“Juan Revilla, the Cub’s hitting coach, did some work for Pro Baseball Instruction in LA where I trained this winter,” I said.
“How’s your hitting?” Lucas asked.
“I was hoping you could tell me. Do you plan to be here for both games?” I asked.
“No, I’m here this morning and then off to Batavia to see a pitching prospect. Catch me after the game, and I’ll give you my evaluation.”
Coach Haskins caught my eye. Lang Academy had left the field, so we could finish warming up. We were considered the home team, so Lang would be up to bat first. Bert was our starting pitcher for this game. Justin had had a week off, so he would pitch against the tougher opponent, Wesleyan.
Moose called us in, and we lined up down the third base line for the national anthem. A music major at State sang, and he killed it. Sometimes you got the wannabe singers who thought they sounded good in the shower. That would’ve been me. I was smart enough, though, not to trot my happy butt out in front of people and sing. The worst were the parents who brought their ten- or twelve-year-old who they believed would be the next big thing.
When I ran out onto the field for the game, I was impressed that the stands were three-quarters full. Our game was being broadcast live on the local campus radio station and piped into the farmers market area outside the stadium. You could hear the broadcast in center field.
For the first batter, Moose had me move in to support the infield. From the first pitch, it didn’t look like it was going to be Bert’s day. The batter hit a shot up the middle, which I scooped and threw to first for the first out. Since the second batter looked like a more serious threat, Moose moved me back to my usual position. The kid hit the heck out of the first ball. The only problem was that it flew a mile high, and Brock camped under it for the second out.
Johan trotted out to Bert to explain that he didn’t need to pitch over the center of the plate. Bert struck the next batter out on five pitches.
I ran in, changed shoes, and grabbed my helmet, bat, and hitting gloves. When I stepped out of the dugout, the music began. It was the opening riff to AC/DC’s
“Batting first … David Dawson!” the PA announcer boomed.
I smiled when the fans got on their feet. Moose looked out of the dugout and glared at me. Screw it! Being the not-so-shy type, all you had to give me was a stage, and I’d step onto it without thinking twice. My teammates began to laugh when they saw my best impression of Angus Young, the lead guitarist for AC/DC. He had this funny hop-step where he keeps one leg out straight in front of him as he bounced across the stage. That was actually a channeling of Chuck Berry doing
As the intro refrain of
I had to hustle to get into the batter’s box. It appeared the umpire didn’t know what to do with me. My dad had given me that look before.
Ray was catching.
“Our pitcher’s a hothead. Don’t be surprised if he puts one in your ear,” he warned.
I could see that. After all, I had just showboated, and he might feel I’d disrespected him. I began to laugh when he did just that. If Ray hadn’t been warned me, I might have been hit. The umpire had a pained expression like he didn’t want to deal with this shit today. He warned the pitcher and both benches. If it happened again, both the pitcher and coach would be tossed. He then got into my face.
“No more of your crap, either,” he warned.
The umpire didn’t scare me, but Moose did. He wasn’t known to put up with too much, and I was likely on the cusp of finding a seat on the bench for the rest of the day.
The next pitch, the pitcher probably thought he would try to throw by me. The problem with that was when you’re amped-up with adrenaline, you tend to overthrow the ball. Instead of the pitch being low and on the outside third, it was waist-level. It felt like facing the pitching machine. I could hear I’d gotten all of it before I saw it. The pitcher’s head snapped around as the ball flew into the centerfield bleachers.
I made a point not to flip my bat or do anything else to showboat. Instead, I just put my head down and ran the bases, making sure each one got touched.
Their pitcher soon found he was in for a long day. Moose’s focus on batting paid off. On the other hand, it was also a bad day for our pitchers; Bert, first, and then Brock, who replaced him. Lang Academy put four runs on nine hits on the board. Our response was to score twelve times with thirteen hits. I personally went four for five with five RBIs, including two home runs, a double, and two stolen bases.
After we congratulated Lang Academy, I looked for Lucas Kite. Moose and Coach Haskins joined me behind the plate to listen to what he had to say. So did all the college scouts. Lucas looked uncomfortable.
