Sparks the Matchmaker

CHAPTER 4

Every second Ollie’s mind wasn’t distracted meant that his mind went straight to thoughts of Anne, and being so deep in thought, the last thing he expected was a little Yankees-hat-wearing nuisance to be sitting in his passenger seat. As he recovered from the shock, he said, “You’d better have a good reason for being in my car, Bomber.”

“You scream like a little girl when you’re startled,” Sparks said. “What are you gonna do? Beat me up? Call the cops?”

“Something like that. Yeah.”

“Nah. You won’t. I’m here to help you.”

“I didn’t ask for your help and I don’t need it. Get out.”

“Actually, you did. I distinctly remember you saying,” his voice ascended several octaves, “‘Help me!’ back there when your car was stalled in the middle of the road.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it. And I don’t talk like that.”

Sparks looked at him. “Didn’t I tell ya you were gonna get booted?”

Ollie stewed.

“I’ll tell you what. Let me hang out with you for the next few hours. By the time we get home from your softball game, if you don’t ever want to see me again… you’ll never see me again. I’ll disappear forever.”

Ollie sat and stared at him. He had a thousand questions in his brain, but wasn’t sure if he dared vocalize one. On the one hand, this guy seemed about as threatening as a guinea pig, but on the other hand he wasn’t sure if he could handle spending an evening with him. Especially since this was the day that everything in his life had fallen apart. His desire to be left alone in his misery pulled on one end of the rope and curiosity pulled on the other. In the end the two sides tugged themselves into a stalemate.

“Tell ya what, Bomber—”Ollie said.

“Sparks.”

Ollie looked at him blankly.

“Sparks. That’s my name.”

“Okay, Sparks. Tell ya what. You can… ya know, like, continue to stalk me or whatever. For now.” Ollie looked at him bemusedly. “Until I make up my mind about you, anyway—”

“I’m only here to help.”

Ollie rolled his eyes. “You keep saying that, but it doesn’t mean anything to me. Whatever it is you want from me, get to it. I’ll listen to whatever you have to say at the softball field. When it comes time for me to warm up for my game though, you gotta leave.”

“If you still want me to leave when that time comes, sure.”

“Gone for good.”

“Yep. I won’t be leaving, though. You’ll like what I have to say. I know you will.”

“You assume a lot of things.”

“I’m not assuming. I know.”

“You’re odd. Ya know that? I’m not assuming that. I know it.”

“So people tell me.”

I can’t get a second alone. In a way it was a good thing. It kept him from wallowing in the muck of his own self-pity for now, but he knew he was going to have to mourn his loss of Anne eventually. Taking a weird stranger along for his evening ride was only delaying the inevitable.

“Turn right here,” Sparks said. “It’ll be faster.”

“Why?”

“Trust me. It’ll be faster.”

“Why would I trust you? I don’t even know you. I’ve driven to the ballpark a thousand times.”

“We’ll get stuck waiting on a train to go by if we go this way.”

“Whatever. This is the way I always go and I never get stuck at the railroad crossing.”

“Alright. If watching a train pass by is more entertaining than watching people play ball, then let’s do it Ollie’s way.”

Ollie was glad Sparks had suggested a new route. He didn’t take it, but he was more than happy to shoot the idea down. It gave him something he could control even while he felt like the world was pushing and pulling on him, taking away the things he really wanted. Besides, driving around on country roads can’t possibly be faster. The odds of getting stuck at the railroad crossing are slim to none.

Ollie looked ahead. His heart sank as he applied the brakes and slowed the car: there was a freight train ambling along at the railroad crossing ahead. He stopped at the back end of a line of cars and listened to the clanging bells, watched the flashing red lights. “How’d you know?”

“I just did.”

“But how?”

“Sometimes I just know things.”

“You mean like you’re psychic or something?”

Again, with the grin.

“Well, which is it? Yes or no?”

“I can predict things, yeah. But it’s not like you see on TV where I close my eyes and I can see the future.”

Ollie’s brain churned, watching the words Union Pacific waddle slowly on rails before him, thinking of the very first time he had taken Anne on a date. The restaurant was a Salvadorian place he’d always been interested in checking out, and the food was good but the service was horrendous. That left Ollie in a tight spot. If he’d just been out with the boys that night, he might have stiffed the waiter on the tip. Isn’t the prospect of a tip supposed to be what keeps the waiter attentive and friendly? In the end all he could do was laugh with Anne and drop a gratuity much larger than the situation merited. A guy can’t leave a cheap tip on a first date; that would never impress the ladies. After dinner they had been on their way to a movie when a train stopped traffic, making them late. They missed part of the movie. That was a great first impression, huh?

Eventually the train cleared the crossing and Ollie and Sparks were able to cross over into the south side of town.

Once at the park, Ollie sat quietly on the aluminum bleachers with Sparks. Ollie’s head followed the movement of the ball. His eyes ran the bases with each player. His brain did no moving at all, just sitting there contemplating the things that wouldn’t leave him alone. Like Sparks. “Why aren’t you saying anything? Aren’t you here to try to help me with something?”

“Watch this,” Sparks said. It was as if he knew what Ollie was about to say. “Ya know how that shortstop has been super cocky for the whole game, yelling at his teammates and stuff? Well, this guy coming up to bat right now is going to hit one right at him. I bet it goes right through his legs. This is gonna be great.”

Ollie did his very best to pretend like he was ignoring him. He never turned to look at Sparks because he still refused to show his curiosity. He couldn’t, however, ignore the fact that what Sparks had predicted came true. A routine ground ball zipped right between the legs of the cocky shortstop.

Ollie looked on in excitement tainted with uneasiness. “All right, all right. You’ve got my ear. How are you doing that?” Ollie said.

“Like I said, it’s not like on TV where people tap into the spirit world or something like that. It’s more like, if you were to see Keith wearing a softball uniform, carrying his softball bag, and you knew he had a game starting in 45 minutes, you’d be able to piece everything together and guess he was going to his game. It’s sort of like that.”

“I’m still not sure I know what you mean, Bomber.”

“Look, basically I have a gift. I can read people. I can see cause and effect differently than everyone else. I observe causes and then I can see how people will react to them.”

“So, like, when I’m playing the outfield and someone hits a fly ball—”

“And you know right where to run to catch it even though the ball hasn’t come down yet, yeah. Except I can see where things are most likely to go even before the guy hits the ball.”

“And you can read people too? Not just softballs and trains?”

“Yup.”

“I don’t want to sound like I’m… uh… I don’t know. It’s still a little hard to believe.”

“All right then. See that guy who’s up to bat next? He’ll walk part way to the batter’s box, then change his mind about what bat he’s gonna use, switch to an orange bat, and then he’ll pop out on the second pitch with a lazy fly ball to the first baseman.”

Ollie looked on as the ball player walked toward home plate. Quickly he turned in his tracks and hurried back to the dugout where he swapped the bat in his hand for an orange one. The batter then watched one pitch go by, took a whack at the second, and sent it straight into the air.

All the details Sparks had predicted played out before them in perfect succession, with the exception of one thing: “Hmm. I guess I was wrong,” Sparks said. “The first baseman dropped the ball.”

“Still, that’s pretty crazy.”

“I told you you’d want me to stick around.”

“The jury’s still out about you.” Ollie thought for a moment. “But I want you to stick around for my game. You good with that?”

“Yeah. You want me to tell you where to stand in the outfield for the best positioning?”

Ollie looked at him and considered things. “Sure… but you’re on a pretty short leash. Make me look stupid and you’re walking home. And not to my home, either.”

***

Ollie only had enough time for a few warm up tosses with Keith before their game started. His team had won the pre-game coin toss at home plate and had chosen to be the home team. Ollie took his normal position in left-center, but seeing Sparks sitting in the bleachers pointing to a spot on the grass fifty feet in front of where he usually stood, he started to scoot up.

“Ollie!” Keith yelled from right-center field. “We’re playing a four man outfield, not a rover. Move back.”

Ollie looked at Keith and then at Sparks, then back at Keith again before he moved back to his original position. Sparks shook his head and pointed again at the spot in front of him. Conflicted, he moved to where he could stand halfway between where Keith wanted him and where Sparks was pointing. Sparks threw his hands up in the air as if to say, Fine. Let’s do it Ollie’s way.

On the third pitch Ollie watched the lead-off hitter smack a line drive toward him. He didn’t have enough time to fully decide if he wanted to dive for the ball or let it bounce. Consequently he went into a half-hearted slide and failed to snag the ball as it hit the ground in front of him. It bounced over his left shoulder.

After picking himself up off the grass he ran after the ball. Ollie reached it before Keith got there, hurling it back to the cutoff man as the runner slid into third.

Ollie growled in exasperation. “Hey, Keith! Don’t you think we should play a rover?”

“Not yet,” Keith yelled back. “We’ll move to rover if they keep hitting it in front of us.”

“See,” Ollie said under his breath, “told you.” That’s for you, Sparks, if you can hear me, which you probably can. “Okay,” Ollie said to Keith, “but if this guy hits it in front of me, I’ll move to rover.”

The same as before, Sparks was pointing at a spot in front of Ollie in the outfield, and also like before, Ollie shook his head no.

The batter gave it a mighty swing, but he lined it softly over the shortstop’s head. When the ball came to rest, it was halfway between the shortstop and Ollie. By the time he was able to get his hand on it, the runner was already safe at second. Ollie cocked his arm to throw.

“Don’t throw it!” Sparks yelled from the bleachers even before Ollie cocked his arm back. He threw it anyway.

Even though it was a perfect throw to the third baseman, the ball bounced in and out of his mitt before rolling into the opposing team’s dugout. Ollie walked back to left-center feeling frustrated.

“Hey Keith, I’m taking rover.”

“It’s only been two batters. Give it a little more time.”

“No, I’m taking rover. Trust me.”

As each new batter stood next to home plate, Ollie looked at Sparks to see if he had any wisdom to impart, but Sparks sat quietly on the bleachers with his arms folded. Finally, when there were two outs in the inning, Sparks pointed back at the fence and Ollie moved back until he had nowhere else to go. A high fly ball landed solidly in Ollie’s mitt to end the inning, but the damage had been done. The opposing team had scored seven runs.

“See?” Keith said as they jogged back toward their dugout. “Nobody else hit it to the rover spot. You only got that last one because you were playing deep.”

“You’re gonna have to trust me. Some people I’ll play up and some back.”

“Whatever.” Ollie knew that on any other day, Keith probably would have pushed him a little harder, but not today.

The first two hitters on Ollie’s team popped the ball up in the outfield— easy outs. Ollie was standing outside the dugout taking a few warm up swings when he realized Sparks was standing just a few feet away by the fence, beckoning him to come over.

“Keith is gonna hit a single,” Sparks said softly so that nobody else could hear.“ Don’t swing at the first pitch.”

“All right.”

“Hey, listen to me! You don’t think I know it, but you’re still planning to swing at the first pitch. Don’t! Hit the fourth one. Trust me.”

“Fine. I won’t swing at the first pitch. You’d better be right.”

He watched as Keith hit a grounder that snuck between the shortstop and third baseman. Now it was Ollie’s turn at the plate, with Keith on first and two outs.

Right after the pitcher released the first pitch, Sparks yelled from the stands, “Don’t swing!”

Ollie had already started shifting his weight and was about to let his bat fly through the zone, but he held up at the last second. The ball bounced behind home plate.

“Strike one!” the umpire said, pointing his right index finger.

Ollie stepped out of the batter’s box and took a few steps toward the stands, pretending he needed a few seconds to continue warming up his swing. “I should have swung at that one.”

“Trust me,” Sparks said.

The next pitch landed in front of home plate and the one after that nearly hit Ollie on the foot as he backed away. He lined up for the fourth pitch, trying both to act natural and to listen for his limpy little helper.

“Swing!” Sparks yelled just in time.

He did. The ball sailed gracefully down the third base line. As Ollie ran, he began to slow up at second base. Keith was rounding third on his way to score the team’s first run. He pointed an excited finger at Ollie as he made his way back to the dugout, and Ollie grinned at him.

Unfortunately, the next batter grounded out.

Seeing that Keith had grabbed his mitt, Ollie waited at the ridge of the grass for Keith to meet up with him. He handed Ollie his glove. “If we’re gonna play a rover, I’ll do it.”

“No, trust me. I’ll play rover.”

“Look, I’m team captain, and I’m faster than you are. I’ll do it.”

“No, trust me.”

“Alright, fine! You’re rover. But if we lose, it’s your fault.” Keith organized the outfield accordingly.

Ollie took his position where Sparks, who was still sitting in the bleachers, was pointing. He found himself in perfect position to snag the first hit of the inning; a soft line drive over the shortstop.

“This guy’s left handed,” Keith yelled. “Move over to a short right-center position.”

Sparks was pointing elsewhere, though, so Ollie stayed put. He found himself in perfect position for the next out as a result. The third out came easy too, and Ollie held his head up high as he made his way back to the dugout again.

“Good call on using a rover,” Keith said, as they walked back to the dugout. “I could have sworn that lefty was looking to pull the ball toward right field, but... good call.”

“When ya got it, ya got it,” Ollie said.

Through the next handful of innings, Ollie was in perfect position more often than not. On every at-bat, Ollie had reached base safely. He wasn’t able to singlehandedly rout the other team, but once the final inning came around they were only down by a score of 10-8.

The sun had disappeared a long time ago, and the lights were the only source of illumination across the field. The other ballgames on the nearby fields had all finished; most everyone had either left the grounds or was making their way to the parking lot.

Ollie was showing the first signs of life since Anne had knocked the wind out of him earlier that day. With everything else having gone so badly, he was hoping he could at least have this one triumph to take home with him: he wanted to win this game. It would be even better if he got the chance to play the hero and score the tying run.

Ollie was up. It was 9-10 in the bottom of the ninth with two outs. “Don’t swing at the first pitch,” Sparks said through the chain link fence as he walked toward the batter’s box.

Ollie watched as the first pitch bounced off the back of home plate and the umpire called, “Strike!”

“What are you talking about? That hit the plate!” Ollie yelled at him.

“It hit the black lining on the back of the plate,” the umpire argued back. “That’s a strike.”

“Open your eyes,” Ollie said. “That hit close to the center of the plate. You just want this game to be over so you can go home.”

“Turn around. And this time, maybe you could swing the bat,” the umpire said.

Sparks said, “What are you doing? Why are you arguing balls and strikes? What, you worried about striking out or something? Just hit the next pitch. And make sure you run hard.”

Ollie turned his glare from the umpire to the catcher and chuckled to himself. He and Keith had always joked about how to tell if someone knows nothing about softball. This catcher was a walking advertisement. This guy’s dressed like he’s about to go to the grocery store. Wearing blue jeans was forgivable, as was failing to wear a hat. But to wear tennis shoes? That was laughable.

“This is your pitch,” Sparks said. “Run hard.”

Ollie took a swing. Ollie got a solid thwacking piece of the ball; he was certain it was going to clear the fence in straightaway center field. Sparks had a reason for telling me to run hard, so run hard Ollie did. The ball missed clearing the outfield fence by a few inches, striking the top rail and ricocheting back into the outfield. The outfielders were clearly not expecting that. As they scrambled to track it down, Ollie rounded first base. The outfielders chased the ball as it bounced and rolled back toward the infield, and Ollie rounded second. The right-centerfielder reached the ball first, firing it toward home plate.

Ollie’s teammate, coaching at third base, yelled, “Stop!” trying to get him to hold up and wait for the next batter.

But Ollie wanted to tie up the game. Thinking of Sparks telling him to run hard, he rounded third and headed for home plate.

He could see the catcher standing one step away from home plate in his tennis shoes, waiting for the ball. Ollie’s run would tie the game, it would force extra innings. He lowered his right shoulder. He would plow right over the catcher and tag home.

The ball took a single hop and then buried itself in the catcher’s mitt. Ollie’s shoulder found the catcher’s midsection somewhere between his silly blue jeans and his ridiculously hatless head. The pathetic catcher was half his size; he barreled him right over. Ollie’s flying momentum carried him across home plate and the little man with the ball went tumbling toward the backstop.

But he held onto the ball, which meant Ollie was out.

“What are you doing?” the opposing team’s pitcher yelled as he threw his mitt down.

Ollie’s run would have tied the game, but he was out. The game was over.

“This is city league softball,” the pitcher said, stalking toward home plate, “not the Majors! You don’t plow people over at home plate!”

As the fight began to break out, Ollie quickly set aside the knowledge that he’d just lost the game for his team. He turned toward the pitcher who was loudly making his way toward him. From both sides of his peripheral vision he could see that he’d emptied both dugouts; both teams were converging on the action bubbling up around home plate.

He was about to offer up his witty retort when out of the corner of his eye he saw the catcher’s fist. It was coming in quickly, alarmingly so. Ollie could only turn his head away in an effort to protect his jaw. Ding! The catcher’s knuckles crashed into his skull behind his ear, and he felt his knees go rubbery.

He wasn’t unconscious, but he still lost control of his legs. The red dirt of the infield greeted the right side of his face with a hard thump and it took him a second to regain his strength enough to roll over.

Once he had rolled onto his back, he saw the umpire jump in front of the catcher to hold him back.

If Ollie had felt normal that day, he would have fought back. But he’d lost all the fight he had. He heard the scuffle of players as a distant and inconsequential drama. Somebody else started that. He was suddenly very sleepy. Somebody else can deal with it, too. He thought of Sparks. Where is he now?

“You okay?” It was Keith.

“Fine.”

Keith stood over him and laughed a little.

“I’m fine, really. Stop laughing.” Ollie stared up, flat on his back, at the bright lights illuminating the infield.

Keith held out a hand. “Seriously, what was that about? Since when did you start plowing catchers over?”

Ollie didn’t have an answer. He knew he shouldn’t have done it. He was pretty sure he would have been safe if he’d chosen to slide under the tag instead of plowing right into it. He had nothing to say to his teammates. He had nothing to say to the umpire. He had nothing to say to the players on the other team. He knew he should have apologized to the catcher, but he didn’t. He picked himself up off the infield and walked to the dugout. He couldn’t turn off all the nasty words coming from his teammates, but he could tune them out.

***

With Sparks three steps behind, Ollie slunk back to his car. They sat in silence for a while, Ollie’s hand still on the key, before he finally started the engine and put the car in drive. “Okay, now spill it. What do you want from me?” he asked Sparks. “Today has been a complete disaster and you’ve only helped make it much worse.”

“Don’t blame that on me.”

“Oh really? Who should I blame it on, Bomber?”

“I dunno. Got a mirror?”

“Hilarious.”

“Well you’re the one who kept running when the third base coach told you to stop. You’re the one who ran over the catcher. And you’re the one who can’t dodge a punch.”

“I…” Ollie had expected the other things to be said, but that last comment caught him a little off guard. Still, he needed to vent somehow, and Sparks was the closest punching bag. “You knew I was going to do that, didn’t you? You knew if you told me to run hard that I would ultimately run that catcher over and the catcher would come clean my clock. You knew, huh? Admit it.”

“Maybe.”

They had only driven a block, but Ollie pulled over and jammed it into park.

“Get out. I don’t need you.”

“What do you need, then?”

“What I need is for you to get out of my car. That’s what I need. I need to go back to my own house and to my own life and start putting everything back together.”

“Finally! We’re down to the important stuff and we can forget about softball for a while.”

“First of all, ‘we’ aren’t down to anything. You’re getting out of my car and me myself and I are going home.”

“Oh, the three of you have plans? That’s adorable.”

“Please go away. Stop helping me. I don’t need help like this.”

“I think you forget who you’re talking to. I know home’s not where you’re going.”

“Oh, yeah? All right. I’m gonna go see Anne. So what? Let me guess, you won’t be able to tell me if she’s gonna punch me either, right? Just tell me where you want me to take you and I’ll drop you off. You’re lucky I’m giving you that much.”

“Take me with you to Anne’s place. That’s where you’re planning to go, isn’t it? You’re thinking you have nothing to lose, so you might as well face it tonight since you probably won’t get any sleep anyway. Isn’t that what you’re thinking?”

“Stop that.”

“Guess what, though,” Sparks said, tapping a finger on the brim of the Yankees hat he knew Ollie loathed. “The gimpy Bronx Bomber is coming with you.”

“What are you gonna do? You gonna coach me the whole time I’m talking to her? Right. You’ll give me enough rope to hang myself. I bet you were yukking it up when that guy knocked me down in one hit. Besides… I think having you with me might make it a little awkward for all of us. Don’t you think?”

“I won’t even get out of the car.”

“Right. Social smoothness isn’t your thing. But you’d find some way to make me look stupid.”

“Trust me.”

Ollie scoffed. “That’s rich. Why should I?”

“Because you need me.” Sparks’ eyes looked serious; a little sad. “And you know it, Ollie.”