You mean the kid with no team spirit? LC thought, and he chuckled again, and this time it was okay because it seemed like he was joining in with the rising cry for the Mariners.
Here it was, bottom of the sixth. Last inning, trophy on the line. It took a while for play to begin, because Tony had made the last out and now had to put on all of his catcher’s equipment. Each passing second seemed interminable to everyone in attendance, but worst of all to LC, who only wanted it all over with so he could breathe again.
Finally Tony came trotting out of the dugout, slipping on his catcher’s mask and glove as he went. LC tensed and patted the pocket of his glove hard; the first Panther batter was a lefty, which made it far more likely that the ball would be hit to right field. LC hoped that Rusty would strike the kid out, or keep the pitches so far outside that the kid couldn’t possibly pull anything to right. At the same time that he was hoping the ball wouldn’t be hit his way, however, LC was fantasizing that the ball would indeed be hit his way, and that his incredible diving catch would make the first out!
His fantasy was shattered by a yell from Coach Kaplan, one of those animal howls, aimed directly at LC. The boy looked up to see the man waving him over to left. He didn’t understand, even put a finger against his chest as if to say “Me?” but then he noticed Billy Socks, the left fielder, jogging his way.
LC got it; Coach Kaplan was shifting him over to left field while the left-handed batter was at the plate. LC felt itchy suddenly, felt as if all the eyes in the world were boring into him. He didn’t really want the ball hit to him—was surely afraid of that—but for Kaplan to so obviously be attempting to keep it away from him…
LC trotted across the thick grass, not able to look in toward the dugout and stands, feeling ashamed and humiliated. Most of all, he couldn’t possibly look his father in the eyes. He could almost hear the relieved sighs of those people in the stands near his dad, quietly congratulating Kaplan for his cunning coaching. What would those sighs and whispers do to his father?
As he crossed near second base, LC heard Kaplan call to Rusty to keep it “high and tight.” Now they could pitch the lefty aggressively, because a well-hit ball wouldn’t wind up anywhere near LC.
The young boy wanted the game over; he wanted to take his trophy, earned or not, and go home.
Rusty came in high and hard with the pitch. The lefty hit a shot down the first base line, into the outfield. He took the turn at first, but had to go back, for speedy Billy Socks fielded the ball cleanly and threw it on one hop to second base.
The next Panther batter was right-handed; LC started back toward right field before Coach Kaplan even motioned to him. He noticed, too, that Coach Kaplan and Coach Tom were nodding to each other, confirming that they had done well in shifting LC out of right field.
It took seven pitches, including one foul ball that landed dangerously close to the right field line, but Rusty managed to strike the kid out.
Up came the third Panther of the inning, another lefty.
Rusty brought his glove to his belt, ready to throw; LC tensed. His breathing would not steady.
“Time!” yelled Coach Kaplan, his hands up high, waving as he neared the first-base line. He yelled out angrily to Billy Socks and to LC, as though they should have understood and executed his strategy without being told. The pair swapped places again.
The batter eyed LC every step of the way. He glanced out toward left field, then to his bench, where his coach was nodding subtly. LC didn’t miss it—the Panthers had figured out that he must be very weak in the field, and so the batter was going to try to come his way.
Rusty’s pitch came in tight, too tight for the lefty to hit it the opposite way, and the result was a soft liner right back to the pitcher. Rusty grabbed it and fired to first, hoping to catch the runner before he could get back to the base.
“He’s out!” cried Coach Kaplan, looking for a double play. Half the Mariners howled, thinking the championship won.
But the umpire was right on the spot, his hands wide to either side. The runner had gotten back to the bag before the throw.
LC knew he could relax again for a few minutes. With typical intensity, Coach Kaplan got into it with the ump, shouting and screaming, kicking dirt and pointing repeatedly toward first base. Several of the Mariners piped in, the better players mostly, and many of the fans on both sides made sure that their perspective on the play was heard as well. Never mind that those fans were at least thirty feet away, with a chain-link fence between them and the play. Never mind that the ump, alert and moving toward first base before Rusty had even turned to throw the ball, couldn’t have been more than ten feet from the bag, with a perfect angle to see the diving runner’s hand and the catch by the Mariners’ first baseman.