The Diamond Champs (2 page)

Kim laughed. “Good luck!” he said.

“What are you guys doing here?” Don inquired.

“We're outfielders,” explained Kim. “We practiced yesterday, and we're practicing again tomorrow.”

Don's eyes narrowed as they settled on Kim. “I thought you didn't play baseball.”

“I'm playing now,” replied Kim.

Don shook his head perplexedly as he turned away to chase after a ball that had bounced past the coach to the backstop.

It seemed, thought Kim, that he was learning something new about the Steelheads every time he saw another face. He was sure
that Don had played on a team in the Bantam League that had finished in second or third place last year. Why would be want
to play with the Steelheads this year, a brand new team that included at least one very inexperienced ballplayer?

“I can't believe that Don would take that job,” he said. “He likes action, competition. You don't get any of that handling
equipment or keeping score.”

“It's Coach Stag,” said Larry. “There's something about him and his strong will to have a winning team that really got to
us.”

“That must be it,” agreed Kim. “He's got everybody really believing that.”

“Right,” said Larry.

After batting practice, Kim was amused to see Don picking up the bats and balls, and dumping them into a green canvas bag,
while the infielders followed Coach Stag to the blue car behind the third-base bleachers to get their uniforms.

“Hurry up, Don!” Larry called to the manager. “Or you won't be getting a uniform!”

“That's what you think!” Don answered.

Kim and Larry left the stands, walked to the car, and watched the coach pass out the uniforms. The infielders' reaction was
the same as the outfielders' had been yesterday, an assortment of happy
oohs
and
aahs
.

Kim noticed that Bernie Reese was again behind the wheel.
When is he going to start assisting Coach Stag
? Kim wondered.
Oh, well, obviously Coach Stag has his own peculiar way of doing things
.

He was handing out the uniforms so fast that Kim wondered whether Don Morgan would get there in time to receive his. It turned
out that the coach had to wait about a minute for Don, who finally came on the run, carrying the equipment bag on his shoulders.

He ripped open his box as soon as the coach handed it to him, lifted out his sparkling white uniform, and held it up against
him.

“It'll fit you,” Kim assured him. “Don't worry about that.”

The coach, lifting the equipment bag into the trunk of the car, shot him a sidelong glance and grinned. “Kim's right,” he
said. “The suits will fit you all
perfectly.” Then he closed the trunk and got into the car. “Well, see you infielders and pitchers the day after tomorrow.”

“Are we going to have a practice game before the league starts, Coach Stag?” Jo Franklin piped up.

“We certainly will,” he answered. “But I want to make sure that we can make a decent showing first. Take care now!”

With that Mr. Reese started the car and they drove off.

“A decent showing?” Kim grimaced. “I could practice all summer and still wouldn't be able to make a decent showing!”

Larry laughed. “Maybe you'll surprise yourself,” he said.

“I sure would!” said Kim. “Hey, Don,” he went on, “if you think being manager is for the birds, why did you take the job?”

Don shrugged. “I don't know. I told the coach I would rather play, but he kept saying
that a manager is almost as important as a player, and that a manager had to be really depended on, and he was sure he could
depend on me.”

“That's just what he said to me,” said Brad Hamilton. “About depending on me, I mean.”

“Me, too,” said Jo. “But what's strange about that? You wouldn't want to play ball with
any
old coach, would you?”

“Right,” agreed Doug Barton. “Coach Stag is number one in my hook.”

Kim looked at him. “Did you know him, Doug?”

“Not until now.”

“Did any of you know him before he asked us to play on his team?” Kim inquired.

All said no.

“So what?” Doug scoffed. “Are we supposed to know all the grown-ups that live in Blue Hills? Don't make a big deal out of
it.”

He folded his uniform, stuck it back into
the box, and started to leave. “Anybody going my way?” he asked.

All but Larry and Kim took off with him.

“Come on,” said Larry finally. “And forget about the coach, will you? So what if nobody knew him before? Like Doug said, it's
no big deal.”

D
URING THE SECOND WEEK
of practice, the coach had the entire squad working out together from two to three hours a day. By Friday Kim saw an improvement
in himself that surprised him, although he knew that a performance in practice was often better than that in a real game.

He had refrained from speaking to Larry or anyone else on the Steelheads team about Coach Stag, but in the meantime he
had learned that the parents of at least four team members didn't know Coach Stag either.

He tried not to let this knowledge bother him, telling himself that there was nothing odd about four parents in the whole
town of Blue Hills not knowing Coach Stag. Blue Hills was a town of about fourteen thousand people. There must be a lot of
people in that fourteen thousand who had never heard of him, just as there were a lot who had never heard of his own father.

The first practice game was played against the Red Arrows on Monday afternoon, just three weeks after the Steelheads team
had been formed. The coach tacked the lineup on the dugout.

Utility infielders: Roger Merts and Jack Henderson

Utility outfielders: Moe Harris and Sam Jacobs

Utility pitcher: Russ Coletti

Both teams had batting and infield practices before the game got under way. It wouldn't have taken a baseball expert to determine
which of the two was better. The Red Arrows, in their bright red uniforms, definitely outshone the Steelheads.

Doug Barton and the Red Arrows' Eddie Noles flipped for the choice of batting. Eddie won and chose to bat last. The umpire
was Nick Forson's father, who agreed to do the job if everyone promised not to hit him if he made a bad call. The promise
was unanimous.

Eric Marsh, leading off for the Steelheads, faced the Red Arrows' right-hander, Steve Wolzik, and was so nervous
that he let four pitches go by without taking a swing. Two of them were strikes.

He swung on the next pitch and drilled it to short. Joe Fedderson, the shortstop, fielded the hop and rifled it to first for
an out.

Larry Wells looked for the pitch he wanted, found it, swung at it, and flied out to center field. Nick hit a dribbler to third
and almost beat it out. He might have, if he weren't so fat.

“You'd better run more and eat less,” his father chided him. In the next instant Mr. Forson was yelling, “Okay, team! Hurry
in! Hurry out!”

Mick Davis, leading off for the Red Arrows, hit Doug's first pitch to short. Brad caught the hop and heaved it to first. The
throw was too wide and Mick ran to second on the overthrow.

Hank Stone flied out. Jim Kramer singled, scoring Mick, then sped to third on Fred Tuttle's left-center-field double.

“Let's settle down, Doug!” Kim yelled from right field. “Pitch it to 'im, kid!”

Duke Pierce walked to load the bases. Then Jim scored as Doug walked Ken Dooley, too.

Oh, man
, thought Kim.
What a first inning this has turned out to be
.

Eddie Noles cracked a sharp grounder to short. Brad snared it, shot it to second. Second to first. A double play!

“Beautiful play, kids!” Coach Stag said cheerfully as the Steelheads came running in. “Okay, now. Let's get those two back.”

A. J. Campbell struck out on three straight pitches.

“We can't do it that way, A. J.,” mused the coach.

Brad pounded out a single, bringing up Kim.

I'll strike out. I know I will
, he told himself.

“First of all, it's your mental attitude,”
his father had told him when Kim said he was going to play baseball with the Steelheads. “You have to build up a wall of confidence,
telling yourself that you're going to do it and do it right. It's like anything else in this helter-skelter life of ours.”

Kim tried to remember that as he swung at two pitches, missing them both. Then he let two wide ones go by, and swung at the
next, a down-the-middle straight ball.

“Strike three!” yelled the ump.

I knew I'd strike out
, he told himself bitterly.

Jo fouled a couple of pitches, then lashed out a single, advancing Brad to third. That was it as Cathy arced a fly to center
field that was caught.

Joe Fedderson, leading off in the bottom of the second inning, lambasted Doug's first pitch for three bases, and the merry-go-round
began, including a bases-loaded home run by Ken Dooley. The inning
ended with the Red Arrows scoring six runs, bringing their total to eight.

“Eight to nothing,” grumbled Kim as he sidled in between Larry and A. J. on the bench. “We're getting murdered!”

“Don't let it get you down,” said Coach Stag from the corner of the dugout. “Most of you are still nervous. Don't worry. Playing
this practice game is like getting the bugs out of a new car. By the time the league starts, you'll all be playing like last
year's veterans.” He paused, and chuckled. “Well, almost, anyway,” he added.

It was the top of the third and Doug led off.
Crack
! He leaned into Steve's first pitch for a long shallow drive to left field for an easy double.

“On the go, gang!” Kim yelled, Doug's clout exciting him. “Blast it, Eric!”

Eric came through with a single, scoring Doug, and the ice was broken. But only A. J. managed to get another hit during that
half of the inning. It was a single, not long enough to score Eric.

Again the Red Arrows enjoyed a hitting spree, including a double by Mick Davis with Steve Wolzik on base, and a triple by
Jim Kramer, who scored on Kim's error in right field.

“Wow! Eleven to one!” Kim moaned as he trotted into the dugout.

“It should be only ten to one,” Eric said, grinning.

“I know,” Kim admitted, but avoided discussing the fly ball he had missed. Everybody, including himself, knew that he should
have caught it.

“You're up, Kim!” called the coach. “Get your bat, fella!”

Kim had barely sat down.
That's right
! he thought, hopping out of the dugout.
That error must've shaken me up
.

He picked up his bat and hurried to the plate.

S
TEEEERIKE!” BOOMED THE UMP
.

Kim stepped out of the box, knowing that he would never see another pitch as good as that one was. He rubbed the sweat off
his forehead and stepped back in.

“Ball!” The throw was wide.

“Ball two!” It was low.

He stepped out of the box again, rubbed his hands in the soft dirt, patted off the excess dust, and stepped back in. Nervously,
he waited for Steve's next pitch.

It was in there. He swung.
Crack
! A long, high drive to deep center field!

It wasn't long enough. Duke Pierce, taking three steps backward, caught it handily.

Jo did no better, flying out to right field.

“Wait 'em out, Cathy,” Coach Stag said to her as she started for the plate. “Let him pitch.”

Cathy let five pitches go by for a three-two count, then cracked a double between left and center fields.

“Beautiful, Cathy!” yelled the Steel-heads' fans.

Joe Fedderson missed Doug's sizzling grounder, and Cathy advanced to third. Then Hank Stone fumbled Eric's hot liner at third,
and Cathy scored.

“See that?” said the coach. “They miss 'em, too.”

Cathy can really hit, throw, and run
, Kim thought.
So can Jo. But why did they agree to play with us? They could have
made the girls' baseball league in town
.

The thought left his mind as he saw Larry lambaste a three bagger to deep left, driving in Doug and Eric. That was it as Nick,
pounding a ground ball to deep short, again failed by a step to score a hit.

Eleven to four, the Red Arrows.
That's not so bad
, Kim thought.
We have two more bats coming. We can still show the Red Arrows we've got a pretty good ball team
.

The Red Arrows failed to score during their turn at bat, but so did the Steelheads in the top of the fifth. In the bottom
of the inning, however, the Red Arrows picked up one run, and it looked as if the game would end soon as both Eric and Larry
made outs in the sixth. But then the Steelheads saw a ray of hope as Nick walked, A. J. singled, and Brad walked, filling
the bases.

“Keep us alive, Kim!” Coach Stag
shouted as Kim stepped to the plate, thinking nervously,
Why should I have to be the one to bat now
?

So far, his batting average was zero. He had struck out the first time up, and flied out the next two times. Steve Wolzik
had nothing to worry about, even though he seemed to be a bundle of nerves on the mound.

“Ball one!” shouted the ump as Steve's first pitch to Kim missed the plate by inches.

“Ball two!” Inside.

“Ball three!” Again it was inside.

Third baseman Hank Stone trotted toward the mound, spoke a few seconds to Steve, then returned to his position.

Steve stretched, and pitched.

“Strike!” said the ump.

Then, “Strike two!”