Jake Linderwell, the wiry Hawks shortstop, was set to be the first batter Kade faced. I set up in my sign position, crouching low with my legs just apart enough for Kade, Kai and Drake to see the pitch call without the third base coach seeing it. I stuck out 2 fingers, telling the three that Kade was going to throw a 2-seamer.
I settled into my recieving stance, ready to recieve the ball. Kade gripped the ball with his fingers on the red laces, and threw it creating two red lines on the ball. Linderwell swung. CRACK! The ball careened to the left of the third base foul line. The ump handed me another ball, and I tossed it back to Kade. I got in my signal stance and stuck out my thumb, then jerked it to the side. Slider. Kade tossed it. The ball dipped at the last minute, but Linderwell was too smart, and he drilled it to left center field. Kellen eagerly ran for it, but then Cordell called him off. Kellen sighed and took position behind Cordell to back him up. The ball came down and Cordell caught it. 1 out.
"Center fielder, number 1, Raymond Callón." Callón, the journeyman outfielder dug into the plate. He took a 2-1 count before blasting a shot to right. Cadmon, startled as he hadn't gotten much action all day, jumped and ran for the ball. He zipped over to the warning track as the ball arced down. SMOK! The whole crowd could hear Cadmon's mitt snap shut. 2 outs.
"Left fielder, number 18, Liam Beer." Beer, a young, timid left fielder, stepped into the box. On the first pitch he saw, he fouled it straight up in the air. I peeled my mask off and looked for it. My hat stayed on somehow. It started coming down, before landing smack in my mitt. 3 outs.
We all went into the dugout. "OK, boys, 1 run. 1 run, that's all we need. Brantley, Bullock, Kordes. Brantley, Bullock, Kordes!" I kept my catching gear on. That would probably be it for Kade, as Danny would come in to finish them off if we were winning. We'd probably lose, so at least I got to catch. The sky turned a velvet red as the stars complimented the field lights.
"I'm gonna hit me a dinger into them lights!" Tate, sitting next to me, was determined to hit big.
"Now pitching for the Hawks, number 54, Cameron Letioa! Leading off the ninth for Warren, the center fielder, number 5, Cordell Brantley." Shoot. I had completely forgotten about Letioa. I don't know how he could be forgotten, what with his blue hair and his 104 MPH fastballs.
Cordell dug in. He was the best choice to go first against this beast of a closer, with his veteran-like wisdom making him wise beyond his years at the plate. He managed a seeing-eye single that just eluded the first baseman.
"Shortstop, number 1, Drake Bullock." Cordell stole, and Drake, with suspense, knocked a gapper between second and first. The third baseman snagged the ball as Cordell zoomed for second, before putting Drake out at one. 1 down.
"Second baseman, number 9, Kai Kordes." Kai, still decked out in his signature golden gear, came to the plate. Letioa fired one of his famous heaters. "Straaack one!" Kai's grin turned into an inconvenienced frown as he adjusted his grip. Cordell had teleported to third. He stepped back into the box and thumped a curve to the second baseman. Cordell did a good enough job of teasing the second baseman into throwing it home, so Kai ended up being safe at first.
"Left fielder, number 14, Kellen Caldwell." Letioa, sweating, scraped his cleats on the mound as Kellen stepped in with haughty grandeur to boos. Letioa lobbed one out of the reach of Kellen's bat. The crowd seemed to make a collective shrug. Our team, enraged, began yelling at Letioa.
"Come on, pitch it to him, sissy!"
"Let him hit it!"
Danny seemed to be the most fired up, yelling swear words I had never heard that surely aren't printable. Letioa seemed to listen, giving Kellen a beautiful meatball. Kellen ate it up.
CRACK! The rock sailed towards the left field bleachers. We had all seen this movie before. Kellen, with the bright lights on, hits a clutch bomb that wins the game. Not uncommon. Kellen had already began his home run trot. It sailed down. The left fielder, Beer, was determined to stop this. He leapt for the ball and tumbled into the wall. Kellen shrugged and continued, but Beer popped up, with blood on his nose and the ball in his hand.
Cordell, who was the first to realize this, scrambled back for third, confusing Kai, who quickly got the memo once the crowd roared, making him rush back to first. Cordell tagged up and scored as Kai made it to second in time. 2 outs.
"Pinch hitting for number 6, Braxton Gentry, and now in the game at third base, number 25, Bray Barranda." Coach put Bray in to hit. Braxton hung his head in disappointment near the end of the dugout. Bray took it to full count. The crowd hushed. Bray grinned and eased into the plate. Letioa sped a fastball. Bray, unwisely, took it.
"Ball four!" Indoubtably, it was a strike, but umps will be umps. This enraged the crowd. Both Bray and the umpire were verbally assaulted by an angry crowd of 28 thousand.
"Pinch hitting for number 30, Kade King, and now in the game at pitcher, number 3, Tate Short."
Tate was hitting so that we didn't have to use a pitcher to hit. He'd be pulled after this at-bat. Tate didn't swing the bat at all, but somehow, one of Letioa's wild curveballs nicked him in the ankle guard. Tate shrugged, unclipped his now dented ankle guard, and trotted to first as Letioa face-palmed. Bases loaded.
"Catcher, number 15, Cole Bassitt. Fans, this is tonights strikeout batter, brought to you by Rookies! If this batter strikes out, everyone in section B wins a free coupon for a large meal and drink at Rookies Bar and Grill! All it takes is three strikes!" Conveniently, my stats were on the board.
Cole Bassitt #15 Catcher
|26 singles | 8 doubles | 0 triples | 4 home runs |177 strikeouts|
4 homers. 163 games, and 4 homers. I couldn't get that out of my head, no matter how hard I tried. Letioa fired a heater. I fouled it off. My mind was somewhere else. 4 homers. I took 2 balls. 4 homers. It was burned into my brain. 2-1. Letioa threw another sizzling heater. 2-2. 4 homers. The crowd roared. "Let's go Hawks! Let's go Hawks!" 4 homers. Letioa fired what could be the final heater of his career. I know it's a strike. It's a strike. I don't swing. "Ball 3." The crowd, once again, screams with fury. 4 homers. Letioa knows he's got me. He fires a 104 mph mustard gasser. I build up the courage to swing. CRACK!
5 homers.
The crowd erupts with boos. Beer gives up on this one as it rockets into the upper deck. I watch in awe. It had only happened 4 times before. I round the bases as my team screams. Tate's jumping up and down as I trot past second. The whole team spills out of the dugout to wait for me at home. I touch third. Kai joins the pile and waits for me. I sling my helmet away and stomp on home, before the team swallows me up. We all jump up and down and scream. 10-6.
"First baseman, number 26, Xander Dumas." Xander sliced a liner that the shortstop gloved for three outs. I came out in my blue and white gear to catch our hotheaded closer, Danny Calliope.
"Ladies and gentlemen, now pitching in the bottom of the ninth for Warren, number 41, Danny Calliope. Leading off this inning for your Hawks, designated hitter, number 17, Garrett Stoltzfus." Stoltzfus was put in as a pinch hitter in the 6th after Javolta was ejected for arguing a questionable call. Danny tossed a ball and 2 strikes before fanning him. 2 to go.
"Shortstop, number 20, Eli Nickolson!" Nickolson had a good day at the plate, going three for four. Coach tapped his hat and rubbed his belly. Like clockwork, Kai scooted to his right, Drake moved over to where Kai was standing, leaving Bray all alone, and Xander stepped on first base. Infield shift. Danny pushed his flaming red hair out of his eyes and dealt a fastball. Nickolson crushed it into the gap. Bray dove for it and snagged it. Kneeling, he fired it to Xander. His mitt made a loud pop. With that pop, we were now one out away from facing the Lansing Power in the next round.
"Left fielder, number 4, Jayden Martin." Martin was determined to keep the season alive. Danny tossed a slow changeup. Martin whacked it. It soared for the parking lot. It's going, going, and it tucks to the left of the foul pole. Foul ball. 0-1. I signalled 2 fingers, 4 fingers, 1 finger, pinky jerk. Cutter. Martin was caught off guard, and he pulled his swing. "Steeeeriiiiack! Tooo!" I could hear Martin muttering. "Oh man, oh man, oh man, oh man, come on Jay, pull it together!" He readjusted his gloves and stepped in. 2 fingers, 1 finger, 4 fingers, pinky jerk. Heater. Danny paused and threw the cheddar cheese. Martin, locked in, swung with all his might.
"STRIKE THREE!"
YOU ARE READING
An Unlikely Slugger: The story of Cole Bassitt
ActionCole Bassitt, a no-name catcher, just wants to have a normal season. Of course, during the postseason, an injury flings him into the fringe, and suddenly, he's a little bit of a hero. While his career skyrockets, his teammate wants his king status b...
