Force Out (19 page)

It was as though his mom blamed Joey's dad for whatever she felt was wrong, and not Joey. He hated to admit it, but he preferred it that way and presumed his father could take it; otherwise he would have married someone else.

That night the wind cleared away the clouds. In the morning, the sun shone down, promising some real heat later on. Joey's team won easily in the semifinal game. At a festive picnic organized by Coach Weaver's wife and a couple of the players' parents, the team ate hot dogs together and then marched over to the baseball diamond as a group.

Joey held his head high and waved when he spotted Leah in the stands with her blond friend Lucy.

“You're lucky, bro.” Zach followed his gaze, then slapped him on the back. “You got it all.”

Coach Weaver sent the team out to warm up but asked Joey and Zach for a word in the dugout.

“Have a seat, boys.” Coach Weaver took out his clipboard. “We need to talk.”

Zach and Joey looked at each other. As was typical, Zach wore an easy expression, pleasant, almost bored, not a care in the world. Joey, on the other hand, ground the molars in the back of his mouth and felt a slight queasiness in his stomach.

“I want you to see these numbers.” Coach flipped some pages and held out the clipboard for them to see. “Pretty nice, right?”

They were the batting stats from the tournament. Joey's and Zach's names were numbers two and three. On top was Jack Atkins.

“Not nice enough,” Zach said.

“The three of you are so close, it'd be hard to make a call as to who's the best.”

“Well,
he's
on top of us both.” Zach spoke as if he were commenting on a weather forecast. “And Joey's got me beat, so I guess I'm odd man out right now.”

“You see that man up there?” Coach Weaver pointed toward the top of the bleachers behind the East Side team's dugout. A lone man sat with a pair of binoculars, scanning the field. He was a big man, as big as Mr. Kratz but without the beard. Longish silver hair flowed from beneath a dark green baseball cap. Beside him was a briefcase and a small cooler. His legs looked like enormous blobs of dough spilling out from a pair of khaki shorts.

“That's Coach Tucker from Center State select. He wants hitters. He knows half the kids here can play in the field. What makes a great travel team are bats, and you two have the best bats in this tournament.”

“But Atkins has better numbers than us,” Joey said.

“Atkins doesn't have to hit against himself, though, does he?” Coach Weaver nodded toward the other team. “Coach Tucker knows that. He's been doing this for a while. I know how he thinks, but he doesn't just want hitters, he wants hitters who can perform in a big game.”

Joey thought of his own meltdown during the championship game
last
weekend and cringed.

“You mean like, today.” Zach stared at Coach Tucker in a trance.

“This is what I want you two to think about.” Coach Weaver lowered his voice and looked at them hard. “We win this thing and I don't care whose numbers are where. I'm telling you that with these numbers, you two are both going to get a tryout with select. It's about winning. Trust me, you guys win this thing, you're both going to get the chance you're looking for.”

Joey reset his jaw and grit his teeth again. Zach's lips curled into an easy smile and he held up two fingers to Joey.

“
V
for victory, right?”

Joey held up his own
V
.

“Good,” Coach Weaver said. “Let's go make Atkins wish he'd stayed home.”

Coach Weaver left them alone in the dugout. Zach wore a tight expression Joey had never seen before.

“What's wrong?” Joey asked. “Don't even tell me
you're
gonna worry. I worry enough for us both.”

“I was just thinking about that hole in my swing,” Zach said.

Joey waved a hand. “Atkins has no way of knowing you have trouble with an inside pitch. You're a great hitter. You've hit well all season, and you're not going to stop now.”

“I know, but it's weird. Just
knowing
I've got this thing bugs me.”

“As long as you and me are the only ones who know about it, it's not a problem, so stop worrying.”

Zach's face relaxed. “You're right. Let's go.”

Joey's gum had gone stale, so when he stepped out of the dugout he took a sharp left toward the trash can and nearly knocked Butch Barrett onto his butt. Butch was obviously flustered. He began to hem and haw and he couldn't meet Joey's eyes.

“What are you doing?” Joey glared at him. “Listening?”

Butch regained his attitude and straightened his back. “What do I care what you two clowns are talking about? You're lucky you're even on this team. If Bryson Kelly didn't play the trombone, you'd be watching from the stands.”

Rage flooded through Joey. “If your dad wasn't the coach, you'd be . . . who knows where
you'd
be?”

The two of them faced off until Zach popped out of the dugout and laughed at them. “Let's go, guys. Save your dirty looks for the East Side pitcher.”

Joey spit his gum out, then turned and jogged out to his spot on first base. He ignored Butch, who now played on third, and concentrated hard on every ball. When they returned to the dugout, he thought about the hole in Zach's swing and about working with Coach Van Duyn. The session only added to Joey's confidence when he recalled Zach's dad, a former pro baseball player, throwing pitches to him and him blasting them out of the park. He also remembered his two home runs off Atkins yesterday. Joey looked over at Jack Atkins and wondered if the big pitcher had any special plans in mind. Then he wondered about himself.

He could hit, he'd proven that. The question was whether or not he could hit in a big game under pressure. He knew the great players in the game not only hit well under pressure, but that's when they hit their very best. Joey clenched his teeth.

Zach got things started, popping a single up over the shortstop's head. The second batter struck out, then Cole Price got hit by a pitch, bringing Joey up to the plate with two men on. Atkins's shaggy blond hair sprang from his cap like weeds around a mailbox, and he had to sweep it back and fix his cap every third or fourth pitch. The first pitch to Joey was high and outside. He let it go. The next one came low and inside with lots of mustard on it. He hit it foul.

The next pitch was a ball, then came a curve Joey nicked foul again. With a 2–2 count, Atkins looked like a mad scientist. Without sweeping his hair back, he went into his windup and threw so hard Joey heard the grunt as the ball came like a bullet right down the middle. Using Coach Van Duyn's new technique, Joey reared back, cocking his swing, and snapped his hips, arms, and wrists in that order.

CRACK.

Joey knew from the sound and the feel that it was gone, a three-run homer.

His teammates and the parents in the stands went wild. Joey loped around the bases and snuck a look up into the stands at the select coach before accepting the back slaps and high fives from his teammates.

Zach hugged him tight. “You and me, bro.”

Zach released him and held up a
V
.

Coach Weaver roved up and down the dugout with a clenched fist, growling, “You got this, boys. You
got
this.”

The team settled down. Joey sat next to Zach in the dugout and watched Atkins, impressed at how unfazed the pitcher seemed by his lackluster beginning. It didn't take long to see why. Atkins put the next two batters down in short order.

Joey and his team took the field. Coach Weaver had scheduled Price to pitch, but for some reason—maybe it was the quick 3–0 lead—he put Zach on the mound.

“You start it, Price will finish,” Coach Weaver told Zach.

“Come on, bro!” Joey screamed from first.

The East Side team could hit. By the time Zach finally got out of the inning, the score was 3–2. Atkins put the next three batters on Joey's team down. Zach stayed on the mound and came through. With bases loaded, Zach got two outs to close out the inning without giving up a run. Atkins showed no sign of weakness in the top of the third. He struck out the last two batters in the lineup before Zach stepped up. Then Zach hit a home run, making it 4–2 before the next batter struck out. In the bottom of the third, Zach struggled on the mound. Joey thought it was a mistake to leave him in with two runners on and his arm fading, but Coach Weaver kept him there.

It wasn't until Atkins blasted in a three-run homer of his own that Coach Weaver called time out and signaled for Price to come take over for Zach with the team now down 5–4.

Coach Weaver's eyes glowed and Joey heard him as he grabbed the new pitcher by the shoulders on the first base line before he took the mound. “You can do this, Cole. Forget about yesterday. I saved you for this moment, this game, these final innings!”

Price struggled, though, and Joey thought they might be cooked when the bases were loaded with only one out—a foul pop fly Joey scrambled and dove for, earning gasps and cheers. Then Price suddenly came to life. He put the next two batters down, and they got out of the inning still only one run down.

Joey stepped up to the plate in the top of the fourth. He looked up and winked at Leah. He grinned at Jack Atkins, but Atkins smiled just as wide.

Instead of coming up big, Joey struck out in four pitches.

He slammed the dirt with his bat on his way back to the dugout and avoided looking up in the stands. He burned inside. After all he'd been through, he was determined not to fall apart now. Reggie Jackson had more strikeouts than any player in baseball, but he also hit three home runs in a row to win the World Series. Big hitters struck out sometimes. He repeated those words in his head, over and over.

All he needed was another chance.

He didn't get it until the top of the sixth. East Side kept Atkins out on the mound, and Joey heard his own coaches talking about the pitch count and saying Atkins must be close to the end. Whatever the count, Zach nailed a line drive into left field and stood, hopping up and down, on second base. Atkins tucked his hair into his hat and sat the next two batters down.

Behind by one run and with Zach on second, Joey stepped up to the plate.

This was it.

All or nothing.

Win or go home.

Joey looked into the stands at his parents. Even Martin sat straight with his eyes glued to Joey. Leah wasn't far away, and she gripped the hand of her friend Lucy, who also leaned forward with her mouth pinched tight. He glanced over his shoulder at the select coach and saw the binoculars trained directly at him. Joey smiled nervously, then turned his attention to the batter's box.

He spit in his left hand and clapped it against his gloved right hand with the bat under his arm, then gripped its handle tight. He looked out at the mound and found Atkins's eyes. The pitcher glared at him and smirked. Joey stared right back and moistened his lips, holding back even the smallest hint of emotion. He swung his bat. It sliced the air so quickly it nearly whistled.

Into the box he stepped, setting his feet and twirling the bat in a circle with one hand before cocking it back, then moving his hands forward just a touch to ensure a greater cocking action the split second before his swing. Atkins wound up and in came the pitch. Joey coiled his muscles and his swing and let it fly.

POW.

The barrel of the bat smacked the ball and it was gone . . . but just foul outside the first base line.

There were some oohs and aahs from the stands, but the silence took over as the East Side coach called time-out and walked to the mound. The coach put his hands on Atkins's shoulders and talked quietly to him. The pitcher finally nodded that he understood, and the coach returned to the dugout.

Joey had no idea what the coach could have said, but he knew he had to push it from his mind. He did his best and stepped back into the box. The second pitch came low and inside. He swung and nicked it foul off the bat handle, an 0–2 count. The third pitch came to the same spot. Joey panicked, started to go after it, then checked his swing and he let it go, a ball. 1–2. He sighed with relief. The fourth pitch came so far to the inside Joey had to jump back to avoid getting hit, a 2–2 count.

He grit his teeth and gave Atkins a nasty sneer. Atkins just smiled. The fifth pitch came low and inside again, nothing worth swinging at. The count was 3–2. Joey stepped out, frustrated that Atkins suddenly couldn't throw a strike. He swung his bat on air again and a light went off in his head. He knew now what the coach had told Atkins during the time-out and he knew exactly what the pitcher was up to.

It wasn't that Atkins
couldn't
throw a strike, it's that he
wouldn't
. With Zach on base, and the monster hit that barely went foul, the East Side coach wanted to play it safe. He must have told Atkins to throw nothing but sketchy inside pitches. If Joey chose to swing at them, he'd get nothing more than the handle of the bat and a chip shot single or double at best.

But Joey
needed
a big hit, that game-winning home run, if he wanted to make his dreams come true. With a 3–2 count, he had to go for it all. If Atkins was going to throw for the inside of the plate, he'd be ready. He stepped into the box and readied his bat. Atkins wound up. Joey stepped back half a step. The pitch came, inside again, but with Joey's new stance he could swing hard and well and he connected with the meat of his bat.

BANG.

The ball rocketed up in the air and over the fence.

Joey's team went wild. He grinned and slapped them high fives until Zach jumped into his arms. They laughed together until Coach Weaver spoke in a quiet and serious voice.

“Okay, boys, good job, but now we got to play defense. This thing is far from over.”