took a short lead off second base. Eddie drew back his bat and waited. The first pitch was low and outside. Ball one.
“Good eye, Eddie!” came a cry.
The second pitch was high and outside. Eddie stepped out of the batter’s box and glanced toward the Hornets’ dugout.
“A walk’s as good as a hit,” Coach Wimmer called.
Eddie let out his breath. It was true. He didn’t need a home run. He didn’t even need a single. All he had to do was get on base and keep this inning alive.
Eddie crouched a little lower and inched closer to the plate, trying to shrink his strike zone. The third pitch looked good, maybe a little low, but right down the center of the plate.
Eddie didn’t flinch. The umpire called, “Ball three!” and the pitcher shook his head in frustration.
The Hoboken catcher turned to the umpire.
“It was low,” the umpire said.
The catcher called time and jogged to the mound to talk to the pitcher. Eddie’s teammates were rattling the fence in front of their dugout. Spencer was grinning confidently at Eddie from the on-deck circle. “Gut check!” Spencer said. “Be the man.”
Eddie wiped his sweaty palms on his uniform pants. A hundred things crossed his mind at once. Nobody swung on a 3-0 count, so the pitcher would be playing it safe. He’d groove one right down the middle. Eddie could bunt it, then run like mad toward first base.
Or, he thought, This kid Ventura has the ability to hit away, driving the ball deep into the outfield and bringing Jared home.
Or he could play it safe, too, like he knew he was supposed to. Take the pitch even if it was a strike.
And here it came, waist-high but inside. Eddie leaned back as the ball whizzed by.
“Ball four,” called the umpire. “Take your base.”
Eddie couldn’t help but smile as he jogged toward first. The dugout fence was shaking and rattling again; Miguel and Lamont and the others were yelling his name.
The Hoboken coach walked to the mound and chatted with the pitcher, but he left him in the game.
Eddie stepped off first base, tensed and ready to sprint all the way home if he needed to.
Here came the pitch, here came the smack as Spencer connected, the Oooh from the spectators, and the roar from the Hudson City dugout as the ball shot deep into right field. Eddie ran hard, but he turned slightly to watch as the ball sailed over the fence and into the parking lot.
That’s gone! said the announcer in his mind.
Eddie threw his arms straight over his head and laughed as he stepped on second base. He watched Jared leap onto home plate, then rounded third and raced home to do the same. And with all of his teammates, he waited for Spencer and his enormous, triumphant grin.
They mobbed him. Three straight wins. The Hornets were definitely back in business.
“Good eye, Eddie!” came a cry.
The second pitch was high and outside. Eddie stepped out of the batter’s box and glanced toward the Hornets’ dugout.
“A walk’s as good as a hit,” Coach Wimmer called.
Eddie let out his breath. It was true. He didn’t need a home run. He didn’t even need a single. All he had to do was get on base and keep this inning alive.
Eddie crouched a little lower and inched closer to the plate, trying to shrink his strike zone. The third pitch looked good, maybe a little low, but right down the center of the plate.
Eddie didn’t flinch. The umpire called, “Ball three!” and the pitcher shook his head in frustration.
The Hoboken catcher turned to the umpire.
“It was low,” the umpire said.
The catcher called time and jogged to the mound to talk to the pitcher. Eddie’s teammates were rattling the fence in front of their dugout. Spencer was grinning confidently at Eddie from the on-deck circle. “Gut check!” Spencer said. “Be the man.”
Eddie wiped his sweaty palms on his uniform pants. A hundred things crossed his mind at once. Nobody swung on a 3-0 count, so the pitcher would be playing it safe. He’d groove one right down the middle. Eddie could bunt it, then run like mad toward first base.
Or, he thought, This kid Ventura has the ability to hit away, driving the ball deep into the outfield and bringing Jared home.
Or he could play it safe, too, like he knew he was supposed to. Take the pitch even if it was a strike.
And here it came, waist-high but inside. Eddie leaned back as the ball whizzed by.
“Ball four,” called the umpire. “Take your base.”
Eddie couldn’t help but smile as he jogged toward first. The dugout fence was shaking and rattling again; Miguel and Lamont and the others were yelling his name.
The Hoboken coach walked to the mound and chatted with the pitcher, but he left him in the game.
Eddie stepped off first base, tensed and ready to sprint all the way home if he needed to.
Here came the pitch, here came the smack as Spencer connected, the Oooh from the spectators, and the roar from the Hudson City dugout as the ball shot deep into right field. Eddie ran hard, but he turned slightly to watch as the ball sailed over the fence and into the parking lot.
That’s gone! said the announcer in his mind.
Eddie threw his arms straight over his head and laughed as he stepped on second base. He watched Jared leap onto home plate, then rounded third and raced home to do the same. And with all of his teammates, he waited for Spencer and his enormous, triumphant grin.
They mobbed him. Three straight wins. The Hornets were definitely back in business.
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