Steal That Base! (3 page)

 

“And I work in fan services,” said Abby.

“Oh, I see,” the man said. “Sorry for bothering you.” He let us go past.

“No fair!” said the little girl.

“It's all right, Petunia,” her dad said. “They work for the team.”

“But it's not fair!” she said again. “They'll get the last two Spike bobbleheads. I just know it.”

“No, they won't, Petunia,” her father said.

“Show me your ticket, so I can see your seat number,” Abby said to the girl. “I'll make sure you get a Spike bobblehead.”

“Promise?” Petunia asked.

“Promise,” said Abby.

“You can believe it,” I added. “Abby and Spike are good friends.”

t's you!” said Wally when I got to the locker room. Several of the players were getting suited up for the game.

“Yeah. Sorry I'm late,” I said. I put my lunch in the team fridge. “Mom wanted to make me lunch, I had to take the dog for a walk, and the line outside was really long.”

“I'm just glad you're here,” said Wally. “I wasn't sure either of you boys would make it after that marathon last night.”

“You mean Dylan isn't here yet?”

Dylan had never been late before.

“His mother called and said he wasn't feeling well. Maybe he's just tired. I know I am.”

Maybe he got bit by that spider, I thought. Maybe he wasn't “sick.” Maybe I'd be working with Spider-
Boy
. . . That could be cool! Still, I hoped Dylan didn't feel too bad.

“I'll hold down the fort here,” said Wally. “You go help the Finches. I know you'd rather help the Pines, but we're in a jam.”

“No problem.”

“And here, take this. I was only able to get one,” said Wally. “You're here, so it's yours. At least now there won't be a fight over it.” Wally pulled a white box out of the traveling case and handed it to me.

“All right!” I guessed what it was right away. I slid out a Spike bobblehead and unrolled it from the Bubble Wrap. I gave the little porcupine head a tap and set it nodding. Awesome!

 

“Hey! Hey, Chad,” said Sammy Solaris. “Don't forget about my corn dogs before you go, buddy.”

I rewrapped the bobblehead and stowed it in my locker. “No problem,” I said. I fetched Sammy two corn dogs before every game.

“Do you ever think about having something besides corn dogs?” asked Teddy Larrabee, the first baseman. “Like a regular hot dog, or a chili dog, or a Chicago-style hot dog, or a Carolina-style dog, or a bratwurst . . .”

“Or a frankfurter?” said Wayne Zane, the catcher.

“A frankfurter
is
a hot dog,” said Teddy.

“I'm just sayin',” Wayne replied.

“I like corn dogs,” said Sammy. “That's my thing. I eat two corn dogs before every game.”

“You don't want to mess with tradition,” said Wayne. “Especially when you're hitting like Sammy.”

“Listen to him,” said Sammy. “He's wise.”

“By ‘wise,' he means ‘old,'” said Wayne.

“I agree about traditions,” said Lance Pantaño. “Every time I pitch, I drink four cups of coffee before the game. And only from this.” He took a big gulp from a Porcupines mug. The mug had an old piece of tape on it that said “Property of Lance.”

“If I drank that much coffee, there'd be a seventh inning stretch in every inning, and I'd be spending it in the bathroom,” said Mike Stammer.

“That's why I drink only four cups when I pitch,” said Lance. “When I'm not pitching, I'm a nine-mug man. Nine innings, nine coffees.”

“What about last night's extra innings?”
asked Wayne. “Wouldn't thirteen coffees keep you up all night?”

“Decaf,” Lance replied.

“I don't know how you can have
anything
before a game,” said Tommy Harris, the third baseman. He was the newest and youngest Porcupine player. He'd just come up from rookie league. “I'm too nervous to eat.”

“I'm too hungry to be nervous,” said Sammy. He looked at me and patted his stomach.

“On it, Sammy,” I said. “I'll go get your corn dogs.”

I ran out of the locker room and out to the plaza. The gates were now open, and the fans were swarming in. A lot of people were carrying Spike bobbleheads. Kids shook the toys and made the porcupine's oversized head rock back and forth.

The woman at the food stand saw me and
waved me up to the counter. I didn't have to wait in line. That was one of the perks of working for the team.

“Corn dogs, coming right up!” she said even before I ordered. She knew that Sammy Solaris had corn dogs before every game.

The smell of hot food made my stomach rumble, but I'd promised Mom I'd eat healthier today.

I forgot to tell the woman at the counter that. She set down three corn dogs and winked. Two were for Sammy, but the extra corn dog was always for me.

I hurried back to the Pines' locker room and gave Sammy all three dogs.

“You get an extra today,” I said. “My mom made me lunch.”

“But that's not the tradition,” said Sammy. “I eat two corn dogs before every game. Not
one corn dog. Not three corn dogs.
Two
corn dogs.” He held up two fingers.

“Well, just imagine what you can do if you eat three,” said Teddy.

“Don't mess with tradition,” said Wayne.

“Traditions have to start somewhere,” said Teddy. “Maybe you'll hit for the cycle. Maybe you'll steal a base.”

Sammy's eyes got wide. “You think so?” He dipped one of the dogs in mustard and took a bite.

“You never know until you try,” said Teddy.

“I tried stealing yesterday,” said Sammy. “It didn't go so hot.”

“But you only had two corn dogs.”

“Don't mess with Sammy's system,” said Wayne. “He eats two corn dogs, and he gets a lot of doubles and homers. It works for him.”

“I do need to steal a base, though,” said Sammy.

“You don't
need
to,” said Wayne.

“Yes, I do,” said Sammy. “On the last off day, I visited my niece's softball team. I was giving them a pep talk, and I told them they could do anything if they set their mind to it. Later on my niece asked me, ‘Uncle Sammy, did you ever steal a base?' I said no. She asked me why not, and I said I wasn't that kind of player. So she said, ‘If you put your mind to it, you can do it, right?' What could I say? I said, ‘Yeah, of course I can.'

“So she said, ‘Do it this weekend, Uncle Sammy,' and I said I would. That's why I tried it last night.”

“Sweet story,” said Wayne. “But a corn dog isn't going to help you run faster, unless you're chasing a corn dog truck.”

“You're hilarious,” said Sammy.

“Just sayin',” said Wayne.

“You've never stolen a base?” Tommy asked in surprise. “I've only been with the team a month, and I've stolen five!”

“Yeah, yeah. I know,” said Sammy. “You're a jackrabbit out there. I just need to steal one base this weekend so I don't let down Wendy. That's my niece.”

“Tell her you hit a lot of homers,” said Myung Young. “Those are better than stolen bases.”

“He's right,” said Danny O'Brien. Or maybe it was Brian Daniels. I always got those two guys confused. Their names were similar, and they looked the same: unruly red hair and big freckled noses. “Tell Wendy you just set your mind to hitting home runs,” said Danny or Brian.

“It's not just Wendy,” said Sammy. “I want to prove to
myself
 that I can steal a base.”

“So take one from the equipment room,” said Wayne.

Sammy glared at the catcher.

Zane shrugged. “I'm just sayin' . . .”

“You're no help,” said Sammy. “But I know who will be. I'll get Chad the batboy to help me.”

I popped my head up. “Who, me?” What was I supposed to do?

“Yeah. You gave a magic baseball card to Mike Stammer. That card helped him turn an unassisted triple play.”

“Sure did,” said Mike. “I haven't had a single error charged against me since I got it.” He patted his hip pocket to show he still had the card I'd given him.

“The baseball card isn't
magic
,” I said. “It's just a reminder that . . .”

“Listen, batboy.” Wayne leaned in and
whispered in my ear. “If Mike thinks it's a magic card, then it's a magic card.”

“I don't need a card as powerful as Mike's,” said Sammy. “It just has to be a little bit magic. Stealing a base is a lot easier than turning a triple play all by yourself.”

“It doesn't hurt to try,” said Mike. “Who else do you have in that binder?”

“Rickey Henderson,” said Brian or Danny. “That's who you want. Henderson stole more bases than anyone else in the history of baseball.”

“Or Ty Cobb,” said Myung Young. “He was famous for stealing bases.”

“I don't have a Ty Cobb card,” I said. “Ty Cobb played a hundred years ago. His cards are worth a fortune.”

“How about Ichiro Suzuki?” asked Tommy. “Or maybe Juan Pierre? Those guys
steal a lot of bases and they're still playing. It can't be that hard to find their cards.”

“Good choices,” said Myung.

“I do have an Ichiro card, but I don't have it with me,” I said.

“Hey, look,” said Sammy. “I'll take Kenny Lofton or Carlos Beltran. Anyone who ever stole a base.”

“I don't have
any
baseball cards with me,” I said. “I can go to the gift store and buy a pack. Maybe you'll get lucky and get one of those guys.”

“Nah, I think the card has to be from that red binder of yours,” said Sammy. “That's what makes it magic.”

I started to say, “They're not magic,” but then I remembered what Wayne had whispered to me.

“Let me settle this!” Grumps's voice rattled
the lockers. The Porcupines' manager stomped over to the group. He wagged a finger in Sammy's face. “If I don't give you the sign, you better not try to steal a base.”

“But you never give me the sign,” said Sammy.

“Exactly,” said Grumps. “You're a slugger That's your role.” Grumps patted Sammy's shoulder. “Just go out there and slug, all right?”

“Oh, all right,” said Sammy. He didn't look happy about it.

I grabbed my lunch and set off for the other dugout.

“Good luck, Sammy,” I whispered on my way out.