Page 35 of Catching the Coach
My nerves crank up and catch myself rocking back and forth onto my heels. The pitcher winds up and sends a ball just outside of the plate for ball one. He winds up again and sends a perfect strike right down the middle. Hudson watches it but doesn’t swing. Strike one. I sway back and forth.
Come on buddy, watch the ball.
Another pitch sails over to the plate. This time Hudson swings, but misses. Strike two. I push out a breath and take off my hat running my hand through my hair. I replace the hat and watch as Hudson sets himself back up, determination in his stance. The pitcher nods his head and releases another pitch. This time Hudson is on it and makes contact.
Crack.
The ball sails between second and first and into the upper outfield.
“YES!” I yell, jumping up and down. Hudson makes it to first, and the first batter, who is freaking fast, makes it to third. He gives Lucy a fist bump and she taps his helmet.
“Is that your kid?” a guy standing next to me asks.
Shit.
“Eh, kind of. I’m a family friend,” I answer, hoping that suffices.
The guy nods but doesn’t say anything further.
The third and fourth batters end up striking out. The next batter comes up and I recognize Joey. He’s got quite the swing on him from what I remember during our practice and if he can make contact he can at least get the kid on third base home. The pitcher winds up and lets one loose toward home. Joey doesn’t even hesitate, swinging hard at the pitch. He makes contact and it sails into the outfield.
“Yes!” I yell, “that a boy!” The kid on third makes it home and Hudson makes it to third. Joey easily makes it to second before the ball is thrown in. I see Lucy also give Hudson a fist bump and tap his helmet. He says something to her and she cracks up. What I wouldn’t give to be over there with them. Kade is up to bat next, he lets two high strikes go by him. The third pitch is a lower strike. He takes a swing and misses, ending the first inning.
* * *
LUCY
It’s the top of the 7th inning and we’re up by one. All the boys have to do is hold them off and they’ve done it. There’s one out and a runner on second. Hayden is pitching and I can tell he’s getting tired, but I think he’s got enough in him to win this thing. He lobs a pitch over the plate and gets a strike making it a full count.
“All right Hayden, you’ve got this. Work your plate buddy,” I yell from the dugout, hoping my voice reaches him over the other voices in the crowd.
“I think this is our most nerve-wracking game to date,” Kara says, chewing on her thumbnail, or what’s left of it.
I nod my head in agreement, but don’t take my eyes off the field. Hayden makes his next pitch. It sails beautifully into the bottom outside corner of the strike zone. I’m expecting the umpire to call a strike and am flabbergasted when I hear, “Ball four, runner take your base.”
“Are you serious, Ump? That was a strike?!” I yell. Normally I don’t argue with the umpires and take the bad calls in stride. I want to set an example for the boys. I guess, today is not one of those days where I’m able to let it go. The umpire gives me a warning look. I whip my sunglasses off and stare right back at him. Kara steps in between us.
“She’s fine, she’s good,” she tells the ump and turns to me, looking me in the face. “Hey, cool it. Hayden needs you. If you get ejected. I am not the one to nurse him through this last batter.”
I break eye contact with the ump and look at her and nod. Turning back to the field, I look at Hayden.
“Time out!” I yell to the ump and make a ‘T’ with my hands.
“Time,” he calls and I jog out onto the mound.
“Are you going to pull me?” Hayden asks reluctantly.
I hold my hand out for the ball and roll it around in my hands. “Nope, you’ve got this. I just wanted to come out and ask you if you think the ump forgot his glasses today. My grandmother could make better calls than that.”
Hayden laughs and I laugh with him. I don’t usually allow bad mouthing of the officials. I know what they do is hard, and I am grateful that we have them, because without them, we wouldn’t be playing, but apparently I have a bee in my bonnet today.
I tip my head towards home plate. “Give ‘em all you got. You’ve got this buddy, and no matter what, know you’ve pitched a really good last half of the game.” I hand him back the ball and head back to the dugout. The batter takes his position in the batter’s box. Hayden set’s up and fires a nice fastball straight down the center. The batter swings, but he’s behind the pitch and misses.
“Strike One.”
“Yes! Just like that, Hay,” I yell, encouraging him.
Hayden takes a breath and lets it out. He checks his runner at second, a skill we’ve been working on this season. He sends another fastball over the plate. This time the batter tips it and it goes foul. I let out a breath.
