Bases Loaded (4 page)

“I know, I just thought I would ask, since you can probably see better from up here on the pitcher's mound,” Graham said. “Plus, it makes the batter think we're doing something sneaky when I come out here.”

“Let's go,” yelled the ump.

“Okay, okay,” Graham said, smiling. “Smile like we have something up our sleeves,” he whispered to me before he walked back to the plate.

I tried to smile, but it was hard. For some reason, if I try to smile when I don't feel like smiling, it always comes out weird. Graham got down behind the plate and gave me a sign for a curveball or something. I shook my head and waited for the fastball sign. Then something broke my concentration.

“Are you all right, Raymond?” I heard my mom yell, standing up in the bleachers. “You look like you don't feel well!” My dad pulled her down to her seat.

Oh man,
I thought.
I knew my fake smile looked weird.
I stopped smiling and gave a little thumbs-up to my mom. She smiled, and everything was back to normal.

My first two pitches to the next batter were really bad, but he swung at both of them. His coach yelled at him to swing at only the good ones. Finally, I got one over the plate, and the batter watched it fly by without swinging.

“Strike three!” the ump called, sending the kid to his dugout.

The next guy hit a hard line drive right to our shortstop, who caught the ball for the last out.

“Yes!” I hissed under my breath. “Three up, three down. No problem.” Things were looking good.

“THAT WAS GREAT
work in the field, boys. Now we need some hits!” Coach Parker told us. Then he walked out of the dugout and stood in front of the bleachers. “Could I get a volunteer to help coach first base?” he asked the crowd. Zach's dad usually helps coach, but with Zach out, he wasn't there. All the parents looked around at each other, but no one raised a hand.

“I'll do it!” came a scratchy voice from the back of the stands. It sounded like Gramps. I stood up and looked back. Not only did it sound like Gramps, it
was
Gramps.

“Nice, your grandpa's going to help. I love that old dude,” Graham said.

“Yeah, me too,” I agreed. “It's just that you never know what he's going to say or do.”

“I know.” Graham grinned. “That's why I like him.”

Gramps looked excited to help. He had told me a zillion stories about when he played baseball back in the olden days.

“Hi, Gramps,” I said as he came around the fence.

“That's ‘Coach' to you, sonny,” he said, passing me. He grabbed a hat from the bench and adjusted it to fit his bald head.

“Hey, that's my hat,” Kevin complained. He had just set his hat down to put on a batting helmet. Gramps didn't answer and walked straight out to coach first base.

The umpire got back into position behind the catcher.

“Batter up.”

Kevin walked up to the plate, took a few practice swings, and waited for the throw. He swung and hit the first pitch. The third baseman threw the ball. It was close.

“Out!” came the official call.

“What do you mean, out?” Gramps argued. “He was safe! What's wrong with you? Did you even see the play?”

“Sir, the runner was out. Play ball!”

Gramps said some things under his breath and returned to his spot by first base.

I was up next and strolled to the plate confidently. I knew I could hit off this pitcher. I let the first pitch go by.

“Strike one,” the ump called out.

“Are you blind? That was in the dirt!” Gramps began again. “How much is this other team paying you to make calls like that?”

“Time-out,” the umpire announced, raising his hands in the air. He walked up to Gramps and removed his mask. “Listen, sir,” he said, “please let me call the game, and let the kids have fun.”

“How can they have fun if you're giving the game away to the other team?” Gramps shouted. By then Coach Parker had run up and pushed his big body between Gramps and the ump. I couldn't tell what he said, but they all calmed down and went back to their spots. Now Gramps started hounding the pitcher. He said things like, “This guy can't throw!” and “Who taught you to pitch, your grandma?” It must have worked, because the next four pitches were all balls.

I walked to first base.

“Okay, I want you to steal second on this pitch,” Gramps said. “Just listen for my signal. I'll tell you when to run.”

I took a couple of steps off first base and waited for Gramps's signal. As the pitcher started his windup, I heard the loudest, most terrifying noise I have ever heard in my life. It was Gramps.

“RUUUNNNN!!!” he screeched. His voice was cracking, and he sounded like he was being attacked by killer bees. It was so scary that I fell to the ground trying to get away. He kept screaming. “RUN! NOW! RUN!” I finally made it back to my feet and started running. The catcher threw the ball. I knew it would be close, so I slid.

“OUT!” screamed the ump.

“What? He was safe!” Gramps screamed back.

The ump threw off his mask and ran up to Gramps. They both yelled at each other, and then the ump pointed to the bleachers. I couldn't believe it. He had just kicked my grandpa out of the game. Gramps headed off the field. As he passed the bench he took off his hat and stuck it back on Kevin's head. Then he found his spot back on the bleachers.

“Oooh, gross, old man sweat,” Kevin said. He took off the hat and wiped his head with his arm.

Gramps sat back down next to my mom and dad. He was smiling and talking to the other parents. It was like nothing had even happened. Graham came and sat by me on the bench.

“See,” he said. “That was great! Your grandpa is the best!”

I opened my Gatorade and took a swig. Just then Graham grabbed my shoulder to pull himself up, making me spill my Gatorade all over the front of my pants.

“She's here!” Graham said. “Kelly's here! And Heidi and Diane are walking up the sidewalk. This game is just getting better!”

I could feel the cold Gatorade in my lap. “Hey, you made me spill my Gatorade all over my pants! And it's bright yellow!”

“Oh, sorry, Raymond,” Graham said. “It was an accident—whoa, look at your pants.”

“I know, I know. Everyone's going to think I . . . you know,” I said.

“No, they won't. No one will even notice. You'll be fine,” Graham said. Heidi, Diane, and Kelly walked up to the fence.

Graham tipped his hat to the girls like they do in cowboy movies. “Enjoying the game?” I turned my back to them so they wouldn't see my pants.

“Hi, Raymond,” Heidi said.

“Oh, hey, Heidi,” I answered, hoping she wouldn't think I was weird for not turning toward them.

“Hey, Raymond, don't be weird. Come over here,” Graham said. He grabbed my shoulders and turned me around. Diane started laughing.

“Back on the field, everyone,” Coach interrupted. “Same positions as last inning. Raymond, get on the mound.” He tossed me a ball.

I turned and walked out of the dugout and toward the pitcher's mound. Graham hurried up to the plate, and we started warming up. I didn't hear any laughing from the other team, so I figured they couldn't see the bright yellow wet spot on the front of my pants. Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw someone waving from the bleachers. I looked up and saw my mom trying to get my attention. I gave her a little wave and went back to warming up. After another throw I heard a
“Psst!”
from the same place. I looked over and could tell my mom was trying to say something.

“What?”
I whispered to her. I couldn't tell what she was trying to say. Now she was mouthing it even bigger, with her mouth stretched open as far as it could go.

I looked away and tried to ignore her. I figured I could talk to her between innings.

“She's saying
bathroom
! She wants to know if you need to go to the
bathroom
!” Gramps yelled. “Look at your pants!”

Everyone in the whole place started laughing.

“IT'S GATORADE!” I yelled. “I SPILLED GATORADE!”

“Yeah, sure it is,” I heard someone say from the Tigers' dugout. Then they all cracked up even louder.

“All right, batter up,” the ump yelled, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. It seemed that my little wet pants episode was all the Tigers needed to get their confidence back. The first six batters hit the ball, and in no time it was 4–0 in their favor. Coach pulled me from the mound and put in Kevin. They got one more hit, and then we were able to get the next three batters out.

The game got worse from there. It was the bottom of the last inning, and we were down by five runs. There were two outs, and I was up to bat. The bases were loaded. A home run would bring us within one run. I was feeling gross. My pants were yellow, people were still laughing at me, and worst of all, the girl I really liked was sitting in the stands watching this whole disaster. I took a deep breath and stepped up to the plate. If there was ever a time I needed a hit, it was now. I dug in my back foot and pulled the bat back.

The first pitch was perfect. I could tell as soon as it left the pitcher's hand. I whipped the bat around as fast as I could and . . . POW! I smacked the ball. It went soaring through the air toward right field. I started jogging to first base, knowing that this would be my first grand slam ever. Then some words that ruined the moment rang through the air.

There were a lot of
ooohs
coming from our bleachers and dugout.

“Nice hit, Raymond,” Coach said, patting me on the helmet as I passed by on my way back to the plate. “Straighten it out this time.”

I picked up the bat and took my place at the plate again. The next pitch was really high. I started to swing but caught myself.

“Ball!”

The next pitch came in perfect. I swung so hard I almost fell over. Unfortunately, I missed the ball.

“Strike two!” the ump called.

I was getting nervous. One more strike and I'd be out.

The next ball looked perfect too, but I didn't swing.

“Outside. Ball. Two balls, two strikes.” The ump held up two fingers on both hands. The Tigers' coach complained that it should have been a strike. Then he asked for a time-out and walked up to talk to the pitcher. Coach Parker came over to talk to me too.

“Hey, bud. Be a swinger in there. If it's close, give it a ride. You know you can do it.” There was something about Coach Parker that made me think he was always right about baseball stuff. So I stood there confidently waiting for the next pitch as both coaches went back to their spots.

The next pitch was almost in the ground. I let it go for ball three. One more pitch. I was really nervous. I could hear our fans cheering me on— Mom, Dad, Diane, Heidi, and Kelly. Gramps had a mouthful of nachos and was screaming something I couldn't understand. Whatever it was, I'm sure it was good.

“Last pitch. If it's close, you've got to be swinging, bud,” Coach yelled out. As the pitcher threw the last ball, it looked a little high, but something inside told me to swing. I swung as hard as I could. This time I hit the ball. It flew straight toward center field. There was no way this was going to be a foul ball.

I threw the bat down and raced past first base and toward second. The center fielder yelled, “got it,” as the ball sailed toward him. I rounded first base figuring I was going to be out. Luckily, the ball hit his mitt and fell to the ground. As I got to second base I heard Coach Parker yelling to keep going.