“Damn, he’s good,” I offered.
“It sounds like he’s been listening to you too much,” Jeff grumped.
“At least he didn’t throw his team to the wolves,” I said.
Jeff gave me a knowing grin.
“Spill it,” I said.
“He might have commented, off-camera, that he planned to outhit you tonight,” Jeff said, intending to rile me up.
“Did he?”
“Care to comment?” Jeff asked as he thrust his phone under my nose.
“I’ll leave it in God’s hands,” I said with a straight face.
“You suck. You know that, don’t you?” Jeff asked.
“If it’s God’s will …”
“I give up. Good luck tonight.”
“You’re not going to ask me the final score?” I asked.
“No need. I’m sure you’ll find a way to win.”
I nodded my head and left to get ready for the game.
◊◊◊
From the get-go, it was a pitching duel. Justin was probably pitching his best game, and the Central pitcher had been a strikeout machine.
I’d managed to hit three solo shots, and Ryan had hit two. Those were the only runs, making the score3–2 going into the bottom of the seventh and Central’s last shot to either catch up or win the game.
“Dawson, take the mound,” Moose said.
Justin had been tiring after pitching Monday and then again today. He gave me a fist-bump to let me know he agreed with Moose’s decision.
Coach Haskins took me aside.
“Ryan is up fourth. Let’s not let him win this for them. Get the first three out and win this.”
“Hold that thought,” I said as I bent over and threw up into the garbage can for water cups.
“You okay?” Coach Haskins asked in concern.
“No, he’s fine. That just means we’re going to win,” Moose explained.
“Sorry, that hasn’t happened in a while. I used to throw up before football games when I felt the pressure. It actually means I’m going to do well,” I assured him.
“Do your thing and don’t hold back,” Moose ordered.
I trotted out to the mound and began to warm up. Between pitches, I took in the scene. The stadium was split in two, with maroon and white on Central’s side and orange and blue on ours. I began to tune out the crowd noise as I focused on pitching the ball to Tim.
I felt good. The bruising on my chest from being shot had almost entirely disappeared, and I didn’t ache anymore. Heck, I hadn’t even thought about my injury for a week until now. Joey and the training staff had worked to help me heal.
I shook off that thought and focused. I’d worked since I started playing Little League for this very moment.
“Unleash three fastballs,” Tim ordered.
I nodded and toed the rubber as I began my motion home. I was throwing harder than I ever had before, as evidenced by the whoosh of the ball as it raced home and the pop of Tim’s glove when it hit. It just sounded different. I repeated that feat two more times before the umpire indicated it was my last warm-up pitch. Tim fired the ball to second, and the infield threw it around the horn and back to me.
Central’s leadoff hitter came up first. He’d struck out twice today already. Justin had thrown him a slider both times to get him out. He stepped into the batter’s box and was in the process of adjusting his pants when I threw the first pitch for a strike.
“I wasn’t ready,” he complained to the umpire.
“You’re in the batter’s box,” the umpire reminded him.
The batter jerked around when he saw the umpire get down into position. The Central player made the smart move by calling time, or I would have had my second strike on him. Tim tossed me the ball back.
I waited for the hitter to get into the box before I toed the rubber and threw my best fastball right down the center, daring him to hit it. He barely got the bat off his shoulder when the ball popped into Tim’s glove for the second strike.
Tim next signaled for my split-fingered fastball. Once the Central hitter had settled in the box, I came home with the ball. I took a little off it so it looked like a pitch he could handle. He’d expected another smoking fastball, so he was a little early on his swing. When the ball made its dive at the plate, he looked foolish when he completely missed it.
Our fans were now on their feet. We were two outs away from becoming state champs.
“Get the next one!” Coach Haskins yelled from the dugout.
Up next was their second baseman. He’d gotten on base twice today with a walk and a base hit. The level of difficulty just increased a little. He’d seen what I’d done to the first batter, and when he entered the box, he was ready to hit. I smiled when Tim asked for a high fastball.
I unleashed the hardest pitch I’d ever thrown in a game. The laces of a baseball are what give it movement. When you throw one really hard, they help make a whooshing sound that you usually don’t hear with a normal-speed ball. The batter didn’t hesitate and started his swing as soon as the ball left my hand. He’d obviously been timing me from the on-deck circle because if it had been down in the zone, he would have crushed it.
That was a wake-up call. I would have to mix things up speed-wise, or they would eventually figure me out. Tim obviously didn’t think that time was now, though, because he called for a low and inside fastball. This time, the batter held up and shook his head when I caught the corner for a strike.
I threw the same pitch, but low and outside. This time, if he’d laid off, it would have been a ball. Instead, he swung and missed for the second out.
Everyone in the stadium now stood to cheer on their team. We were one out away, and Central was sending up the player who I thought was their best hitter. He was their shortstop, and Justin had struggled with him all day, even though he hadn’t gotten on base yet.
I wasn’t worried that he would hit a home run. What concerned me was he was capable of hitting a single. That would give their star, Ryan, a possible storybook moment to win the game with another home run.
On the first pitch, I threw a split-fingered fastball. The pitch was designed to be hit. Because it drops at the last second, hitters tend to top the ball and hit grounders that are easy to handle. He’d expected a harder fastball, so he was a little in front of it but managed to make contact.
The ball rolled to Ty at third, and then disaster struck. The ball made a funny bounce, and Ty missed it. He managed to knock it down with his body, but by the time he’d recovered, the runner was safe at first.
Ryan came strutting out to the wild cheers of his fans. Their big gun was up and represented the winning run. With one swing of the bat, we would be going home in defeat. I acted nervous, and Moose called time and trotted out to talk to me.
The rest of the infield joined us on the mound.
“David should just drill him and get the next guy,” Wolf said loudly.
“You do, and he’s gone,” the umpire called from home.
We all held our smirks because we knew that would be in James Ryan’s mind now. He’d seen how hard I was throwing, and I could attest that it was no joke to get hit with a baseball.
“Special,” Moose said quietly.
We all nodded our agreement, and I stepped to the rubber as my guys took their position. We were going to pick off their baserunner and not give Ryan a chance to ruin our day.
I took my position on the mound and glanced over my shoulder to check the base runner. He had taken an average lead off first, nothing too crazy because he realized that he represented the tying run. I looked home and then made my pickoff move.
Wolf lunged to the side in an attempt to gather it in as the runner dove for the bag. Don, in right field, was totally confused because he couldn’t find where the ball had gone. Our dugout was up and pointing down the line. Don ran to where he thought they were pointing and couldn’t find it. The runner took all that in and decided to run to second to put himself into scoring position.