Return of the Home Run Kid (11 page)

It was a quick half inning as the Redbirds failed to put a single man on base. The Tigers came off the field with no traces of exertion.

Their leadoff batter, Lennie Chang, flied out to left field. That brought up B. K. Abbot, who doubled to right center.

Another out, and then an error by Duane, created a good scoring situation for the Tigers as Jim Smith, with two hits already to his credit, came up to the plate.

But Jim laced a grounder to second, resulting in the third out, and the Redbirds came off the field to start the bottom of the fifth inning.

Second baseman Jim Cowley walked on four pitches. It looked as though the Tigers’ pitcher was a little tired after just batting and trying to beat out the throw to first. He didn’t seem able to get one over.

That changed when Ted Sobel came to bat. The first pitch was straight over the heart of the plate. Ted walloped it into right center for a double. Coach Corbin arm-spun Jim in to home as Chuck Manning pegged in the ball. Jim barely made it as he hit the dirt and slid safely across the plate. Tigers 5, Red-birds 6.

Trent was up next. Sylvester put on his helmet, picked up his bat, and knelt in the on-deck circle. With only one out, there was no doubt he’d come up to bat again. But the old pressure, the question of whether it would be a home run or nothing, no longer mattered. He was comfortable with the fact that doing his best was all anyone could ask of him.

“Syl! You’re up!” a voice shouted. It was Billy Haywood.

He hadn’t even noticed what happened at the plate: Trent had just struck out in three straight pitches.

He jumped to his feet and passed Trent, who was walking back to the dugout with a disgusted look on his face.

“That’s okay, Trent,” Sylvester said without any sarcasm. “Can’t do it all the time. You’ll get ’em back.”

Just for a second, Trent glanced at him, as if surprised to hear a kind word from Sylvester. But he continued, silently, toward the dugout.

Sylvester observed that Ted was still on second. He stepped to the plate and focused on the pitcher’s mound. He got ready for the first pitch.

“Strike!” Jim Smiths curve ball just grazed the outside corner of the plate.

The next pitch was in there, and Sylvester swung. Crack! A long high drive to center field! It looked good!

The Redbirds’ fans sprang to their feet, cheering and applauding, as Sylvester dropped his bat and headed for first base.

He ran slowly as he watched the soaring ball reach its apex and start arcing down. From just the corner of his eye, he saw that Chuck Manning had his back close to the center field fence, his glove hand held high in the air.

A moment later the applause changed to sighs and moans of disappointment. The ball descended not on the other side of the fence, but into Chuck Mannings waiting glove.

17

F
or one second, Sylvester wanted to crawl under the turf and just disappear. But then, he shrugged off the feeling. At least he had given it his best shot. He lifted his head and started to run back toward the dugout.

And then the strangest thing of all happened. A cheer started in the stands. He could have sworn it was that squeaky, pesky voice of Snooky Malone’s that he heard first.

“Coddmyer! Coddmyer! Coddmyer!”

It was picked up by a few others, then some more, then more, until a huge crowd was shouting his name all at once and clapping rhythmically.

It lasted less than a minute, but it was something he never forgot. Even though he hadn’t hit a home run, hadn’t even gotten a hit, the fans were still on his side. They appreciated what he had done. They hadn’t forgotten.

Even the guys in the dugout were on their feet.

Rick: “It was real close. Too bad, Syl.”

Eddie: “Couldn’t get any closer without going over. Tough luck, Syl.”

Jerry Ash: “Bum break, pal. You’ll get ’em next time.”

Sylvester was so flustered, he was at a loss for words. “Let’s just hold them,” he managed to sputter.

Good news came for his pal Duane, who was at bat. He hit a clean single to short right, scoring Ted. Bobby then grounded to retire the side. Three out. Tigers 5, Redbirds 7.

Chuck Manning led off with a walk to start the top of the sixth inning. “Oink” advanced him to third with a single, his first hit of the game. And then Rick walked Steve Cranshaw to load the bases.

Rats, thought Sylvester. The bases loaded, no outs, and their best hitter is up. So far, Mike Hen-nesey, the Tigers’ cleanup hitter, had walked and gone down twice. He was still a threat that couldn’t be underestimated.

He popped up to third and Duane snagged it. One out.

Lennie Chang swung at and missed three in a row. Two outs.

And then, B. K. Abbot stepped up to the plate, looking really strong. With his reputation as a long-ball hitter, the outfield backed up a few steps.

On Rick’s first pitch, he blasted a fly that was just short of right center field. But it was a judgment call whether it was Bobbys or Sylvesters ball. It would be a hard catch for either of them, and both had to go for it.

The two outfielders raced in that direction, neither sure who would shout first, or whether they would collide in the attempt.

As time and space grew short, amid the uproar from the stands, a voice on the field cried, “Sylvester, it’s yours! Go for it, buddy!”

It was Trent!

Bobby swerved out of the way and Sylvester made a horizontal leap that would have ended in a belly flop if he were diving into a swimming pool. But his glove was turned in the right direction, and he grabbed the ball in the webbing just before it touched down.

The game was over. The Redbirds won, 7—5, and Sylvester started to run off the field to the sound of the cheers and applause that rang from the stands. Before he could get as far as the infield, he was swept up by his teammates. Trent threw an arm around his shoulders and gave him a friendly punch. “Way to go, slugger,” he said, and his smile was genuine.

The swarm of fans pouring down from the stands surrounded him, but he was able to pull away to spend a few minutes with the special people in his life before boarding the bus. His mother and father could hardly speak, they were so hoarse from shouting.

“We’re definitely going out to dinner tonight,” his mother croaked.

“Yes.” His father agreed. “And you get to pick the restaurant.”

Sylvester grabbed someone standing near him and winked at the girl hovering a few steps away.

“Okay, but can I bring a couple of friends? I’d like Snooky and Joyce to come,” he said.

His father laughed. “The more the merrier!”

“Okay, then, one more,” he said as his eyes scanned the crowd. “If he hasn’t disappeared, I’d like to ask him to join us.”

“Him? Who?” Mrs. Coddmyer asked.

“Mr. Baruth,” said Sylvester. “I guess he’s gone. I wonder if I’ll ever see him again.”

Snooky piped up, “According to your stars, you’re still in for a few surprises, Sylvester.”

Sylvester threw up his arms, shook his head, and boarded the bus.