“Safe!” the umpire yelled emphatically.
That brought out the boo-birds. I thought I was safe, but I wouldn’t have begrudged the umpire if he called me out. Making a call like that, with how hostile the crowd was … yep, I might have wimped out if I had to make that one. He would need security to make it to his car after the game.
“Bullshit!” the catcher yelled.
“Son,” the umpire warned.
I jumped up and grabbed the catcher before he got in the umpire’s face.
“Let your coach handle this. You don’t need to get kicked out,” I warned him.
His coach didn’t disappoint. He had an epic meltdown that had the crowd cheering. He did the whole scream in your face, get ejected, and then kick dirt on home plate routine. The only thing the coach missed was going to second base, pulling the bag out of the ground, and tossing it into center field. If I were their athletic director, their coach would have just earned himself a job for life.
Moose made sure we didn’t celebrate too much when I reached the dugout.
“This game isn’t over,” he predicted. “Focus on the next play. We can celebrate on the bus ride home.”
Our next three batters went down in order. In the bottom half of the inning, Pontiac managed to get a runner to third, and their pitcher came up. In high school ball, the pitcher was most often the best player on the team.
So, it wasn’t a surprise when he hit a sharp grounder to Ty at third. The ball all but ate him up, but Ty recovered and fired to first. It should have been the final out of the inning, but the pitcher legged it out and was safe, tying the game at one-all.
At that point, Moose decided Justin was done and brought in Bert to get the last out. I was happy when, on the first pitch, the batter hit a weak comebacker that Bert fielded cleanly and tossed to Wolf at first to end the inning. This game was going into extra innings.
In our half of the eighth, we advanced a runner to third, only to strand him there. Bert became shaky in the bottom half and loaded the bases with one out. I held my breath when their last batter made contact, but he hit into a double play to end the inning.
In the top of the ninth, Johan pinch-hit for Bert. He shocked Pontiac when he bunted to get on base. Up next was Ty. Our leadoff hitter worked the count full and drew a walk when he held up on a close ball outside. Bryan Callahan hit a screaming one-hopper right at the second baseman. They doubled up Ty, who thought the ball would get through.
We’d been taught to be aggressive on the base paths, so the guys all congratulated Ty when he came to the dugout. The play had allowed Johan to make it to third. With two outs and a runner at third, Wolf came up to bat. I was up next, so we knew he would get pitched to.
On the first pitch, the ball got away from the pitcher and clipped Wolf on the forearm. You could tell it stung, but it was obviously an accident, so Wolf took his base without making too many comments.
I was now up, and the crowd made their presence known again. I absolutely loved this. The game was in extra innings, there was a hostile crowd calling for us to go down, and we had runners at first and third.
The catcher took one look at me and trotted out to have a word with his pitcher. Their little conference drew their assistant coach, who’d replaced the head coach, to the mound as well.
“Think they’re deciding whether to walk me?” I asked the umpire.
“That’s what I’d do,” he admitted.
He finally strolled out to break up their strategy session.
I was shocked when they decided to pitch to me. So much so that I missed the first pitch, which was a perfect fastball to hit. That made me mad at myself.
“Focus,” I hissed.
Both the umpire and catcher chuckled, which was the wrong thing to do. I stepped out of the box and let my anger fuel me. Taking a deep breath, I got back in the box, determined to win this game.
I managed to foul off the following thirteen pitches. I had to give the pitcher credit for fooling me several times. But with my quick hands, I managed to get a piece of the ball to keep myself alive each time.
The next three pitches weren’t even close, so I let them go to fill the count. It was do-or-die time. As soon as the pitcher threw the ball, I could tell he’d made a mistake. Either that, or he imagined he would fool me.
It was a waist-high fastball right down the center of the plate. I jerked my bat through the zone and made solid contact. The ball rocketed to dead center field. I impressed myself when it cleared the scoreboard. That would have been a home run in any stadium.
I felt bad for the pitcher because he’d played a hell of a game. His feeling of devastation showed on his face as I rounded the bases. Johan and Wolf greeted me at home. They both looked relieved that we’d taken a commanding 4–1 lead.
Brock was up next. Their pitcher showed why he was their leader by striking Brock out.
