Steal That Base! (2 page)

 

I'd also made a life-long promise to my uncle Rick that I would never leave a baseball game before it was over. Uncle Rick took me to a game when I was six. The Porcupines fell behind by ten runs, and I wanted to go home. “If you leave early, you might miss a thrilling comeback,” he'd told me. “You might miss a walk-off home run. Never leave before the last out, Chad.”

“I won't,” I told him, and I meant it. The Porcupines ended up losing that game, but they did get a grand slam in the eighth inning. We would have missed it if we hadn't stuck around.

Tonight there was no way to keep both promises unless the Pines scored really soon.

Victor Snapp's deep voice boomed over the speakers. “Now batting: the designated hitter, Sssssammy Sssssolarisss!” Victor Snapp had been the announcer for the Pine City Porcupines since before I was born. He was my
idol. I wanted to be a baseball announcer when I grew up.

“Come on, Sammy!” I shouted. Sammy was the best hitter on the team.

He swung at the first pitch. The ball sailed into the outfield. The Finches' center fielder ran after it.

“It's a gapper!” said Victor Snapp. He said that whenever a ball got between two outfielders. My heart nearly leaped out of my chest.

The ball hit the fence and rolled back toward the outfielder. Sammy took a big turn at first base, then stopped.

I went to fetch the bat.

“Solaris stretched that double into a single!” I heard someone shout. It had to be Ernie Hecker. Ernie had the biggest mouth in Pine City, and he always shouted stuff at the players and umpires. This time he was right. Most baseball players
would have reached second base easily on a hit like that.

Sammy took his lead off first. The pitcher didn't even look at him. There was no way Sammy would try to steal a base.

“Now batting: the first baseman, Teddddddddy Larrrrrabeeeee!” Victor Snapp announced.

Teddy hit the ball hard, and it sailed to the right field corner. The outfielder caught it. Sammy took a couple of steps toward second, then changed his mind and stayed at first.

The crowd groaned again. Most runners would have tagged up and advanced a base.

“Now batting: the right fielder, Danny O'Brien!” Victor announced.

Sammy must have heard the crowd boo, because he did something crazy. The pitcher threw an off-speed pitch to Danny, and Sammy
took off. He kicked up a cloud of dust and started toward second.

Danny didn't swing. The catcher threw the ball to second. The second baseman took two steps off the base to catch it. He ran back to the base and tagged Sammy.

Sammy was out by a mile.

“I could have stolen that base from up here!” Ernie Hecker shouted.

“Sammy Solaris is caught stealing!” said Victor Snapp. “And so we head to the tenth inning.”

Sammy returned to the dugout and slumped onto the bench.

“Good try, Sammy,” I told him.

“Nice of you to say that,” he said.

“I didn't signal for you to steal a base,” said the Pines' manager. His name was Harry Humboldt, but everybody called him Grumps.
“You'll know when I do, because it'll be never. That's when it'll happen.
Never
.”

“Ah, come on. I just thought I'd get into scoring position,” Sammy replied.

I missed the rest of their talk because Wally tugged on my sleeve. “You got a phone call.”

Wally was the clubhouse manager. He was my boss.

“Thanks. It's probably my dad. I'll have to go home.”

“That's all right,” Wally said. “You should go home. We want you kids fresh for tomorrow.”

I went back to the locker room to take the call. The phone was the old-fashioned kind, with the receiver wired to the base and the base stuck to the wall.

“I'm waiting out in front,” said Dad. “Are you ready?”

“I just have to change.”

“Hey, ask Dylan if he wants a ride too,” said Dad.

“Sure.”

Dylan was the other batboy for the Porcupines. He was working in the Finches' dugout for tonight's game. We took turns helping the opposing team.

“See you in a sec,” I told Dad.

I changed clothes, grabbed my baseball card binder, and went to the Finches' dugout.

Even though he's a batboy, Dylan isn't a big baseball fan. I showed him my baseball card collection sometimes—well,
part
of it: I had more than 5,000 cards! I told him about my favorite players. I explained plays during the game. Dylan didn't know it, but he was my secret mission: By the end of the season, I was going to make him the greatest fan of the world's greatest game!

I found Dylan sitting on the edge of the bench in the visitors' dugout.

“Hey.” I nudged his elbow.

“Shh.” Dylan pointed at something.

I scanned the infield and didn't see anything unusual.

“What?”

“It's right there!” He pointed again, and I realized he was pointing at the fence that protected the dugout from foul balls. I set my baseball card binder down and knelt by the fence to get a better look.

There was a little creepy-crawly thing sitting on the chain link.

“It's just a bug,” I said.

“It's not a bug. It's a spider,” said Dylan.

“Spiders are bugs.”

“Not exactly. They're arachnids. Bugs are insects. Hey, look. It's spinning a web.”

“Great,” I said. “Wally said we should go home. My dad will give you a ride.”

“Thanks,” Dylan replied. “I want to stay and watch. I can call my parents later.”

“I thought baseball bored you.”

Dylan had admitted that when we first started working for the Porcupines.

“I mean watch
that
,” he said. He nodded at the spider.

“Of course.”

I knew Dylan liked animals, but did a spider count as an animal?

ust after I got home I had one of the worst moments of my whole life. I'd forgotten my card binder! I'd left it in the Finches' dugout when I was talking with Dylan about that stupid spider. It felt like I'd left my right arm somewhere.

I called the Finches' locker room. Dylan answered.

“It's me. Is the game still going on?”

“Yeah. And Sparky is done with his web!”

“Sparky?”

“Sparky the Spider.”

“You named that thing?”

“No, I just call him Sparky.”

“That's naming him!”

“Maybe. By the way, you left your binder here.”

“I know—that's why I called. I wanted to make sure it was OK.”

“It's fine. Do you want me to put it in your locker?”

“Keep it overnight,” I said. “Take good care of it. But feel free to look through it. There're some cool cards in there.”

“Sure,” Dylan promised. “Gotta go. I want to see if Sparky's caught any bugs yet.”

• • •

I overslept the next morning. We batboys had to be at the ballpark two hours before the game started. I would have to hurry to get there on time.

It was my own fault. I'd listened to the rest of
the game on the radio before I went to sleep. The Porcupines finally won in the thirteenth inning. Tommy Harris hit a triple, and Mike Stammer brought him in with a sacrifice fly. It would have been so great to be there. I knew what Uncle Rick meant about never leaving a game early. Too bad Mom and Dad didn't understand.

I got dressed, bounded down the stairs, and ate a bowl of cereal.

Mom saw me put the bowl in the dishwasher.

“Do you need lunch?” she asked.

“I can get a hot dog at the ballpark.”

“You've been eating a lot of hot dogs lately,” she said. “Why don't I pack you a lunch while you walk the dog?”

“Oh, yeah.” It was my job to walk our dog in the morning. Penny was near her food bowl. She looked up at me with great big eyes and made a whimpering noise.

“Hi, girl.” I reached for the food bin.

“She's already had breakfast,” said Mom.

“Aw, Mom. She wants more,” I said. Penny was still staring at me. “It would make her happy.”

“She's happy when she's eating a second breakfast,” said Mom. “She's not happy when she's all out of breath on a short walk.”

“She just has little legs.” I took a handful of kibble and put it in my pocket.

Mom didn't notice. “Walk the dog while I make your lunch,” she said.

I could still be on time if I hurried. I put the leash on Penny and took her out for a quick trot around the block.

Mom was right—Penny was panting before we got to the corner. She was getting kind of roly-poly these days. She was still cute, though.

“Hi, Chad!”

I turned and saw Abby. She waved at me
from across the street. Abby worked for the Pines too, and was in my grade at school. She ran across the street to meet us.

“I'm going to the ballpark early,” she explained. She reached out and let Penny lick her hand. “It's a big day. They're giving out bobbleheads. Hey, aren't you supposed to be there by now?”

“I'm leaving as soon as I'm done walking the dog.” I took the dog food from my pocket and fed it to Penny.

“I'll walk to the ballpark with you,” said Abby.

“We're going to have to walk fast,” I told her. Usually I rode my bike.

“No problem. I can walk superfast.”

We took Penny home, and Mom gave me my lunch. I peeked at it. It was pasta salad and baby carrots.

“There's not even a cookie,” I said.

“Just eat your lunch first,” said Mom. “If you're still hungry, you can see if they have something at the ballpark that's halfway good for you.”

“All right.”

“Have fun and work hard,” Mom said. She planted a smooch on top of my head. I was glad Abby had waited outside.

• • •

Abby and I walked six blocks, crossed a field, waited for one traffic light, crossed the street, and turned the corner.

We stopped.

“Holy cow!” said Abby.

There were about a billion people crowded around Pine City Park.

“There are always lines on bobblehead day,” I told her.

“But the game doesn't even start for two hours!”

“They're
Spike
bobbleheads,” I reminded her. Spike was the Porcupines' new junior mascot. He was the biggest star of the season. Everybody loved that quill-covered porcupine kid. “Not everyone will get one,” I added. “They're ‘only available while supplies last.'”

“They must really want those bobbleheads,” said Abby. We both knew something most people didn't: Abby was Spike. She put on a porcupine costume and played the part. She was great at it.

We started across the parking lot.

“Dad!” a little girl tugged on her father's shirttail. “Those kids are cutting!”

“Hey, what's the big idea?” the man asked.

“We're with the Pines,” I said. “I'm a batboy.”