Chapter Text
Friday, March 29, 2019
A lot had happened in the last week. Wednesday, they had sat down as a family and discussed the issue of the grandparents again. Daniel had finally made up his mind. He wanted to meet them. He could tell that his father and brother thought he was making a mistake; opening himself up to getting hurt. He couldn’t blame them for that. Each had, in their own way, been hurt by his grandparents, but the need to meet them, to understand them, was too strong to ignore. His mother had always been a great, gaping absence in his life, and despite the best efforts of his father and brother to fill the void, he could still feel the weight of her absence. He just felt, somewhere deep down, that getting to know them might help him to understand why his mother had left. Of course Esteban and Sean had explained it over and over, and they had always insisted it wasn’t his fault, but somewhere deep down, he had his doubts. He needed to do more than just believe. He needed to know.
They had been surprisingly supportive, despite those misgivings, though. Yesterday, Esteban had called and made arrangements to initiate contact. All three were somewhat surprised that the Reynoldses didn’t just hang up on him. But they didn’t, and so Daniel had shared a short and awkward conversation with them. It was fraught with nervous energy, feeling each other out, strangers getting to know one another. Still, it had been a start. They seemed eager to meet him. Sorry about how things had turned out. Remorseful over missing so much of their grandsons’s lives.
To Daniel’s surprise, Sean had talked to them, too. Sean had shared an almost pleasant conversation with Stephen, but Daniel could see the confused, hurt little boy Sean used to be hiding just below the surface. His conversation with Claire had been stiffer, more formal, but still polite. Daniel could see how much effort that took, too. But nevertheless, the talks had taken place. They were moving forward. Cautiously and slowly, but forward.
It was an awful lot to process, and even after a whole day, he was still struggling with it. He had agonized over it before bed. He had had dreams about it while he slept. He had mulled it over during his morning shower. He had daydreamed about it during classes when he was supposed to be paying attention to math or science or the rules of grammar. But he didn’t have time to dwell on it anymore, because the day of the Tune-Up Tournament had finally arrived. School was out for the day, but the baseball team’s night was just beginning. They had two games tonight; one in the late afternoon and one in the evening, with a break for food in between.
Even though these games would not count as part of the official season, everyone was excited for it, and if the enthusiastic cheers from the other players on the other teams during the opening ceremony was anything to go by, the Ospreys were not alone in that regard. Last weekend, the JV and Varsity teams had enjoyed their version of the Tune-Up Tournament. The JV team finished 4-4, and the Varsity team finished 5-3. Coach Harris seemed fine with those results, though the boys themselves did not. The older boys had been pushing themselves all week trying to make up for the weaknesses the tournament had exposed, and the sixth graders, as they had been coached, tried their best to learn from those mistakes, too.
Coach Harris had explained to the boys how the tournament would work differently than the regular season. In the season, their pitching rotation would center around three pitchers, but in the tournament they would be using four. In both cases, though, Coach Harris would be adjusting the pitching assignments to face the best available pitcher against the better teams whenever possible. Basically, that meant that Jayden would face their toughest competition, Naresh would face the next-best teams, Javier the next two, and Tommy the weakest two.
As luck would have it, their first game of the tournament was against the Stewart Middle School Panthers out of Tacoma, generally regarded as the weakest team in the tournament. That meant that it was Tommy Wilson slated to pitch for the Ospreys, and poor Tommy was a big bundle of nerves. Tommy and Noah had gone out with Coach Harris to represent the team for the coin toss.
The boys looked resplendent in their brand new Home uniforms; the lighter Vegas Gold ones. Their hats were perched jauntily atop their heads, bearing the school’s falcon head logo. Their new cleats were shiny in the afternoon sun. Their counterparts wore uniforms of black and a garish, almost neon, green. All of the boys from both sides looked ready and eager.
The coaches had already handed in their rosters and line-ups, and the umpires had already conducted the pregame equipment check to make sure that all of the gear from bats and balls to catcher’s equipment was rules-legal. Unsurprisingly, it was all legit. The odd piece of illegal equipment might get found now and then, but that was usually the result of an oversight; a practice Fungo bat getting packed with the game bats, for example. There’s not much call for cheating in sixth grade baseball.
The umpire had checked the lineups over, too, and seeing nothing obvious amiss, tucked them into one of the pouches he wore on his belt. Umpires have many such pouches to hold all the various accouterments they might need; a clicker (the device they use to track balls and strikes), a small brush to clean off the plate, spare baseballs, the aforementioned lineups, and a small pad and pencil to write down any necessary information, such as ejected players or coaches.
The umpire held his mask in his hand, talking to the teams.
“Stewart captains, ready?” the umpire asked.
The boys and their assigned coach all nodded.
“Osprey captains, ready?” the umpire asked.
Noah, Tommy, and Coach Harris nodded.
“Stewart, you will call it in the air. This is Heads. This is Tails,” the umpire recited with a practiced air. As he said this last, he held the coin with the appropriate face up in his palm, waving it to show the heads and tails to each team so that they would know what it would look like. The coin was a custom coin about the size of a half-dollar, apparently made to celebrate the tournament. The heads was a bust of famous historical educator Asa Mercer, the teacher that taught the first class at the University of Washington in 1861, when the University actually taught primary school classes, not college classes. The Tails side was the logo of the Seattle Interscholastic Athletics Committee situated next to the logo of the Washington State Interscholastic Athletics Committee, the two organizations jointly hosting the tournament.
“Who is calling it?” the umpire asked, looking the delegation from the Panthers.
A short blond boy raised his hand, offering a shy smile. The umpire nodded and prepared to toss.
“Call it in the air,” the umpire reminded him and the flipped the coin up high.
“Heads,” the blond boy said immediately.
Noah smirked to himself.
“Should have gone with Tails. Tails never fails,” Noah thought.
That was a silly superstition. Tails was statistically the more likely outcome on most coins, but the difference was negligible; significantly less than a single percent.
Silly or not, luck was on their side. The coin came up Tails.
“The coin is Tails,” the umpire noted, showing the result to both teams. “Ospreys, you have won the toss. Do you want to bat or take the field?”
“We’ll take defense,” Coach Harris spoke up.
The umpire nodded.
“Osprey has elected to take the field, they are the home team and will bat last. Stewart, you are the visiting team and will bat first. Any questions?” the umpire recited, having gotten the pregame spiel down to a science at this point.
There were none, all parties shaking their heads no.
“Then let’s have a nice clean game. Play ball,” the umpire recited.
The home plate huddle broke up, the teams going back to their respective sides while the umpire waited behind home plate. He stooped low and brushed the plate clean. This was mostly just to have something to do, as he had already brushed it clean before the plate meeting.
“We’re Home team, grab your gloves,” Coach Harris shouted as they returned to the dugout.
Charles quickly started prepping the fielders while Coach Harris rushed to help Noah put on his catcher’s gear.
The Panthers coach, meanwhile, had shouted to his team that they were the visitors.
“BAT FIRST?” the coach challenged.
“SCORE FIRST!” the Panthers players answered.
Tommy looked anxiously over at the opposing dugout at the sound of the shout.
“Not on our watch,” Jayden said.
“You’ve got this,” Daniel said, clapping a supportive hand on Tommy’s shoulder.
“And we’ve got your back,” Chris reminded him.
Tommy breathed a little easier after the pep talk. He nodded at his teammates.
“Let’s go, guys,” Harry said.
“We’re hunting goose eggs, boys. Go find me some,” Coach Harris shouted.
This was playful slang for zeroes across the board. This meant no hits, no walks, no runners, no runs. A clean shutout inning. That’s the easiest way to win a game; stack up clean innings and the rest takes care of itself. Perfection is less intimidating when you break it up into smaller pieces. Not games, innings. Not innings, at bats. Not at bats, pitches. You do one thing right, then the next, and then the next, until you’ve stacked up enough perfect plays that the not-so-perfect plays don’t matter.
The boys grabbed their gloves and charged the field with fire in their eyes. They took some extra balls with them to warm up. The infielders tossed the balls around the bases, and the outfielders tossed relays to each other in the outfield. Once Noah got his gear on, he got situated behind the plate and Tommy started tossing his warmup pitches. He was a little shaky at first, but soon found his rhythm. Noah gave him clear, solid targets and his signals were easy to read.
After a few pitches, the umpire cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted “BALLS IN!”
This was the fielders’ cue to throw the spare balls back to the dugout. They came bouncing in and Coach Harris collected them, quickly stowing them in an equipment bag. The only person left with a ball was Tommy, taking his last few warmup pitches. When he reached his allotted limit, the umpire held his hands high and shouted again.
“PLAY BALL!” he bellowed at the top of his lungs.
Tommy held onto the ball, waiting for the batter to step in. Once the kid stepped up, Tommy dug the ball into his hip, rolling it in his fingers as Noah cycled through the signs.
“Fastball, straight down the middle,” Tommy thought. Bold, but Noah wouldn’t have called for it unless he was sure Tommy could do it. Still, Tommy shook him off.
Noah sighed and signaled again; sinking fastball, inside. Tommy nodded. That was his most comfortable pitch. He gripped the ball and came set. He paused and then took his full windup, unleashing his best pitch.
Tommy held his breath as batter took a swing, but the bail sailed in, tailing inside at the last second. There was a satisfying slap of leather on leather as the ball hit Noah’s glove and Tommy released that breath.
“STEEEE-RIKE ONE!” the umpire shouted animatedly.
All the boys laughed at the umpire’s theatrical delivery, even the kid who just whiffed on the pitch.
“That’s the way. Just like that. All night long,” Coach Harris yelled from the dugout.
Both he and Charles clapped excitedly and rooted Tommy on as Noah returned the ball to him.
“Hunting goose eggs, one pitch at a time,” Tommy reminded himself.
Tommy’s search for goose eggs in the hits column ended in less than one inning. With the first two batters already out, the third batter hit a little bloop single that just slipped over Harry’s outstretched glove and plopped into right field. Javier charged in on it and he got there fast, but not before the Panthers runner made it to first. As the players on both sides prepared for the action to continue, the coaches of both sides chattered to their players, issuing instructions.
“Look alive out there, defense! Look alive!” Charles shouted.
The outfielders were already paying attention, but they perked up even more at the shout, coiling themselves like runners in the blocks before a race.
“Force out at first and second. Pick your base,” Coach Harris called.
The infielders nodded and readied themselves, just as the outfielders had done. On any infield hit, the player fielding the ball could choose whether to throw to first base or second base. A force out meant that all they had to do was beat the runner to the bag with the ball, tagging the runner himself was not necessary.
This was the complicated dance of the infielders. If the ball was hit to the third base side, either Daniel or Clayton would attempt to field it, depending on who had the better angle. If it was Clayton, Daniel would back out of the way to give Clayton a clear throwing angle to second. Clayton could also throw to first. If it was Daniel, he could either throw to first, throw hard to Chris (who should be covering second), flip it to Chris, or try to run to the bag himself to beat the runner.
If the ball were hit to the first base side, then Daniel would need to cover second while Chris tried to field the ball. Chris would then have the same options that Daniel and Clayton had; throw to first, throw to second, or leg him out. Chris would have one more option, too. While he didn’t have to tag the runner, doing so would still be an out. If he fielded the ball in time to catch the runner going by him, a simple tag would end the inning.
All of those many moving parts had to be kept in mind and juggled in preparation to respond to whatever happened at the plate.
The runner took a cautious lead at first base and Harry slid over to the bag in case Tommy wanted to try for a pick off. Noah didn’t seem too interested in that, though; he kept signaling Tommy to ignore the runner. It was a good call on Noah’s part. The runner didn’t get any farther than first. The next batter went down swinging on three straight pitches for the third and final out.
The Ospreys trotted into the dugout and the Panthers prepared to take the field, each in the opposite roles they had been in before. The crowds for both teams cheered words of encouragement to their respective players as they warmed up for their new positions. They kept it up until the umpire called for ‘Balls In!’ and announced ‘Play Ball!’ once more.
Jayden strode to the plate, swinging his bat to keep his arms warmed up. He watched down the first base line for signals from Coach Harris. Unsurprisingly, it was ‘swing away.’ The first runner’s job is almost always to get on base by whatever means possible. Some teams would try to hit for power; scoring home runs or big hits with every batter, but Coach Harris ascribed to ‘small ball.’ This was the strategy of stacking up lots of smaller plays to score runs. You get a man on base and then you advance him by whatever means it takes; a steal, a hit, a walk. Doesn’t matter. Just keep moving. You don’t have to get everything on one big swing; small, consistent plays would carry the day.
“You got this, Jay!” Sean shouted from the bleachers.
“That’s my boy!” a proud, booming voice declared.
Jayden was ecstatic that his dad had made it to the game.
If the Panthers were hunting goose eggs, they didn’t find any. The first two pitches were on the border. The umpire called one a ball and one a strike. Maybe they were slightly different places or maybe the umpire was inconsistent. Either way, on the third pitch, Jayden took a swing at a sinker that he probably should have let go by him.
It was really weak contact. The crack of wood on leather was soft and hollow. The ball dribbled down the third base line so slowly it was almost comical.
“Did, dig, dig!” Coach Harris shouted as the crowds on both sides cheered encouragement and instructions to their players.
It wasn’t the kind of hit you’d write home about, but Jayden was fast and he legged it out to first faster than the pitcher could get to the ball and throw it. Pretty or not, it went into the score sheet as a hit.
“Nice wheels. Way to dig it out,” Coach Harris said.
Coach Harris gave Jayden a congratulatory smack on the butt and retreated to the first base coach’s box before the umpire could call time again. Once the umpire called time, Coach couldn’t leave his box or touch any of the players. They only had brief moments to celebrate between plays.
Daniel was next, and he strode to the plate with a look of fierce determination. He was a little nervous, but not much. He had practiced for this moment and he felt ready.
“Let’s go, Daniel!” Sean shouted.
“Get a hit, angel!” Lyla cheered.
“Good eye, now, mijo. Pick your pitch!” Esteban shouted.
Jayden led off at first, taking a generous step toward the second base bag. He took a second. As he took a third, the pitcher whirled and threw at the base, but Jayden dived back head first in plenty of time. He stayed down until Coach Harris gave him the all clear and then he stood up, dusted off his pants, and took the same lead again.
The pitcher threw to the plate this time; a straight heater that just barely missed the outside corner.
“Ball one,” the umpire announced in an almost disinterested tone.
The Osprey fans cheered and shouted ‘good eye’ while the Panthers fans booed and assured the umpire that he was blind. Coach Harris shook his head in disgust. He found such behavior distasteful. He had read the parents the riot act about sportsmanship in the stands. If there were any arguments to be made, he would make them, and not one player or fan had better try to do his job for him.
The second pitch was right down the middle, but Daniel was a little late, slicing it foul over the fence on the first base side. A pack of smaller kids went tearing off after the ball to fetch it and bring it back while the umpire pulled a new ball from his pouch and handed it to the Panthers catcher, who threw it back to his pitcher.
“One and one,” the umpire announced.
That was the count; the tally of balls and strikes. The balls were always announced first and the strikes second in such a count.
Daniel looked down the baseline, one foot still outside of the box, getting his signals. He learned what he needed to know. No steal attempt incoming. Swing away.
The third pitch was a fastball inside that was just a little too far inside. Daniel managed to bail out in time, but he had gone to the dirt to do it. The catcher, to his credit, caught the ball and held Jayden at the base with a stare down while Daniel climbed back to his feet.
The crowd gasped as Daniel hit the dirt, but everyone seemed relieved that he had not been hit, even the Panthers fans. Daniel stood outside of the batter’s box, bat tucked between his legs while he brushed the dust off of his pants. He then swatted his hands together to brush the dirt off of his batting gloves before extricating the bat from his legs and going back into his stance.
“Two and one,” the umpire announced.
“You’re okay, Daniel. Pick your pitch!” Esteban yelled.
“You got this bro!” Sean yelled.
Several of the other fans also cheered. Not just Lyla, but also Tammy Wilson and Jayden’s mom and dad, and Noah’s mom. He recognized a lot of the voices cheering. They might not have come out to Lower Woodland Field to support Daniel specifically, but he was on the team. They rooted for him just as his friends and family rooted for the others. Supporting the whole team, not just their own personal player.
Daniel tried to tune out the advice from the crowd and watched Coach Harris. The plan had not changed. Swing away.
The pitcher took his stance and went into his windup. This kid had a tell and it was a bad one. Often you can tell whether a pitch will be a fastball or a breaking ball by the delivery motion. The sinker and the straight fastball are an exception; they have the same delivery motion. Except that this boy always dipped his shoulder if it was a sinker. Trying to give it a little extra movement. Daniel saw it at the moment of release. The boy did not dip the shoulder. That meant that this was a straight fastball with no real movement. And that meant Daniel knew exactly where the ball would be.
Daniel swung hard, rotating through the swing just like he had been taught. He caught the ball on the meat of the bat and made solid contact. There was a satisfying crack of wood as the ball rocketed in the opposite direction. Daniel caught the ball square and it streaked in a straight line, rocketing between the third baseman and the short stop like it was powered by a jet engine.
The ball skidded into the outfield grass and rolled. By the time the Panthers left fielder got to it, Jayden was already heading to third. The throw was late, though, Jayden sliding in such a way that he hit the bag and popped back up to his feet. He was already brushing the dirt from his pants when the ball arrived. Coach Harris waved Daniel through at first. He made it to second easily during the chaos. It was probably an ill-advised throw. The fielder never had a shot at getting Jayden. He might have been able to pick off Daniel, or at least hold him to first. Too late for that, now, though.
Harry was up next. He strode up to the plate, swinging hard and fast in his practice swings. Coach Harris gave him the signal. A familiar one; swing away. Given runners or second third and nobody out, Coach Harris wanted to capitalize and score some runs. Given that the runners could lead off and get a running start, a solid base hit would score two.
The crowd cheered their encouragement. Harry smiled extra wide when he heard Sean’s voice, and his mom’s, but it was his four-year-old sister’s shout that really made his heart swell.
“Hit da ball, bubby!” she shrieked, clapping her chubby hands together like she was applauding.
The first pitch was high and outside. It would have been a ball if he let it go, but that was right where Harry liked it. He could get good leverage in that position, really throwing his weight around. He made good contact, and the ball sailed high.
“Tag up! Tag up!” the Coaches called in unison.
Jayden and Daniel both retreated to their bases, crouching down against their bags like a runner in the starting blocks. If the ball went over the fence, or if it landed safely down, then this wouldn’t matter. But if it was caught, they were ready.
For one breathless moment it looked like it might be a home run, but the Panthers center fielder snagged it at the wall with a truly impressive catch. Worst team in the tournament or not, they weren’t a bad team in general.
The fielder threw the ball back as hard as he could, and the short stop did move up to be the cut off man. But none of that mattered; the second the ball was caught, the coaches shouted “Go! Go! Go!” and it was off to the races.
The cut off man spun and fired home, but he was far too late to catch Jayden, who didn’t even have to slide. Daniel scampered into third, also standing safely without the need to slide.
The crowd went wild and the coaches clapped and cheered.
“That’s the way to do it, boys!” Coach Eriksen shouted.
“An out for a run is a good trade all day every day,” Coach Harris said, clapping Harry on the back as he returned to the dug out.
The other boys clapped him on the back in both consolation and celebration as Harry took off his batting gloves and hanged up his helmet.
“Chin up,” Chris said before hurrying out of the dugout. He was due in the on deck circle, batting next after Clayton.
Tommy moved toward the doorway to the field. He was on deck next after Chris. He patted Harry on the back, too.
“Good job,” Tommy said.
Harry shrugged.
“I was out,” Harry answered, shrugging and shaking his head.
“A sac fly is still an RBI,” Tommy offered.
“A run is a run, dude,” Noah agreed.
Harry smiled. Yeah. He could live with that.
By the time that Tommy took the mound again in the second inning, Osprey was up 3-0, and that took the pressure off like you wouldn’t believe. He was like a whole different player after he relaxed and loosened up. Maybe he didn’t find as many goose eggs as he had hoped, but he did find one. He’d given up some hits and some walks, but when Wyatt Perrino took the mound in relief in the fifth inning, the Panthers still hadn’t scored. Tommy was proud of holding on to that last goose egg, and he had found some new confidence. He knew that he’d have to pitch again tomorrow, and probably against a slightly better team, but he wasn’t scared anymore. He had done it. He had taken the field and proven himself.