Bottom of the seventh. Two outs. Six to five. A one-one count on the batter. The state championship on the line. Stan Martin took his two step lead off of first base.
The sky was overcast and the smell of oncoming rain lingered over the baseball diamond. A slight wind came in from left field that carried the warm June air through the college ballpark. Fans from both schools were at the game, standing in the stands behind home plate and along the baselines, waiting for either the last out or the game winning hit.
Stan’s brown eyes were glued to the right handed pitcher on the mound, watching to make sure that he could pick up on any pickoff move. The pitcher’s black jersey slightly blew in the breeze, the number thirty nine on his back moving too. His white pants were in sync with his jersey. The black hat on his head didn’t move.
The left handed batter at bat wagged his bat over the plate causing the block font blue number nine on the back of his white jersey to wave a bit.
The pitcher looked over his left shoulder at Stan from the stretch position. The pitcher returned his attention to the batter. He lifted his left leg high and kicked out to deliver the pitch. Stan shuffled two steps towards second base as the pitch came in.
The batter watched the eighty-one mile per hour fastball zip by at his ankles. The ball sounded a large pop as it went into the glove of the squatting catcher.
“Ball low,” the umpire said after the catcher caught it. Stan jogged back to the first base bag. The catcher threw the ball back to the pitcher who was at the base of the mound. He turned to face the outfield and slowly walked up the dirt to the white pitching rubber.
Stan looked the third base coaching box, where his coach stood waiting for the batter to pay attention to him. The batter took a step out of the batter’s box and looked over at his third base coach.
The short third base coach began to give the sign to the batter and runner. He did a quick tug of his ear lobes then tapped the bill of his cap with his hairy right hand. He extended his equally hairy left arm out. He tapped his wrist, then his elbow, before swiping across his belt and tapping his wrist and elbow again. He tapped the center of his chest, covering up the Blue Herons blue cursive lettering for a brief second. He tapped his left wrist and elbow one last time before giving a big clap.
Hit and run Stan thought.
“You get what coach called?” the first base coach said softly to Stan.
“Got it,” Stan replied. Stan wiped a stray brown hair back up into his blue dual flap helmet. He cracked his knuckles. The pops were suppressed by the leather of his all white batting gloves. He looked down at his white sliding pants that were rolled up to show his blue baseball socks and his black cleats with metal spikes.
Stan spit on the dirt of the diamond as he took the first step of his leadoff. The pitcher got his sign and came set as Stan finished getting his lead. He watched the pitcher intently, not wanting to go too early. The pitcher took a quick peek over his shoulder to first. He looked back to the plate before kicking his leg up and throwing to the plate.
As soon as he saw the leg go up, Stan was gone. He bolted for second as the pitch was thrown. He put his head down and went.
The eighty mile per hour fastball came in to the left handed batter belt high and on the inside part of the plate. He loaded his hands and swung.
The loud ping of the bat connecting with the ball echoed through the ballpark. The ball was lined between the second and first basemen for a base hit. Stan heard the hit and turned his head to find the ball. He saw it whiz through the hole and into right field. He made the turn as he approached second and touched the bag, not breaking stride as he was on his way to third base.
The ball one hopped to the right fielder who was playing shallow. He scooped the ball up in the glove on his left hand as it approached the ground for a second bounce. He quickly identified that the runner was heading for third, and in one fluid motion, he pulled the ball out of his glove, crow hopped, and threw a strike to the third baseman.
Stan was coming in hard to the bag. He wasn’t paying attention to where the ball was, he just wanted to get to the base. The third base coach began throwing his arms and hands down hard and frantically.
“Down!” he screamed. “Down!”
Stan leaned his upper body forward and dove into the base. The ball came into the third baseman on the fly. Stan’s hand touched the base a split second before the third baseman’s glove touched his forearm.
“He’s out!” the umpire yelled as he c***ed a fist in the air.
Stan jumped up and started charging towards the umpire, screaming at the top of his lungs in opposition of the call. The third base coach was going up to the umpire too and screaming just as loud as Stan.
Cheers rang out from the opposing team’s fans. The Blue Heron fans were booing and screaming at the umpire as well.
“Congratulations to the Herbert Hoover Falcons on your state championship victory over the Maple Blue Herons!” the public address announcer said over the ballpark’s sound system.
The Falcons piled onto the field out of the first base dugout and were celebrating on the pitcher’s mound while Stan and the third base coach still went after the umpire.
The umpire stood there with his hands behind his back, taking every single insult and objection the two threw at him. The first base coach and hitter came over to the arguing two. They tried to restrain the two livid ballplayers the best they could, but it was no use.
“You are terrible!” Stan spat. As quickly as the spit from Stan’s mouth hit the umpire’s face, he was ejected from the game. The umpire wasted no time making a throwing motion with his arm twice to throw out the third base coach and Stan, screaming “you’re both outta here!” when he did it.
After struggling to get the two to move the other way towards the dugout, the first base coach and hitter were finally able to get the irate player and coach to go back towards the dugout. The rest of the team had already gone to the locker room when the four entered the dugout. The Falcons were taking team pictures with their new state championship trophy on the field.
The first base coach and batter went into the tunnel that lead to the locker room while Stan and the third base coach gathered their things inside of the dugout. All the third base coach had was a water bottle in the dugout. He grabbed it and made his way to the tunnel. He stopped before entering it and faced Stan, who was putting his batting gloves, helmet and black infielders glove into his blue baseball bag.
“There’s a wood bat here that the university wanted someone to use,” the third base coach said. “Knock yourself out with it.”
“Thanks coach,” Stan replied. He finished putting his equipment into the bag, zipped it up, and put on his blue baseball cap with a white M in the middle of it. As he walked to the tunnel, he looked out onto the field, full of a celebrating team that had no idea about the blown call that had won them the championship.
Stan reached the opening of the tunnel and saw a tan wooden baseball bat that had the word ‘ash’ branded into it inside of a white wooden baseball bat rack. Stan dropped his baseball bag. He picked up the bat and studied it in his hands for a bit. He gripped the bat at the knob tightly, his left hand on top of his right. He swung the bat hard against the concrete wall inside of the tunnel. The bat shattered with a large crack. The barrel of the bat fell to the ground. It clattered against the ground, the sound echoing through the tunnel. He threw the handle against the wall where it clanked off and bounced to the ground. He spit on the handle too.
Stan breathed heavily, trying to keep tears from coming to his eyes. What a way to end my junior year he thought. He went back to his bag and grabbed it. He speed walked into the tunnel, wiping his eyes to remove any tears that tried to come out.