The 823rd Hit Page 3

  July 17. 2B off Cole Robinson of Somerset. 3rd inning, one out, nobody on. Left on base.

  Even with more than 800 hits, Teddy hadn’t gotten through the first section of the notebook. I flipped to the last entry in the book. It was hit number 823.

  “You haven’t gotten a hit since your birthday?” That was like six or seven straight games without a hit.

  “Nope,” Teddy answered. “Ever since I lost that lucky baseball, I’ve been in the worst slump. I was hoping that you could look for that fan who caught it? He might be sitting in the same section today. Maybe I can cut a deal.”

  “Actually, I already did find him,” I said, and I told him about Uncle Marvin. “He’s been waiting sixty years for that ball. He won’t trade it for anything.”

  “I respect that,” said Teddy. “I just hope I can break out of this slump without the ball.”

  “Of course you can,” I told him.

  “I sure hope so,” he said. “I have a lot of blank pages in that notebook. I plan on filling them all before I’m done.”

  • • •

  Teddy was zero for four that day. Grumps, the Pines’ manager, took him out for a pinch hitter in the seventh inning. The next day, Grumps put Luis Quezada at first base. Luis was a utility infielder and pinch runner. The only bright side for Teddy was that Luis didn’t get a hit, either. Teddy was back at first in the next game, but he still didn’t get any hits.

  • • •

  “Remember that Andy Pafko card?” I told Casey after school on Tuesday. We were walking to his house.

  “You mean the card you made up?”

  “I did not.”

  “Did so.”

  “I’ve got it right here,” I told him. I patted my backpack. The card was tucked inside my math book.

  “Prove it,” Casey said. “Seeing is believing. But before you ask, I already told you: I’m not wearing a Porcupines’ cap, even for five seconds.”

  “I know,” I said. “I just want to see Uncle Marvin’s home run ball.” I thought maybe once we had the ball and the card out, I could talk Uncle Marvin into trading the ball for the card. I hated to do it, but Teddy needed the ball more than I needed the card.

  “That’s fair,” Casey said.

  We went in through the kitchen. Uncle Marvin was doing another crossword and listening to a game on the radio.

  “Uncle Marvin, can Chad see your home run ball?”

  He looked up from his crossword. “Hmm. All right. I guess I trust you now.”

  “Awesome.” I started following him out of the kitchen.

  “You wait right here,” he said. “I still don’t want you to know where it’s hidden. A guy can’t be too careful.”

  I unzipped my backpack and took out my math book. The radio was blaring a big league game from Chicago.

  We heard something heavy being moved in the other room, and then we heard Uncle Marvin shout, “Gabbagah!”

  A moment later he appeared, wagging his finger at me. “You already took it!” he cried.

  “What? How could I? I’ve only been here twice. Casey was with me every second.”

  “All I know is that my home run ball is missing!” Uncle Marvin sat down and took some deep breaths.

  “Maybe you just forgot where you put it,” said Casey. “It was more than a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Nonsense. I know exactly where I put it. It was in a shoebox on top of the china hutch.”

  “Let me look for it, Uncle Marvin,” said Casey.

  “Fine.”

  “Can I help?” I offered.

  “Can he?” Casey asked his uncle.

  “I suppose,” he said. “I guess he didn’t take it. But somebody did.”

  We started in the dining room. I found the shoebox on top of the china hutch, but sure enough, it was empty. We searched the living room and also Uncle Marvin’s study.

  Uncle Marvin searched his own bedroom. When we went to the porch, Arthur started screeching and showing us his claws.

  “Arthur likes the porch,” said Casey. “It’s his territory. That’s why I never use the front door.”

  “At least we know nobody else got in that way,” I said.

  Fortunately, there weren’t many places on the porch to look—just a beat-up armchair that had been slashed to ribbons and a scratching post in perfect condition.

  We couldn’t find the baseball anywhere. When I left, Uncle Marvin had his head in his hands and was groaning. I decided it wasn’t a good time to show him the Andy Pafko card.

  Wayne Zane was right about one thing. Teddy’s lucky baseball didn’t seem to bring good luck to anybody.

  he Porcupines finished the season in fourth place. Because of the seeding, they would play the Rogues in the first round of the playoffs. The series would open in Rosedale. Then the games would move to Pine City Park for the weekend.

  I wasn’t as happy as I thought I’d be. Sure, I could work at least one playoff game, but what if the Porcupines lost the series? Even worse, what if they lost at home? The thought of the Rosedale Rogues winning the series in Pine City Park almost made me sick to my stomach.

  “Sorry. I know that you guys like the Porcupines,” Casey told me and Dylan at lunch. “But the Rogues are just a better team in every category.”

  “No, they aren’t,” I said.

  “Hitting, pitching, fielding—no matter how you slice it, the Rogues are better,” Casey replied.

  I knew he’d win any of those arguments, what with his DIPS and OPS. But I knew something he didn’t. “The Porcupines have better personalities.”

  “What?”

  “Sorry, it’s true,” I told him. “The Rogues are stuck-up.”

  “Says you!”

  “I worked with them,” I reminded him. “They made fun of the ballpark, the team, and the town. Tell him, Dylan.”

  Dylan looked up from his book—he was still reading about cells. “The Rogues can come across as stuck-up,” he agreed.

  “Well, maybe it’s hard not to be stuck-up when you’re the best,” said Casey. “Anyway, they aren’t all stuck-up. Damien Ricken isn’t stuck-up.”

  “He’s the worst one of all!” I said.

  “Why? What did he say?”

  “He said Pine City was all pines and no city.”

  Casey laughed. “Well, Damien’s from New York. He’s used to a big city.”

  “He also complained that you can’t get catfish and hush puppies at the ballpark.”

  “That’s all? Have the catfish and hush puppies they sell at the Rosedale ballpark sometime. Then you’ll know why he said that.”

  “Fine!” I told Casey. “Everything is better in Rosedale. But the Rogues didn’t have to trash Pine City while I was sitting right there.”

  “Yeah,” said Dylan. “They did that to me too. They said the Porcupine logo looked like a hedgehog. They also said Victor Snapp wasn’t fit to hold the microphone for their announcer.”

  “They made fun of Victor Snapp?” I couldn’t believe it. Their stuck-up-ed-ness had no limits. Victor Snapp was the best announcer in the league!

  “The Rogues made fun of pretty much everything at Pine City Park,” said Dylan. “Except for Spike.”

  “Nobody would make fun of Spike,” I said.

  Spike was the junior mascot, a funny-looking porcupine kid everybody loved. Not many people knew what Dylan and I knew about Spike. We knew that our classmate Abby was inside the Spike costume.

  “Damien Ricken did say that Myung Young was the best defensive player in the Prairie League,” Dylan continued. “Plus Ricken said he’d give anything to have Ryan Kimball saving his games. Oh, and he said he liked you.”

  “Me?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” Dylan replied. “Ricken told me, ‘I want the kid who was here yesterday. I liked him.’ Nice way to make me feel welcome. Ricken said the pizza place you recommended was great. He said it was the best pizza he’d had since he left Long Island.” Dylan went back to reading his book.


  “So maybe he’s not completely stuck-up,” I admitted.

  Abby came over to our table and sat across from me and Casey.

  “Hi, Chad! Hi, Dylan!”

  “Hey,” I said. “Are you excited about the game on Saturday?”

  “Eeep. I can’t go. I have play practice.”

  “Huh? You’re not going to be there? We need Spike!” Abby was a great junior mascot.

  “I’m really sorry!” she said. “I can’t do both.”

  “How are the Porcupines going to win without you?” I asked. I felt like the junior mascot was part of the magic that had turned the Porcupines into a playoff team.

  “I’m really sorry,” said Abby.

  “Huh?” Casey looked confused. “Why would the Porcupines lose without you?”

  “She’s their best player,” said Dylan.

  “Kind of a secret weapon,” I agreed.

  “Guys!” Abby said.

  “It’s OK. He can keep a secret,” I said. I leaned in and whispered, “Abby is the designated pitcher.”

  “There’s no such thing,” said Casey.

  “That’s what makes her such a great secret weapon.”

  • • •

  Since the first game was in Rosedale, I went to Casey’s house to listen to it on the radio. I brought my homework with me. It was the only way Mom and Dad would let me go.

  Dylan was already in the living room, munching on popcorn.

  “You’re here too?” I said in surprise. Dylan was a batboy, but he wasn’t a big baseball fan.

  “Well, I might have to break up a fight between you and Casey,” he joked.

  A black blur leaped from the sill between the living room and the porch and landed on the back of the couch. It was Arthur, the scary black cat that almost never left the porch. He took a couple of swipes at the cushion, which was already in shreds, then hopped onto Dylan’s lap.

  Dylan gave the cat’s head a scratch, and Arthur started to purr.

  Casey stared. “That cat hates everybody!”

  “This guy? Come on,” said Dylan.

  Arthur raised his chin so Dylan could stroke his neck.

  “He sure doesn’t like me,” said Uncle Marvin. “And I feed him every day.”

  “He doesn’t like me, either,” said Casey.

  “That cat scares me,” I said.

  Dylan rubbed the cat’s ears. “Who’s the big bad cat?” he asked.

  Arthur just purred louder.

  asey’s parents were out looking at houses. Uncle Marvin made us sloppy joes, which were pretty good. Dylan had a hard time eating his with Arthur on his lap. Arthur was purring so loudly that Casey had to turn up the radio. The game was tied, 0–0, after four innings. Both Lance Pantaño and Damien Ricken were pitching a great game.

  After dinner, Casey and I did our homework at the coffee table. Dylan had to prop up a textbook on his knee so he could do his math problems. Arthur was still in his lap, eyes closed and purring up a storm. The game remained scoreless after eight innings. It was nearly time to go home, so I hoped the Porcupines scored soon.

  “I bet the Rogues get a walk-off win in the bottom of the ninth,” said Casey. “I’d love to see it. I would be there in person if we hadn’t moved!”

  “Don’t worry. They won’t,” I said. I hoped I was right.

  Arthur finally woke up. He stood up in Dylan’s lap, stretched, then jumped to the floor and wandered off.

  “Nice cat,” said Dylan. “But I think my leg fell asleep.” He jiggled it.

  Casey’s mom and dad came in. They went on and on about a house they had seen. “There’s a great room for you,” Casey’s mom told him. “It’s got built-in shelves for all your baseball cards.”

  “Hold on. Something just happened.” Casey turned up the radio. You could hear crowd noise. None of us had been paying attention.

  The announcer was talking over a hiss of noise: “The scoreless game is finally broken up by—”

  “Hurrah!” Casey pumped his fist.

  “Sammy Solaris!” the commentator said. “And the Porcupines take a one-run lead in the top of the ninth.”

  “Drat!” Casey put his arms down. “I thought the Rogues were still batting.”

  I was biting my nails when Ryan Kimball came out to pitch the bottom of the ninth. It was still 1–0.

  “Kimball’s really good,” I told Casey. “Even your man Damien Ricken said so. What about that?”

  “I know. But the game’s not over till it’s over,” he said.

  Ryan Kimball got three straight outs, and the Porcupines won, 1–0.

  Casey chewed on his lower lip for a second. “I was sure the Rogues would win with Ricken pitching,” he said.

  I tried not to smirk. “Ricken did pitch really well. Lance just pitched better. Ryan too.”

  “Whatever. Tomorrow we’ll win by ten runs,” he predicted.

  The next night, Dylan and Casey came to listen at my house. Mom made fish sticks and fries. Penny spent the whole evening letting Dylan pet her. The Rogues won, 3–2.

  “I thought they’d win by more,” said Casey.

  I was disappointed the Porcupines had lost, but I was feeling better about the playoffs. “I told you. The Porcupines are better than you think.”

  • • •

  I’d been to games that were sold out, but Pine City Park felt twice as full and five times as loud on Saturday. It was a lot of fun to run out on the field during batting practice. Dylan and I got a huge round of applause, as if we were players.

  “Do you want to work with the Pines for both playoff games?” Dylan asked me. “You’ve been living for this.”

  “Nah, it wouldn’t be fair. Besides, I want the Rogues to sign a baseball.”

  “You’re getting a signed ball for Casey?”

  “Sure. It might make him feel better after the Porcupines win the series.”

  “Yeah,” Dylan said with a laugh. “It’ll be fun, whatever happens.” He high-fived me and went to the Pines’ dugout. I circled around the diamond to the visitors’ dugout.

  The regular Porcupines mascot, Pokey, was walking around with a gigantic tube stuffed with T-shirts. He fired them into the stands. The fans scrambled for them, but they didn’t seem as excited as usual.

  Then a slow chant started up. “Spike! Spike! Spike!” The fans wanted to see the junior mascot. I knew it was a waste of time. Abby was at school, practicing her school play.

  “Spike couldn’t be at today’s game because of important porcupine business elsewhere,” said Victor Snapp, the announcer. But it didn’t seem to make much difference.

  “Spike! Spike! Spike!”

  The crowd was still chanting when I got to the opposing team’s dugout. The Rogues were quiet and nervous. They weren’t even complaining about the ballpark.

  I passed the ball around for signatures, and made sure the Rogues all knew it wasn’t for me.

  “Sure you’re not switching sides?” Damien Ricken asked me.

  “No way! I’m a Porcupines’ fan through and through.” I remembered how I rooted against the Pines for two weeks and felt a twinge of guilt.

  “Any fan of baseball and good pizza is all right by me,” said Damien. He signed the ball. Maybe he wasn’t such a bad guy.

  “So, what can you tell me about this lefty?” the Rogues’ catcher asked me.

  “Not much.” The starting pitcher for the Porcupines was named Kyle Kostelnik. I hadn’t talked to Kyle even once since he joined the team. “He’s good, though.”

  “I hate hitting against lefties,” the catcher grumbled. He did not look happy.

  Kyle got the first three Rogue batters out in the top of the first. I started to feel hopeful. I got even more hopeful in the bottom half of the inning. The Porcupines scored two runs, loaded the bases, and still didn’t have any outs. Teddy Larrabee came up to bat. I crossed all of my fingers and toes. A base hit would blow the game wide open.

  But Teddy grounded into a do
uble play. The third run scored, but you could feel all the energy get sucked right out of the ballpark.

  The Porcupines didn’t score again the whole game, and the Rogues wound up winning, 5–3. The catcher hit a three-run homer in the fifth inning. He must not have hated hitting against lefties that much.

  The Rogues were a lot less nervous after the game. They were now one win away from clinching the series, after all. Plus their pitching coach had cleared Damien Ricken to start the next day. Usually pitchers take four days between starts. Damien only had three, but a lot of stuff changed in the playoffs.

  “We’ll wrap this thing up tomorrow,” said one of the Rogues.

  ost of the Porcupines were gone by the time I got to the locker room. Those who were still there talked about big hits they didn’t get and the line drives they didn’t catch.

  “It’s my fault,” said Teddy. “I snuffed that rally in the first inning. I’m zero for whatever, the whole series. I haven’t had a hit in weeks. If Grumps had anyone else, I would be out of the lineup.”

  “It’s not all on you,” said Wayne Zane. “It’s mostly on me,” said Teddy. “I know it.”

  “The series isn’t over,” Tommy said. “Sheesh. If we win tomorrow, the series will be tied.”

  “Yeah … with game five back at Rosedale,” said Sammy. “Plus Ricken is pitching tomorrow.”

  “Then so am I.”

  We all looked over at Lance Pantaño. I hadn’t even realized he was still there.

  “Are you ready to pitch on three days’ rest?” Wayne asked him.

  “I will be,” Lance replied. “Now, where’s my coffee mug?”

  • • •

  “Want to go with me to Casey’s?” I asked Dylan when we were done. “I want to give him his ball.”

  “He didn’t come to the game?”

  “Nah. He said his parents were so busy house-hunting, they didn’t get tickets in time. He’s coming tomorrow with the whole family. He said he was sure the Rogues would win today and he wanted to see them take the series.” I figured Casey would be twice as smug tomorrow if the Rogues did win, so I wanted to get this over with.

  “Sure, I’ll go,” said Dylan. “It’s not that late. It’ll be nice to see Arthur.”