Page 23 of Wild Catch
Bo-o-ring.
In turn, I stand back as far from the home plate as I can and set out to play my own game.
The pitcher shakes his head twice, probably trying to burn as much of the clock as he can. Finally he throws and I don’t move a muscle. The ball whiffs me close enough to fan my shirt.
“Ball!”
Our base coach tells Brown not to run at all, fully trusting that I’ll hit the next one—not knowing that I have a different plan.
I start humming my walkup song, even though it’s not playing on the stadium speakers anymore. Behind me, the catcher mumbles something I can’t discern but is surely not PG rated. Dude’s a rookie and clearly why this is enough to rattle him.
He crouches real close again, fifty-fifty chance that he’ll ask for the same pitch. Even if he does, his pitcher isn’t a Cade Starr who can place the ball at any point at will. So either the pitcher will bean me, or he’ll end up pitching farther.
He winds up with just a smidge less enthusiasm than before. The ball makes a pink dot and I’d blow a raspberry if I wasn’t already in motion. I tilt back just a bit, giving myself a wider range to swing. The impact comes right where I wanted it, and I’m stronger than the blow. I keep swinging until the ball takes off into the distance.
It’s gonna be a foul, so I don’t go very far.
“Foul!” the umpire calls out and I jog back to the batter’s box with one more pitch for the pitcher’s count.
And that’s what my plan is. I’m going to tire this guy out until the last second.
The next pitch results in the exact same picture. Funny enough, the ball lands near the same spot as before—well, it’s not funny. That’s where I aimed.
Then I get two balls, and they start making the pitcher grind his teeth because he’s finally caught onto my game. Some of the fans are booing, probably thinking this is boring or cowardly. I don’t care about that. I’m the kind of asshole who will happily bunt if it means turning the other team into scrambled eggs.
Fortunately for him, it’s time to finish this.
The catcher’s no longer aiming for a hit by pitch, and now knows I’m annoying enough that I’ll get walked if they keep going. The batter waits a long time to accept the sign and throws.
Oh, it’s a work of art. A two seamer right where I like it.
Come to daddy, I think while I swing.
The clang against my bat is so satisfying, I wish I could replay the recording at night to lull me to sleep. I finish the swing and watch the ball rise into the air in a perfect rendition of the St. Louis arch.
This makes the crowd’s tune change. As thousands of voices rise, I trot to first base and toss the bat to the side. The centerfield runs toward the ball, but the wall gets in the way while the ball keeps going—until it hits the display.
I smile. I couldn’t possibly have planned this better.
*
We end up winning twelve to two. Our best game so far in my opinion, better than the perfect game last week.
This one… this is the one that will send the bat signal to the whole league that the Orlando Wild isn’t picking its nose and scratching its ass this season.
The locker room is a whole jungle right after the game, and I’m trying to tune them out by toweling my face before the post game interview. One of the broadcast producers gave me a heads up during the last inning that my face’s services are required.
A yawn escapes as I trawl out of the clubhouse. Eh, I forgot to leave the towel behind so I’ll just hang it around my neck.
I find the camera man and Steve Boateng, our broadcast guy, already set up against the screen that prominently features our team logo of a purple gator with yellow accents. I’ve done this enough times that I know where to stand.
Boateng gets going right away. “We have Logan Kim joining us tonight after the impressive twelve-two win. How do you feel right now, Logan?”
“Hungry,” I kid but not. Since I’ve been told to be a bit less cutting in these things, I add, “It was a really good game, though. I hope the fans had a good time.” Here I offer a little smile at the camera, a second before a fat drop of sweat falls from my nose.
“Congratulations on the win. And on another topic,” he continues, “What do you think about the video that’s running wild on the internet?”
“I—What video?”
