  When he was in his uniform an hour later, everything on except his baseball shoes, ready to go, he went and sat on the end of his brother’s bed.

  It was more quiet than quiet in here, as always. Jack thought of all the time in his life he’d spent in here when his brother was alive. Remembered all the goofy videos Brad just had to show him on YouTube as soon as he’d seen them himself. He remembered all the card tricks Brad had shown him, because Jack was his best audience.

  Jack thought about all the times Brad had closed his door and lowered his voice and told Jack about his latest adventure. Or misadventure. Or planned his next one.

  What he mostly remembered, in the quiet, was how much they’d laughed in here, just the two of them, even when Jack was nervous before a game.

  “Figured we might find you in here,” his dad said.

  Jack looked up. Both his parents were standing in the doorway, his dad’s arm around his mother’s shoulders.

  “I was just thinking of all the things he used to say to get me ready for the game.”

  “He would have had more fun than anybody tonight,” his dad said.

  Jack grinned. “Except me.”

  “Except you,” his mom said.

  “He wrote in his letter that he loved us the way I love baseball,” Jack said. “But I loved him more.”

  “And he knew that,” his mom said.

  Jack stood up. His parents walked across the room. They all hugged in the middle of the room. Nobody cried this time. When they pulled out of the hug, Jack could see both his parents smiling.

  “You ready?” his dad said.

  “Oh yeah.”

  He went back to his own room, grabbed his bat bag off his bed, rubbed up his Pedroia ball one last time for luck, then went to play the big game.

  • • •

  Five minutes before the game, the stands on both side of the field were full. They’d just played the national anthem over the loudspeakers. The White Sox were on the field. Jack was sitting between Gus and Teddy on their bench, on the third-base side tonight, because the White Sox were the home team.

  “Number one against number two,” Jack said. “I guess that’s the way it’s supposed to be.”

  “There’s only one ‘one’ here tonight,” Gus said. “That would be us.”

  “If you think about it,” Teddy said, “even if Jack had started the season, it would probably be us against the White Sox. We’d just be sitting on the other side of the field.”

  “We lost to them once,” Gus said. “Not happening again.”

  “I’m just glad to get another chance at these guys,” Jack said.

  Teddy asked if Jack wanted to throw a few more warm-up pitches behind the bench.

  “I’m good,” Jack said.

  “Me too,” Teddy said. “Tonight I’ve got those good nerves you’re always talking about going for me.”

  Coach Leonard came over and stood in front of all of them. He’d already spoken to them in the outfield, the way he always did, quoting from what he said was his favorite sports movie, Miracle, about the US hockey team that won the gold medal in Lake Placid, upsetting the Russians along the way.

  “This is your time,” Coach had told them.

  Now all he said was, “As long as we’re here, let’s go win a championship.”

  He looked around. “Anything anybody wants to add?”

  Gus stood up and put his right hand in the air. His teammates got around him and put their own hands up to join his. “Go Rays,” Gus said.

  As T.W. got ready to lead off the top of the first, Jack and Gus had already put their batting helmets on, already grabbed their bats. They were standing behind the bench.

  “I only got mad at you because I didn’t want to do this without you,” Gus said.

  “I’m glad you didn’t have to.”

  Gus said, “If we win tonight, you know nobody’s going to stop us this summer on the way to Williamsport.”

  “Let’s just win tonight.”

  Gus grinned. “If you say so.”

  Jack turned and took one last look around, gave one last wave to his parents. He looked down the leftfield line and saw Cassie’s head peeking around the ice cream truck parked behind the fence. He touched Brad’s note one last time, thinking of the part in it about how someday he was going to watch Jack play at Fenway Park or Yankee Stadium.

  But that wasn’t the dream tonight.

  Tonight the dream was here.

  FORTY

  Nate Vinton had his best stuff going for the White Sox, the same as he had the last time he’d faced the Rays, until they’d finally gotten to him in the last inning he’d pitched.

  The only run scored by either team in the first four innings came in the top of the first, two outs for the Rays and nobody on. Jack doubled to left-center, Gus walked, Brett Hawkins singled home Jack.

  Coach always talked about getting the first strike, the first out, the first run. Baseball was a game of firsts, he said. The Rays were on the scoreboard first, even if Nate kept them off it after that.

  But Jack was better tonight. He walked Wayne Coffey with one out in the first. He’d end up walking Wayne again on a very close 3–2 pitch in the third. Those were the only two base runners in his four innings on the mound. He struck out eight batters.

  From the start, working out with Teddy, he’d always talked about the two of them just playing catch. That was the way it felt for him in the championship game. This was what you always hoped for in sports, playing your best when the games mattered the most.

  Biggest game.

  Best game.

  Only game.

  When he came back to the bench after he’d finished off the bottom of the fourth with his last two strikeouts, Gus said, “We need a better word than ‘dealing’ for what I just saw.”

  “What we need,” Jack said, “is a run.”

  Teddy said, “Our game can’t end 1–0 the way Cassie’s did, right?”

  “Unlikely,” Gus said, “with the two studs out of the game. This could get good now.”

  “It’s not good already?” Teddy said.

  “He meant it could get better than it already is,” Jack said.

  The Rays couldn’t score off
the White Sox’s best reliever, Danny Hayes, in the top of the fifth, going down in order.

  Jerry was pitching for the Rays now. He got two quick outs in the bottom of the fifth and seemed to be breezing. But then Hawk booted an easy ball hit by Nate that would have given Jerry an easy inning, and the whole thing became a mess after that. Nate got a great jump and stole second, even though Teddy made a sweet throw and nearly got him.

  Mike O’Keeffe singled home Nate. The game was tied. Danny doubled home Mike. The White Sox were ahead 2–1. Jerry walked two guys after that but managed to keep it a one-run game. Coach Leonard always talked about how fast the story changed in sports. The story in the championship game had changed that fast.

  They had gone from being six outs away from the trophy to three outs away from going home, maybe just one inning left in their season.

  It was why, when they got back to the bench, Jack told his teammates to gather around him. He’d never done anything like this in a game before, not one time since he’d started playing baseball. But it just seemed as if he needed to say something. He remembered Dustin Pedroia’s teammate, David Ortiz, doing it one time when the Red Sox were playing the Cardinals in the World Series and things were starting to look bad for the Red Sox.

  “We’re the best team in this league, and we’re going to be the best team now,” he said.

  He was the one looking into one face after another, not Coach Leonard.

  “You know I never make speeches,” Jack said. “But we’ve come too far to lose now.”

  Teddy led off the top of the sixth with a clean single to left. It was a good thing, obviously, getting the leadoff man on. But as slow a runner as Teddy was, a lot was going to have to happen to get him around the bases.

  T.W. struck out.

  Gregg hit the ball harder than he had all night, but right at Conor Freeman at short.

  Jack walked to the plate. If he couldn’t get on, the season was over. If he couldn’t do something right now, he was going to lose in the championship game for the second year in a row. After coming this far.

  Before he’d left the on-deck circle, he’d knelt down and put some dirt in his hands, rubbed the dirt on his bat handle. As he did, he looked to the top row of the stands. He saw his dad and mom up there.