“Here are today’s announcements. Retakes for class pictures will be today and Monday. All signed permission slips for the seventh grade overnight camping trip to Sander’s Pond must be handed in to me by Monday or you won’t be able to go. And, as you all must know, or hopefully know, today is the big rematch against the Greenview Green Jackets. We had a great crowd at our last home game. Let’s see if we can even do better with today’s crowd. It’s going to be a good game. See you there at three.”
“Uh, Coach T., could I add a few words?” Koby stood up.
Coach Tomashiro’s eyebrows shot up, but he nodded.
“I’ll be on the mound today for the Cardinals,”
Koby said, “and let me just say how much I’ve appreciated everyone’s support so far this season. It really helps me to hear you yelling my name. So come on out and keep up the good work!”
When Koby’s impromptu speech was over, Mr. Tomashiro dismissed the class to their first period.
Dan and Buck gathered their gear and followed Koby into the mad rush in the halls. Koby spotted a familiar figure up ahead of him.
On impulse, he cried, “Hey, there’s Tug! Catch this shot!”
Koby ran up to Tug and drew him into camera range before Tug could protest. With his arm around him, Koby said in his best cheery voice, “Tug McCue has a tough job, catching my fireballs. He even has to use a special oversize mitt in order to soften the blow!”
Tug frowned slightly, but he recovered fast. “Yeah, and it comes in handy for fielding Koby’s wild pitches, too.”
Buck and Dan laughed, and Buck cut filming. When they were out of earshot, Koby pulled back from Tug. “Why’d you say that?” he demanded.
Tug shrugged. “It’s true. Your pitches are wild sometimes. Besides, it’s not any worse than what you said about me. Made it sound like I needed a glove as thick as a mattress to catch your heat without hurting myself!”
“Well, don’t you?” Koby started to retort.
Dan interrupted before the argument could escalate any further. “Well, we have enough school shots for now. We’ll see you on the field for the game this afternoon.”
Koby followed them a few paces down the hall. “You don’t use everything you film for the documentary, do you?” he asked anxiously.
Dan and Buck exchanged glances. “No,” said Dan. “Only the stuff that seems relevant. In this case, only stuff that helps viewers understand what middle school athletics are all about.”
Koby wasn’t sure that that answered the question he had meant to ask, but Dan and Buck left before he could think how to pose the query again. And when he looked for Tug, Tug had disappeared.
That afternoon before the game, Koby found Sara standing outside the locker room. She was carrying her notebook and pencil.
“Hi, Sara. Shouldn’t you be hurrying to get your favorite seat at the game?” Koby asked with a smile.
Sara frowned. “Koby, you’re supposed to give me an interview today, remember? We talked about it earlier this week and you said —”
Koby smacked his hand to his forehead. “Oh yeah! Hold on. I just have to go in and tell Coach T. I’m going to be a few minutes late for warm-ups,” he said.
He slipped into the locker room and looked for the coach. But he couldn’t find him anywhere. With a shrug, he reached for the door handle to tell Sara, when the sound of voices made him pause.
“Hey, Tug, why aren’t you in there getting ready?” he heard Sara say.
“I was doing an errand for Principal Sleeper. He wanted someone to help the school nurse put away some big boxes of medical supplies. What’s up? What’re you doing here?”
“I’m supposed to do an interview with Koby. Of course, Mr. Hotshot forgot, so now he’s in there clearing it with Coach T.”
Tug snorted. “The way he’s been this week, I’m not sure I’d be able to handle hearing Koby talk about himself.”
Sara laughed. “Yeah, I know what you mean. But I already told Ms. Brodsky I’d do it, so the Megaphone is holding a space for it. I can’t wiggle out of it.”
“Good luck. Try not to throw up if you can!”
Tug’s voice got louder, and Koby guessed he was about to come into the locker room. Koby ducked behind a row of lockers until he heard Tug go by.
That rat! he thought angrily. And Sara, too! I don’t know if I even want to do the interview now!
He debated what to do for a few moments, then decided he would do the interview after all. He still hadn’t found Coach T., but figured he’d just give Sara five minutes. He’d be at warm-ups before he was missed, he was sure.
He stepped out of the locker room. Sara pointed to some benches and suggested they sit there.
“You did clear this with Coach T., right?” she asked before they began.
“Yes, he said it was fine,” Koby fibbed. “So what do you want me to talk about? What it’s like to be in front of the camera, or to be followed around all day by a film crew, or to be mobbed by kids I don’t even know?”
Before Sara could reply, someone behind them cleared his throat. Koby spun around and saw Coach Tomashiro standing by the locker room door, arms folded over his chest.
“Excuse me, Sara, Koby. Koby, aren’t you supposed to be doing something right now?”
“Uh, Coach T., I tried to find you. Sara wants to do another piece on me for the Megaphone, see, and —”
Sara cut in. “Wait a minute. You just told me Coach T. had given you permission to be late for warm-ups. Were you lying to me or something?”
Koby, flustered, tried to explain. But he gave up when he saw the fury in Sara’s eyes.
“I’m sorry.” He stood up. “Coach, I’ll get right out to the field and start warming up.”
“Yes, I think that’s a fine idea.” Coach T.’s voice was steely. “You know, Koby, it’s stunts like that that bench starting players.” Koby felt his heart lunge into his throat. “However, given the circumstances,” Coach T. continued, “I suppose I can’t do that. But before you go, Koby, isn’t there something you would like to say?”
Koby turned back to Sara, but couldn’t meet her eyes. “Sorry, Sara. Uh, if you still want to do the interview, how about I meet you here after the game and we do it then?”
“You know what? Just forget it. I’ll give a longer report on today’s game instead,” Sara said curtly.
“OK, Koby. Inside and into uniform.”
Just as Coach T. opened the door to go back into the locker room, Tug came out, dressed for the game. He greeted Coach T., who nodded and continued inside. Tug passed Koby without a word.
“Pretty quick interview, Sara,” Tug observed in a voice loud enough for Koby to hear.
“It was over before it began!” Sara spat. “That Koby really is starting to get on my nerves! What’s it going to take to bring him back to reality?”
9
Cain Park Field was at it’s best when it was SRO. The creaky bleachers didn’t creak as much when the stands were full.
This afternoon, there was extra excitement, caused by Dan Marsh and his cameraman, Buck. All week, players had been told to get out of camera range during Dan’s interviews with Koby. Now they’d have their chance to shine in their own light.
Coach Tomashiro tried to rein in his boisterous team. “OK, you guys, forget the cameras for a minute and listen up. We’ve got a game to play, and the Green Jackets are going to be ready. Are you ready?”
“Ready!” the team yelled in unison.
“Then let’s get out there and play some ball.
Camera crew, you’ll have to stand way back in foul territory behind the dugout, OK?”
Dan and Buck gave Coach T. the “no prob” thumbs-up.
The coach called Koby aside. “I hope you’re ready to concentrate on your pitching and not the camera, Koby. Just know that if at any time I feel you’re not giving this game your all, I’m sending Peter in to relieve you — documentary or no documentary. Understand?”
Ko
by nodded silently.
“OK, good. Now, get in there and pitch the game I know you’re capable of!”
“Batter up!” yelled the ump.
Tug walked up to Koby and placed the ball in his hands. “Think you can forget about the cameras and pitch a game?” he said tightly.
Koby took the ball without saying a word and tugged at the brim of his cap. Why is everybody getting on me about the cameras? he wondered. Sheesh, you’d think I couldn’t handle being in the spotlight or something! Well, I’ll show them.
Koby mowed down the first two batters he faced. The crowd cheered lustily.
When Todd Woods came up to the plate, Koby had some trouble finding the strike zone. Todd crowded the plate and stayed in there with a 3-1 count.
Then Koby threw a low ball in the dirt that got by Tug. “Settle down,” yelled Tug as the ball bounced to the backstop and Todd took his base.
Batting cleanup was Jethro Hubbard.
Koby crouched over and put his gloved hand on his left knee. As he stared down Jethro, a movement registered out of the corner of his eye. Shifting his gaze slightly, he saw Todd increasing his lead off first base by two steps. Todd looked ready to fly. Prez Jefferson casually walked to the bag and firmly placed his right heel on the corner.
Koby spun and threw in a motion faster than a fly flapping it’s wings.
Prez had his glove on the bag, and the ball zoomed right into it, beating Todd’s outstretched hand by two feet. Once the fans realized what had happened, they roared with approval.
“Thataboy, Kobe!” Prez shouted to Koby as they trotted back to the dugout together. Koby acknowledged him with a tip of his cap.
It was the Cardinals’ turn to see what they could do at the plate. Beechie led off with a short hopper to second for a routine out.
Koby stepped up to the plate. His eye caught a gleam of sunlight off Buck’s camera lens.
Suddenly, for the first time since the spotlight had hit him in his kitchen, he was nervous about being in front of the camera.
What if I strike out? he thought wildly.
He stood outside the batter’s box for a few seconds, trying to relax his hands as they white-knuckled the bat. When he finally stepped in, he ended up looking at the first five pitches without swinging, running the count to 3-2.
Come on, Koby, he thought, trying to psyche himself up. You’ve got to swing at the next one.
He did. But he fouled it off. He fouled off the next pitch, too, and then hit a weak grounder back to the pitcher for easy out number two.
He walked despondently back to the dugout, got himself a cup of water, then took the only seat available — an open spot next to Tug. He half hoped the catcher would give him an encouraging word. But Tug just looked at him and said, “Too bad. Wonder if they’ll keep that in your precious documentary.”
Koby didn’t have time to reply because the next batter got out. So, without a word to Tug, Koby grabbed his glove and stalked out to the field.
Jealousy, that’s all it is, he thought. Well, if that’s the way he wants to play things, I can sure do that.
In the top of the second, Jethro walked up to the plate like a broncobuster about to ride the meanest, wildest mustang in the West.
Tug called for a sidearm pitch to hit high and outside. But Koby, still smarting from Tug’s biting comment, decided to do things differently. Very differently.
He ignored the signal and threw an overarm fastball that screamed toward the plate. It looked like a strike until it curved sharply at the last moment. Tug had to move quickly to capture it.
“Ball!” the umpire yelled.
Tug hurled the ball back with such force that it stung Koby’s gloved hand. The pain just fueled Koby’s temper. He had been planning to follow Tug’s signal this time. But instead, he ignored him on the next two pitches — and got behind in the count, 3-0.
Tug called for time. “What’re you doing, man?” he asked furiously when he reached the mound.
“I’m calling the pitches myself, that’s what. All good pitchers do.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, maybe their catchers don’t mind not knowing what the pitcher is going to throw at them, but I do. Besides, I know these batters! Now, let me call the pitches, would you?”
“I know what I’m doing,” Koby said stubbornly.
“C’mon, play ball!” screamed the ump from behind home plate. Tug shot Koby one last angry look, then trotted back to his position. He didn’t even bother to signal this time. He just held up the Hummer and waited.
Now, that’s more like it, Koby thought, trying to feel satisfied. He reared back and let loose with a fastball.
Jethro connected for a towering pop fly deep into right. Luckily, K.O. got a good jump on it and made a hard play look easy. One out.
Despite Jethro’s solid connection, Koby continued to call his own pitches. Tug didn’t signal once.
The batters made a few hits, but Beechie and Billy handled them and the side went down without scoring a run.
The Greenview pitcher struggled in the bottom of the second. With one out, he walked Scoop, then Prez singled, and Billy hit an RBI double that sent Scoop home and Prez to third. The Cardinals were first on the scoreboard but couldn’t add to their lead that time at bat.
The third inning was uneventful for both sides. Taking his 1-0 lead into the fourth, Koby unleashed two solid fastballs, then a sidearm pitch for a third strike on the first batter. But the last pitch skipped past Tug to the backstop.
Oh, no! Koby’s mind screamed. Tug scrambled for the ball but, per the “drop-third-strike rule,” the batter took off for first and beat Tug’s throw by half a step.
Tug was charged with the error. As he returned to his position, he slapped the Hummer hard against his thigh.
A twang of guilt tugged at Koby. If you had let Tug call the pitch, a little voice inside him murmured, he would have been prepared for the sidearm, and maybe the ball wouldn’t have gotten away from him.
Koby shook himself. Tug should be prepared for all my pitches, he argued silently. That’s why the error was charged to him, not me.
But for some reason, Koby couldn’t judge which pitch to throw to which batter after that. Cap Wilinski hit a long fly ball deep into left that Scoop couldn’t get to in time. Cap stood up grinning on second.
No outs, runner on second.
“OK, you guys, play it hard! You can do it!” yelled Coach Tomashiro from the sidelines.
Koby reared back and threw a fastball. The Greenview batter clobbered it toward Beechie in center. Beechie misjudged it, allowing the ball to sail over his head for an RBI double. Cap Wilinski was greeted by cheers from his teammates as he crossed the plate, tying the game up at 1-1. The next batter took the sacrifice, advancing the runner to third. Next up was Jethro. He hit a hard grounder to short. Papo stopped it with a dive down on one knee. Papo held the runner at third, then made the play to first for the second out.
With two down, a lefty batter hit a full-count pitch that bounced through Billy’s legs at third. Another run scored. Koby glared at Billy as Billy smoothed out the dirt where the ball had taken it’s fatal bounce.
Koby finally finished off the inning with a strikeout, but the damage had been done. Greenview 2, Monticello 1.
That’s the way the score stayed until the fifth inning.
With one out, Cap Wilinski sliced a ball between first and second that Sandy got a piece of but couldn’t get a handle on. Cap advanced on Jethro’s sacrifice.
The next batter smacked a one-hopper to Sandy, who fumbled again. Sandy made a late throw to Prez, putting runners on first and third. A fly ball to K.O. advanced the runners, and another run scored. Koby got out of the team tailspin by relying on his fastball and striking out the final batter. Green Jackets 3, Cardinals 1.
The Cardinals’ bats remained mute. Koby bet they couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn, no matter how hard they tried. They went into the last inning still down by two runs.
Greenview threatened when Papo overthrew to Prez at first.
Jeez, is this whole team falling apart? Koby thought disgustedly. Who hasn’t made an error today? And they talk about me getting camera jitters.
He tried not to think about the number of hits Greenview had scored off him, nor the number of balls he had thrown. Compared to the previous games, those numbers were much higher than usual.
In the final Greenview at bat, Koby struck out two and forced a ground-out.
But the Cardinals couldn’t rise to the occasion as the top of the order — Beechie, Koby, and K.O. — went down 1-2-3. Final score: Greenview 3, Monticello 1.
As the Cardinals gathered up their gear, Koby couldn’t contain his frustration. “Well, that game sure is going to look lousy on film,” he sneered as Tug passed him, lugging his catcher’s equipment.
“I thought our goal was to play our hardest as a team, not look good for your big prime-time debut!” Tug shot back. “And by the way, I can’t say that you were looking that good yourself. But, hey, forget teamwork. Forget your friends.”
Koby’s frustration was fueled by the anger in Tug’s voice. “Yeah, well, maybe I will!”
Koby glanced up — and balked when he saw Buck and Dan standing there. Buck’s camera was still rolling.
Koby turned away, and saw Sara talking with Tug. As he watched, she shook her head and jotted something in her notebook, then gathered her belongings and left without a backward glance.
That’s when Koby noticed the last person sitting in the stands. The person stood up and walked down the bleachers toward Koby with his hand outstretched and a mile-wide smile on his face. When Koby saw who it was, his jaw dropped.
10
Chuck!” Koby yelled.
“Hey, little brother! Quite a surprise, huh?” Chuck said as he gave Koby a big bear hug.
“I’ll say! What are you doing here?”
“I got a call from Mom because the Channel 5 guys wanted to film a brief segment with you and me together. You know, sort of a ‘how the medium-good older brother athlete inspired his superstar brother’ kind of thing.”
Prime Time Pitcher Page 5