At first, I thought I would drag the ball down third; then I thought again. If I pushed it towards first, the first baseman or pitcher would have to field it. The second baseman would then cover first. If he was playing that far back, I expected I could outrun him.
I looked down at the third-base coach to get the sign. Coach Way clapped his hands without bothering to give me even a fake sign.
“You’re the man! Get a hit!” he called out.
I stepped into the batter’s box and made a show of digging in. I rolled my shoulders to loosen up, held my bat in front of me, and let my finger dance against the grip. It looked like I was gaining my focus. I took a deep breath, let it out, and then faced their pitcher.
I could tell on the release of the ball that it was going to be low and outside. So I let it go, and the umpire called it a ball.
“Good eye!” Coach Way called out from third as he clapped. “You’re the man!”
The next pitch was low and outside again, but this time it was hittable. I slid my right hand up the barrel of the bat and held it with my fingers. This allowed the contact of the bat to push it into my hand, sort of like a shock absorber. This deadened the ball but still gave it enough velocity that it wouldn’t be easy for the catcher to simply run it down and make the play.
I was off like a shot and concentrated on running as I’d been taught. The second baseman about fell on his face when he saw me bunt, so there was no one for the first baseman to throw the ball to.
“Good job,” Coach Nautilus, our first-base coach, said as he patted my butt.
I didn’t take much of a lead because I wanted to watch their pitcher. He hadn’t had to pitch out of the stretch yet, and I sought to see if he used a slide step to home or not. I also wanted to see if he had any tells. The Stars’ pitcher looked over his shoulder to see what I was up to and then ignored me. Did he not just see me run to first? He lifted his foot to go home, and I took off. So much for my plans.
Nick, our right fielder, took a mighty swing to protect me. This kept the catcher from starting his throwing motion to second too soon. He had to worry about being hit with a bat. Their catcher knew his business and threw a rocket to second, and I was a split second too slow to the bag and was out. If I’d taken a little more of a lead, I would have won that one.
I dusted myself off and trotted to the dugout. Coach Kingwood stopped me.
“Do you know what you did wrong?” he asked.
“Bigger lead and wait for at least one pitch to see what he does.”
“Yep. Good effort, though. Keep it up.”
In the next inning, their second batter hit a solid ball straight back to our pitcher. Austin caught it with his pitching hand out of reflex. He was able to throw the runner out, but it was apparent he was done for the day. The trainers wanted to err on the side of caution and ice it down and not risk him further injuring it.
Daz was our middle reliever, so I expected him to come in. I was wrong. Coach Kingwood motioned for me to come in to pitch. I trotted in, and he handed me the ball.
“They’ll allow you extra pitches to warm up. I just want you to get us out of this inning. The extra time will give Daz a chance to get fully warmed up and be ready to go next inning,” he explained.
“This is that flexibility that you talked about earlier.”
“Yep. You okay?” Coach Kingwood asked.
“Ask me that when this inning’s over,” I said.
The only upside for me was I faced their ninth batter, hopefully their weakest hitter. While I warmed up, I tried my curveball, and it didn’t curve. I smiled when the poor kid in the on-deck circle winced. His coach had told him I wasn’t one of the regular pitchers. If I were him, I would be worried, too.
“Just throw hard,” Trent, our catcher, called out.
The umpire deemed I’d warmed up enough. I held up my hand.
“Sir, may I speak to my catcher for a moment? I don’t even know what the signs are,” I said.
Trent trotted out and looked like he was trying not to smile. I held my glove up and waved at Bob.
“Get my infield glove,” I yelled to the dugout.
I turned to face center field so they couldn’t read my lips.
“Do you think I should put him in the dirt on the first one?” I asked.
“I think that’s exactly what you should do. They’ll think you’re totally inept at that point.”
Bob traded me gloves, and I got ready to pitch. I threw my non-breaking curveball. Their batter was prepared for it, and I wasn’t worried about hitting him. I decided to throw him some heat because I expected his first thought would be to get out of the way of a wayward pitch. If he was leaning back, he would never have a chance.
