Comeback of the Home Run Kid (7 page)

“Hey, Syl, you're doing good out there! Not like last season, but …” Snooky shrugged.

“Oh, Syl's got a few surprises up his sleeve, don't you worry!” Duane piped in. “Don't you, Syl?”

Syl blinked. Was Duane suggesting he should try batting lefty — against
Duke
? The idea terrified him. Then he realized it made sense. Duke was a right-handed pitcher, which meant a left-handed batter
could give him trouble. Even better, he had no idea Syl could bat lefty.

The Hawks fans suddenly cheered. Kirk had just rapped out a single.

“Go get 'em, slugger,” Duane said. And he handed Sylvester his favorite bat.

S
ylvester walked to the plate. He'd decided he'd start off by batting righty. If he got on base, great. But if things looked
bad, he'd switch to lefty and see what happened next.

Duke's first pitch came in low. Syl let it go by for a ball. The second one, a breaking ball, curved out at the last moment.
Syl swung and missed. The count was 1 and 1.

Duke smirked as he caught the throw from his catcher. Syl suspected he was going to try the breaking ball again. He was right,
but guessing what was coming didn't help
him hit it. The umpire held up one finger on his left hand, two on his right.

Syl quickly stepped out of the batter's box and glanced over at Duane. Duane gave him the thumbs up, and then grabbed the
coach's arm and started talking to him in a low voice.

The time had come. It was now or never. Sylvester crossed behind home plate to the box on the right and took up a lefty stance.

“Hey!” Duke cried from the mound. “He can't do that! Can he?”

The umpire held up a hand. “He left the box legally. Which side he hits from is up to him. Unless his coach …”

On the sideline, Coach Corbin simply nodded his approval.

Duke didn't argue further. Once again, he blazed in the same breaking ball. But this time, the pitch broke inward, toward
Syl.

Like many batters, Syl found inside pitches
easier to hit than outside ones. This one was no exception.

Pow!
The small white sphere disappeared into the clear blue sky, heading toward deep right. As the outfielder sprinted after it,
Syl took off for first and Kirk hoofed it to second.

The ball bounced once. The fielder grabbed it and heaved with all his might toward first base.

Syl almost didn't beat the throw. But because he had bat lefty, he was one full step closer to first base. That one step was
all he needed to make it there before the ball.

“Safe!” the first base umpire cried, fanning his arms out to either side.

The crowd roared. Coach Corbin pumped his fist. Duke looked angrier than ever. In fact, his next pitches were so wild that
his coach finally had to pull him from the game. The Hawks lit up the new pitcher like a
Christmas tree. By the time the fifth inning ended, the score was 5–1. And when the Grizzlies couldn't score a man in the
top of the sixth, the Hawks walked away with their first win.

“You did it, Syl!” Duane shouted. The Hawks surrounded Sylvester, cheering and laughing.

And Syl? He'd never been happier. That single had felt better to him than all the hits and homers he'd gotten the previous
seasons, simply because he knew he had earned it through hard work.

Near the dugout, Snooky Malone was bouncing with such excitement that his glasses kept slipping down his nose. “That was so
cool!” he said over and over.

Sylvester started laughing. “Thanks, Snook. By the way,” he added casually, “does my horoscope say anything more about a comet?”

“No, it's no longer a factor in your future,” Snooky informed him.

Sylvester smiled. “Yeah, that's what I thought. Oh well. It was nice while it was around.” He threw an arm around Snooky's
shoulders. “Come on. Everyone's meeting at my house for a Fourth of July party. Wouldn't be the same without my favorite sky
watcher —or my best friend,” he added, as Duane poked his head inside the dugout.

“What's taking you so long?” Duane cried. “We've got a celebration to go to!”

T
he rest of the summer season raced by. When it ended, the Hawks' record stood at 9 wins, 3 losses. Sylvester batted lefty
in several games and got on base a few times. He made some good — but not spectacular —catches in the outfield, too. He looked
for Charlie but never saw him again.

Not in real life, anyway.

The last weekend of summer vacation, the Coddmyers took a trip to Cooperstown, New York, to visit the Baseball Hall of Fame.
There, Syl and his parents walked among exhibits of the greatest players the world has
ever known. Syl spent a long time in an area dedicated to Babe Ruth. He didn't bother looking for Eddie Cicotte. He knew that
player wouldn't be there.

In the Hall of Fame gallery, he glanced at several of the bronze plaques of the Hall's inductees. They were all interesting,
but only one stopped him dead in his tracks.

As Syl stood there, staring at the face on the plaque, a member of the museum staff came up behind him.

“Mickey Charles Mantle,” the woman said. “He's a favorite among visitors. The Mick, or the Commerce Comet, as he was sometimes
known, was —”

Syl wheeled around. “Excuse me? What was that you called him?”

The woman looked surprised. “The Mick?”

“No, the other name.”

“The Commerce Comet?”

Syl faced the plaque again. “Yeah,” he said
softly. “Comet. That's it.” He traced a finger over Mantle's middle name: Charles. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” the woman replied. She moved off to another part of the gallery, not realizing that Sylvester Coddmyer the
Third had really been thanking someone else.

Baseball Pals	Dive Right In
Baseball Turnaround	Double Play at Short
The Basket Counts	Face-Off
Body Check	Fairway Phenom
Catch That Pass!	Football Fugitive
Catcher with a Glass Arm	Football Nightmare
Catching Waves	The Fox Steals Home
Center Court Sting	Goalkeeper in Charge