“Are you okay, man?” Bucky was first on the scene.
“No problem, Stone.” Anthony grimaced, but struggled to his feet. “Five more outs, dude.” He limped a bit returning to his station, but waved away his coach. “We’re good.”
It was always bad form to mention a pitcher’s no-hitter, and as Bucky walked back to the pitcher’s mound, he sensed the quiet but unstated resolve of his teammates. They were with him now, ready to dive, ready to sacrifice their skin and their own ambitions, in order to bring their friend’s possible quest to a coronation.
Every pitch now, Bucky could feel his muscles tingling. His mind was sharp and alive, keenly aware of past at-bats, of hitters’ predilections and preferences and vulnerabilities. He broke off curves that snapped into the zone with wicked velocity. His fastballs, if anything, had more deadly juice on them here in the late innings. It seemed as if he and Anthony almost did not need signals now, that there was a secret blueprint writing itself and glowing with wordless precision between them.
He finished the sixth inning, inducing the last batter to hit a harmless fly ball to Dan, who held it in his glove for an extra moment, as if to affirm that the team’s mission was an unstoppable and holy force. Bucky waited in the dugout, savoring like an electric blanket the support and affection of his peers, these amazing friends wearing Panther uniforms, their badge of solidarity throughout four years of high school.
But all the while, his friend Jeff Hilliard was unfurling his own flag of baseball prowess. Ten straight Panthers went up the hill and came back down as the determined pitcher from Dixon matched his adversary pitch for pitch, out for out, zero for zero. The row of twelve goose eggs on the scoreboard silenced the huge throng watching this miracle play itself out, the ballpark quiet and reverent as all of California, it seemed, had stopped, left the freeways and the restaurants and bars, and come here to respect and treasure this fine, golden moment.
As Bucky picked up his glove to go to the mound for the seventh and final inning, Coach Demerest paused for just a moment, resting a hand on the shoulder of the weary hurler. He was about to speak, then just gave a warm squeeze and let go with a tiny nod. Bucky flushed and squared his shoulders for the final three outs.
Jeff, a decent hitter, was the first to step into the box. He peered out at his friend on the mound, now bathed by the growing shadows, and gave a quiet smile. He dug in, prepared to give everything in his power to this final at-bat and to the breakup of his fellow believer’s quest for a no-hitter.
Bucky, taking a deep breath, went into his windup and sent a scorching fastball across the inside part of the plate for a strike. Jeff winced and gave the bat a series of determined waggles.
The second pitch, not quite as good, cut the plate as well and the hitter jumped at it. The ball thudded off Bucky’s left ankle with a sharp crack and rebounded right into the mitt of the startled second baseman. He plucked it free and flipped it to first, then rushed to the mound. “Stone! You okay, man?”
Bucky hobbled around the mound for a moment, worried. But everything seemed intact. “Yeah, I think so. It’s just a bruise.”
“Okay, dude.” His teammate paused for a moment, not wanting to state the obvious. Finally he gave Bucky an awkward swat on the rear: “Let’s get ‘em, Stone. Bottom of this inning, we take the prize, man.”
Bearing down hard, Bucky managed to strike out the next hitter on a searing fastball that just caught the black on the outside corner. The crowd, torn now between wanting to explode with cheers of anticipation or wishing to give their pitcher the support of a reverent and unified hush, chose to simply stand like a silent choir, many with hands folded against their chests. A good many of them were still clutching copies of the Highlights student newspaper. Scanning the crowd, Bucky could see Dad, Mom, and Rachel Marie looking on, their faces a mixture of family pride and quiet awe. Next to them were Lisa and Julie, arms around each other, doing tiny bounces, united in wordless support.
Tino, the Devils’ burly left fielder, stepped into the box, a tight look of determination on his face. The last batter. The final obstacle. Bucky knew full well that if the game went into extra innings, Coach would make use of his two relief pitchers. So this was it for him. At the same time, he had an abiding conviction that somehow his Panther teammates would find a way to win the contest in the bottom of the frame.
He nodded as Anthony signaled for a curve ball, and wound up. The ball sailed on its predetermined trajectory, and sliced the gathering twilight for a strike. There was a smattering of applause, but the supportive crowd seemed to realize that this was a moment for simply savoring such magnificent, untainted competition.
Bucky wound up again. Strike two. The batter, frustrated at his ability to pull the trigger, stepped out of the box and walked around in a tight little circle of truncated resolve, tugging and refastening his batting gloves.
The young pitcher, arm-weary now from a season of ceaseless labor, stood alone on the hill as the sun approached its horizon. One more pitch. One last fling of this small, horsehide object, a journey of sixty feet and six inches.
He sensed God’s interest and approval of this great contest, this lofty clash of wills and grit and tired sinew. Bucky. Dan. Anthony. And especially Jeff. Men of God, not on a battlefield to best one another, but to simply reach together for the highest stars. May the best man win, but both men were now best, and Bucky flushed as he saw Jeff in the corner of the dugout taking in the contest with awe and masculine regard.
Behind him were his own eight teammates. Adolescent companions who had sometimes teased and mocked him for his faith, but who now dug in with gutsy resolve and an inexpressible affection. They knew their pitcher was a Christian, that he didn’t smoke, drink, or use drugs. The man didn’t cheat; his language was pure. The guy was a virgin, for Christ’s sake. And they loved him as he took his final windup.
Bucky gave his heart and his soul and the very exploding core of all his passions into this final pitch. It might have been an inch outside, but even the umpire seemed to sense the destiny of this contest. “Strike three, you’re out,” he murmured, lifting his arm in a mute salute to what the gathered congregation had just witnessed. Tino, the hitter, stood for a moment, then nodded in Bucky’s direction. Lifting up the bat, he dipped it respectfully toward his adversary, then returned to his own dugout.
Bucky felt moisture in his eyes as his teammates gathered around, offering him hugs and high fives. “Amazing, dude,” they said, one after another. “A perfecto, Stone. Twenty-one outs, man. That goes in the record books.”
“Let’s just win right now,” he replied with a weary grin. “Otherwise, none of it matters.”
It was the top of the batting order for the Panthers, and Bucky realized that after this moment he would never again hold a bat at Hampton High. Despite surrendering four walks, Jeff had his own slightly soiled no-hitter to cling to, and he carefully dispatched the first two enemy hitters.
Bucky, weary but now reenergized by the possibility of victory, stepped up to the plate after a long moment of wordless connection between him and his noble enemy on the mound. It was Jeff who had taught him much of what he knew. He had used Jeff’s own words of unselfish counsel . . . to strike him out. Win or lose, he was now locked in an epic contest with a good and worthy opponent, and he hoped the tall hurler realized how much respect he carried into the batter’s box.
He surveyed the opposition, determined and resolute in their desire for extra innings and a possible win. The Devils, realizing that Bucky and Dan were the town’s premier sluggers, were playing him deep. The first and third basemen, desperate to prevent an extra-base hit, were hugging the lines, up on their toes in anticipation.
The first pitch was a searing slider on the inside part of the plate. Bucky swung hard, but barely managed to catch a piece of the ball. The ball dribbled down the third-base line, hugging the chalk as he sprinted madly toward first. Jeff, who had come off the mound to the wrong side, had no chan
ce to get the anemic little roller and the third baseman was way too deep to make a play. He fielded the ball bare - handed and threw desperately to first, but Bucky had already crossed the bag.
“Yeah! We’ll take it!” Coach Demerest was hollering with the rest of the team. “Screamin’ line drive!” Bucky flushed with the sudden realization that the final at-bat of his entire high school career was a dinky little thirty-foot roller for a single. He felt a momentary twinge of regret over breaking up his friend’s no-hitter with a squib single, but in a final playoff game like this, you grabbed every lucky break that came your way.
With the aura of the no-hitters finally lifted, the home crowd began to stir to a noisy climax. Dan, grinning his approval at the sudden opportunity, stepped into the batter’s box and waved the bat menacingly, his whole body radiating an extra-base game-winner. Jeff stared down the sixty-foot six-inch corridor toward home plate as though he’d never met the young Christian, his face a mask of concentration.
It was a power - versus - power confrontation, both athletes determined to bring the very best, the finest of their gifts to this mano y mano competition. Bucky rubbed his hands together over at first base, relishing the grand moment. The season was nearly over now, and what a perfect ending. The stocky slugger let a ball and a strike go by, and stepped out to rub some dirt on his hands. In the stands, Bucky could see Julie and Lisa jumping up and down, screeching their support. “Come on, Litton,” he muttered. “Right now, baby. Right now.”
The next pitch was a hard fastball, and Dan was ready. He slammed the ball deep into left field, a distant orb disappearing into the glorious twilight, and the fielder never even turned around to pursue it. It was a game-winner the moment it left the bat. A huge roar went up from the crowd as Dan trotted around the bases just behind Bucky. There was a massive dog pile of high fives and hugs at home plate as they watched the scoreboard flicker and a big digital two flashed in the final slot. The PA system rumbled enthusiastically with a drum roll and synthesized horn fanfare. Rock music began pounding the ballfield through every speaker.
“Way to go, Litton!” Bucky gave Dan a huge, lingering embrace as the big center fielder waved to the crowd. “Way to end the year.”
He glanced out at the mound. Jeff was still standing there, his glove lying in the dirt, and he was applauding the victors. Several of his Dixon teammates, including Fidel, joined him and the generous tribute continued for a nice moment.
As the free - for - all continued in the center of the diamond, Bucky found Anthony and hugged him hard. “Thanks, man. You saved me with that catch. And you called a great game, man.”
The catcher hesitated. “No, Stone. I gotta thank you. The way you and Litton did your thing . . . for God, man, it got to me.”
Bucky didn’t know what to say. “Well, anyway, congratulations. We had a great season.”
Even Coach Demerest had nothing but praise. “Good job, guys. Coach Brayshaw was right. You men are something special. This is something we’ll all tell our children and grandchildren someday. A perfect game and a walk-off home run. Wow!”
The celebration was still going on when Bucky peeled away and went across the long parking lot to where the Dixon team bus was loading. Jeff, his athletic bag slung over his shoulder, was just climbing aboard. “Hey, Hilliard!”
The pitcher turned and came toward him. “Good job, Stone. You guys deserved the trophy. And I gave you guys my best pitches.”
Bucky shook his head. “Well, we both had good teams. Basically we got a lucky homer and that’s all there was to it. You were awesome all the way, brother.” He paused, remembering the hundreds of fielding plays and at-bats that make up four years of school baseball competition. And then one quirky moment, one pitch that was a bit too good, one swing of the bat, meant you were a champion. It wasn’t fair, but that’s how the San Francisco Chronicle’s sports report would see it the next day.
“You know,” he said at last, “it’s so dumb.”
“What?”
“All of this. Baseball. And trophies.” He looked directly at Jeff. “You and I are Christians. We know the stuff that really counts.” A wave of emotion hit him and he had to struggle to get the words out. “You really helped me, Jeff. More than you’ll ever know.”
Jeff nodded, moving a step closer. “Yeah, you too. Forgiving me for . . . you know. And then praying together before games and all that.” He paused. “God’s going to do something awesome with your life, Stone. Praise his name, man. That’s all I can say.”
The two athletes moved away from the bus and had a final prayer together.
The last three weeks of school were a frantic round of senior activities and cramming for finals. The prom was a huge bash that went till the wee hours. Lisa, an eye-popping babe in a new, expensive gown, spent the night arm-in-arm with her tuxedoed Bucky, the duo exchanging high fives and emails with their growing list of friends. The couple even did a bit of appropriate dancing when the hired rock band swung into an extended version of Kool and the Gang’s classic party hit, Celebrate, dancing the night away with Dan and Julie.
And then at last came the biggest Thursday of them all and graduation night. Bucky had attended the event all three previous times, but there was something especially giddy about finally putting on the cap and gown. Lisa helped him adjust his mortarboard and dangle the tassel just right.
“So you just missed the top GPA spot,” she teased. “Little Tracy Givenchy beat you.”
“Pretty hard to top a 4.0,” he grumped, pretending to scowl.
“What’d you come in? Third?”
“No, fourth.”
“How about Dan?”
He tried to look thoughtful. “I think he came in nine hundred and fortieth . . . but it might not have been quite that high.” Dan’s academic struggles were a point of high humor with the foursome.
It was an irreverent, noisy affair except for one unexpected moment. The school passed out several athletic trophies, and to his surprise, Bucky heard his name called to receive the MVP honor for varsity baseball. His fellow seniors rose to give him a standing ovation, the elegant perfection of his no-hitter fresh in their minds.
“God stuffed the ballot box!” someone shouted from the back, and the reflective mood quickly broke as everyone laughed.
The vice principal went through the names quickly as the nearly three hundred seniors paraded across the platform. Bucky felt his heart flip - flop as the Ns went forward, and Lisa accepted her diploma. She turned to wave to her mom and then blew him a big kiss.
Finally it was his turn. The PA system echoed with the many syllables of his full name, and he couldn’t help but grin. “Jeez! Who is that guy?” the senior behind him laughed. Bucky accepted the diploma and the handshakes of the principal and academic dean. “We’re proud of you, Bucky,” the administrator added. “You’ve brought a tremendous amount of credit to this school.”
For just a moment Bucky turned to face the sea of faces. No, it hadn’t been an easy four years. At times being a Christian in this very secular place had pushed him almost to the limit. But he sensed a rich reward that came from being God’s man “in the world.” Jesus had been able to use him here.
Moments later Mom and Dad and Rachel Marie surrounded him with hugs and presents. “You did OK, son,” Dad told him. Pastor and Mrs. Jensen were both there to congratulate the three Christian graduates, and Sam gave his former classmates big hugs. “I got the room all reserved for us at Pacific College,” he announced.
“We’ll be ready.”
Tracy Givenchy came up just as Bucky, Dan, Lisa, and Julie were getting ready to pose for a photo. “Congratulations, you guys,” she bubbled, glancing over at Bucky.
“Hey, you too.” He grinned, remembering the brief romantic fling from last year. “You got the top spot, smarty.
“Aaah, just luck.” She laughed, then slipped a little card onto the top of Bucky’s pile of presents. “Have fun tonight.”
They posed
for the shot, and a final picture of Bucky with his little sister. “Here, you wear this,” he teased, putting the cap on her head.
“Do I look smart in it?”
“Yeah, sweetie.” Curious, he opened the card from the red - headed senior.
“What’s it say?” Lisa asked, pretending to pout.
“Hang on.” He glanced at the message. If you didn’t have a new girlfriend, Mr. Stone, I’d give you a graduation kiss to remember. All the best, Tracy G. At the bottom of the card, she had added: With real admiration for a MAN of God.
He flushed, then let Lisa read it. She laughed. “It’s fine except for the kissing part.”
“With you here, I don’t need that anyway,” he responded
“That’s right.” She reached up and pulled him closer as they kissed. “And don’t you forget it.” A trace of her perfume lingered.
Dan and Julie came over to them. “We’re still going out, right?”
“Yeah.” Bucky handed his pile of presents to Dad. “Can you take these home for me?”
The crowd was thinning out now, and he pulled off the mortarboard to let the evening breeze blow through his hair. Then he slipped an arm around Lisa, enjoying the closeness and silky feel of the long graduation robes as they did the slow walk out to his car. She was flushed with excitement as other students came by to wish her well.
“Ready to go?”
“Hang on a minute.” She sat in the passenger seat next to him, her head resting on his shoulder, as the lights in the distance slowly blinked off one by one.
The End
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: all good things come to an end. Thank you – truly, thank you – for being a reader of the Bucky Stone series. I appreciate each and every one of you, and hope you enjoyed the stories. If you have a nice comment, or even a constructive and friendly bit of criticism, please be sure to post your review at the Amazon web site. That will help new readers know what’s in store.
Bucky Stone: The Complete Adventure (Volumes 1-10) Page 103