The Catch (5 page)

That's what happened to us Sunday afternoon. The Caps weren't bad. Their pitcher was steady and their infield was scooping up everything hit on the ground. Which was part of our problem. Almost everything we hit was on the ground. In nine innings, we had three hits and the Caps had turned three double plays. Jonas pitched well for us, and he deserved better. But our cold bats made him the loser, 3–0.

The guys were quiet at supper. We'd lost something, and we didn't know where to find it. At dessert, though, Coach Harris stood and spoke. He actually seemed pretty upbeat.

“Look guys,” he said, “once in a while you're going to have a game like that. Sometimes you can't tell why. It looked to me like everyone was hustling. When I see that, I'm not too discouraged. And the good thing is, we had it to spend. We can still go home winners tonight, okay?”

Nellie spoke up. “We will, Coach. Right, guys?”

The leader thing. Coach has it. Nellie has it. And we all trusted it. Somehow we snapped out of our funk. At least that's how it felt.

CHAPTER
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hen we got to the ballpark I was in for a surprise. Dad was there, along with Sal, and they were talking with Mr. Strauss.

I ran over and hugged Dad, who seemed to be in a great mood.

“I have a good feeling about this game,” he said. “Right, Jack?”

“Without a doubt, sir. Danny, we're shooting a new advertisement this series. I think you'll love it. Great job showing the colors yesterday—just what we need. Here, I brought you something.”

He reached in his man purse and pulled out a spotted doo-rag with the Ocelot logo on the top.

“I've been talking with your father about incentives. We pay a certain amount for you to wear our gear; you know that. But every time our cameras spot the logo in a play situation, there's a bonus.”

“A bonus?”

“It's a great deal, son,” Dad beamed. “Just do what you . . . do.” And he winked and nodded at the doo-rag.

I turned to Mr. Strauss.

“Did you meet with Pop Mancini?” I asked.

“Why yes,” Strauss muttered. “It turns out Mr. Mancini is well connected in this area. He's friends with judges, casino owners, you name it. An outsider like Ocelot would have a difficult, expensive time getting a favorable decision in a lawsuit in Las Vegas.”

“What will you do?”

“Pay him what he asks, for now.”

My dad looked concerned. “That payoff isn't coming out of Danny's earnings, is it?”

Strauss put this hand on my dad's shoulder, “Oh, no, no. We'll pass the extra cost along to the consumer. We'll simply raise our prices by eleven percent. It's cheaper than going to court.”

“Well, that's reasonable,” my dad commented.

I heard Coach calling in the players.

“Okay! Team's calling me. See ya later!”

“Good luck, son!” yelled my dad.

The renewed confidence we'd felt at dinner was tested in the very first inning. We had gone hitless in the top, and Carson struck out their first two batters. But then Bo “Beast” Bronsky, their first baseman, came to the plate. Six-four, around 240, Beast looks about twenty-five. He was first and foremost a football player—a defensive tackle who was being recruited by colleges like Texas and Nebraska. But he was a good enough athlete to play for most traveling teams, and his power at the plate was legend. The Caps had played an exhibition last season at AT&T Park, where the San Francisco Giants play, and Beast put one in McCovey Cove.

Carson made him fan on two curveballs and then thought he could slip a fastball by for strike three. Wrong. Beast walloped that pitch over the light poles in right and literally out of sight. When the yelling stopped, you could hear a car alarm going off somewhere in the distance.

Their cleanup batter tagged one too, toward center, but not as far as I thought at first. I sprinted about five strides, then looked over my shoulder and saw that I could come in a few steps and wait for it to come down. I caught it for the third out. Then I whipped off my cap so folks could see the spotted doo-rag on my run back to the dugout. Ka-ching!

It turned out the Beast hadn't scared us for long. In the top of two, our first three batters—Sammy, Trip, and I—singled. Zack popped up. But then Nick, just to prove he was back, went yard on the first pitch. It was 4–1.

Carson settled down in the bottom of three, getting the side in order. Things were looking good. But in the fourth, the Caps brought in a new pitcher and our bats went quiet. It was just like earlier in the day— ground balls. Meanwhile, the Caps nibbled away—a run each in the fourth, the seventh, and the eighth.

We came to bat with the score tied in the top of the ninth. Sammy, leading off, was ready for the pitch when suddenly the catcher called time and headed to the mound. He spoke to the pitcher a moment, and then he waved to their dugout. Out popped their coach, who trotted in for a conference on the mound. A minute later a trainer was out there as well.

It was something with the pitcher's throwing hand. Probably a blister. Whatever it was, the coach called for a reliever. From our point of view, anyone new was a sign of hope. On the reliever's first pitch, though, Sammy fanned. On the second he tried to check up, but the ump said he swung. Strike two.

Pitch three was a ball, high, and on the next delivery Sammy grounded hard to the shortstop.

Sammy never gives up, though, and the speed he was showing down the line must have made the shortstop nervous. He hurried and bobbled the ball just a beat as he grabbed it to throw, and Sammy was safe at first.

Trip Costas walked. Sometimes Trip doesn't seem very aggressive at the plate, but he has some of the best eyes on the team. The pitcher was throwing breaking stuff and just missing.

My turn. I put on my cap—I'd had it off in the on-deck circle—and batting helmet and stood in the box. I was looking to just make contact; with Sammy's speed, he might score on a single. But when this big, slow pitch came in right over the plate, I had to take a rip. I just about fell down I swung so hard. But I missed it by a foot. I heard some people in the stands laughing, and even the umpire chuckled a little when he said, “That was a curveball, son.”

I figured the pitcher made me look so bad on that pitch that he'd try it again, so I was taking on the next one, which turned out to be a knee-high fastball right down the pipe. Who was this guy?

Same pitch next time, but just low for ball one. Then another big curve. It was all I could do to take that one, but it broke down into the dirt at the last minute. I stepped out of the box to remind myself what I wanted to do. Just make contact. A short swing.

Here came the windup, the pitch. I took a short, crisp stroke and caught . . . air. Sometime in my follow-through the ball crossed the plate. Strike three. But that wasn't all. For some reason Trip had started for second. Sammy was on his way to third! The catcher gunned it to third. Sammy was hung up, desperately trying to avoid a tag until Trip could get to second or back to first.

Trip decided on second and was on his way there when the third baseman tagged Sammy and threw to second, now covered by the pitcher. Trip slid. Safe! I had just about triggered a triple play.

I wasn't feeling too good even then, but it got worse in the dugout. Wash was all over me.

“The hit and run was on, Danny!” he hissed. “Didn't you see the sign?”

I never looked for the sign. I was focused on saving the day all by myself.

CHAPTER
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e were still tied, though, and when Zack doubled to right center we were a run up. And that's how things stood when the Caps came up in the bottom of the ninth.

Coach had Shotaro on the mound to close things out, and he started steady. Their first hitter grounded to short. The next guy struck out.

Their third batter, though, just wouldn't go out. The count had gone to 3–2 when he started fouling everything Shotaro had. And Shotaro wanted him bad, because the guy on deck was none other than Beast Bronsky. But after six fouls, Shotaro lost the battle. He threw a ball outside, and the Caps had the winning run at the plate.

Walking the Beast was a no-brainer. Such a no-brainer that the Caps were well prepared. Despite Bronsky's awesome power, the leading RBI guy on the Caps was Tim Pesci. Because he hit right after Beast, he often came to the plate with men on base, and even though he wasn't as powerful, he was a better hitter than Bronsky.

The Caps put a pinch runner on first. Coach Harris signaled the outfield to come in to medium depth, in case a short single required a play at the plate. Nick went out to talk to Shotaro.

On the first pitch we got a scare. Pesci, a lefty, drilled one down the line about six inches outside the bag. The next two pitches were balls.

I can't explain it, but sometime during Shotaro's next delivery I got this weird feeling. I don't even think it was in my head. It was more in my legs. When Pesci connected and the sinking line drive started to head my way, I was already moving forward.

Even though I was focused on the ball, I was aware of their lead runner scampering toward third, and I knew that I'd made the same mistake Wash had criticized before. I should have fielded it and tried for a play at the plate. It was too late, though. From the moment, maybe just before the moment, the bat hit the ball, I was committed: just get it.

I saw the spot ahead of me where the ball would hit the ground. It was just a race to see which of us would get there first. I dived for the spot, my glove stretched out in front, and felt the ball bury itself in the pocket. I heard the noise. I had it.

My hat came off all by itself on that play. I was pretty sure Dad and Mr. Strauss would be pleased.

CHAPTER
13

S
toryboard: Ocelot 2

000: Black screen

002: text white: See Spots

004: background gradual change to leopard spots

007: text black: See Spots Run

009: video Danny chasing fly

013: text on spots: See Spots Fly

015: video Danny leaping for catch

019: text on spots: See Spots Win

021: video Danny hoisted by teammates, crowd waving towels

025: logo black on spots

027: voiceover Danny: Just, you know, get it.

030: out.

Three days after the game, with the new commercial airing, the fan mail was piling in:

Yo! Dan the Man! You rule!

Dear Danny I saw you on TV and my bff thinks we would make a good couple. Write me? Ashley

Hey Danny, Saw the video and it's clear you can go places. I would like to offer my services as your agent/representative as you confront your undoubtedly many opportunities. Here's my cell number.

Hi Danny: I coach a Little League team here in Eldorado and I think you would be a great inspiration to my players. Would you be willing to stop in at one of our games or practices and say a few words?

I got interviewed on three local TV stations and sat in for an hour on LV's most popular sports talk radio show. I was signing autographs at every game, and people were even showing up at our practices to see me. At one point Coach Harris chased away an Ocelot video production crew that was trying to get footage of me in warm-ups.

I'll be honest. I could tell the rest of the team was getting tired of all the attention. And I'll be even more honest. I was loving it. I had the “Show Your Spots” move down to an art. Fly ball? I could lose the cap before the catch. In the dugout I always wore a big spotted towel over my shoulders.

One day Mr. Strauss presented me with three pairs of leopard-spotted baseball shoes. They were pretty sharp, I've gotta say. Mr. Strauss said they were selling like crazy. You could see them on billboards: just the shoes and the line “See Spots Run.”

The shoes kind of brought things the team was feeling out in the open. The first time I wore them in practice Coach Harris called me over.

“Okay, Danny, what's with the shoes?”

“Part of my deal, Coach. Don't you like them?”

“I do not.”

“Well . . . ”

“Danny, why do you think we wear uniforms? I mean, instead of just whatever's comfortable?” He didn't wait for me to answer. “It's so we look alike. It makes us equal. Shows that we're a team.”

“It's just shoes, Coach. I still wear the uniform.”

“And the doo-rag. And the T-shirt and the towel. Danny, what those shoes say is, ‘Yeah, I may be on a team, but I'm special.' Think about it.”

Well, I thought about it, and I decided that, you know, I was special. Nobody else on the team had a product deal or their picture on billboards. In fact, I doubted anyone else on the team could make some of the plays I did. And make them with
flair
.

Anyway, shoes were personal. We all wore different brands, whatever felt best. It was just that everyone else wore boring black. Anyway, Coach just said, “Think about it.” He didn't say I couldn't wear them. That's why I was surprised when he benched me when I wore them to the next game.

CHAPTER
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ash actually gave me the news. “Harris says players wear black shoes in games. Otherwise they don't play.” They moved Darius to my position in center. The Runners lost by six runs—our pitching collapsed. I don't remember all the details. I do remember a moment in the seventh inning, though.

There were two out, we were in the field, and the batter hit a high pop fly to center. Darius hardly had to move, but while he waited for it to come down he took off his cap, waved it at the crowd, and tossed it aside.

As the guys came in they were all laughing and poking Darius like, “Good one!” Even the coaches were smiling. I thought,
Go ahead and laugh.
Fact is, we lost.