The Catch (7 page)

Darius wasn't through. With two out and one on in the bottom of the tenth, he climbed the fence to rob Fritz Benson of a walk-off homer. Carson retired the last Blue, so the Runners won 3–2 and Darius had his biggest game ever for the team. It was extra sweet for him, too, since he had grown up in LA and had a lot of friends in the stands.

“Wow,” I joked after Mel gave me the details. “I guess I better get back to work, or Darius will have my job.” Instead of smiling, she looked down at the floor for a second and then at Dad.

“Son,” he said without looking at me, “concussions take time for recovery. So there's a rule. You won't be able to play, or even practice, for at least six weeks. After that you need a doctor's okay.”

That just kind of hung in the air for a few seconds while I did a quick calculation in my aching head.

“That's almost the rest of the season!”

“Danny,” Mel said, putting her hand on my arm, “we're lucky to have you with us and to know you'll be okay. Baseball can wait.”

 

 

Over the next week I learned why the league had a concussion rule. I'd be feeling perfectly fine, desperate to start playing, when out of the blue my head would start spinning. Sometimes I'd get these bad headaches and my vision would blur. Once I puked. That first week I also learned something else, via email:

CHAPTER
18

D
espite all of the bad news, I didn't spend all my time moping around the house and feeling sorry for myself. And during this time I started finding out who my real friends were. As soon as I got back to Vegas, every guy on the team—even Darius—called me up or stopped by to wish me the best. Nice, considering I'd been putting myself ahead of the team and hurt myself in the process of showing off. (A fact not missed, by the way, by the media. Sports Center included the play in a collection of bloopers, hastening to add that I wasn't permanently hurt and they wished me the best.)

Nellie called the day after I heard from Mr. Strauss. When I told him what happened, he said, “Danny, do you really miss the spots thing?”

And the fact was, I didn't. It was more like a weight had been lifted and I could focus on baseball again. Except I couldn't play.

In the third week I stared going to practices. Coach Harris and Wash had called together to tell me they wanted me to hang with the team while I was mending. And it was great. Guys kept coming up to me that first day to say, “Hey, we missed you.” No one said anything about spots or my dumb move in LA, even though I would have been an easy target.

The second practice I went to, Coach came over and said, “Someone wants to meet you.” It was the white-haired guy who came to watch us sometimes. Today I noticed the Oakleys and the Rolex.

“Well, Danny Manuel,” he said without smiling. “The face of Ocelot.”

“Not any more, Mr. Mancini.”

“Well, you're better off.”

I nodded.

“Look, it's a good lesson to learn while you're young. Choose your friends carefully. Choose people you can trust.”

“Mr. Mancini—”

“Call me Pop.”

“Pop, I'm sorry. Coach Washington said you wouldn't like the Ocelot thing, but I was thinking just about me . . . I just . . .” I felt like such a jerk. Pop was obviously a straight shooter, but somehow I'd been seduced by Ocelot. Strauss had dropped me the minute I was out of commission.

“Don't worry about it, Danny. And you did give us some thrills this year. I've seen a lot of baseball, and you've got talent. Talent and something else. Sometimes you almost seem to see what's happening before the ball's in play.”

“Except for that one time,” I said. That tickled Mancini. He laughed hard for a few seconds.

“Anyway,” he said finally, “stop into my store sometime. I might have some work for you. That spotted stuff is making me a small fortune.”

 

 

Meeting Pop was cool, but the best thing about those practices? It was hanging with Wash. I learned more about baseball in those four weeks than I had in the seventeen years before. All that time I'd been working on my physical skills, trying to show my talent. But Wash showed me that, as far as the
game
goes, I was still a rookie.

Wash taught me about pitching—what pitches worked in certain situations. He showed me what Coach was thinking when he positioned the fielders and where to hit the ball when there were guys on base with outs to spend. He was full of sayings. One of his favorites was, “The best is the enemy of the good.”

“Like your famous catch,” he explained. “That was the best. But going for it was not a good idea from a game standpoint. You usually try for a play you are confident you can execute and get acceptable results. Don't count on miracles; they don't happen often enough.”

By week five I was traveling with the team to games. They let me warm up, but I wasn't allowed to run hard or even slide, and I wasn't allowed in the batting cage. Still, it felt good to wear the uniform again. By now I'd figured out that when my six weeks were up, we'd have only one tournament left. It would be right here in Vegas—a weeklong playoff among the six best teams in our association. It was our World Series.

My six-week injury suspension ended four days before the tournament started. The doctor cleared me to take batting practice and run a little, but no sliding.

“With your power,” Nellie joked. “Why slide anyway?” I laughed. We both knew my “power” was nowhere near Nellie's.

I was talking to Darius pretty regularly now. I did know some things about fielding center, and he seemed grateful for advice. At one point I actually asked him about Kayla, who had stopped calling or writing me after that last email.

“We're history,” Darius said. “That girl was just a jersey chaser, you know? Not really into me. Last I heard she was seeing some DJ in LA.”

When the tournament started, even though I was theoretically cleared to play, I wasn't in the starting lineup. Coach was honest with me.

“Danny,” he said, “you have a future in this game if you want it. I know to someone your age, it seems like now is all there is. But I'm not going to risk your future by playing you before you're really healthy.” Then he winked at me. “Unless it's the only way we can win.”

CHAPTER
19

A
s the tournament unfolded, it didn't look like my services would be needed. Frankly, we cruised. Our hitters were hitting. Our pitchers were pitching. We were the team we really could be. (Without me, I couldn't help but notice.)

Wash, sitting next to me on the bench, said at one point, “You know, you coach so guys can play like this. But when they do, you feel kind of unnecessary.” By the weekend we knew we'd have a shot at the championship. Standing in our way were our old rivals, the Desert Eagles of Phoenix.

On Saturday, we kicked Eagle butt—or tail. Darius was the star, along with Carson. While our pitcher scattered six hits—one run scored on an error—Darius drove in three runs, stole two bases, and reached base on every at bat. That's just the way the week had gone for us. We beat the Eagles 6–1.

Sunday afternoon we were just as good, but we weren't lucky. Jonas pitched well, but every time an Eagle made contact with the ball it went someplace our fielders weren't. I heard some language from Wash that was new to me.

In the bottom of the ninth we were down one run. With two outs, we had a guy on second and Darius at the plate. Darius was hot this week, so we liked our chances, and sure enough, he absolutely ripped a line drive to left. Well, almost to left. The Eagle shortstop made a twisting leap and somehow came down with the ball in his glove. Game over.

All week I'd been in the dugout, keeping score. I thought just maybe Coach would start me in the last game, but no such luck. During the break Coach didn't say much, and he really didn't need to. We knew the Eagles; we just had to execute.

Which we did. At first. Darius walked and stole second. That was becoming like a stock play. We knew he had to be setting some kind of record for steals. Gus flew to right, and Darius made it to third on the sacrifice. Nellie singled him in before Sammy grounded into a double play.

Carson was pitching, of course. I suppose I could say something more about that; sometimes you heard grumbles about his dad's influence and all. But he really was our best pitcher, and tonight he looked it. Nobody touched him until the third inning, but their number-eight hitter touched him roughly then, clearing the fence by a good twenty yards.

The bottom of the third looked good for us. We had two on with no one out. Then Gus fanned, and Nellie hit into a double play.

Sammy's leadoff homer in the fourth inning put us ahead, but suddenly our hitters seemed to go to sleep. Of the next seven hitters, four struck out, one walked, and the rest grounded or popped up to the infield. Fortunately, the Eagles weren't taking advantage. Carson kept them scoreless through the same stretch.

Sammy doubled in the eighth, and Trip walked. Trip got doubled off by the next hitter. But Zack tripled, and the Runners went into the ninth with a 3–1 lead.

The first Eagles hitter in the ninth hit a screamer to center, over Darius's head. Darius started back but suddenly grabbed his leg and crumpled to the ground. Sammy streaked to the ball and managed to get it back in, but the Eagles hitter was standing on third base.

Coach, trainers, and the rest of the team on the field ran to Darius, who was rocking in pain, holding his right leg. Everyone hoped it was a cramp, but no one could know at this point. A hamstring? A knee? It was pretty clear Darius couldn't continue. After about five minutes Nellie and Sammy supported Darius as he hopped off the field.

Coach looked up and down the bench and finally said, “Danny, you're in. No rough stuff, understood?”

CHAPTER
20

I
maybe should have been thinking, Y
eah! This is my big chance!
But I wasn't. The thing in the front of my mind was simply
Don't screw up!
That's what injuries do. They sow doubt where it wasn't growing before.

I had a job to do, though, and sure enough the next batter hit a fly to deep center. It wasn't the kind of ball I'd ever worried about before. It was high in the air, not far enough to leave the park, but I was almost shaking as I tried to let instinct take over and
just get it
.

And I did. The Eagles' base runner went home, of course. The crowd yelled, and I thought,
Wow, the Eagles have a lot of fans for an away game
. But the cheering kept up after he was in the dugout. I looked around and finally realized that it was me they were cheering for. Some of them were waving spotted towels, and I could hear people yelling my name and chanting, “Danny's back!”

It actually choked me up a little. I just felt grateful—for health, for the fun of baseball.