Kid Coach (3 page)

T
wo weeks later, Scott sat on the edge of his bed lacing up his baseball spikes for another baseball practice. He glanced over to the schedule that was still on his desk. The neat rows of numbers told the sad story of the Tigers season so far.

Scott shook his head as he remembered those games. The Tigers seemed to play just well enough to lose. They would jump off to an early lead only to fall behind in the later innings.

Scott jerked his glove off the dresser and headed out to practice.
The season has to turn around today
, he thought.

Practice that day was even worse. The team was only going through the motions. Batting practice was strangely quiet. The kids hardly said a word. The only sound was the crack of the bat.

Drew and Scott stood in the outfield as the final batters took their cuts.

“Not much of a practice,” Drew observed.

“Yeah,” Scott said, looking around the field. “I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Me neither,” said Drew, looking straight at Scott. “But maybe it’s time for the coach to chew these guys out.”

Sam Finch lofted a lazy fly ball to short, center field. Scott drifted back a few steps, reached up and caught it in the webbing of his glove. “All right!” he shouted. “Everybody in.”

The team gathered quietly. Scott stood before them with his arms crossed.

“Listen,” Scott started. “We gotta start practicing harder than this or we’re gonna lose all of our games.”

Some of the Tigers looked down and scraped the dirt with their shoes.

Scott continued. “Remember, you play the way you practice. You gotta show some hustle. You gotta …”

“Who made you boss?” Danny asked, raising his voice above Scott’s.

“What do you mean?” Scott asked, a bit surprised. “I’m the coach. I thought we agreed on that.”

“Well, you better start acting like a coach,” Danny snapped back. “We’ve lost
every game so far and we keep going out with the same lineup. Don’t you think we should try something different?”

“Like what?” Scott demanded.

“I don’t know,” Danny said. “But I’d like to play somewhere other than catcher.”

“Danny, you’re our best catcher!” Drew blurted out.

“I’m not the only one!” Danny shouted back.

“I’ll catch,” Nick said.

Then a chorus of requests burst forth.

“Hey, can I switch to infield?” Brendan shouted.

“Can I pitch?” Peter asked.

“Can I play shortstop?” asked Max.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute!” Fran shouted above all the others, holding the ball high over her head. “We can’t all talk at once. The kid with the ball talks.” Fran flipped the ball to Maggie.

Maggie hesitated, then said, “I think we should get a chance to play different positions. And maybe kids like Benny and Brendan should play more.”

“Maybe if they—” Drew started to say.

“You don’t have the ball,” Fran reminded Drew.

Maggie tossed Drew the ball.

“Maybe if they practiced more, they could play more,” Drew said.

“Give me the ball, Drew,” said Scott. Drew tossed it over to him. “It’s tough to have kids play positions in games that they haven’t played in practice,” Scott explained.

“Hey,” said Nick, raising his hand for the ball. “Why don’t we practice more? We don’t have to wait for Mr. Skelly now. Heck, we could practice every day.”

The Tigers nodded their heads. “We could practice every day right after school,” Max suggested. “Nobody is using the field then.”

Scott glanced at Drew. “It’s all right by me,” he said. “How about 3:30 to 4:30 every day after school? We’ll start tomorrow.”

The Tigers gave out a loud cheer. It was the most noise the team had made for a long time. The kids wandered off, leaving Scott, Drew, and Fran to gather the equipment into the brown canvas bag.

“How do you like that?” Drew asked as he tossed a baseball like a jump shot into the bag. “The kids probably think Brain should play shortstop.”

“It’s more fun if you get to play more positions,” Fran said.

“The best kids should play!” Drew said, a little too loudly.

“It’s hard to get better if you don’t get a chance,” Fran answered just as loudly.

“Take it easy,” Scott said softly. “We got enough problems on this team without you guys fighting.” Scott took a last look around the field. “You guys forget a mitt?” he asked, pointing to a baseball glove in the dugout dirt.

Scott walked over and picked up the glove. The name Benjamin P. Myles was neatly printed along the glove’s thumb.

“Whose is it?” Fran asked.

“Benny’s,” said Scott.

“Just like the Brain to forget his glove,” Drew grumbled. “I bet he didn’t forget his books. Let’s see it.” Scott tossed Drew the glove.

“Fran,” Scott said, “why don’t you take the bag to my house and I’ll take Brain his glove.”

Drew laughed and said, “Benjamin P. Myles. Man, the Brain must be the only kid in America who puts his middle initial on his glove.”

“Wonder what the P stands for,” Fran said.

Drew flipped the glove to Scott. “Pathetic,” he said.

S
cott stood at the Myleses’ front door with Benny’s glove in his hand. Mrs. Myles answered the bell in a business suit and stocking feet.

“Hi, I’m Scott Hudson. Benny forgot his glove and—”

“Oh, right. You’re coaching the team. Come in. Come in,” Mrs. Myles said. She turned her head and shouted up the stairs, “Benjamin!”

“I’m sorry Benjamin’s dad and I haven’t been able to attend any of the games,” she said.

Scott didn’t know what to say so he just said, “That’s okay. You didn’t miss much.”

“Benjamin!” Mrs. Myles called again. “He must be on the computer. Benjamin just loves the computer. Why don’t you go ahead upstairs?”

Scott started upstairs carrying the glove. Sure enough, he found Benny sitting at the computer tapping away on the keys.

“Hey, Brain,” said Scott. “You forgot your glove.”

Benny turned, a bit startled. Scott held up the glove.

“Oh yeah, thanks,” Benny said and turned back to the computer.

“What are you doing?” Scott asked. “Homework?”

“No, statistics.”

“What statistics?”

“The team statistics.”

“Really? Can I take a look?”

Scott walked over to the computer. He looked over Benny’s shoulder and studied the numbers.

“What are these?” Scott asked.

“The pitching statistics so far this year,” Benny said.

“IP, that’s Innings Pitched, right? But what’s TP stand for?” Scott asked.

“Total Pitches,” Benny explained in his teacher voice. “That’s followed by strikes—S; balls pitched—B; and the percentage of pitches that are strikes—PCT.

“R is for runs scored by the other team, right? But what’s RA?” asked Scott.

“That’s the average number of runs in a game that the other team gets when you pitch.”

“My RA is 3.82. So if I pitched a whole game, the other team would get three or four runs. That’s pretty good,” said Scott.

“It’s not bad,” Benny said flatly. “But take a look at this.”

Benny tapped a few keys and a new set of numbers appeared.

“What’s this?”

“That’s the scoring of the other teams against us, broken down by inning. Notice anything?”

“Sure,” Scott said. “They’re scoring almost all of their runs in the late innings.”

Benny nodded. “That’s right.”

“What do you think we should do?”

“Simple,” Benny said. “You shouldn’t keep on pitching for an entire game. You’re getting tired and giving up more runs in the last innings. Same thing with Drew. You guys should each pitch only three innings a game.”

Scott kept studying the numbers on the screen. “Got anything else?” he asked.

“Sure.” Benny tapped some more keys and some more numbers appeared.

Scott leaned closer to the computer. “What are these?”

“Batting statistics.”

“I know BA is batting average, but what is OBP?”

“On Base Percentage,” Benny answered. “It shows how often someone gets on base.”

“You mean by getting hits?”

“Yes, and by getting walks. You know you’re always saying, ‘A walk is as good as a hit.’ Well, on-base percentage gives a player credit for walks. Batting averages don’t.”

“Boy, Maggie’s got a great OBP,” Scott observed.

“That’s why she should be the leadoff hitter,” Benny said.

“But Max has more hits,” Scott protested.

“But Max doesn’t get any walks,” Benny said, pointing at the column BB (for base on balls). “You want someone at the top of the lineup to get on base. It doesn’t matter how. Besides, Maggie’s one of the fastest runners on the team.”

“Can you print this stuff out for me?” Scott asked.

“No problem.” After just a few clicks the printer started to hum and within seconds the Tigers stats started to roll out.

Scott picked up the stats and realized that he was still holding Benny’s glove.

“Here’s your glove,” he said, tossing the mitt to Benny. “Hey, what does the P stand for?”

“Nothing,” Benny said, looking away. “My mom wrote that. I hate my middle name.”

“Come on, tell me. I won’t tell anybody.”

“Promise?” Benny gave Scott a suspicious look.

“Promise.”

“I don’t know.”

“Come on, tell me.”

“All right … Peaches.”

“Peaches? Like the fruit?” Scott blurted out. “What kind of name is that?”

“I told you it was dumb. It’s an old family name. I really don’t need another nickname, so forget I told you.”

“Don’t worry,” Scott said as he turned to leave. “I’ll keep your secret.”

Scott stopped at the bedroom door and held up the stats.

“Hey, thanks for the stats,” he said.

“And don’t tell the team that I’m keeping stats, okay? They’ll think it’s weird,” said Benny.

“They won’t think it’s weird,” Scott protested.

“Drew will,” Benny said.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Scott answered. “Well, see you tomorrow at practice … Benny.”