by Mike Lupica
The Cubs got the field first, for fielding drills and then batting practice. Then it was the Astros’ turn. When their fielding drills were over and it was time for their BP, Matt went over and asked his mom what time it was.
“Six-oh-five,” she said, looking at her phone.
Matt shook his head. “He’d be here by now if we were coming,” he said to her.
“Maybe so,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder.
“This stinks!” he said.
“So it does,” she said. “But it doesn’t change the fact that there’s still a game to play.”
“We need to win it for Ben,” Matt said. “If we do, maybe his dad will change his mind before the championship game.”
She squeezed his shoulder now.
“Have I mentioned lately that you’re a good boy?” she said.
“You’re prejudiced,” he said.
“Even so,” she said.
When they finished BP, Sarge gathered them together at their bench. He told them he had a few things to say, and promised that it would only be a few for once.
The Astros were all facing Sarge, and the field. He was kneeling in front of them, a baseball in his hand.
“Actually, I only have one big thing to say,” Sarge said.
“Wait. Me first.”
Even before Matt whipped his head around, he knew the voice belonged to Ben’s dad.
“I just want to say I’m sorry we’re late,” Mr. Roberson said.
Ben was next to him, in his cap and Astros T-shirt. In his spikes. Both he and his dad were out of breath.
“I thought the game was at seven o’clock,” Mr. Roberson said.
Then he turned to Matt’s mom, and almost seemed to be smiling.
“I’m an idiot,” he said.
FORTY-ONE
Sarge told Ben there wasn’t time for him to take batting practice. Ben grinned and said, “I had a pretty good session with Matt’s mom the other day.”
“So you’re good to go?” Sarge said.
“So good,” Ben said.
Then Sarge sat down at the end of the bench and ripped out the page in his scorebook with his batting order and wrote out a new one. Matt and Ben jogged down the right field line so Ben could get some quick throwing in. Matt even threw him a few ground balls.
As they walked back to the bench, Matt said, “What happened?”
“We finally talked to each other,” Ben said. “And listened.”
“My mom says that works wonders,” Matt said.
“Did this time with my dad,” Ben said. “I’m here, right?”
Sarge was waving them back over to the bench, where the rest of the Astros and Matt’s mom were waiting.
“As I was saying,” Sarge said, “before Ben interrupted me.”
As nervous and excited as they all were, it got a laugh out of them.
“I think we all just got reminded how important it is, to all of us, to be a part of a team,” Sarge said. “You know we all got here together. Now we’re more together than we’ve ever been.”
He’d been kneeling. He stood up now.
“I know I’m ready for this,” he said. “What about you guys? You ready?”
“Yes!” they shouted at him, with one loud voice.
Unfortunately, the opposing pitcher, Andrew Welles, was ready, too.
Very.
• • •
Andrew was everything they all remembered from the first game of the season, and more.
“I swear that guy has gotten bigger,” José said after Andrew had retired him and Denzel and Matt in order in the bottom of the first.
“And better, maybe,” Matt said.
Mike Clark was the Astros starter and shut down the Cubs over the first four innings, managing to pitch his way out of a bases loaded, nobody out jam in the second, finally striking out the Cubs shortstop.
But Andrew was dominating the Astros at the same time, pounding away at the strike zone, hardly ever wasting a pitch, even when he was ahead in the count. Through the bottom of the fourth, Matt had his team’s only hit, having managed to carve a ground ball between the shortstop and second baseman his second time up. Ben had hit the ball hard twice using the simpler swing Matt’s mom had taught him, but had nothing to show for it except two line drive outs, both to the center fielder.
It was still 0–0 going into the fifth.
Up until then, the only thing Matt had heard from Mr. Roberson, back in his usual spot, sitting in his lawn chair, was this, after both of Ben’s outs:
“Good swing. One of them will fall in.”
The Cubs scored first, in the top of the fifth. Mike, who hadn’t made many mistakes after the second inning, made one to Andrew with two outs and Jake McAuliffe, the Cubs catcher, on first. Mike left one up and over the plate and Andrew knew what to do with it, hitting a screamer between Denzel and Teddy to left-center. He ended up with a triple, and Jake scored easily. Mike struck out the next guy to leave Andrew at third. But it was 1–0.
The way Andrew was pitching, that “1” on the scoreboard looked like a “10” to Matt right now.
When they got back to the bench, ready to hit in the bottom of the inning, Matt’s mom said, “May I make a comment?”
“Have at it,” Matt said.
She looked around at Matt and his teammates, and just loud enough for them to hear she said, “We need to get that big guy throwing for them out of his comfort zone, or he’s going to pitch those guys right into the championship game.”
“How do we do that?” José said.
Matt’s mom leaned down close to Stone, who was taking off his chest protector, his mask next to him on the bench.
“Stone,” she said, “he falls pretty hard toward first base on his follow-through. How about you try laying down a bunt toward third?”
“Not a very good bunter, Mrs. B,” he said.
“Be one now,” she said. “It’ll work. Their third baseman will be back, and guarding the line against a double. Trust me.”
“Trust her,” Matt said to Stone. “It’s always worked for me.”
Stone didn’t wait. And the guy who said he wasn’t much of a bunter laid down a beauty, dropping the bat at the very last second, deadening the ball just right, putting enough backspin on the ball that it died halfway up the line. By the time the third baseman picked the ball up with his bare hand, there was no point in making a throw. The second hit of the game for the Astros had traveled about thirty feet, tops.
Didn’t matter.
Potential tying run at first, nobody out.
Matt looked down at his mom in the first-base coach’s box. She was smiling across the field at Sarge. Usually he was the one giving the signs. Now she was giving them to him. And to Kyle Sargent.
Telling Kyle to lay one down as well.
Sarge nodded.
Matt liked it: Tie the game now if they could, worry about the go-ahead run later. First things first, now that Stone was at first.
Kyle, who was a good bunter, wasn’t trying to surprise anybody. This was a sacrifice bunt all the way. He squared up, and then he was the one deadening the ball just right, in the direction of first. The first baseman, charging, fielded it. He had no chance to get Stone at second, so he just turned and threw to his second baseman, who was covering first behind him.
Now the tying run was at second.
But then Andrew Welles struck out Chris Conte with three pitches. Two outs. Teddy Sample at the plate. If the Astros got to the championship game, Teddy would be starting it. But they had to get there. And to get there, they needed runs, starting with the one standing at second in the person of Stone Russell.
Matt was sitting next to Pat McQuade, who was going in to pitch the sixth even if the Astros were still behind.
“This has to be Andrew’s last inning,” Pat said.
Matt said, “If we’re ever going to get to this guy, we have to do it right here.”
“Our ace against theirs,” Pat
said.
“Except ours is batting instead of pitching,” Matt said.
Teddy didn’t wait. He hit the first fastball he saw from Andrew Welles over second base and into center field. Stone, a catcher who could really run, easily beat the throw home.
Mike Clark struck out. But the game was 1–1 going into the top of the sixth. Pat needed to get them three outs, and then they’d try to get the run that got them to Saturday. Matt laid it out for Pat before he walked to the mound.
“Let me get this straight,” Pat said. “I pitch a scoreless inning and then we get the winning run in the bottom of the last.”
“Yup,” Matt said.
“Promise?” Pat said.
Matt grinned up at him. Pat was a lot bigger than he was.
“You know what they say in that other sport,” Matt said. “Ball don’t lie.”
He and Pat touched gloves.
“And neither do I,” Matt said.
• • •
Pat did his job in the top of the sixth. The guy leading off for the Cubs, their right fielder, hit a slow roller in front of Matt, who had to make a barehanded throw to Ben and got the guy by a stride. Pat got two strikeouts after that. He’d only have to face Andrew Welles again if the game went to extra innings. But maybe it wouldn’t if they could get a run off the Cubs closer, Robbie Gallo.
José was leading off the bottom of the sixth, then Denzel, and Matt. If one of them got on, Ben would get a chance. They had scored so many runs all season, in all kinds of ways. Now they just needed one more to keep playing.
José finally walked after a terrific at bat, fouling off three pitches after Robbie got the count to 3-2. Denzel bunted José to second. Jake, their catcher, was the one who fielded the ball, and thought about trying for José at second, then decided to make the safe play at first.
So now the potential winning run was on second for Matt, with one out.
Somehow, after all the things that had happened this season, on the field and off, he was exactly where he wanted to be and maybe where he was supposed to be.
He took the deep breaths Ms. Francis had taught him to take when he couldn’t talk, in a moment where he didn’t need to say anything.
All he had to do was hit.
“Don’t wait for me,” Ben said from the on-deck circle.
Robbie threw two pitches away, not close to being strikes. Maybe Robbie was going to walk Matt and take his chances with Ben, whom he’d gotten to weakly pop out to end the first game the two teams had played.
Or maybe Robbie was just trying to set up Matt away, and then come hard inside on him.
He did. Matt was ready, and jumped on the pitch, lining one over the leap of their shortstop and into left field. Matt was sure he’d won the game as he took off for first, watching their left fielder charge the ball as José rounded third.
Even if the guy fielded it cleanly, he wasn’t going to get José.
Only José, who usually was a great baserunner, took too wide a turn at third.
Then he stumbled as he tried to get himself back closer to the baseline.
Stumbled and went down.
Matt watched from first as the left fielder threw behind José, as he barely crawled back to the bag right before Andrew Welles put the tag on him.
Matt could see how furious José was with himself, slapping the sides of his batting helmet with his hands. It wasn’t going to change anything. The game was still 1–1.
For Ben.
“Good swing,” Matt heard from behind him. Two voices, almost at the same moment. His mom’s voice. And Ben’s dad.
Matt thought: Maybe Ben is where he’s supposed to be, too. Maybe this is the way things were supposed to work out for him, in a game he didn’t even know he was going to get to play.
Ben took his stance, wider than it had been at the start of the All-Stars season. Matt’s mom had told him that if his feet were just a little wider apart, he wouldn’t over-stride as much.
Matt wanted his friend to get a hit almost as much as he’d wanted to get one himself.
Or more.
Ben took a ball. Then a strike.
Robbie tried to go up and away. Not far enough away. Ben waited on the pitch, not over-anxious at all, brought his left leg forward just a little, and absolutely smoked a ball over the first baseman’s head and down the line and into the corner. José could have walked home with the run that put the Astros into the championship game.
Matt was at second when José crossed the plate, but then reversed himself, and started running back toward first, because that’s where Ben was, already being mobbed by the rest of their teammates, all of them yelling their heads off.
Matt, though, was only talking to himself.
“Good swing,” he said.
FORTY-TWO
Matt had a session with Ms. Francis the day before the championship game, which would be against the Giants and his pal Joey.
Matt told her everything that had happened since his last visit to her office.
“Sounds to me,” she said, “as if you spoke up for Ben and then Ben spoke up for himself. You both found your voices.”
“I know we’ve talked about this before,” Matt said. “But at the start of the season I thought he had everything going for him, and then he was the one who went through more than I ever did.”
“Then it was as if you both got the game-winning hit,” she said. “Maybe it was good that José slipped.”
“José doesn’t exactly see it that way,” Matt said.
“Also sounds to me,” she said, “as if the stuttering has been more infrequent lately.”
“It’s still in me,” Matt said. “I know it’s always going to be. Maybe I’ve been too busy to think about it as much.”
“Not thinking about it isn’t such a terrible thing,” she said. “But it doesn’t mean we’re going to stop working.”
Matt grinned.
“I was afraid of that,” he said.
“Before we go through our exercises,” she said, “do me a favor. Tell me, in your own words, why you think this season has been so important to you.”
“Being part of a team is always important to me,” he said. “Every team I’ve ever been on.”
“But this has to have been a particularly rewarding season,” she said. “Tell me about that.”
“If you’d told me about that, I could have written something down before I came,” Matt said.
She smiled at him.
“Just speak from the heart,” she said. “You hardly ever get tripped up doing that.”
So he did.
FORTY-THREE
Championship Saturday.
The game was scheduled to start at eleven o’clock. The whole team was at Healey Park by nine-thirty, stretching in the outfield, then running from one line to the other, then doing some soft-tossing.
Matt was playing catch with Ben when he saw Mr. Roberson sitting down next to Matt’s mom and Sarge on the Astros’ bench. Mr. Roberson seemed to be doing most of the talking.
Matt walked over to Ben, and pointed.
“What do you suppose they’re talking about?” he said.
“I know what my dad is saying,” Ben said.
“What?”
“He’s apologizing for the way he acted,” Ben said.
He grinned.
“It was time for him to be the bigger person, finally,” Ben said.
Sometimes it seemed to take forever to get from warm-ups to the first pitch. Not today. In a blink, Sarge was giving them his pregame talk.
“I just want you to go out and play a game we’ll all always remember,” Sarge said. “That sound all right to you guys?” He smiled, then held up a finger and said, “You guys and Matt’s mom, I meant to say.”
“Sarge,” she said. “I was one of the guys the first time you let me on the field.”
Then she turned to the Astros and said, “Let’s get this party started,” right before they all sprinted out onto the
field to play the big game.
• • •
The only chuckleheaded moment from Joey came on Matt’s first at bat. The Giants had gone out in order in the top of the first. José and Denzel had both grounded out ahead of Matt.
As Matt stepped into the batter’s box, Joey said, “H-h-ow you d-d-oing, little dude?”
Matt didn’t step out. Or look behind him.
He just laughed.
Loudly.
The home plate ump said, “What’s so funny?”
Matt just gave a little nod at Joey and said, “Him.”
Then he took his stance and doubled over the left fielder’s head. Ben singled him home. It was 1–0. Matt didn’t even look at Joey as he crossed home plate, even though he thought about it. Too much baseball still to be played. And that double had been enough of a response for now.
After Stone struck out to end the Astros’ half of the first, Matt’s mom said, “What was so funny up there?”
“The catcher made fun of my stuttering,” Matt said.
“Were you?” she said. “Stuttering, I mean.”
“Nah.”
“But you laughed it off?”
“Mom,” he said, “I’ve got other stuff to worry about.”
The game stayed 1–0 into the fifth. Teddy was throwing better than he had all season and, even better than that, his pitch count was really low. There was no question that Sarge would send him out for the top of the fifth, telling Pat there was no need for him to even start warming up yet. Sarge was going to ask Teddy to get them three more outs, and then give the ball to Pat and ask him to close out the league season.
Teddy got the first two outs, then he walked their center fielder. It didn’t seem to matter when the next guy hit what looked to be an easy grounder to José. Matt ran over to cover for what looked as if it would be a routine force, but the ball took a terrible hop, going high off José’s chest. By the time he had his hand on the ball, everybody was safe.
Then Teddy gave up the hardest hit, by far, he’d given up in the game—a shot from their shortstop over Denzel’s head in center. Matt fired a relay throw to the plate, trying to cut down the second run. Too late.
Just like that, it was Giants 2, Astros 1.