We took over the dugout along the first base side and prepared for the games. Garret led the first half of warmups until it was time for him and Mitchell to split. Noah took charge for a little before we were divided into smaller groups. Infielders worked on grounders more while outfielders caught fly balls, plus some batting practice for everyone.
Before the appointed start time, we did some pregame stuff like the National anthem and heard our starting lineup announced. Then it was time. Bryce, Noah, myself, and even Garret were gearing up for our first at bats.
I tried to be casual as I scanned the field, finally spotting Carson out in center field. That makes sense, I guess. Jeremy plays in the outfield too. A lot of great batters do.
“Try not to get lost, Jake.” Coach had approached me and spoke in a low voice so only I could hear. At first, I was confused. Lost? I wasn’t going to go anywhere. But he expanded. “Keep your focus on what’s in front of you. When you’re batting, you should only be looking at the pitcher and open spaces. When fielding, eye on the ball. Don’t let yourself get hurt out there.”
I showed him a weak smile. “I’ll be okay, Coach.” I wasn’t terrified of Carson. Just his dad. And he wouldn’t be on the field.
Coach gave my back a slap. “Give it your best shot.”
I nodded.
Bryce’s name was announced. He moved to the batter’s box and got set. As did the pitcher and the rest of the team. The pitcher was a tall, right-handed pitcher. We didn’t know much besides watching a few practice pitches. Unsurprisingly, he had a good speed. He had to in order to pitch for a private high school that could afford to recruit players.
Bryce swung and missed the first pitch. Fouled the second. Then got caught chasing the third. Struck out on three pitches. The cheers from the stands were on par from those in the University Prep game. Almost as if they made their JV and freshman teams come to cheer as well. They did live closer so it was a strong possibility that the players just came themselves.
Bryce came back. Noah went to the plate. And I went out to the on deck circle.
Bryce stopped beside me, placed a hand on my shoulder and leaned in to whisper. “That third pitch was a breaking ball. Did you see it?”
I shook my head. I didn’t have a good view and wasn’t paying that close attention. My focus was more on what Bryce would do. Not what the pitcher was doing.
Bryce gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Stay in the lefty’s box.” He reminded me. It was better to face a breaking ball coming in instead of chasing it away for most players.
I was the exception. Garret was too. As a pitcher that is. His cutter breaks in on righty’s since he’s left-handed.
Noah’s at bat was similar to Bryce. Swing and miss. Foul. Chased a pitch that broke away from the plate. I frowned. That pitch would have been a ball if he could hold back.
“Don’t hold back.” Noah told me as we passed by one another. He went back to the dugout and I headed for the batter’s box.
“Let’s go, Jake!”
“Get a hit!”
“Hit a homer!”
“Knock him out early!”
Chants rained down from the bleachers. Most of them were for me, but I could hear some calls for ‘Blake’ to strike me out. That must be the pitcher.
Blake was good. No denying it. I should attack a fastball early for my best chance at a home run. It would lift my team’s spirits and put me in a good mood having the lead early. Blake got set and so did I. He nodded at the catcher’s sign, straightened up, and started his motion. The ball left his hand and I was about to start my swing, but something was off. I held back.
“Strike.” The umpire called from behind after the pitch landed in the catcher’s glove. The catcher threw the ball back to the pitcher.
That was…a two-seam fastball, I believe. It has a little movement, coming inside on righty’s since he’s a right-handed pitcher. But as a lefty, it tails away from me. He does sacrifice some speed for it. I stepped out of the batter’s box and took a practice swing or two as I tried to think things through. I could try moving to the righty’s box, but then he could just throw the same breaking ball he threw to Bryce and Noah. And that definitely had more movement than a two-seamer.
I got back in the lefty’s box. The only plan I could come up with was going to work the count. Make him tire out and throw me a fastball.
The second pitch was a similar pitch. I let it pass.
“Ball.” This time the call went my way. Too soon to say whether he has great control and aimed outside, anticipating I would swing or if he had just missed the zone.
Third pitch. A third two-seamer. I gritted my teeth and swung, fouling it down the third baseline, nearly hitting Mr. Miller.
1-2.
Mr. Miller clapped his hands. “Good swing, good swing. Straighten it out.”
I took a deep breath and got back in the box. I fouled the next one, knowing it was too close to let it pass. Then another foul. And another. Foul. Foul. Foul. Foul. Still 1-2.
At some point the chants started to root against me.
“Strike. Him. Out!”
“One more!”
“You’ve got this, Blake!”
“Strike him out! Strike him out!”
Foul. Foul. Ball in the dirt. 2-2.
My arms were starting to feel heavy. This guy was good. I knocked my bat against my cleats, trying to get in the zone as if I were at the cages. That’s all this is. He’s only using the two-seamer and I know where it generally lands.
“Don’t give in, Bambi!” Dave’s voice boomed from the dugout. “Make him work!”
I cracked a smile and started to hear ‘Bambi’ and ‘Jake’ from my dugout. My team isn’t doubting me. They know I can do this. It may not be a home run, but I can foul off some pitches.
Foul. Ball. Foul. Foul. Seventeen pitch at bat. Full count. The pitcher didn’t even wipe the sweat coming down his cheek.
I got set once more. I could try to continue this, but it wouldn’t have any benefits. This guy was determined not to throw me a regular fastball. He probably could guess that I didn’t have the power to get the ball out of the park when it’s not that fast.
The pitcher nodded at the sign and straightened up. He started his motion, doing a full windup. I zoned in on his release point, watching the ball leave his fingertips. Two-seamer. I started my swing and reached out as the pitch came to the plate. I connected, popping the ball over the third baseman’s outstretched glove. The ball dropped in short left field. I ran to first and stayed when I saw that the left fielder had came in already.
“BAMBI!” My teammates from the dugout behind me screeched and cheered.
I looked back at them and showed a small smile. I knew it was better for morale to show the guys that this pitcher isn’t unbeatable.
