“I can’t believe she’s still single,” I said, being a big brother and giving him a hard time.
That shot got me a glare in response.
“What does she want?” I asked.
“How would I know? We aren’t dating anymore,” Phil complained as he uncorked some heat.
“Dude, take it easy. Save it for the game,” Johan, his catcher, complained.
“I thought you were dating Lisa, anyway,” Phil said.
“Jill’s too young for me,” I said to deflect this conversation.
Believe me, Jill didn’t
Phil tried to throw a curveball, but it didn’t break. I took a moment to show him what he was doing wrong. He only needed a minor adjustment. When he threw it again, it snapped off nicely.
“It’s almost like you know what you’re doing,” my brat of a little brother said.
“You need to listen to your elders,” Johan said to defend me.
Phil gave me a knife-like smile, quick and darting.
“Emphasis on ‘elders,’” Phil quipped, and then he got serious. “Do you think I should get back together with Jill?”
That voice in my head started up again. It had some witty comebacks, but I could tell my brother was serious.
“I thought you were a ‘stupid boy’ when you broke up with her. She’s finding her way and made a mistake. I don’t think she fully realized that our warnings about how she looked would end up getting your butt kicked. Word is that she’s turned down every guy who’s asked her out,” I said.
“I was thinking the same thing.”
“Really?” I asked with an expression of wonder and surprise.
Johan about gave me away when he snorted at my act.
“So, it works, then?” I asked.
“What works?” Phil asked, confused.
“My Jedi mind trick. I’ve finally gotten you in sync with my thinking,” I said seriously.
“Bite me,” Phil said, not amused in the least.
“All I can say is, you’d better get to her before I talk to her. I would hate for you to play ‘what if?’ later.”
“You said she was too young for you.”
“Have you seen her? She could pass for twenty-one, easy.”
“Out. Get out before I have to beat your butt,” Phil said.
I smiled because my day was almost complete. I could check off tormenting my little brother from my daily to-do list.
◊◊◊
After the rain this morning, it had turned into a beautiful spring day, perfect for playing baseball. The crowd reflected that: for a Tuesday afternoon game, we had about eighty percent of the seats filled. As I took center field to start the game, I looked behind me and saw a handful of major-league scouts and the coaches from Oklahoma. I tipped my cap and got ready to play.
Moose signaled for me to move to shallow center field because their leadoff hitter was a small quick kid who didn’t have much pop in his bat. I watched my brother settle in to pitch, and he looked nervous. I remembered the first time I pitched a varsity game and could sympathize.
On the first pitch, he broke out his curveball. I honestly expected him to overthrow it, but smiled when it broke like he wanted it to. It surprised the kid at bat, and when he saw it drop into the strike zone, he took a half-hearted hack at it. Somehow, he connected, but hit a high lazy pop-up right to me. Phil was all smiles as I threw him the ball.
It seemed to relax him, and Phil began to throw his game. He was smart because he listened to the calls Tim made behind home plate and simply threw what he was asked for. Tim had caught long enough that he had a feel for the pitch and location needed to keep the batter guessing. With Tim’s help, Phil got out of the first inning unscathed.
When we came up, the St. Joe pitcher was having the opposite kind of day. Ty hit the first pitch up the middle for a base hit, Bryan battled his way to a walk, and Wolf hit a double to score the first two batters. When I came up, their guy was rattled.
I stepped into the box, and the crowd got loud with their support. The pitcher looked around, and from his expression, he had gone from rattled to unnerved. I was ready when he uncorked a wild pitch that was actually behind me, which allowed Wolf to take third.
The umpire was mindful that I’d been hit eight times in the five games I’d played. He warned each bench that if someone got plunked with a pitch, the pitcher and head coach would be headed to the showers.
I didn’t expect the second pitch to come straight for my head. I dropped to my butt to avoid getting beaned. The pitcher was either a great actor or truly sorry. He convinced the umpire that it was an accident.
By now, I was starting to get mad. I’d been hit too many times to not begin to take it personally. When you considered that both teams together had only had one person hit by a pitch, you began to figure out the other teams were trying to send a message.
On the next pitch, karma turned into a bitch for the kid. He grooved a high outside fastball in hope that I would chase it. It was the first pitch that hadn’t been thrown in my direction, so I ripped my bat through the zone and crushed it.
“Well, I think you got all of that one,” their catcher said.
