Page 96 of Leave It On The Field (Grand Slam 3)
ChapterThirty
SEB
November 6, 2022
Sometimes you just know you’re going to win a game—even before it starts. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, the certainty is so strong that it almost feels like the game is moving by itself toward its pre-arranged outcome.
I felt it when I woke up this morning. I felt it again when we took the field. I still feel it now—even with our backs against the wall. It’s the top of the ninth. We’re up 5-4. L.A. has two outs with the bases loaded.
Their cleanup hitter, Derek Woods, is coming up to bat. He’s seeing the ball really well tonight. He’s already two for three with two RBIs. The runner on third is their fastest player—the kid Chick warned me about after the first game. I know he can score even on a deep infield hit.
Manny’s on the mound. He’s pitched a brilliant game, but I can tell he’s getting tired. I’m about to go out there and talk to him when Bud walks out of the dugout. He calls a timeout and motions me to join him.
“Let’s put Woods on base,” Bud says as I get out to the mound. “He’s too dangerous tonight. I would rather walk in the tying run than have him connect and put this game out of reach. Take the tie and win it in the bottom of the inning.”
“No.” Manny shakes his head. “I want to end it here. I won’t give him anything good. I can get him to pop it up.”
“I agree with Manny,” I say, pulling up my mask. “Let’s work the count a little bit and see what happens. The last thing we want is extra innings.”
“No,” Bud says, “the last thing we want is to lose this fucking game and have to go to game seven.”
“Well, uh, candlesticks always make a nice gift,” Alex says as he walks over from short. “And maybe you can find out where she’s registered—”
“Never gets old,” I say, laughing. “I’ve seen that movie a million times, and it just never gets old.”
“We’re one fucking out away from winning the World Series and you’re quoting movies,” Bud says, pointing at Alex. “Get your head in the game, Molina.”
“I’m just trying to lighten the mood, Bud. Settle down.” Alex looks at me. “You know that kid’s going to take a big lead off third. Should we try to catch him sleeping?”
Dom joins us from third. “I was just thinking the same thing. He might even try to steal home.”
Bud shakes his head. “Dom can’t hold him at third. We need him to cover an infield hit.”
“Let Manny pitch the ball. Dom can distract the kid by charging the plate,” Alex says, kicking the dirt. “I can get over to third and cover for Seb’s throw.”
Bud whistles. “That’s dangerous if Woods connects.”
“We won’t give him anything to hit.” I cover my mouth with my mitt in case anyone’s trying to read lips. “First pitch, intentional ball to see what kind of lead the kid’s taking. Second pitch, low and away. Dom distracts the kid by charging the plate for a bunt. Alex sneaks over to third from short. I throw him out.”
“I don’t know—”
“Come on, Bud. The batter’s a lefty. I have a clear path to third.”
The home plate ump starts walking out to us. “Wrap it up, gentlemen. Let’s play ball.”
Bud shakes his head. “I don’t want to lose this game on a wild throw or an error at third.”
“I promise I won’t have a wild throw,” I say, my mitt still covering my mouth. “Alex, you promise you won’t have an error?”
“Scout’s honor.”
“Manny, you good?” I ask.
“All good.” He whips the ball into his glove. “Let’s end this bullshit now. I’ve got a taste for champagne.”
“I’ll flip up my mask after the first pitch if we’re on for the pickoff at third,” I say. “If not, the plays at the plate whatever happens. Let’s end it here.”
The ump gets out to the mound. “Bud. Off the field.”
