“Our house was robbed last week, and my dad wanted to talk to the burglar. The police told him he would have his day in court, but he wasn’t allowed to talk to him before then. My dad begged them and explained that he needed to know how he’d snuck into the house and not wakened my mom. He’d been trying for nearly twenty years and hadn’t figured it out,” Wolf said.
While they weren’t laughing, they did seem more at ease. Wolf needed to work on his material.
“I think we know what we’re supposed to do. Let’s win this,” Coach said. “Dawson, take them out.”
“‘USA’ on three. One, two, three …”
“USA!”
◊◊◊
Chapter 34 – Girlfriend Tryouts Thursday August 11
Luke started out in style and struck out the first Cuban batter. Then it got interesting. The next batter came up and was walked, followed by a single to left field. This was not the way we needed to start the game. Luke got his act together, and the ensuing batter popped up, and then Luke struck out the following one to get us out of the inning.
When I came up to bat, it became clear our fans were outnumbered. Ours began chanting “USA,” and the rest of the stadium would add “Sucks” at the end.
I stepped out to the on-deck circle to watch the Cuban pitcher warm up. He was a big kid with a lot of pop in his pitches. Coach Kingwood had said that he was the best pitching prospect in Cuba right now. There were scouts from many of the major league teams sitting behind home plate. I could tell from the sound of the ball hitting the glove that this kid was different from most young pitchers. That gave me a bad feeling we might have our hands full tonight.
I looked out on the field and saw two of the boys I’d practiced with, Luis and Tony. Luis’s sister, Sarita, had been the girl I’d had problems with when I was in Cuba. As I walked up to the plate, Coach Conde nodded to me, so I tipped my hat to him.
I quickly forgot about them and settled into the batter’s box.
“Come on, David set the tone,” Coach Kingwood called out from the dugout.
I watched their pitcher get settled on the mound. He then took a big windup and released a fastball. He must have felt the pressure of the game because the ball sailed on him and ended up bouncing off the backstop. Adrenaline had to be pumping through his veins, and he had overthrown the ball. He stepped off the mound and paced back and forth, talking to himself.
“Be careful. He crazy,” their catcher said in broken English.
I glanced back at him and took in the information. I wasn’t sure if he meant that as a warning to be careful, or if he was trying to get into my head. So, I decided to ignore him. I settled into my stance, and the pitch was on its way. He’d thrown another fastball, but this time he put it just outside, or so I thought. The umpire called it a strike.
I glanced back, and the umpire stared at me, daring me to say anything. I kept my thoughts to myself. If he was going to call that a strike, I would have to be more aggressive at the plate. The next pitch was just a little further outside, and it was called a ball. He followed that with another one I wasn’t sure of, so I took a cut and fouled it off.
The count was now 2–2. I had a feeling I would see another fastball outside. I took a deep breath because I felt I had the timing down and could handle his fastball. As the ball come out of his hand, I saw I’d guessed right. He’d made a mistake and put it right down the center of the plate. I concentrated on my form so I wouldn’t overswing. But when I heard the contact, I groaned inside. I’d not hit the ball dead center.
I ran hard to first as I watched the ball fly up into the stadium lights. It was a monster shot, but unfortunately, it flew about a mile high. As I rounded first, the left fielder was running full-out, and he was almost at the wall. I cringed when he jumped up to try to catch it as he pounded into the wall. The impact was enough that his hat went flying, and he crumpled to the ground. The third base umpire called me out, and that was when I realized he’d robbed me of a home run. I’d lost the ball in the lights, so I hadn’t seen him make the play.
The kid staggered up, and his left elbow and knee were visibly bleeding. The trainer ran out and checked him out, and after a minute’s examination, decided he was good to go.
That play set the tone for the game. Both teams were in this no matter what it took. Going into the eighth inning, we were down 4–1, and Cuba was up to bat. Daz came in and promptly worked his way into a jam. He walked the first batter. The next one, he got to hit a grounder to third, and the base runner advanced to second when Royce threw out the runner at first.
We needed to get out of this inning without them scoring another run. I hadn’t trailed in a game by more than a run since I was in North Carolina. I certainly hadn’t been down three runs. It made me wonder if I’d lost my magic when the next batter hit a grounder to first that ate up Nick. He bobbled the ball just long enough for the runner to be safe at first, and it advanced the guy from second to third.
We had to stop the run from scoring. Coach Kingwood signaled for me to come in right behind second base. Then he had Tristan and Jared move closer to center field to help cover a deep ball up the middle.
There are times you just know that a big play’s about to happen. I think everyone in the stadium felt it. All the fans rooting for Cuba were up out of their seats. They smelled blood in the water and were on their feet, cheering. Our fans had stood up as well. They were more subdued, but they were showing their support.
Daz threw his next pitch, and I heard the crack of the bat.
“Crud!” I yelled as it rose over my head.
I sprinted back as I’d practiced since the spring. The ball hung up and seemed to hover above me. I had no doubt that I could catch it; my worry was the kid at third who was waiting to tag up and score on the sacrifice fly. I knew I had to do something drastic, so I kept running back.
Tristan looked confused as he suddenly wondered if I’d misread the ball. He began to sprint over to make the play.
“Mine! Mine! Mine!” I screamed.
I’d read about a spectacular fielding play once, and I’d idly imagined trying to do it a few times, but the chance had never come up. It looked like now was the time to try it, if ever there was a time.
I timed the fall of the ball and, when I’d overrun where the landing spot would be, I dropped into a short slide with my feet up. Then I put my feet down and let the cleats pop me back up as I abruptly changed directions and sprinted full-out back towards the ball. I was at full speed when the ball dropped into my glove. I showed why I was the number one quarterback prospect in high school football as I timed my footwork perfectly to launch a screaming ball towards home.
The runner had tagged up and was three-quarters of the way home when Patrick tossed his mask to the side and got into position to block the plate. It was a bang-bang play, and I jumped up and pumped my fist when the plate umpire signaled the runner was out.
For a moment, the stadium became quiet, stunned by what they’d just seen. Ninety-nine out of a hundred times, that would have been a routine run. I’d beaten the odds and gunned him down. Our fans finally had something to cheer about. I think the Cuban team suddenly realized that this might not be over.
“Be in the moment. Do what must be done next. Don’t try to get it all back at once. We need base runners to get back into this game,” Coach Kingwood reminded us.
It seemed like he wasn’t even looking at me when he said it. Maybe he wouldn’t chew me out for the fielding play after all.
The bottom two spots in the order were up first. Coach Short had been working with them on getting to hit again. The bottom half of our lineup had been cold in the first game, and that had continued today. I smiled when they both bunted and were now on first and second with no outs. I was up.