by Mike Lupica
He singled to right on a 2-2 pitch, no fear, watching the ball the way Justin had retaught him to do that, going with an outside pitch, taking it the other way like you were supposed to. But Darrelle struck out, Sam lined out to short, a screamer. Two out. Justin seemed to have gotten all of the first pitch Robbie threw him, Ben thinking it might be 5–2 when the ball came down, but he caught it a little too much up the bat and the right fielder caught the ball about ten feet in front of the fence, inning over, game still 5–0.
It was 8–0 in the top of the second, Shawn still in there, seeming to have settled down. But then Justin booted a routine ball with two outs and Darrelle threw wild on a routine grounder to him. Then John McQuaid, Parkerville’s first baseman, hit one about a foot fair over the left-field fence and Mr. Brown had to come out and replace Shawn with Kevin Nolti.
Ben was standing on the mound, waiting for Kevin to jog in from left field to take his warm-ups.
Justin was there with him and Darrelle. And Mr. Brown.
“If they can score eight, we can score eight, I still believe that,” Sam’s dad said.
But in that moment Ben wasn’t sure he believed, just watched as he rubbed up the new ball and handed it to Kevin and said, “Just keep it at 8–0, Kev.” Grinning as he added, “I’ll pay you.”
Kevin got a strikeout to end the Parkerville half of the inning. But then Robbie struck out the side in the second and when Darrelle made a two-out error in the third with guys running from second and third, it was 10–0 and Coop was talking about the slaughter rule.
All of them looking at the scoreboard, knowing what was up there, still not believing their eyes.
Sam said to Ben, “We’ve never lost like this in anything.”
“And now we’re losing a championship game like this.”
“Robbie comes out after three,” Sam said. “Even if he pitches one more inning like he’s been pitching, that still gives us three innings to catch up.”
“That’s your plan?” Ben said.
“I wouldn’t call it a plan, exactly,” Sam said. “Think of it as an early Christmas list.”
Ben said, “This isn’t the way the season was supposed to end, you know that, right?”
“Remember what the old ain’t-over-till-it’s-over dude said about that,” Sam said. “Let’s just see if we can cut this sucker in half and go from there.”
“Now that sounds like a plan,” Ben said.
They bumped fists.
They didn’t score off Robbie in the third, he went through the bottom of the order one-two-three, working fast, striking out two, looking as if he could pitch this way all night if he had to. Kevin held Parkerville in the top of the fourth. Ben leading off the bottom of the fourth.
“You guys get on and this time I won’t miss my pitch,” Justin said at the bat rack.
Ben nodded.
Justin said, “Way too much happened this season for this to happen now.”
“I’ll do my job,” he said. “I know Sam will. Then you do yours. Let’s at least let those guys know we’re still here.”
John McQuaid pitching for Parkerville now. Ben hit the second pitch he saw from him up the middle for a single. Darrelle worked John for a walk, fouling off three pitches at 3-2 before he did. Then John made a great first pitch to Sam, the ball running in on him, Sam barely managing to get his bat on the ball, rolling it toward third base.
But the ball died in the grass in front of their third baseman like a perfect bunt, the kid knew enough not to throw the ball, not with Sam running.
Bases loaded, nobody out, Justin at the plate.
The kid who wasn’t even supposed to have been in this game trying to get the Rams back into the game.
Ben standing at third base and not thinking like a base runner, thinking like a pitcher.
Thinking: John McQuaid ought to walk him, even with the bases loaded.
Thinking: The scoreboard would look a lot better at 10–1 than it would if Justin did what he’d promised he was going to do if he got his pitch again.
And Ben thought Justin had missed his pitch when the count was 2-2, John throwing him a please-crush-me fastball that Justin fouled back, Ben thinking that might be the most hittable pitch Justin was going to see.
But if there was one thing Ben knew about Justin by now it was that he had no fear at the plate. Especially had no fear hitting with two strikes, the way a lot of kids in their league did. The way a lot of hitters did, period, all the way to the big leagues.
Even with two strikes on him, he wouldn’t give in to the pitcher, didn’t give in when John McQuaid threw him a ball that was just high, bringing so many loud groans from the Parkerville infielders and from their bench guys that the home plate ump called time, took off his mask, came in front of the plate, pointed at the infield, and then the bench and said, “Lose the sound effects. Now.”
Justin never moved, didn’t step out. Just waited. Looking perfectly calm. Like the scoreboard didn’t matter, the runners on the bases in front of him didn’t matter.
Like the whole season was just him and John McQuaid and the space between them.
Ben watching and thinking all over again that John should be the one to give in, and throw ball four.
He went right at him instead.
Justin didn’t miss.
As soon as Ben saw the ball come off his bat and heard the sound of the ball coming off his bat — a sound only his bat made, at least in their league — Ben knew it was gone. Stood halfway between third and home just to watch the ball clear the right-field fence this time, by a lot, the only word in his head one of Coop’s favorite words in the English language:
Gorgeous.
Parkerville 10 now, Rockwell 4.
They made sure not to do any celebrating at home plate, still down six. Ben and Darrelle and Sam just waited for Justin to slam his right foot down on the plate, all of them giving him high fives, Justin not even changing his expression as he led them back to the guys waiting for him in front of their bench.
All he said to his teammates was, “Game on.”
“Lot better than off,” Cooper Manley said.
* * *
Still six runs down, six outs away from their season being over if they didn’t do something about that, and right now.
But the game was on.
They could all feel it now, on the bench, in the field, there was even more noise from the bleachers now on the first base side, the home side, of Highland Park.
Kevin Nolti held Parkerville again in the top of the fifth, Kevin pitching better than he had all year in the moment when they needed him to do that.
Ben was due up second in the bottom of the fifth, but while John McQuaid, still in there for Parkerville, was warming up, Ben was the one gathering his teammates around him.
“You guys ever hear of that Petaluma, California, team in the Little League World Series?” he said. “From a couple of years ago?”
“I do,” Justin said. “Saw the game on ESPN.”
“So you know what they did.”
“They came all the way back from 10–0 down,” he said. “One of the greatest Little League games I ever saw.”
Ben was hoping that Justin wouldn’t tell the rest of it, that they came all the way back and tied the game before losing in the end.
But he didn’t.
“You know what happened to those guys after they were down ten–zip?” Ben said. “They ended up riding in a parade through the Main Street of their town.”
True, that’s what happened when they got back from Williamsport.
Ben said, “It’s because they didn’t stop playing when the scoreboard told them the game was over.”
“Anybody feel like quitting here?” Sam said.
They all shook their heads.
“More runs,” Coop said, like he was asking for more ice cream.
“Let’s do this,” Justin said.
Ben singled with one out, third hit of the game, Robbie
Burnett — out in left now — having to make a sliding stop to keep the ball from rolling to the wall. Darrelle singled Ben to third, Sam doubled them both home.
And now it was 10–6.
Sam went to third on a wild pitch. Justin hit another rocket, this one to center, but to the deepest part of Highland Park, their center fielder having plenty of time to go back on it, plenty of room to catch it.
Sac fly. Sam could have walked home.
Parkerville 10, Rockwell 7.
Shawn singled, so did Coop, Kevin walked. But then Michael Clayton struck out with the bases loaded to end the inning. The Rams still got a huge cheer from their fans. Ben turned and saw they were all standing now, all the parents, including Justin’s. Lily was there, too, with Ben’s mom.
Ben getting the ball now, down three runs, knowing he had to keep the Parkerville lead right there, hold them at ten runs the way Kevin Nolti had as they started — fought — to come back.
“Just pitch like the game is tied,” Mr. Brown said to Ben.
“Nah,” Ben said. “I’m going to pitch like we’re a run ahead, the way we’re gonna be in a few minutes.”
He got the bottom of the order, Kevin having pitched through Robbie and John McQuaid and the middle of their order in the fifth. Ben struck out the first two guys, popped up their right fielder for the third out.
And just like that it was the bottom of the last at Highland Park, unless they tied the thing and sent it into extra innings.
Just like that it might be the bottom of the season.
The Rams playing just to keep playing now.
Still down three.
Wasn’t the season that had started with Ben getting hit in the arm and losing his confidence as if he’d really been hit in the heart. Wasn’t the season of Justin’s thrown bat or him going after Pat Seeley before Ben made his flying tackle.
Wasn’t the season of any of that.
Just the bottom of the sixth at Highland Park. Going into it with a chance after being ten runs behind.
Sam came over to Ben on the bench, Ben scheduled to be third man up.
“We win this thing,” Sam said, “it would go with anything we’ve ever done together.”
“Yeah, it would.”
“Let’s do this,” Sam said.
Ben smiled at his friend. A friend as cool as Lily was. Which meant nobody cooler. “You always say that,” Ben said.
“But I really really mean it this time.”
Then there were two ridiculously fast outs by the third Parkerville pitcher of the game, one of their best basketball players, Matt Sample, who’d been playing third base before this. Robbie had told them before the game he’d become their closer since the last time they’d played the Rams.
Just like that they were down to their last out. Ben started to walk from the on-deck area toward the plate when he felt a hand on his arm, startling him, he was that zoned out about not making the last out of the season.
Justin.
Putting his hand out so Ben could shake it.
“Whatever happens, I wouldn’t have missed this game for anything,” he said.
“It’s not over yet.”
“You got me one more game,” Justin said. “Get me one more swing.”
Matt Sample, overthrowing, trying to end it, trying to win the championship for Parkerville, came inside with his first pitch.
Way inside.
Ben didn’t even move his feet to get out of the way, just did his Jeter lean-back, like he was sucking in his belly.
Only afraid of the season being over, nothing else.
Took a ball outside. Then a strike. Two and one. Ben felt that if he was going to see a good pitch he was going to see it now, Matt Sample not wanting to fall behind more than he was, certainly not wanting to give Ben a walk with two outs and nobody on and the championship trophy so close he probably felt like he could feel it already.
Put Ben on and then he had to get Darrelle or risk having to face Sam, and everybody on the Parkerville team had seen the way Sam had hit the ball tonight.
Matt Sample had to want Ben to put the ball in play, because maybe he’d hit the ball right at somebody and the game would be over.
The way Ben would have been thinking if he were trying to close this game out before the Rams got any closer than they already were.
Matt threw a fastball over the plate, about knee-high, and Ben went down and got it and drove it over the shortstop’s head, Robbie charging and playing it on one hop.
Season not over.
Not yet.
“I wasn’t making the last out of the stinking season,” Ben said to his dad at first base, just loud enough for him to hear, almost whispering.
“Would have bet everything in my wallet that you wouldn’t,” his dad said.
Then he said, “Remember what I told you about the Sox in ’04.”
His dad, a Boston College guy, was a Red Sox fan, and had always told Ben about the ninth inning of Game 4 of the 2004 American League Championship Series. Red Sox three outs away from being swept by the Yankees. Mariano Rivera, greatest closer of them all, coming in to get those three outs. Rivera: Part of the Yankees’ Core Four.
What happened next was a walk, a stolen base, a single up the middle. Game tied. The Red Sox won that one in extra innings, Ben knew, and won the next night in extra innings and finally won the series in seven games. Greatest comeback in baseball history, first time a team had come back from three games to none down.
“Biggest baseball story of all time,” his dad always said, “and it started with a walk, a stolen base, a single up the middle.”
We don’t need to win four games, Ben thought, just one.
But they still needed runs to make this the greatest comeback in the only history that mattered to them:
Their own.
Ben’s eyes locked on Sam’s in the on-deck circle. And saw Sam smile and hold up one finger.
Meaning one more base runner and then he had his chance to keep the season going.
Darrelle Clayton swung at the first pitch Matt Sample threw him, hit this little blooper toward short right field, Ben not having time to see if John McQuaid, back at first, had time to go back and catch it, Ben running all the way with two outs.
But as he rounded second he looked over his shoulder and saw the ball falling, somehow finding a patch of grass even though John was there, their right fielder, their second baseman.
Ben made third easily, Darrelle stopped at first.
Two on, two out. Somehow, after 10–0, Sam Brown was the potential tying run at the plate. And if Ben knew — knew — he wasn’t going to make the last out of the season, he knew Sam wasn’t going to do that, either.
Ben would have bet the money in everybody’s wallets on that.
The Parkerville coach called time, jogged out to the mound to talk to Matt Sample, Ben watching Matt, watching as he nodded his head, the coach doing all the talking.
And what they had to be talking about was throwing strikes, not walking Sam Brown, not with Justin Bard in the on-deck circle, not after he’d already hit one grand slam tonight.
Justin wouldn’t just be the potential winning run at that point.
He’d be the championship run.
Their coach jogged back to their bench on the third-base side. Matt Sample against Sam now. Matt tried to get ahead, thinking — hoping? — Sam might take a strike, might be looking for a walk with Justin coming up behind him.
Sam took a strike all right.
Took it up the gap in right-center, took it past the center fielder and past the right fielder and, by the time everybody had stopped running, Ben had scored and Darrelle had scored from first and Sam Brown was on third and it was 10–9 at Highland Park.
Justin Bard coming to the plate.
They would be able to watch the way the game ended later, it turned out that Sam’s mom had started recording the game after Justin’s grand slam started to bring them back. Started to make it
a game.
“I had a feeling something special might be happening,” she said later, at which point Sam’s dad said, “As usual, you were right, dear.”
Mrs. Brown patted him on the arm and said, “You can never go wrong saying that.”
But Ben didn’t need the video from Sam’s mom to remember what happened. By now, because he loved sports the way he did, he knew you never needed video when something great happened, whether it happened in the game you were playing or the game you were watching.
The best plays and the best moments, they got burned into your memory, and sometimes your heart, and you knew you’d never forget them.
What happened at the end of the championship game, Justin at the plate, Sam on third, Rams still down a run:
Justin took a ball and then a strike at the knees from Matt Sample. Then another ball, this one at least a foot outside. Ben thinking that Matt might be the Parkerville pitcher to pitch around Justin and take his chances with Shawn. Make this into one of those unintentional intentional walks the announcers talked about sometimes, not giving Justin anything to hit, hoping he might chase a bad pitch and get himself out.
The next pitch was outside, too.
Just not far enough to prevent Justin Bard from giving it a ride.
There was no yelling on the bench when they heard the sound of his bat on this one — that sound, again — because they were all too nervous. But the Rams all stood up and watched the flight of the ball, toward deep left-center.
“Get out,” Coop said to Ben. “Get … out.”
Parkerville’s center fielder started to chase and then stopped, like he knew there was no chance for him to chase the ball down even if it stayed in the ballpark.
The only movement in the outfield was Robbie Burnett, a streak, running full-out to his left, Robbie having gotten a great jump as soon as he saw the ball come off Justin’s bat.
Only guy at Highland Park thinking he had a chance to keep the ball in the park and save a game his team had been winning since 10–0 and was still winning now.
For now.
“Get … out … of … here … please,” Coop said.
Now his voice was rising.
“He got enough,” Ben said, pounding his fist into the back of Coop’s shoulder.