Rusty did just that, in order, to end the fifth inning.
Coach Tom greeted the players with high fives as they returned to the bench, though the only Mariners who had even touched the ball that half of the inning were Rusty and Tony, the catcher. Coach Kaplan’s smile, meanwhile, was ear-to-ear, those huge teeth shining against his dark complexion. The situation looked good indeed: two runs up, last inning, and the top of the order coming to bat. That was Billy—Billy Socks, they called him, because it was said that he would often run right out of his shoes. LC had never actually seen this amazing phenomenon, because he wasn’t really a part of Billy’s social group, and he didn’t believe it at all. Still not wanting to be chastised, or worse, he yelled for “Billy Socks” right along with the rest of the Mariners.
Billy hit the first pitch up the middle, a looping, soft liner. The team went crazy, Coach Kaplan howled, and apparently, all the excitement got to Billy Socks, because he never stopped at first. The Mariners and their fans were surely surprised, but the Panthers’ players were not.
Billy Socks was out by ten feet as he tried to get to second base. LC noted that he still had both of his shoes on as he walked dejectedly back toward the dugout.
When the next batter hit a ground ball right to the first baseman, who scooped it up, dropped it, and still had plenty of time to step on the bag for the out, Kaplan’s toothy smile was long gone. The Mariners could have put the Panthers away this half of the inning by scoring a few runs, but that chance was slipping through their little fingers.
LC figured that he wouldn’t be getting up to bat. He had been hoping that he would, figuring that if they got all the way through the order anyway, if eight other batters had come to the plate before he stepped up to bat, his ups couldn’t really be vital. Even if there had been two outs with the bases loaded, three other runs would have had to score and the lead would be five, not two. So the situation, if LC did get the chance to bat, would be safe enough. Maybe he would walk, or even manage a hit, and then he would truly be part of the team, not just a benchwarmer. Maybe he would close his eyes and swing as hard as he possibly could, and hit the ball over the fence!
Yeah, a grand slam, and then he would be a part of Billy Socks’s crowd, and then he—
The boy glanced around nervously, wondering if his private fantasy was being openly observed by his teammates. He noticed then that he was sweating. LC hoped that he would get the chance to bat; he was terrified that he would have to bat.
Those conflicting thoughts grew stronger when Ben Oliver made up for his last choke by ripping a hard grounder that was bobbled by the Panthers’ first baseman. Safe at first.
That brought up Tony, the catcher, the cleanup hitter. “Tony Boomboom,” who had once hit a ball so far over the center field fence that it had dented the hood of Kaplan’s pickup four rows back. Kaplan had never fixed that dent, displaying it on his truck proudly, as if it were a testament to his coaching prowess.
The first pitch was way outside: it was obvious that the Panthers’ pitcher was wary of Tony, but with dangerous Rusty on deck, there was little that he could really do. The next pitch came in high and hard and Tony nailed it, launching it sky-high. All the Mariners’ fans leaped to their feet. At least a dozen yelled, “Get outta here!” or “See ya later!”
But it was too high, way high, so high that lumbering Tony, who was even slower than LC, was nearly at second base when the Panthers’ left fielder leaned up against the fence and caught the ball.
Momentum was a funny thing, and so, to LC, was the way that this entire side of the field suddenly drooped back down at the exact moment the people on the other side of the field leaped up, as though some underground wave had sucked all the energy on the Mariners’ side and pushed it underground into the waiting legs of the Panthers’ fans.
LC chuckled at the thought, but wisely coughed to disguise his mirth. He took up his glove and started for the field along with the rest of the Mariners. Coach Kaplan stopped them and brought them into a huddle, counting heads and coming up one short. He yelled out to Joey DiRusso and waited until the frustrated youngster joined them, then spent a long moment dressing Joey down for his lack of team spirit.
Right after that Kaplan confused LC, although most of the others didn’t see any irony in it, when he told the players taking the field to win this one ”for Joey.”