The 823rd Hit Page 2

  “OK. Well, I guess I’ll just tell Teddy he can’t have his birthday baseball.”

  “That’s exactly what you should tell him.”

  “Thanks anyway.”

  I went back to the dugout. I’d been gone almost a whole inning. The Porcupines were just coming off the field to bat again.

  “The guy who’s got it wants to keep it,” I told Teddy. “He doesn’t want to trade.”

  “Tell him I’ll give him fifty dollars,” said Teddy.

  “Wow,” said Sammy. “I’ll give you one of my homers for fifty bucks. Heck, I’ll go up and hit a new one in my next at-bat.”

  “I need that baseball,” said Teddy. “Go tell him about the fifty dollars. And if he still says no, tell him I’ll give him a hundred dollars.”

  “Teddy, for a hundred dollars I’ll sew you a baseball,” said Wayne Zane.

  “Can I hear one twenty?” Sammy started in like an auctioneer.

  “One twenty!” said Danny.

  “One twenty, one twenty, one twenty,” Sammy rattled off. “Do I hear one twenty-five?”

  “One fifteen!” said Brian.

  “You’re going the wrong way,” Wayne told him.

  “But that’s all I have,” said Brian.

  “Stop it!” said Teddy. “I’m the one buying back a ball. You guys stay out of it.” He turned to me and said, “Tell you what—I’ll write him a note.”

  Teddy disappeared for a moment and returned with a notebook. He flipped to the first blank page.

  “What’s the guy’s name?”

  “He didn’t tell me,” I replied.

  “Dear sir,” said Teddy. He poked his tongue out of his mouth as he wrote. He ended it with a big, fancy signature. Then he folded the note and handed it to me.

  “Go give him this.”

  “All right. But I have to wait until the end of the inning.” I was a batboy first, messenger second.

  “Hey, Teddy. What’s the notebook for?” Sammy asked.

  “Nothing.” The Bear shut the notebook.

  “I usually don’t have school supplies in my locker,” Sammy added. “That’s all.”

  • • •

  I went back to the right field seats in the top of the seventh inning. When I got there, the man in the wool cap was gone.

  I pointed to where the old guy had been sitting. “Is he coming back?” I asked a woman who was sitting nearby.

  “I don’t think so,” she told me. “I think he was worried about that baseball. He was muttering about kids trying to con it off him.”

  • • •

  The Porcupines lost the game, 9–4, and the Rogues clinched first place in the league. They celebrated on the field. It was depressing.

  “Some birthday,” Teddy grumbled as he got dressed. “We lost the game, and I lost my lucky birthday ball.”

  “Maybe it’s not that lucky. The first thing it did was get lost,” Wayne pointed out. “Just sayin’.”

  “Yeah, maybe it’s a bad-luck ball,” said Tommy.

  Teddy grabbed his notebook and wrote something in it.

  “What’re you writing?” Wayne tried to read over his shoulder.

  “N.O.Y.B.,” Teddy replied. He pulled his notebook away.

  “Oooh,” said Tommy. “The Bear says it’s none of your beeswax, Wayne. Step back.”

  “Worst birthday ever,” Teddy mumbled. He stuffed the notebook in his bag and left the locker room.

  “We should’ve sung the birthday song or something,” said Tommy.

  “Ah, we’ll catch up with him and take him out for pizza,” said Wayne.

  Dylan came back from the other locker room, shaking his head.

  “The Rogues think they’re all that,” he said.

  “I know.”

  It was the least fun I had ever had at a ball game. To make things worse, it was my last game before school started.

  elcome back, Chad!” Ms. Henry said as I walked into my new classroom. She knew me from the school play two years ago, Hansel and Gretel. Ms. Henry had been the director. My friend Abby played Gretel. I played a tree.

  “You should meet Casey,” Ms. Henry said. “He’s a big baseball fan, just like you.” She led me over to a new kid. His hair hung down in his face. He wore thick glasses. He was also wearing a Rosedale Rogues jersey that was two sizes too big for him. But I figured I would give the kid a chance. He was a fellow baseball fan, even if he did root for the Rogues.

  “Chad, this is Casey. His family just moved here from Rosedale. Casey, Chad is a batboy for the Pine City Porcupines. Doesn’t that sound like fun?” Ms. Henry smiled like she’d just matched up the two best friends of all time, and went off to talk to some other kids.

  “The Porcupines?” the new kid said with a snicker. He pushed the hair out of his eyes. “The Rogues just swept them.”

  “Only two games,” I said. “The Pines are still the best team in the Prairie League.”

  “No way,” Casey said, shaking his head. “The Rosedale Rogues have the best record. First place, remember? Plus they’ve won the last two championships, and they’re about to win a third.”

  “Only if they beat the Porcupines,” I reminded him. Casey didn’t back down.

  “Don’t make me laugh.”

  “You’d better laugh now, because in a couple of weeks all you’ll be able to do is cry.”

  We went back and forth like that until class started.

  • • •

  Dylan was in a different class this year, so I was glad to see him at lunch. He had his nose stuck in a book.

  “What are you reading?” I asked.

  He showed me the cover. “I’m reading about cells,” he said. “It’s really interesting.”

  Who reads a science textbook during lunch? Answer: Dylan.

  “You would really get along with my dad,” I told him. “My dad also loves to read.”

  The new kid slid in next to me.

  “The Rosedale Rogues probably have the best pitching staff in all of Single-A baseball,” Casey said. He didn’t even bother with a “Hi” or a “Can I sit here?”

  “I guess you haven’t heard of Lance Pantaño,” I told him. “He pitched a perfect game this season.”

  “Pantaño got lucky.” Casey waved his hand like he was brushing away a fly. “Damien Ricken has a lower ERA, a lower WHIP, and a better DIPS.”

  I didn’t know what those were, but there was no way I was going to admit it.

  “I’ve seen Lance throw over a hundred miles an hour,” I told him.

  “Ricken doesn’t just throw hard. He carves up batters.”

  Casey spent the rest of lunch describing Damien Ricken’s pitching. He demonstrated his famous slider using Tater Tots. “And that’s just Ricken,” Casey said. “I haven’t even told you about the rest of the rotation.”

  He went off to clear his tray. I noticed that his jersey had Ricken’s name and number.

  “Who is that kid?” Dylan asked.

  “Casey.”

  “He’s like the you of the Rosedale Rogues.”

  “I’m not like that, am I?”

  “You aren’t as annoying,” Dylan agreed.

  • • •

  Casey caught up with me again on the way home from school.

  “Let’s go through the lineup,” he said. “Who bats first for the Porcupines?”

  “Tommy Harris,” I said.

  “What’s his OBP?”

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “Well, with lead-off hitters, especially, you have to look at on-base percentage, not just batting average,” Casey said. “Jasper Davis is .366, which is pretty good. He’s the lead-off hitter for the Rogues. Now, his OPS could be better … I think it’s .617.” He laughed.

  I didn’t get it. I’d have to ask my uncle Rick about OPS.

  “Who bats second for the Porcupines?” Casey asked next.

  “Myung Young,” I replied.

  “Oh, yeah,” Casey said. “He’s a grea
t defensive player.”

  I couldn’t believe he admitted that the Porcupines had something going for them.

  “What’s his OPS?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know about anyone’s OPS, all right?”

  Casey shrugged. “Fine. Do you want to come over and see my baseball cards?”

  “You should come over to my house and see my baseball cards,” I told him. I had thousands, some dating way back to when my granddad was a kid.

  “I bet I have more cards,” he said.

  “Don’t be so sure. I have a lot.”

  “I have forty thousand cards. How many do you have?”

  “Forty thousand and six,” I lied.

  “Ha.”

  “Anyway,” I said, “I have to go do my homework. If I don’t keep up, Mom and Dad won’t let me work the Pines’ games this weekend.”

  “We didn’t get any homework,” Casey reminded me.

  “I’m going to work ahead.” The truth was that this new kid was driving me crazy. I never thought anyone could talk too much about baseball, but he did. Worse, everything was a contest. He was a bigger fan of a better team. He had more baseball cards. He used abbreviations I had never heard of.

  “Come on, I don’t have any friends in Pine City except for you,” Casey said. “We just moved here last week. Dad’s company transferred him out of the blue.”

  I sighed. “OK. I guess I can come over for half an hour.”

  “Let’s go, then,” Casey said.

  On the way, he explained that his parents hadn’t bought a house yet. They were all staying with his great-uncle Marvin. “He’s a big baseball fan,” said Casey.

  “He sounds like my uncle Rick,” I said.

  “My granddad’s even a bigger fan,” said Casey. “He’s the reason I have so many baseball cards. He’s been collecting since he was a kid, and they’re all in perfect condition.”

  Dylan was right. Casey was the me of the Rosedale Rogues. Casey even had a baseball-crazy uncle and baseball cards from his grandpa.

  We arrived at a house with a big porch. An enormous black cat glared at us through the window.

  “That’s my uncle’s cat, Arthur,” Casey said with a shudder. “He’s mean. Let’s go around back.”

  We did. As soon as we walked in, we heard a baseball game on the radio. An old man was hunched over a crossword puzzle.

  “Five-letter word for ‘buffalo,’” he said. “That’s easy: ‘bison.’” His voice was familiar.

  “Uncle Marvin, this is my new friend, Chad.”

  His uncle looked at me. “You still can’t have it!” he said.

  “Can’t have what?” Casey asked.

  Now I knew that voice! It was him! Uncle Marvin was the old guy with the wool hat. He was the man who had caught Teddy Larrabee’s lucky birthday baseball!

  t’s no use trying to chummy up with my nephew,” said Uncle Marvin. “The ball still isn’t for sale.”

  Casey looked at me, then at his great-uncle, then at me again. “What’s going on?”

  “This is the little whippersnapper who came begging for my home run ball,” said Uncle Marvin.

  “I didn’t beg,” I said. “The player who hit the ball wanted it back. That’s all.”

  “Sixty years I’ve been going to ball games. I never caught a home run ball once in all those years. The second I do, some kid tries to con it off me. Now he’s sniffin’ around my house for it.”

  “It’s just a coinkydink … uh, a coincidence!” I said. “I’m not sniffing. Casey invited me over to see his baseball cards.”

  “So it’s my nephew’s cards you’re after!” He leaped up and pointed his pen at me. “You’d better stay away from those cards, if you know what’s good for you!”

  “No!” said Casey. “I invited Chad over, Uncle Marvin. I told him he could see the cards. He didn’t even ask.”

  “I didn’t know you were his great-uncle. Promise,” I said. “I don’t want your baseball, either.”

  “Hmm … All right, then.” The old man sat down. “It was just a surprise, seeing you barge into the kitchen like that.”

  “I can see why you want to keep the ball,” I told him. “Sixty years is a long time. How many games have you seen?”

  “Too many to count,” he said. “I’ve been to at least fifty ballparks, major and minor. If they have seats in home run territory, that’s where I sit. I’ve always wanted to catch a home run ball. Ever since I was a kid in Chicago. Me and Carl—that’s my brother, Casey’s grandfather—me and Carl would stand out on Waveland Avenue trying to catch balls hit out of Wrigley Field. I never got one. But Carl did.” He had a faraway look in his eyes. “I wonder if he still has that ball.”

  “He sure does,” said Casey. “Granddad shows it to me every single time we see him, and he tells me the story every time. It was hit by—”

  “Andy Pafko, I know,” said Uncle Marvin. “I remember. Carl wanted him to sign that ball more than anything, but about a week later Pafko was traded to Brooklyn. Broke Carl’s heart. Pafko was his favorite player.” The old man sighed loudly.

  “Are you OK?” Casey asked him.

  “Just a lot of memories,” said Uncle Marvin.

  We went upstairs to see Casey’s cards. He had just about everything I had, but a lot more of the older ones. It was incredible.

  “Name a team, a year, and a position,” he told me.

  “Cardinals, 1982, second base.”

  He went to a box and came up with a card for a player named Tom Herr.

  We played that game about fifty more times before it started to get old.

  Casey did have more cards than me, but I’ll bet he didn’t have any magic cards. I kept my favorite cards in a red binder. Some of the Pines thought the cards in there helped them work miracles on the field. I gave Mike Stammer my Rafael Furcal card and he turned a triple play all by himself. Lance Pantaño finished a perfect game with a little help from my Jim Bunning card. Sammy Solaris even stole a base after I gave him my Bengie Molina card. That might not seem like a big deal unless you’ve seen Sammy run. The pine trees outside Pine City Park could beat him in a footrace. I didn’t think the cards were really magic, but they reminded players what was possible. Too bad there wasn’t a card that would help Teddy Larrabee get his lucky baseball back.

  “Do you think your uncle would trade that baseball for anything?” I asked Casey.

  “No way,” he replied. “Not even for Granddad’s ball from Waveland Avenue.”

  “Hey, how come your uncle Marvin didn’t know he still had that ball?” I asked him. “If your granddad talks about it all the time, wouldn’t your uncle Marvin know?”

  “They don’t talk much,” he said. “Dad says they had a falling-out years ago.”

  “Over what?”

  “I don’t know. Before we moved to Pine City, we barely knew Uncle Marvin.”

  “That’s too bad.” I had always wanted a brother. I figured we’d be best friends.

  Casey put his cards away. “I’m missing a few cards,” he admitted. “For example, that guy who hit Granddad’s home run ball? Andy Pafko? I don’t have any cards for him. I sure wish I did. They’re hard to find and worth a lot.”

  “That was a long time ago.”

  “A really long time ago,” he agreed.

  • • •

  I checked my own cards when I got home. I didn’t think I had Andy Pafko. I did have some cards from the 1950s that Grandpa had collected as a kid, but not every player for every team, every year, the way Casey did.

  I had my grandpa’s cards in a box, not a binder. I flipped through it, looking for Cubs. I nearly missed Andy Pafko because on the card he was a Brooklyn Dodger. The front of the card called him Andy Pafko, and the back called him Andrew. I also noticed a big number one inside the baseball graphic on the back. That made it the first card in the series for that year.

  It was a cool card. I definitely didn’t want to trade it. I never tr
aded my cards, anyway. I especially never traded the ones that used to belong to Grandpa or Uncle Rick. Sometimes I gave them away and sometimes I lent them to people, but that was different. I didn’t want to trade this one. It was fun to think about what I could trade it for, though. I could make Casey wear a Porcupines’ cap for a year. I could make him go to a game against the Rogues and cheer for the Pines. Maybe I could get him to wear a Pines’ cap for a day just to let him see the card.

  I cackled like an evil supervillain in a movie.

  he Porcupines came home for the last weekend of the regular season. According to Dad, Friday counted as a school night, so I couldn’t work. I made up for it by getting to the ballpark early on Saturday. I even made coffee. The coffee machine used to scare me, but I got over that.

  Teddy Larrabee was the first player to show up. He helped himself to a cup of coffee.

  “Did you have a good birthday?” I asked him.

  “The guys took me out for pizza,” he said. “But I’m still pretty bummed about losing that ball.”

  “Yeah, that’s a drag.” I could have told him that I had found the guy who caught it, but what was the point? Uncle Marvin would never sell the ball.

  “Maybe you miscounted?” I suggested. “Maybe you counted one hit twice or forgot one? You can’t be sure that ball was exactly number eight hundred twenty-three, not if you started counting when you were in T-ball.”

  “Yes, I can,” Teddy said. “Because I wrote ’em all down.” He pointed at his notebook. “I’ve been keeping track.”

  “Really? Even when you were a kid?”

  “Yep.”

  He handed me the notebook. It was the spiral-bound kind, with the narrow line spacing that teachers seemed to like. On the first page the printing was big and loopy like a little kid’s writing.

  May 7. Today I got a hit!

  May 13. I got another hit!

  I flipped through the notebook pages. The handwriting gradually got smaller and neater as Teddy grew up. Every page was full of base hits. About halfway through he had started adding other info: the inning, the opposing team, the pitcher’s name, what the game situation was, and what happened next.