Opposition

CHAPTER ONE

Eyes closed, with the ear buds from his I-Pod in his ears, Billy lies on his bed and listens. The voice is that of Vince Scully, the Dodgers lifetime radio announcer calling the final inning of a baseball game played 44 years before. It is 9:45 p.m. The count is 2 balls and 2 strikes to Harvey Kuenn, one strike away. Sandy goes into his windup; here is the pitch: Swung on and missed giving Sandy a perfect game!

Opening his eyes, Billy looked up at the almost life-sized poster of Sandy Koufax on his bedroom wall and smiled. Maybe today’s my day, Sandy.

Billy played Little League baseball. While it was true that Billy ate, slept, breathed and other necessary things, these had become secondary to the one great light in his life, baseball. At age twelve he had been at it for five years and had developed a degree of proficiency for a kid. This pleased his Dad as well as himself. He read about all the big league pitchers since the ‘50,s and had selected as his idol the hall-of-framer Sandy Koufax.

Scanning the room that his dad had dubbed his Koufax Shrine he was proud of his collection of memorabilia. Most important item was a Koufax rookie card from the Brooklyn Dodgers. Because of the value of the card he kept it in his dresser drawer in a zip lock bag. Billy knew to whom he looked to for inspiration.

When his dad told him about the recording of Vin Scully calling Sandy’s perfect game in 1965, Billy had begged his dad to download it for him. Listening to the recording had become part of his game day preparations.

Son, it’s time to head out. Are you ready to go? His dad called from downstairs.

Ready, Coach. Billy answered. He thought about how lucky he felt having his dad as his Little League coach. He told people that Sandy Koufax was his baseball hero, and it was true that Sandy was his professional hero. His first and foremost all time hero was his dad. Having played in high school and college, his dad had real pleasure watching his son develop. He bought Billy his first, much too big, baseball mitt when he was only five years old.

Billy stood up, touched that first mitt which sat on his bedside table for luck, and then picked up his newer, larger pitcher’s mitt from his dresser and went downstairs.

A four-year-old blur dressed in a pink leotard and tutu twirled past him at the bottom of the stairs. When I’m big like you, Billy, I’m going to be a pitcher, too, his little sister, Jessica confided in him. But only if they let me wear pink.

Kathy is in the kitchen making notes on the poster-sized calendar on the wall. Juggling Billy’s Little League schedule with seven-year-old Jacky’s T-ball and 10-year-old Candice’s cheerleading classes is an art that only she could handle but at times felt overwhelmed.

Kathy, we need to get moving, or we’re going to be late. Grant called out.

I know, I know. I just have to write this down before I forget. Jacky has a birthday party on Thursday. Grant, I need to go check on what Jessie’s up to. The water’s in the fridge. Can you and Billy get it loaded in the car?

Hey, buddy, Grant turned to Billy. Ready to go? Help me get this water into the cooler then into the car.

Billy nodded and began to help. A little hesitantly, he said, Dad, these Pirates, they’re a tough team. I mean, we beat them the last time we played, but just barely, and I wasn’t pitching that game.

Stopping to study his young son, Grant realized that his son is concerned about his responsibility with the team, which is a good thing. Grant knows that at times, Billy doubted his own ability. He is not my little boy anymore. Almost as tall as his mom, what do I say to help with his confidence? Lifting the now full ice chest he gestured with his head to the garage door. Come on, let’s get this into the car, and we’ll talk about it.

With the cooler tucked into the back of the SUV with the rest of the gear for the game, Grant closed the lift gate and leaned against the car. Billy, it’s natural to be a little nervous before a big game like this. But how do you think the Pirate players are feeling right now? You think they don’t know how you pitched against the Colts last week? I would hate to be a twelve year old and have to face you on the mound. Hey, don’t think of what you are feeling as nerves, think of it as extra energy. All that energy is going to go down your arm, into that ball, and it’s going to blow those Pirates out of the park.

Billy laughed, I’m just worried that that extra energy is going to barf my breakfast all over the pitcher’s mound.

Grant reached over, tousled his son’s hair and drew him in for a father-son hug. Just make sure you don’t get it all over your uniform. Your mom has enough work cleaning out the regular dirt and sweat. Holding Billy by the shoulders at arm’s length,

He looked into his son’s eyes. Billy, you are going to be great. Remember, win or lose, do your best. That’s all I ask of you as your dad and your coach, and that’s what you should ask of yourself.

From the kitchen door, Billy and Grant heard ear-shattering screams that could only be produced by Jessie. Grant shook his head and called out, Kathy, we are going to be late!

He hurried back into the house to see what is going on. He is greeted by the sight of his older daughter in her cheerleading uniform holding down his younger daughter while Kathy struggled to clean half of her favorite lipstick from Jessie’s face and hands.

Jessica Louise Stout, hold still right this minute and let me get this off of you. Holding a box of baby wipes in one hand and a bottle of makeup remover in the other, Kathy was not winning this battle.

But, Mama, Jessie wailed, I was going to be a baseball princess.

Candice struggled to hold her constantly moving sister still. But, Jessie Candice said, you are going to be my assistant cheerleader today, remember? Trust Candice to know how to get Jessie to stop squirming.

For real? Jessie watched her big sister’s face. Cross my heart. Let mom get you cleaned up and then you can wear your Angels shirt with your white shorts, so everyone will know you’re with me.

Grant mouthed a thank you to Candice and turned to Kathy pointing to his watch. Kathy knew what he was thinking, but the look she shot him told him he’d better not say a word.

Despite Grant’s worries, they were at the ballpark 15 minutes before any of the other players. Grant lent a hand to the guys that were putting the bases in place and tying them down. Later, as Billy threw his warm-up pitches, Grant glanced into the bleachers. Half way up on the left side he recognized Tim Barnes, coach of the local American Legion baseball team with one of his assistants, Coach Clark. The Ocean Beach Sharks seniors had taken first place in their region, last year, and are on track to repeat. Grant realized with a start that they were there to scout his son. Turning thirteen next summer he will be eligible for American Legion juniors. Grant still doesn’t know whether Billy will be moving up to the Majors in Little League, or if he will be graduating to American Legion.

Grant enjoyed coaching Little League. Learning to hug, pat on the back and yell at the players came natural to him but a crying kid sent him up the wall. Once he even told an eight-year-old to grow up. The kid replied that he was only there because his dad made him play and that of course made Grant feel terrible.

Being dad and coach to this talented kid was sometimes a job he felt unqualified to take on. When do you push? When do you lead? When do you help, and when do you stand back and let him do it himself? Grant knew that in the end, the choice would be Billy’s, but that his council and advice still carried weight, and he knew he would have to think long and hard about what to say. He shook his head. Got to stay focused on today and on this game before you start daydreaming about watching Billy pitch in the World Series 10 to15 years from now.

After Billy had finished his warm up pitches, the catcher threw the ball to second base and the infielders threw the ball around the infield ending up at the pitcher, in a tradition called around the horn. It is usually done when an out is made and there are no runners on base. This time the third baseman walked over and gave the ball to Billy. The plate umpire called batter up, and the game began.

CHAPTER TWO

At times, when Billy prepared to pitch he almost felt like he could feel through the hide cover every string wrapped around the core of the ball. Sometimes the ball felt as much a part of him as his feet or hands. Today, the butterflies in his stomach were feeling like they were the size of the seagulls flying overhead, and the ball felt like a block of ice in his hand. With the first at-bat, the count was 3 and 1. He stood holding the ball at his side, twisting it slightly in his hand until the seams lined up just the way he wanted. Not nerves, he thought. Just extra energy. Down through my arm, and into the ball. He drew back, shifted his weight, and threw another ball. He had just walked the first batter. No perfect game today, Sandy, he thought.

Shake it off, Billy. His dad’s voice was like an anchor, something to hold him still on the mound when he felt like he was standing in the middle of a whirlwind. A new batter, and his first pitch left his hand fast and straight into the bat, a grounder to first with no chance at the base runner at second. One out with a runner in scoring position is not where he wants to be.

Billy faced the third batter and nodded in agreement with the signal from the catcher. He let the ball go and heard the smack as the ball landed in the catcher’s mitt and then the sweet sound of strike one from the umpire. Take that, butterflies, he thought. Another strike, a foul along the left base line, a third strike, and it was two outs with a runner on second.

The next batter is the best hitter on the Pirate’s team with a batting average around .370. Batting average is calculated as the percentage of successful hits of the total number of at bats. A very good batter will carry an average of 288. This better is above average. Billy felt the butterflies growing again. After a deep breath to calm down, he stepped into his stance, wound up and threw a solid strike. One more strike for the second out and then a fly ball straight to the centerfielder and the inning was over. Five more innings to go, Billy thought as he jogged to the dugout.

After the third inning, both teams were scoreless, and then the Pirates’ battery came alive. A ground out, then two hits left men at first and second with one out. Time out is called from the Angels’ side and the pitching coach walked to the mound. The catcher and the entire infield joined the conference.

How’s your arm? the coach asks.

I’m good, coach. I can get these two. No lack of confidence at this point.

The coach looked at Billy and considered. Okay, son. Try taking just a little more time between pitches. Favor your fastball and get them both out. The coach turned and walked back to the dugout and a couple of the infielders patted Billy on the back for encouragement. Do it, Billy boy. was the catcher’s comment before he headed back to the plate.

Once again Billy stood on the mound twirling the ball in his hand. Take your time between pitches, Billy thought. A deep breathe and suddenly like a pop, it was there, that moment when he knew that the ball belonged to him. He counted the seams in the ball; lined them up; felt the smoothness of the hide cover, the texture of the strings beneath the hide. Yes! His dad had been right. It wasn’t nerves; it was extra energy. Energy that pushed down his arm, through his hand and into the ball that he threw. Once, twice, three times across the plate at speeds Billy didn’t know he had and the batter was out. One strike, two, and three, and Billy had done it.

The Angels loaded the bases in their half of the fourth inning. The pirates brought in their relief pitcher and the batter got a double on his third pitch scoring two runs with runners on first and third. Before the end of the inning the man on third scored on a single and the side was retired. The score after the end of the fourth inning was Angels 3, Pirates O.

Then it felt like the wheels came off as the Pirates scored two runs in the top of the fifth inning. The relief pitcher, Gil Small (who wasn’t small at all) was warming up in the bullpen. Billy watched as his dad walked out to the mound.

Please don’t take me out, Dad, he said.

Billy, you’ve almost won the game. It won’t change your record. You have pitched four successful innings and you appear to be tiring.

I know, but I really want to finish the game. I can do it.

In the stands the American Legion coach, Coach Barnes and his assistant, Coach Clark, watched the exchange on the mound. He’s gotta take him out, Coach Clark said. The kids done, and he’s close to the league limit on the number of pitches a pitcher can throw in a game. He’ll have to throw all strikes from here on out.

Coach Barnes scratched his head and looked down at the father and son, considering. Yeah, he said. He ought to take him out, but I’ll bet he doesn’t.

Billy stayed in the game and pitched three strikeouts in a row. The crowd went wild. In the bottom of the fifth, Bug Chambers, the Angel’s power hitter hit one over the right field fence to give them an insurance run. The score was Angel 4, Pirates 2 when Billy stepped on to the mound. All he needed was three more outs, and the game was theirs.

The first batter walked, and Billy started sweating. I got this, he thought, and that thought ran through his brain over and over again. Two fielding outs, and one batter left to face. He could almost hear his dad’s thoughts coming to him from the dugout, Take your time, son. You control the game. Once again he nodded to the catcher, went into his windup and felt the ball leave his hand almost by itself in a scorching fastball. Strike one! Just two more, he thought, and threw the ball just as before, only to see it drift wide for a ball. The count was one and one, and Billy slowed, took a deep breath, and threw another fastball that went high and wide for another ball. Vin Scully’s voice from Sandy Koufax’s perfect game rang in his ears, "You can’t blame a man for pushing just a little bit now. Sandy backs off, mops his forehead, runs his left index finger along his forehead and dries it off on his left pant leg. All the while Kuenn just waiting." Just like Sandy, he thought, I’ll make him wait. He brushed a nonexistent hair out of his eyes, took a deep breath, kicked at the dirt, and then stepped into his stance. Another fastball swung on and missed, and the count was two and two. Another deep breath, a nod to the catcher, a step on to the rubber of the pitcher’s plate, and the batter connected with Billy’s pitch for a grounder straight back to Billy who scooped up the ball and threw it to first for an easy out. Billy had just pitched his fifth win of the season and it was a walk-off! There is no reason to play the last half inning.

Angels erupted from the dugout and mobbed Billy on the field. From the mound, Billy looked over the heads of his teammates for the grin he knew he would find on his dad’s face. After high fives and lots of cheers of joy, the team headed off the field. Billy reached out and shook Gil Small’s hand. Sorry you didn’t get to pitch. Thanks for being there for me. Gil laughed, "What are you