For the fun of the game

         

For the Fun of the Game

by

G.F. Frontera

         Heading into the bottom of the third, we were up by six after winning the first game of a doubleheader. St Columba was the last place team. It was their first year in the league and it showed. Their coaches were inexperienced and not baseball savvy, and their kids were sloppy in the field and weak at the plate. They had two wins in our twenty game season, both by forfeit.
         We had runners on first and second with one out. If we plated two more runs this inning, the umpire would give the Mercy Rule warning and the game would end early.
         I could tell from the noise coming out of our dugout my boys were getting bored, restless, and weren't paying much attention to the game.
         "Knock it off in there, you guys," I shouted. "You should be paying attention to the pitcher."
         "OK, Coach," I heard one of them say. It sounded like Re-Pete, but I couldn't tell through the laughter.
         In the stands behind me, I could hear my third baseman's dad, Big Angie, shouting his usual obnoxious words of encouragement.
         "Come on, Crusaders. Bring those guys home so we can get outta here. It's too damn hot," he yelled and then gulped down some Gatorade, spilling it on his dirty white tee shirt in the process.
         Curly was batting for us, and hit a soft roller to the first baseman, who made the play and stepped on the bag for our second out. The runners advanced.
         Big Angie made his disapproval known to everyone within a country mile by shouting at Curly that he should have rocked the pitcher. I turned around and gave him a look that said he should shut his big mouth. He didn't notice.
         When I turned back around, I saw the St Columba pitcher wiping his eyes with his shirtsleeve.
         "Is that kid crying?" I asked myself.
         I looked around the field and saw all the kids from St Columba looking miserable, like they couldn't wait for this to be over. They weren't having any fun. My heart sank. This was a game; it was supposed to be fun.
         My own boy was our next batter. He was a good contact hitter and was already two for two. A base hit now would drive the runners in.
         "Time, Blue!" I shouted to the umpire as loud as I could so everyone could hear.
         "Time is out," the Umpire acknowledged.
         "Mickey," I waved him over.
         Mickey trotted over to me, bat in hand, helmet bouncing on his head.
         "Yeah, Dad...I mean Coach."
         "Mickey, look at the pitcher," I told him.
         Mickey looked over at the tall, skinny, long blond haired boy on the mound for St Columba who was wiping his eyes. Mickey gave me a quick look, and then looked back at the pitcher.
         "He's not having much fun out there today," I said.
         Mickey looked at me. I could see that in his big brown meatball eyes he knew what I meant and what I planned on doing.
         "Swing at anything he throws you. I don't care where it is," I told him.
         "OK, Coach," Mickey said with a depth of understanding.
         Mickey turned and walked back to the plate, stepped into the batter's box and readied himself.
         The pitcher finished wiping his eyes and went into his wind up. The ball bounced in the dirt in front of the plate. Mickey swung.
         "Strike one," said the Umpire.
         The next pitch was way inside. Mickey swung.
         "Strike two," announced the Umpire.
         Mickey swung at the next one that was high and way outside the strike zone.
         "Strike three, you're out," declared the Umpire.
         The St Columba pitcher straightened up, pounded his glove, and seemed to be smiling a bit as he and the other St Columba players trotted to their dugout.
         Mickey walked back to our dugout, dragging his bat behind him. The other boys came out and they all gathered around me, waiting for me to tell them what positions to take. They were unusually quiet. My first base coach, Frank, joined us, giving me a quizzical look as to what just happened.
         I decided to shake things up a bit more and sent out our nine to positions they hadn't played much before, if at all. I could hear the parents in the stands murmuring about what I was doing. They were probably thinking I had been out in the sun too long. They were even more incredulous when they saw Oscar on the mound throwing warm-ups to Curly.
         While Oscar was throwing his warm-ups, the Umpire approached me. He had umpired a few of our games during the season and knew we were a solid team that played to win.
         "I noticed it too," he said through a wry smile. "I'll do what I can from where I'm standing."
         He gave me a wink, turned, and headed back to his vantage point behind the pitcher's mound yelling to Oscar as he walked.
         "Two more, pitcher."
         Oscar gave him a wave of his glove in acknowledgement and threw his last two. Curly threw the last one down to Mickey at second base.
         "Batter up," shouted the umpire as he took his place on the field.
         The batter for St Columba was the stubby kid who played third for them. He looked like he had good power if he could connect on one.
         Surprisingly, Oscar's first pitch looked like it was in the strike zone, but I heard the Umpire call it a ball. I understood what he meant when he said he'd do what he can. Big Angie starting his ranting again, questioning the Umpire's eyesight.
         The stubby kid lined Oscar's next pitch into the gap in right-center. Pete and Re-Pete both took off for the ball. Re-Pete got to it first and threw it into our second baseman Obie. The stubby kid had made a big turn at first, and Obie, thinking he could catch him off the bag threw to first. The ball sailed high over our first baseman Chowder's head. The stubby kid took off for second and made it easily.
         Oscar, with help from the Umpire, walked the next two batters to load the bases. Big Angie continued to bring attention to himself in the stands, prompting the Umpire to give him a warning. I could hear some of the other parents agreeing with the Umpire and urging Big Angie to sit down and be quiet.
         St Columba started to rally and cut our lead to two before Oscar could get the three outs need to end their half of the inning.
         Obie was supposed to lead off for us, but I told him to sit down, and told Nikita to grab a bat and helmet. My first base coach, Frank gave me a quizzical look as he started toward first.
         "I hope you know what you're doing," he said as he trotted past me.
         "I do, and hold the runners. No more stealing," I replied.
         "Nikita, everybody, listen up. I want you to bat opposite," I announced to my boys. They replied with laughter and dugout chatter.
         I took a quick look at my watch as Nikita made his way to the plate. It was ten forty-five; fifteen minutes before we reached the mandated two-hour time limit. Since we were the home team this game, St Columba's next at bat would be their last licks
         Nikita too his place in the batter's box and quickly struck out. Our next batter, Curly, popped out after fouling a couple off, and Pete followed him by grounding out to second to end the inning.
         The Umpire announced to both teams that time was running out and their at bat would be St Columba's last licks. The St Columba's coach and I acknowledged him.
         I sent the boys out to the same positions but I swapped Oscar and Chowder. Neither put up a fuss. Chowder didn't throw hard, but had good control most of the time.
         Chowder walked the first batter he faced, and then hit the next one to put the tying run on first. Curly went out to talk to him, prompting the Umpire to hurry them up and get play moving along. Chowder struck out the next batter for the first out.
         As Chowder looked in for the signs from Curly, the runner on second, sensing an opportunity, took off for third. Chowder turned and fired the ball to third too late.
         The following batter then laid a beautiful bunt down the third base line. Chowder got to it first, and rifled it to Oscar to get the batter by a step. The runner on third scored easily on the throw, and the runner on first moved up. St Columba had some fight left in them with the tying run on second, two out, and about ten minutes left to play.
         Big Angie was starting it up again in the stands, when Little Angie turned from his position at third and yelled:
         "Dad, would you please just shut up, we're having fun!"
         All the other parents from both teams, concurring with Little Angie, shamed Big Angie into silence, and he sheepishly sat down.
         We were up by one with two out with the kid who had a triple the inning prior came up again. Jose, Pete, and Re-Pete stepped deeper into the outfield.
         Chowder went into his motion and delivered. The batter swung , hitting a long, deep one down the first base line foul for strike one.
         "Just throw, get the out. You can handle it," I shouted to Chowder.
         Chowder took a deep breath and went to work. His next pitch caught the outside corner for strike two. His infielders offered encouragement, as did the parents.
         Chowder hurled his next pitch. The batter took a swipe, but didn't get all of it. The ball went sailing, but right at Pete in center. Pete gloved it for the final out.
         The Umpire announced time has expired and that the game was over, giving us a six to five win.
         "Gentlemen, line up please," I shouted.
         The boys from both teams lined-up for the obligatory handshakes. I followed in the rear. When I got up to the St Columba's coach, he grabbed my hand and elbow like a politician running for office.
         "Hey, Coach. Thanks. You're a good sport. That was the most fun my kids had all season. We're going for pizza at L&B, if they sell beer there I'd like to buy you one," he invited.
         "I'd like that," I told him, "we go there too sometimes. I'll see you there."
         He released me and went back to his dugout to put his equipment away. I could hear his boys carrying on while collecting their stuff. It sounded like they had had fun; isn't that what it's all about.

The End