There was a parade out to the park for the opening games of the Little League season. A fire truck and a police car, both with their lights flashing, and one of the area high school bands marched ahead to lead the procession. The local league officials, sponsors, organizations, and town dignitaries followed behind the band. The individual teams with the players in full uniforms marched behind them all. Each one of the teams carried its own banner with the team name and those of their sponsors on it.
Michael carried one end of the Cougar banner and Carlos Rodriguez carried the other. It looked like the whole town had turned out to watch the parade march to the new ball field, a field specially constructed for the Little League games. Groups of kids had come down from across the railroad tracks and many were jeering as the teams went by. Several of them pointed and hooted at Carlos and Tyrone Johnson in their new uniforms as they walked past. Both boys held their heads high and their jaws tight while staring straight ahead.
Coach Anderson walked with the Cougars, grinning and looking a little self-conscious, trying to keep step with the rest of the parade marchers.
Up ahead of the Cougars walked Dusty Taylor’s Red Sox, with Taylor himself marching ahead of them, smiling and waving his hand to the crowd. He wore a neatly pressed sport shirt, with slacks, and sport shoes with his black hair slicked back and parted in the middle. He seemed cool, clean, efficient, and very confident.
Looking over at Coach Anderson, the stark differences struck Michael. Coach wore rather baggy pants and his white shirt showed a little fray at the collar. His rolled up shirtsleeves and his ordinary black shoes were rather worse for wear.
Michael remembered what he had heard so many times from coach about the appearance of an opposing team. “Get it out of your head boys,” Coach had said, “because just like you, they put their uniforms on one leg at a time. A uniform would just hang in the closet if someone did not put it on.”
At the ball field, the band played the Star Spangled Banner. A Little League representative made a short speech and then the Cougars took the field with the Red Sox at bat. The big crowd that had swarmed after the parade now filled the bleachers, located behind the dugouts and the home plate fence, to capacity. The smell of popcorn and grilled hot dogs from the concession stand was definitely in the air. The ball field was buzzing with something. Michael knew what it was: LITTLE LEAGUE EXCITEMENT!
After a brief warm-up session of stretching and throwing the plate umpire tossed the white official Little League baseball out on the field. According to regulation, although the ball was identical to size and weight to a Major League ball, the playing field was two-thirds the official size of an average Major League field.
Josh Miller smiled broadly and looked very cool and calm as he walked out to the mound and picked up the ball.
Carlos Rodriguez stood behind the plate with his mask on the ground beside him and stared out at Miller. Carlos waited for the warm-up pitches. Michael trotted out to second base. Matthew Davis moved quickly to third base, Ethan Moore trotted to shortstop while tall Tyrone Johnson eased over to first.
The three Cougar outfielders, Jake Jones, Daniel Garcia, and Andy Wilson, sprinted toward their outfield positions. The umpire bawled from behind home plate, “PLAY BALL.”
Michael felt the nervous energy rising inside of him and he could scarcely stand still. His father and mother sat in the stands on the first base side of the field, along with one of his uncles and two of his aunts. Every other player on the field had relatives present except Carlos Rodriguez. Carlos had informed Michael that there would be no one there to watch him play because his father was busy playing soccer and did not want to be bothered with baseball.
Josh Miller’s parents, with a few of their friends, were present and sitting a little apart from the others at the far end of the third base stands. They all dressed in nice sports clothes. Josh’s father, a big, heavy-set man with a bulldog face, who did not look at all like his son, smoked a big fat cigar.
Coach Anderson stayed in the Cougar dugout with the substitutes and Michael could see that his coach was nervous. First, he sat on the dugout steps, rubbing his hands; then he stood, then he sat down again.
The first Red Sox batter put on the protective helmet and walked out to the plate. Josh stood on the mound, watching him, waiting for the signal from Carlos. Carlos, wearing his mask, chest protector, and kneepads, squatted down, stared at Josh through the bars of his mask, and flashed his signal for the fastball.
Josh wound up and threw the new white baseball. The Red Sox batter swung and the sound of the bat hitting the ball was loud and clear. The ball bounded down toward third base. Matthew Davis caught it on the bounce and threw it across to first. His throw was a little wild, but Tyrone Johnson stretched, keeping his toe on the bag and the base umpire waved the runner out.
Michael felt a little better as the big crowd yelled encouragement and applauded the play. The second Red Sox batter walked to the plate. The announcement of the batter’s name over the ballpark’s new sound system made this second batter appear a little uncomfortable. He grinned sheepishly while walking up to the plate.
Josh, pitching effortlessly, got two strikes called and on the third pitch the Red Sox batter hit a ground ball down to Ethan Moore at short. Ethan rushed the ball and it went through his legs.
Michael raced over to second to cover the throw in from the outfield and saw little Daniel Garcia let the ball go through his legs too. The crowd howled as the Red Sox runner sprinted around the bases for a run, the ball rolling out to the center-field fence.
Michael felt sick. He looked over at Ethan who was kicking at the ground, his face pale. Matthew Davis was scowling on third, pounding his glove. Michael had a pretty, good idea of what Matthew thought of Ethan.
Out in center field little Daniel looked as if he were ready to cry. On what should have been an infield out, a Red Sox player had scored a run, putting the Red Sox ahead, 1 to 0.
Josh was not pleased either. He scowled on the mound as he prepared to pitch again. He bore down hard, striking out the batter on three straight pitches. He struck out the next Red Sox batter also and retired the side.
Michael heard Matthew Davis say bitterly as they came into the dugout, “What can you expect? We’ll never get anywhere with that guy at short.”
Ethan heard the remark and his face turned red as he walked out to bat, leading off for the Cougars.
Coach Anderson said quietly, “Okay, gang. Let us not worry about one run. We will get it back. Everybody in here now, let’s talk it up.”
Ethan struck out, swinging at a very high pitch and he walked back to the dugout dragging his bat. Michael, who was second in the batting order, stepped up to the plate with his throat very dry.
Willie Brown was down in the third base coaching box, and Willie yelled, “Start us off, Michael.”
The Red Sox pitcher was a left-hander and he threw hard. Coach Anderson called from the dugout,
“Make him put it over, Michael.”
Michael gripped his new bat tightly, watching the pitcher. The first pitch was right over the heart of the plate and he swung hard. There was a resounding and distinctive “tink” sound as the composite bat met the ball cleanly. The ball arched out over second base. It was the first clean hit of the evening as well as the first clean hit of the new Little League season!
The crowd yelled and the Cougar players in the dugout whooped. Cris Martinez, coaching from first, pounded Michael’s back happily.
Tyrone Johnson walked to the plate and looked at the dugout for his signal from Coach Anderson. They had worked out a very nice set of signals for the season. Each player had his own spot depending on his place in the lineup that coach would touch to send a signal. One touch on your spot while batting meant to bunt while one touch on your spot when on base meant to steal.
Coach’s right knee was spot number one, his right hip spot number two, the inside of his right elbow the third spot, and his right shoulder number four. The t
op of coach’s head was the fifth spot and the remaining spots went down his left side just like the right side for spots six, seven, eight, and nine. Since Tyrone was the third batter in the lineup, his spot would be inside the right elbow of Coach Anderson. If coach did not touch that spot, it meant Tyrone could hit away.
A player really had to pay attention because coach would sometimes touch five to seven different spots before a pitch. Michael thought it was probably a good way for coach to handle his game time energy.
Tyrone Johnson looked down at Michael as Michael stood on the base. Then he tugged at his cap and took the first pitch for a ball. Tyrone swung at the second pitch and hit a long fly to center field. The Red Sox center fielder caught it for the second out. Jake walked up to bat for the Cougars.
In the Cougar dugout, Coach had touched his left hip while flashing signs to Michael and Michael knew exactly what that meant. Michael touched his cap to signal that he had caught the steal sign from Coach. The Red Sox left-hander was watching him carefully and the big Red Sox catcher pounded his glove, both of them sure he was going to steal.
Starting with the first movement of the left-handed pitcher towards home, the way Coach had taught him in practice, Michael got a good jump on the lefty, and he needed it. He ran as hard as he could and slid on his hip as he neared the bag. The catcher’s throw was there but the second baseman dropped the ball as Michael slid into the bag. “Safe,” yelled the field ump.
The Cougars on the bench yelled happily and they really yelled when Jake swung at the next pitch and hit it over the left field fence for a home run. The fence was one hundred and eighty feet away and the ball had no problem clearing it by another twenty feet.
The Cougar fans in the stands stood up, cheering as Jake proudly loped around the bases, pumping his fist as he crossed home plate because his home run put the Cougars into the lead 2 to 1.
Michael slapped Jake’s back as he came into the dugout and he heard Jake say softly,
“That’s one.”
Michael glanced at him, not particularly liking what he heard. It was not one, but two runs for the Cougars, but it sounded as if Jake was not thinking too much about the Cougar runs; he was thinking about himself and the gold trophy awarded to the boy hitting the most home runs in the Springdale league at the end of the season. To Jake it was just one home run.
In the third inning, the Red Sox tied up the score on an error by Ethan at short. With a runner on third and two out, Ethan bobbled the ball in the infield, letting the runner come home.
Matthew Davis nearly had a fit on third base. He kicked at the dirt again and he shook his head in disgust. He looked over at Coach Anderson with disgust for putting Ethan in the game.
“Shake it off, forget it,” coach called from the dugout. “We’ll get it back.”
Josh was also fuming out on the mound because two unearned runs had scored and he was pitching a good game, having given up only one clean hit so far.
Michael trotted up to the mound to have a word with Josh and said, “Don’t let it worry you, Josh.”
“I can’t strike them all out,” Josh growled. “I need support out there too.”
Michael saw Carlos Rodriguez watching the pitcher grimly, hands on his hips. “Play ball,’ Carlos called tersely from the plate.
The game got under way again and Josh retired the side with no more runs. Trouble broke out in the Cougar dugout however, when the Cougars came in at the end of the inning. Matthew Davis made another remark and this time Ethan came back at him. Ethan said quietly,
“I don’t have to take that from you, Davis.”
The redhead looked at him. “Is that what you think?” he murmured.
“Yes,” Ethan snapped, “I’m not afraid of you.”
“Maybe…” Davis started to say and then Coach Anderson came in between them and said with a good-natured smile, “Let’s forget it.” Coach then looked around the dugout and said with a grin, “We’re all pals here.”
However, Michael saw the troubled look deep down in the tall man’s eyes and he realized coach was worried. This melting pot of boys, this collection of many different people, seemed to be falling apart during the first game of the season.
In the fifth inning, the Red Sox scored two more runs on an error by Tyrone Johnson at first base. Josh Miller walked off the mound in disgust at the end of the inning with the score 4 to 2 for the Red Sox.
It was still 4 to 2 in the bottom of the sixth and last inning, with the game apparently in the bag for the Red Sox. The Red Sox left-hander, ably coached by Dusty Taylor, had pitched a beautiful baseball game so far, allowing only three hits wile walking just two men. Carlos Rodriguez had doubled in the fourth inning, but could not score.
Across the field, Dusty Taylor sat in his dugout, smiling. He looked very pleased, obviously feeling his first Red Sox victory. Suddenly, the Cougars pounced. Andy Wilson, who led off, singled over first base for his first hit in the league. He ran down to the bag, yelling at the top of his lungs.
Coach Anderson immediately called for a bunt because little Daniel Garcia bunted very well and could run like a deer. Daniel dropped the bunt along third base and took off in a blur. He was past the bag when the first baseman caught the throw and both men were safe.
The Cougar fans started to make noise in the stands. Carlos Rodriguez was coming up and Carlos had hit the ball hard the last time up. He was going to hit it again. You could feel it. Michael could tell from the way he stood there, his legs braced and his bat still on his shoulder, just staring at the pitcher. He was hitting away and that he did, on the first pitch, driving the ball through the left center field gap, scoring Wilson and putting Garcia on third. He went into second for his second double of the evening. The score was now 4 to 3 for the Red Sox.
Dusty Taylor came out of the dugout, no longer smiling, muttering under his breath. He called for time and he had a few words with his left-hander. Josh, a very good batter, was up next, but this time he would not hit the ball very far. His roller back to the mound was the first out of the inning and Garcia stayed at third after being looked back by the Red Sox pitcher.
With one out, the Red Sox signaled an intentional walk of Ethan Moore. By loading the bases to play for a double play, they hoped to retire the side and win the game.
Michael, the next man in line to bat, crouched in the batter on-deck circle. He watched as they intentionally walked Ethan. Coach Anderson came out to talk to him as Ethan trotted down to first base.
The crowd was yelling now. Michael could see his father standing up, watching him. He held in his hands the new bat his mother and father had helped him purchase that afternoon, the same bat with which he had hit his single earlier in the game. He had to get another hit or draw a walk. If he hit into a double play, the Cougars would lose the ballgame.
Coach Anderson said quietly, “You can hit this boy, Michael. You have hit him before. Make him put it over the plate and in your zone. Do not try to crush it. All we need is a base hit to win the game. Just put your bat on the ball.”
“All right,” Michael muttered. He was nervous now, his legs weak, and his hands sweating. He rubbed dirt on the bat and he stepped into the batter’s box.
Dusty Taylor was calling to the pitcher, “C’mon, C’mon. You’ve got this man, Jack.”
Michael really resented that remark and he stepped back out of the box to clear his mind of it. He had to focus. Even though Taylor already considered him out, Michael wanted very much to beat the big leaguer and his Red Sox who most people in town thought would win this ball game.
The left-handed Red Sox pitcher was on the mound, looking at him. He started his wind up. The ball came in a little wide of the plate. Michael let it go for a called ball.
He adjusted his batting helmet and dug in again, remembering Coach Anderson’s words. He was to just meet the ball, get the barrel of his bat on it solidly and the baseball would do the rest.
The next pitch was a curve ball and Michael
swung at it, fouling it back into the backstop behind the catcher, making the count one and one. The entire Cougar team was on the dugout steps, yelling for that hit now and the Red Sox were talking it up in the infield.
Michael dug in at the plate. He was not as tall as Tyrone Johnson, nor as heavily or solidly built as Jake Jones or Matthew Davis; but, he was not skinny and he could hit a ball pretty far when he caught hold of one. He stepped out of the box and thought about the left field fence one hundred and eighty feet away. A home run with the bases loaded, a grand slam in his first game of Little League baseball would really be something, but then he remembered Coach Anderson’s comment. The Cougars did not need a home run to win this game. A base hit would be perfect.
The left-hander threw another pitch and it was outside for a ball. Michael stepped out of the batter’s box and looked over at Coach Anderson. The Cougar coach just smiled at him confidently, pointing toward the outfield.
The next pitch was in his zone and Michael swung. He literally saw the ball hit the bat; he heard the distinctive “tink” sound ringing true and his heart leaped with joy as the baseball darted between shortstop and third base, rolling to the outfield.
As he raced madly toward first base, he heard the roar of the crowd from the stands. Two Cougar runners pounded over the plate and then all of the Cougar players raced out to first base to pound and jump on Michael’s back. Michael saw his father standing up, shouting, and grinning ear to ear.
“You did it, Michael!” Andy Wilson howled. “That’s number one for the Cougars.”
Walking back to the dugout and seeing the smiling Coach Anderson, Michael Smith was thinking that Little League baseball was so much fun and his team, the Cougars, was the best in Springdale, best of the eight teams in the Springdale league. Maybe they were best in their district, maybe best in their section, maybe best in the whole world!
TURMOIL