Hit & Miss (15 page)

Derek led off the third with his second hit of the day, a clean single to center. He stole second on the first pitch to Jeff, who let the strike go by so Derek could get into scoring position. But that strike led to another, and another, for the first out—and Derek was still at second.

Isaiah hit a tapper to second, and Derek took off for third. He made it safely, but now there were two outs—and Dave was coming to the plate.

“Get into one, big guy!” Derek yelled, clapping his hands.

Dave nodded back at him. He'd heard. But could he come through in the clutch?

The first two pitches came in high and over the plate. Dave swung through one and let the other go for a second strike.

Derek winced. “Keep it level, Dave! Remember—level swing!” He sure hoped Dave was listening . . . .

The ball came in low—in fact, it was in the dirt—and Dave couldn't help himself. He swung, with his old, long, loopy swing—and sent the ball far over the left fielder's head.

“YESSS!
Home run!
” Derek screamed, looping his arm in a circle as he trotted home in front of Dave, who seemed to be positively floating around the bases.

3–2, Red Sox!

But not for long. In the bottom of the third, the Yanks came roaring back, scoring three runs off Jeff, who wasn't having his best game. He continued to walk people, and they hit him hard whenever he threw one over the plate.

Derek made two great plays at shortstop to save at least a couple more runs, but by the end of the third inning, it was 5–3, Yanks.

The game stayed that way for a while. Then, in the top of the sixth, the Red Sox took the lead again. Derek, with his third hit in four at bats, singled home Cubby and Jason. Two outs later Dave hit a line drive double to left,
and Derek raced across the plate for the team's sixth run!

Buster followed with a strikeout to end the inning, but now the mighty Yankees were up against the wall, facing imminent defeat. Derek couldn't help feeling that victory was within their grasp. Just three more outs!

Just three . . . more . . .

It was soon clear that the Yankees were not going to go down without a fight. Their first hitter fought off six straight fastballs from Buster before lacing a double to right. The guy after him grounded out, but the next hitter smacked a long double, scoring the tying run.

Derek groaned, along with everyone else on his team and all their fans in the stands. Suddenly the tide had turned once more. On the mound Buster slumped, his head down, looking like he'd already lost the game.

“Come on, man!” Derek told him, running over to give his friend some encouragement when he needed it most. “You've got this. These guys can't touch you. Just reach back and throw it right by them!”

Buster didn't look Derek in the eye, but he did nod his head. And sure enough, he blazed three fastballs past the next hitter for the second out.

One more out, and they'd go to extra innings. There would be no tie today, whatever happened. It was only two in the afternoon on this warm, sunny Saturday in the middle of June. Plenty of time for lots of extra innings.

Somebody was going to win this game, and Derek knew
that with one more out, their chances were back to fifty-fifty again.

But the next batter walked, as Buster seemed to lose both the plate and his confidence. A wild pitch sent both runners flying, and now it was second and third.

Coach Kaufman told Buster to intentionally walk the next hitter, to load the bases and have a force play at any base. That way no tag would be necessary—just touching the base would get the third out of the inning.

Buster walked the hitter, and the next man came up. Derek set himself, ready to grab even the fastest line drive. “Hit it here,” he murmured. “Come on, right here.” He pounded the pocket of his mitt, feeling sure that the ball would come his way . . . .

But it didn't. It went rocketing into center field, where Cubby lay out trying to make the diving catch—but couldn't. The Yankees runner came home from third base with the winning run.

The game and the
season
were over.

Derek sank to his knees. He could feel tears spring to his eyes. They'd been so close! Soooo close.

Looking up, he saw that Buster was sitting on the mound, staring at his shoes. Derek realized he must feel worse than anybody else.

Cubby, Miles, and Vijay were walking in from the outfield, watching the Yankees as they celebrated, mobbing one another along the first-base line.

Coach Kaufman gathered them all together. “All right, guys. I know you feel bad. I feel the same way.”

Derek could see that it was true. Coach Kaufman really did care—the sight of his team so downcast had brought him to the brink of tears too. “But you played a great game. You showed everyone what you were made of. I'm proud of each and every one of you, and you should be proud too.”

Maybe on another team, in a moment like this someone would have said something bad, like “This stinks,” or “So-and-so messed up.” But nobody on this team was going to blame someone else for the loss. They'd gotten this far as a team, and they'd gone down as a team.

When it was all over, and the two teams had finished shaking hands, it was time for the league commissioner to hand out the trophies to the champs.

This part was hard for Derek to watch. He felt such a letdown, after all his hopes and dreams of a championship had so quickly vanished.

Looking up, he was surprised to see his mom by his side. “Hey, old man,” she said, giving him a kiss on the head. “Great game today. You guys played your hearts out.”

Derek didn't answer. He just stared at the Yankees, holding their trophies high.

“Look, I know you feel bad right now,” she said, squatting down by his side and taking his arm. “Just remember, it's a long road you're on. This is just one tiny stumble,
and believe me, there'll be plenty more of them. If you want to get where you need to go, it's just part of the journey. Better learn to be okay with it.”

“How?” Derek asked in a plaintive voice. “What am I supposed to do? Enjoy losing?”

“Of course not,” his mom said. “But hey, think about your whole season. Your team made the playoffs. That's the first time ever you've made a playoff!”

Derek shrugged, and nodded. He had to admit, that much was true. It was progress, for sure.

“And you guys nearly won today. PS, you went three for four in your first playoff game. That gives you a .750 playoff batting average. Not too shabby.”

Derek had to laugh, as sad as he was feeling. His mom, always with the facts and figures.

“You hit above .350 for the season, old man,” she went on. “And you guys had fantastic team spirit. Some great wins this season. Great wins. And what did you make, one error at short all year?”

Derek nodded, smiling now for real. His mom had a way of always seeing the bright side—and making everyone around her see it too.

“Not for nothing, don't forget that last year you didn't even get to play short most of the time!
And
you got to pitch a bunch this year too. Not too shabby.”

“Okay, okay,” Derek told her, giving her a hug and a kiss. “I get the point.”

“I'm not done yet,” she said. “You had a heck of a year, and I just want you to get it. An A-minus average . . . a new friend . . . Plus, you learned a couple hard lessons, right? Like how to be a role model for your sister, for instance. And how to think before you act. Am I right?”

“You're right, Mom,” Derek said. “As usual.” He cracked a teasing smile, and she laughed and kissed him on the head again.

“If you want to achieve your big dreams someday, Derek, you can't let one loss get you down.” She clapped him on the back. “Okay, old man, enough's enough. Go see your friends. Oh, by the way, I hear you're playing golf tomorrow, huh?”

Derek's smile vanished. “Oh. Right. I kind of forgot . . . . I don't really feel like it anymore, honestly,” he said.

“Never mind,” she said sternly. “You did tell your friend you'd go, didn't you?”

“Yeah, but now . . .”

“Now you don't feel like it? So, you're just going to do whatever you feel like, even if it hurts your new friend's feelings?”

Derek hadn't thought of that, but of course it would totally hurt Dave's feelings if Derek didn't go. “I guess you're right.” Dave had supported him when he'd been in his batting slump, and Derek was going to return the favor by cheering on Dave's big drives and long putts.

“Listen, old man,” his mom said, “get yourself out on
that golf course tomorrow and have fun. Hit a ball hard. Compete! You
like
competing, remember?”

Derek laughed. There was no doubt about it, he was as competitive as anyone else he knew—even in his own family.

“And besides, taking your frustrations out on a golf ball might make you feel better.”

They walked over to where Dave was standing with Chase and Derek's dad, who was holding Sharlee by the hand.

“Great game, old man,” his dad said, shaking his hand solemnly. “You're really getting somewhere. Lots of big improvements—especially up here.” He pointed to his head. “Proud of you, boy.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Derek said. “And next year, remember—you're coaching. Right?”

“Me? Coaching?” Mr. Jeter frowned. “Did I say that?”

“YESSS!” Dave and Derek both shouted.

“He's my witness,” Derek said, pointing to Dave.

“I'll tell you what,” Derek's dad said. “I'll coach you boys next season . . .”

“Yesss!” Derek hissed.

“
If . . . IF
 . . .”

“If what!”

“If Mr. Bradway will be my assistant coach.”

“Me?” Chase looked like he'd been taken totally by surprise. “Well . . . Why . . .”

“Do it, Chase!” Dave urged. Turning to Derek and Mr. Jeter, he added, “Chase was a star baseball player in high school, you know!”

“Say yes!” Derek begged. He had to admit, people were full of surprises and hidden talents. At any rate, Chase sure was.

“Well . . . I suppose I will if you will, Mr. Jeter. But you'd better call me Chase. After all, everyone else does.”

“Hmm. Well, in that case, you'd better call me Charles,” said Derek's dad.

The two men shook hands on it, and Dave and Derek leapt into the air with excitement, and high-fived.

“What are you two so happy about?” Vijay said, coming up to them. When they told him, he was practically beside himself. “Wow! I sure hope I'm on the same team as you guys!” he said.

“Hey, Vijay, if I get a vote, you go where I go,” said Derek. “And that goes for you, too,” he told Dave.

“Like I said,” said Mrs. Jeter. “It's the Three Musketeers.”

“I've got to say, I'm impressed with myself.”

Dave laughed. “You've hit a few pretty good shots, my man,” he said. “That drive had to be a hundred and forty yards.” He lined up his drive and asked, “You having fun?”

“Man, am I ever!” Derek said. “It's kind of shocking, actually. On TV it looks like a total bore.”

“See? What did I tell you?”

“Yeah, but I thought, to have fun at golf, you have to be insanely good, like you. You sure you're only ten years old?”

“I'm not
that
good,” Dave said. “I've only won one tournament—last year back in Beverly Hills.”

“Hey, that's one more championship than I've got,” Derek pointed out.

“You're gonna get your share,” Dave said, looking at Derek and nodding slowly. “I see how you are. You're like me. You work and work and work at it, and you never give up on your dream.”

“That's it,” Derek agreed. “I guess we've got a lot in common.” He stepped back. “Your shot.”

He really had surprised himself today. As they drove on the ninth and final hole, Derek had played more than a handful of really good shots for a kid his age. He'd even sunk a couple of difficult putts. Of course, there were plenty of shots he'd hit terribly—or missed altogether. But he'd done well enough to want to try again and do better.

Dave, for his part, had been amazing—drives of more than a hundred and fifty yards, long putts that had gone into the hole or just to the rim, even an amazing iron shot from a hundred yards away that landed just a foot from the hole.

“Chase must be a fantastic coach,” Derek said.

“Yeah, he used to be on the pro tour, after he got out of the Special Forces.”

“Wow,” said Derek, impressed.

“Your dad's a pretty great coach too,” Dave said.

“Next year we're going to have an outstanding team, with the two of them on board, huh?”

“I can't wait,” Dave said.

“What? What? Did I just hear Jack Nicklaus say he can't wait for
baseball
season to start?”

“Oh, and Dave Winfield didn't just admit how much fun
golf
is?”

Derek watched as Dave sent another long shot right down the middle of the fairway. He knew right then that he would never be as good at it as Dave, but that was okay. Derek had discovered another sport he loved, one that he could enjoy for the rest of his life, even if he never won a championship at it.

Even more important, he now had
two
best friends instead of just one—Vijay and Dave. And he was sure those friendships would last a lifetime too.

RED SOX OPENING DAY ROSTER

Cubby Katz—CF

Jason Rossini—2B

Derek Jeter—SS

Jeff Jacobson—P

Isaiah Martin—C

Dave Hennum—3B

Buster Murphy—1B

Vijay Patel—RF

Miles Kaufman—LF