They’d blocked off the first two rows behind each dugout for friends and family. There really weren’t that many here. I had by far the largest contingent when you counted my Tinder date, her friends, my host family, and coaches. I sat Christen next to Melissa.
“David! David! David!” Bob called from the field.
“Sorry, gotta go,” I said and jumped over the wall to get on the field.
“What’s up?” I asked him.
“M.E. sent me over to save you. She was worried you’d get cooties from that girl.”
M.E. was acting as if she was busy, and the rest of the team was acting a little too casual.
“Thank you, Bob. I have a game tonight and don’t need to get cooties from some girl. You did right to save me.”
To be that young again. I pointed at everyone else and gave them my one-eyebrow-raised look, and they burst out laughing. At least it was all in good fun.
◊◊◊
We were the away team tonight, so we batted first. Their pitcher was much better than the one we faced this morning. He had the first two batters looking at called strikes. Dave was up next and showed why he’d made the previous teams. He had a good eye and fought off five full-count pitches with foul balls before the pitcher made a mistake and walked him.
Coach Kingwood grabbed me before I stepped up to the plate.
“Be patient and wait for your pitch. No one’s going to be able to hit everything he throws up there, so be selective.”
I strolled to the plate and settled into the box. The pitcher looked over at Dave, concluded that he wasn’t a danger to steal, and threw me a big hanging curveball. I usually would have swung at one like that, but the problem was that it was high, and I more than likely would’ve popped up. The umpire called it a ball.
“Sir, how close was that?” I asked.
The umpire looked confused. You don’t usually discuss balls and strikes with them.
“I’m here to learn and am asking if you could help me out some,” I clarified.
He’d walked up to me, and it looked like he and I were arguing. Coach Kingwood came trotting out. I waved him off, but he wasn’t to be deterred.
“It was close, but a little high,” the umpire told me.
“Are you trying to get kicked out?” Coach Kingwood asked.
“No, I’ll wait for you to tell me to do that.”
He mumbled something about it would be frigid in hell before that happened. Or maybe I just heard him wrong.
I stepped back into the box and watched as their pitcher threw two more balls, one low and the other outside. I knew the next pitch was going to be over the plate. Following my routine, I wiggled the bat over my head, and when the pitch left his hand, I had a good feeling. I drove a rocket between third and short. Dave was off like a shot as the ball rolled to the wall. With two outs, he didn’t need to know if it was caught or not, so he just ran. He rounded third as the left fielder got the ball and relayed it to short, who turned and threw home. It was a close play, but Dave was safe, and I had a stand-up double.
Their pitcher got our next batter out, so it was our turn to take the field. After the first, it was tied 1–1.
On the first pitch in the second, their pitcher stepped off the mound and grabbed the back of his arm as if something was wrong. The trainer came out, and it was decided that he was done. It was later found he’d tweaked a nerve and would be alright.
Their next pitcher wasn’t nearly as good. In the third inning, I was up again, and you could kiss that pitch goodbye as it landed over the 300 mark on the left-field wall. We batted around, and I was up once again in the third; we were now up 7–2. The bases were loaded, and we had two outs. It was almost like batting practice. I grooved a ball to straight center field where the sign said 400. I was later told they estimated it traveled 434 feet for my first grand slam; that put us up 11–2.
They could have ended the game on the mercy rule, but the coaches decided to play it out because everyone needed the at-bats and exposure. I had a career night with nine RBIs, three home runs, and six hits. The final score was 23–6.
◊◊◊
After the game, I pulled the team over, and we signed autographs for the fans. They’d announced the attendance, and there were over 500 people there tonight. I talked to Christen, and she suggested we all meet at a local pizza place. The host families agreed that sounded like a plan. Of course, Bob remembered I’d bought ice cream after the first game. I decided that if we won, I’d buy, so Paul took several of the guys with him to get cones for everyone.
Coach Kingwood was talking to some press, so I walked up with his cone and listened in.
“Tell us about David Dawson,” one of them asked.
Coach hadn’t seen me, so I slowed my roll and just smiled at them.
