Senior Year Box Set

In the top of the fourth, Saint Viator had another runner in scoring position at second base. Phil was on the mound and looked to be tiring. Moose had decided to let him remain in because we had our next game tomorrow if we won.

Saint Viator’s next batter hit a line shot between Don and me. When it was hit, I recognized that if it wasn’t caught, it would be at least a double and score their runner at second. For a split second, Don and I locked eyes, and he could tell I planned to go for it. That meant he had to back up the play, which caused him to take an angle behind where I was running toward to make a grab for the ball.

It became apparent that I wasn’t going to make it, so I grabbed my glove and threw it at the ball. No one was more surprised than me when I actually knocked it out of the air. I scooped up the ball and fired it to my cutoff man, who turned and fired home. Tim scooped up the ball as it bounced in front of the plate and spun to tag the runner out.

Saint Viator’s other runner was smart. He hadn’t slowed down when he got to second and tried to pick up a base. Most high school teams would have been caught flat-footed, and he would’ve made it to third without a problem. High school catchers would usually have been congratulating themselves for making the play at home.

Tim, on the other hand, had his head in the game and fired to third. Saint Viator’s base runner realized he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar and let Ty tag him out to get us out of the inning.

Or so I thought.

The umpires all got together and ruled that I’d intentionally thrown my glove. The kicker was that ALL runners were awarded three bases for that. It meant Saint Viator scored a run, and their other runner was now on third.

This was the sort of mistake that could turn a game against you. I was happy when their next two batters struck out. I was even more thrilled that when I got to the dugout, no one said anything about my bonehead play.

In our half of the fourth, we got one man on but couldn’t score. That meant that Bryan, Wolf, and I would be up in the fifth. It felt like we had to get a run, or we might not get another chance.

In the bottom of the fifth, we were still down 1–0.

When Brock and Bryan had moved here, they had been better-than-average ballplayers. Over the last three years, I’d watched them mature. Bryan had become a load to get out at the plate. He had an excellent eye and quick-enough hands to make it hard to fool him without him getting a piece of the ball. He’d also learned the patience to wait for a pitch he liked.

I cheered him on as the count went full, and Bryan fouled off three straight pitches.

“Straighten it out!” Tim yelled to his teammate.

“What the …” I muttered.

“What is it?” Tim asked.

I didn’t get a chance to tell him because Bryan had squared up to bunt. Saint Viator’s pitcher was as surprised as I was because he ended up throwing the pitch into the dirt, walking Bryan.

I grabbed my gear and stepped out to the on-deck circle to warm up while Wolf took his at-bat. On the first pitch, their pitcher threw inside and clipped Wolf’s wrist. He represented the go-ahead run, and I was now up.

Saint Viator’s coach had seen enough and called for a lefty out of his bullpen to face me. While he warmed up, Coach Haskins had a word with me.

“Just focus on putting the ball in play. We don’t need you to try to win it all with a home run.”

With that advice, I took my place in the batter’s box.

From what I’d seen of the kid warming up, he was good but not great. I was confident I could hit him.

I dug in and ran through my ritual at the plate, then took a couple of deep breaths to center myself as I dropped into the zone. Our crowd was on their feet, making a lot of noise. I knew I was ready when the noise began to fade in my head.

As he released it, I saw the ball in the pitcher’s hand. It was going to be a slider, which I assumed would try to nip the outside corner of the plate. I made good contact with the ball. The first baseman made a jump to snag it out of the air. Both Bryan and Wolf thought it would get through. I cursed when he came down with the ball and ran to first to get Wolf out.

The first baseman fired to second, but Bryan made it back in time.

I was tempted to snap the bat over my thigh but remembered we used aluminum bats, which might just add to my woes.

Brock saved my bacon when he hit a homer to give us a 2–1 lead, which held up as the final score.

◊◊◊

I was signing autographs when two brothers were next.

“Keep your head up,” the older one, who had to be twelve or thirteen, said. “You tried your best.”

“You’ll know not to throw your glove next time,” the younger one added.

I couldn’t help the smile that crossed my face. They reminded me of when I was younger and playing the game just for fun.

“Sometimes you make mistakes out there,” I said. “I had a coach tell me to stay in the moment and focus on the next play. Remember that when something goes wrong out there.”