Chapter Thirty-Six
Reed
“I’m not going to play because I can. I’m going to play because I deserve it.”
—Greg Maddux
As we finished our side shuffles with arm crossovers, the lights of Crowley Park burned brightly, despite the faint gray color of the sky.
After some slow forward lunges, half of us moved on to twenty-yard sprints while the rest did more static stretching.
Tom, Cameron, and I stood near the dugout and used our J-Bands to loosen up our shoulders.
Even with thirty minutes until opening pitch, the stands were packed. Energy and excitement buzzed through the air.
“Reed!” Granddad leaned against the railing of the seats behind our dugout, where Nana and Mom would soon join him.
I stepped closer to him. “Yeah?”
“I wanted to wish you luck.” He lowered his voice a little. “And to give you one last piece of advice.”
“Granddad, I gotta finish warming up so I can get to the bullpen.” I coiled up my J-Band.
“I know, I know.” He put his hands up. “But I’ve been meaning to tell it to you all season, and now I finally remembered.”
“Okay.” I crossed my arms. “Shoot.”
“You’re not untouchable.”
Uh… “That’s your advice?”
“Not all of it.” He smiled. “You can try to be as controlled as possible, but you can’t control every hit that comes at you. You’re not untouchable. Pitching is the riskiest part of this sport. Once you accept that, you’ll be the best pitcher you can be.”
Something small warmed my heart. “Thanks, Granddad.”
“Don’t thank me. Thank your father.”
“What?”
He stood up straighter. “Your father used to say that.”
I clutched the tags underneath my jersey as the warmth in my chest tightened like a fist.
Damn, I’d give anything for him to be here.
Granddad sat down behind the dugout, and I jogged toward the outfield where the Crowley Cardinals played catch and finished some stretches. Before heading toward the bullpen, I walked up to someone I needed to speak to.
“Coach?” I asked.
Mr. Crowley turned around with his clipboard in hand and tucked a pencil behind his ear. “Mr. Fulton. Healed up okay?”
“Yes, sir.” I patted my arm where a smaller bandage still lay. “Ready to play.”
“Good.”
I extended a hand. “Thank you for moving this game out a couple weeks. I”—my throat grew thick—“I really appreciate it.”
“After how well you played this season, you deserved it.” He shook my hand firmly.
“Good luck, sir.”
“And to you.”
If someone told me several weeks ago that I’d shake that man’s hand before the championship game, I would’ve never believed them.
I warmed up well with Cameron in the bullpen.
Troy would be behind the plate for us tonight since Ben was officially off the team.
Troy was a damned good catcher and had a great arm, but I had only thrown with him a few times.
It took a long time to build up a rhythm between a catcher and a pitcher. I hoped he was ready.
Coach Roeper told us to join the team for the national anthem. As Cameron and I jogged toward the first-base line, Mom and Nana waved from behind the dugout before they both shouted, “Good luck!”
I took off my hat and waved it at them, beaming.
A barbershop quartet from town began the national anthem, and I bounced back and forth on my feet.
Dad always said that my games should be for me.
That if I worked hard, I shouldn’t feel guilty about wanting the win.
Wherever he was, I wanted him to know that I played the best I could this summer—not only for me, but mostly for him and for Granddad.
The anthem ended. And after a few power fives, Cameron and I ran back to the bullpen as Tom took the mound first.
Here we go.
The game flew by, and both teams had definitely come to win.
Brett doubled to deep right center in the bottom of the second and brought Dominic and Alejandro in to give us the first points of the game.
But then the Cardinals rallied in the next inning after TJ homered with two runners already on base.
Nick singled to left center in the bottom of the fourth, bringing Troy barreling into TJ as he slid into home. A couple of batters later, Brett brought Nick in with a shallow single to center and gave us the lead again.
When I had taken the mound in the top of the fifth, one of the Cardinal outfielders, Asher, hit the shit out of my curveball and drove in Matt—who got on base thanks to a very generous and very bullshit ball-four call.
Asher didn’t stay on base long though. He tried stealing second a few moments later but never made it.
Dominic tagged him out a second after he hit the dirt to slide.
Never underestimate the cannon of an arm Troy has from behind the plate.
Another Crowley Cardinal hit a lucky blooper off my changeup just over Dominic a moment later, but I got the next guy to hit a grounder into a double play. The score stayed tied 4–4.
The sixth inning was a blur. Both teams had three up and three down, with the only hit coming from Alejandro, who popped up and gave TJ an easy catch behind the plate.
But finally, in the bottom of the seventh, a miracle happened. David, our third baseman, who hadn’t hit well most of the season, popped a sacrifice fly to right field that brought home Nick. Our bench emptied with cheers.
We were now up 5–4.
Two innings left.
If we could hold them off for just a bit longer, the game would be ours.
As I took the mound a moment later, I snuck a quick look into the stands at my grandparents and Mom. The three of them smiled and waved, and for the first time in days, the tension in my shoulders and neck lifted away.
They were here for me. And they’d be here for me no matter what happened tonight.
Pitching was risky as hell, yes, but damn, I loved it.
Granddad was right. I was the most exposed guy on this field. I wasn’t untouchable. And it didn’t matter that I towered over the guys at the plate. Or how fast my two-seamer was.
What mattered was my love of the game.
If I remembered that, no matter the outcome, I could walk away from this game with my head held high.