I stopped by the Speed Pitch booth on my way into the ballpark.
"Hi, Chad," said Kevin, the teenager who worked at the booth. He handed me a baseball. "Think you'll hit thirty miles today?"
"I don't know." I chucked the ball as hard as I could. I saw the score and sighed. Twenty-four miles per hour. Not even close.
"That's really good for a kid your age," Kevin told me.
"Sure it is." I knew that other kids my age can throw twice that fast.
"Hey, you're throwing five or six miles faster than you were a few weeks ago," he said. That was true.
"Nate Link showed me how to throw sidearm," I told him. Nate Link was a relief pitcher for the Porcupines. For some reason, I found throwing sidearm easier. Even Nate was impressed. "Some guys are just sidewinders," he told me.
"Try another one." Kevin passed me the ball. I threw it as hard as I could. Twenty-four … again!
"You're throwing straighter," said Kevin. "I bet if you went to the fair, you could clean up at the Pitch-and-Win."
"Not this year," I told him.
I took another ball and pretended there were pins stacked up in a pyramid. I hurled the ball. In my mind, the pins flew everywhere and I won a big stuffed panda.
"Twenty-five!" said Kevin. He slapped my hand. "You're almost there. Try one more?"
"Nah, I'd better go. See you tomorrow."
I walked to the Pines' locker room, still thinking about the state fair. Besides missing out on rides and food, I was missing out on winning stuff!
"What's wrong, kid?" asked Mike Stammer, the shortstop. "Your face is longer than a Sammy Solaris home run."
"Heck, it's longer than Sammy's belt," added Wayne Zane, the catcher. He patted his stomach just in case we didn't get the joke.
"It's longer than the row of candles on Wayne's last birthday cake," Sammy fired back.
"So what's got you down?" Teddy Larrabee asked me. "The Bear" was the first baseman. "I mean, besides their jokes?"
"Just that I won't get to go to the state fair this year."
"That's no fair," said Wayne. "Why, it's no fair at all."
I glared at him.
"Just sayin'," said Wayne.
"What's all this sitting around and yammering?" Grumps Humboldt bellowed. His real name was Harry, but everybody called him Grumps. He was the Porcupines' manager.
"It's time for batting practice," said Grumps. "None of you is hitting good enough to skip batting practice."
"Hey," said Wayne. "We've been hitting pretty well."
"Not well enough. And you'd better get ready for some crazy calls," Grumps said. "Solomon Johnson is umpiring all weekend."
"Uh-oh," said Wayne.
"That's right—Solly himself," said Grumps. "The worst umpire in the Prairie League!" He headed out to the dugout.
"It's going to be a long weekend," said Wayne.
Sammy nodded.
"?Por qué?" asked Diego Prado. He was a new player who mostly sat on the bench. He understood English but spoke in Spanish.
"Grumps will argue every call, that's por qué," said Wayne. "At least until he's thrown out."
Diego nodded.
"Solly has thrown him out of more ball games than any other umpire," Sammy added.
Now, that was saying something. Grumps had been thrown out of a lot of ball games. Sometimes, when a manager argues too much or goes too far with an umpire, the umpire ejects him from the game. It means the manager has to leave the field and the dugout and can't even talk to the players until the game is over.
Grumps was back in the doorway. He glared at everybody.
"Practice … now!" he shouted. The players grabbed their bats and gloves and hurried out.
…
It was my turn to help the visiting team. After running down fly balls during batting practice, I walked across the field to the other dugout. The Pines were playing the Centralville Cougars. The Cougars were scuffling, which is a baseball term for losing practically every game. This would be a good chance for the Porcupines to pick up a game or two on the Rosedale Rogues, who were leading the Prairie League, as always.
"Hey, Cougars!" a familiar voice shouted. "Why is your town called Centralville? Because it's in the middle of nowhere?" It was Ernie Hecker.
Ernie had the biggest mouth in Pine City. He always sat behind the visiting team's dugout and shouted at the players.
"I don't know why he has to make fun of Centralville," one of the Cougars said. He was really young. If he didn't know about Ernie, he must have just been called up from the Rookie League.
"Don't take it personally, Tim," said the catcher.
Ernie shouted again: "Maybe it should be called Last-Place-Ville!"
"Now, that's hitting below the belt," said Tim.
"Oh, just ignore him," said the catcher.
That was easier said than done. I knew that from experience.
Fortunately, the voice of Victor Snapp, the announcer, drowned out Ernie. Victor Snapp is my hero. I want to be a baseball announcer when I grow up. "Tomorrow is a big doubleheader," Victor said. "Two games for the price of one, and two-for-one hot dogs all day long. Plus, special musical guests in between games! It'll be a fine way to spend the day if you can't go to the fair."
Even my role model had to remind me I was missing the fair!
…
Ernie got going again once the game started. "I've seen a better swing made out of a rope and tire!" he yelled as the first Cougar batter grounded out.
"Thanks for cooling off the ball," he yelled as the second batter went down on strikes.
Tim was the third one up in the inning.
"Ladies and gentlemen, there's a lost toddler on the field!" Ernie yelled. "Are this little boy's mommy and daddy here?"
Tim turned bright red. He went into his stance, but you could tell he was distracted by Ernie's taunts.
Kip Kilgore threw the ball. Tim swung and connected, dropped the bat, and started running. The ball sailed down the left field line and landed very close to the foul line. The umpire signaled that it was a fair ball. Danny O'Brien, the Pines' left fielder, ran after it as Tim rounded first and headed for second.
Grumps came storming out of the dugout.
"What game are you watching?" he shouted. "That ball was so foul it laid an egg!" He went on for several minutes, pushing closer and closer to the umpire.
Solomon Johnson was as tall and wide as the outfield wall. Grumps barely came up to his nose, even when standing on tiptoe. The umpire's face was calm, even though Grumps was shouting.
"That umpire is hard to rattle," said one of the Cougars.
"He sure is," said another. "That's why they call him 'Solly the Snowman.' Because he's so cool."
"Or maybe it's because he's so round," said a fellow Cougar.
Grumps went on shouting. He jumped up and down. He threw his hat. He punched his fist into the air. Solomon Johnson didn't even flinch.
"You tell him, Grumps!" Ernie shouted.
The Porcupines' manager kicked some dirt and stamped his foot and then finally headed back toward the dugout. Before he reached the dugout, he turned back for one last jab: "Go back to umpire school!"
Solomon didn't say a word. He just gestured with his thumb, making an out sign over his shoulder, which meant he was throwing Grumps out of the game.
Grumps was ejected before the Porcupines had even come up to bat! He stormed off the field, passed through the dugout, and headed toward the locker room.
