Page 4 of The Perfect Game

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“Clark, you’re here early,”Coach Maddox said from the other side of the dugout as I put my bag on the bench and sat next to it. I pulled out my cleats and yanked on the laces as I tied them. Loose cleats were probably the worst thing for a pitcher, and I was going to have to get another pair of laces in the next week or two. Several spots were already fraying, and I didn’t want to chance them breaking during one of our playoff games.

“I was ready and didn’t feel like hanging out in the locker room,” I replied as I stood.

Coach slipped on a catcher’s mitt. “How about we play some catch? I want to go over some of the notes I have about the Weyland game coming up tomorrow.”

I nodded, readjusting my hat so it covered my forehead completely. Some of the guys couldn’t stand to have it so low, almost blocking their view of the ball coming at them, but I’d grown used to having it like that in the Texas sun, making it easier to see the signs from the catcher as well as shade me from being blinded.

I swung my arms around in circles, loosening up the joints. I’d had the day off in the game the day before, but even with the usual easy workout to stay loose, everything felt a little more stiff than normal.

I grabbed a ball from one of the buckets and stepped out onto the grass. The ground didn’t give, meaning that any of the water from the sprinklers that morning had already dried up in the sun.

“What are we ranked now, Coach?” I asked, tossing the ball in his direction.

The man smiled, and if I couldn’t see the gray of his hair, I’d think he was only a year or two older than most of us.

“Same as it was when the papers came out on Sunday, Ben.”

I grunted as I tossed the ball in his direction, making sure to get the right snap of my wrist. Each little piece had to be warmed up or I’d be feeling even worse tomorrow.

“I don’t get to read the papers, Coach.” I caught the toss he threw back at me and threw again.

He held onto the ball, dropping his glove to his side. “What do you mean you don’t get to read the papers?”

I held up my glove, wishing I could go back and unsay the words. What I should have said was that I didn’t have time to read them or I didn’t really care.

Coach shook his head, his eyebrow raised as he awaited my answer.

“My parents read them. At the end of the season, they give me a folder with all the clippings so I can go through them.”

“Why do they do that?” Coach wound up and tossed the ball back in my direction.

I breathed out, the anxiety rising a bit. “When I read them last year, I ended up getting too tight or worried about everything but my pitches. So this was the compromise. I get to read any article with the team or with my name in it at the end of the season.”

The broad smile Coach gave me caused me to pause. “I didn’t know that. No wonder you’ve been on fire this year.”

My cheeks burned, and I tripped on the next throw, catching myself before falling to the ground. Almost like bumping into Serena. That’s all I needed was to get distracted by a girl just as the season neared a critical point of the playoffs.

“I don’t think so, Coach.” I could still picture the bad pitch I’d thrown two games ago, allowing a double. If I could just have a perfect game, where no one on the opposing team even touched first base, I knew I’d feel like it was enough. Then I wouldn’t have to analyze it a hundred times over. But until then, I had to keep pushing, keep practicing to get there.

I glanced over to see Jake, Dax, and Nate walking down the road to the dugout. At least I’d have a small reprieve from Coach’s line of questioning.

When I looked back, Coach Maddox was almost in front of me. “I know you’ve got this whole modest thing going on, Ben, but it’s okay to take a compliment. And as much as I’d like to give you the evidence that you’re doing really well, I need you on point in tomorrow’s game. So just make sure you get a good workout in. Make sure every pitch is working. We need a ‘W’ tomorrow.”

“I’d still like to see the scouting report.” The words came out with more force than I usually had, and Coach’s smile grew even more.

“Now that’s the attitude of a ballplayer. Let me get the team warmed up, and we’ll go over it while you throw a bullpen. Then I won’t have to explain it all to Dax again.”

I nodded, walking over to where the freshman had just brought in several carriers with bottles of water. Picking one up, I held it a few inches from my mouth and squeezed, grateful for the relief from a dry throat. We’d only thrown for maybe five minutes, but sweat already streaked down the side of my face. It was going to be a long practice.

Three

Ben

We survived that practice as well as the game the next day. The scouting report Coach had received from the other teams who’d already played against Weyland had been crucial to our nail-biter win. I was able to throw the right pitches to keep their big hitters off guard, bettering our chances for home-field advantage once the playoff games started.

Friday’s practice was lighter and much shorter, and from the exhausted looks of everyone in the locker room after, we all needed the rest. But that only meant another grueling practice on Monday to get us ready for the post-season games coming up next week.

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