The Prospect, Eliot Parker [free ebooks for android .TXT] 📗

against the dirt, once again creating dust. The wind picked up the dust and blew it around the batter’s box in a circular pattern. Charlton placed the bat on his shoulder and tightly massaged the handle in his hands. His wrists were flexible and twisting back and forth. Biggie looked up at him and he looked like a giant holding a small stick. From Biggie’s position though, everyone appeared that way.
The next sign was two fingers placed against Biggie’s his right thigh. Two fingers equaled a slider, which was used by pitchers to force a batter to swing at pitches inside and outside of the strike zone. Shane agreed with the sign. He loved to pitch fast and loathed pitchers who spit, scratched, and used every other delay in between throws. Shane brought his glove up and threw his arm foreward violently.
Almost as soon as the ball was out of Shane’s hand, he winced. The ball was not sliding to the outside corner of the plate. Instead, it was hanging in the middle of the strike zone. Carlton Rodgers moved his arms foreward, placed his left foot firmly on the dirt and swung the bat counterclockwise in a beautiful rhythmic motion.
The edge of the bat slammed against the ball creating a hollow “pop” that shot the baseball in the air like a cannon ball rifled from a cannon. The ball flew down the right-field line and the crowd gasped as the ball remained level and headed for the right-field wall.
“Shit!” Shane exclaimed in anger as he watched the ball travel. He turned to home plate and noticed Biggie, the umpire, Carlton, and everyone in the stands watching the baseball intently. Walter Mann and the rest of the team had emerged from the dugout and they were also watching the baseball. Shane turned again to watch it.
Chaz began jumping up and down from his shortstop position. “It’s going to be caught…there is no way that’s gone.” Shane heard the comments made by his friend, but somehow he did not believe them.
Pat Sutton, the Loggers right fielder inched closer and closer to the white wall behind him. When his back scraped against the wall, he looked up. The ball traveled over the wall, just to the right of the fair/foul pole.
Shane could do nothing but exhale and slump his shoulders. He raised his hand and waived, almost attempting to thank Pat for not giving up on the pitch. Pat recognized Shane’s gesture and waved appropriately in response.
Carlton Rodgers cursed in anger and jogged dejectedly back to home plate.
Walter Mann walked out of the dugout near third base. He made some sort of unrecognizable hand movements to Biggie. The next pitch was going to be a fastball. Mann decided Shane needed to quit toying with this guy and get him out by whatever means necessary.
The sign was administered and Shane turned to face his team behind him. Everyone’s expressions were solemn, yet for some reason, Shane knew the team was behind him. Shane planted his leg and delivered a fastball right down the center of the strike zone. Frustrated by the previous pitch, Carlton swung early, attempting to prove he could smash a homerun that would stay fair. Instead, the ball nailed Bigge’s glove and Carlton swung at nothing but late April air.
Shane Triplet recorded the first strike out of his minor league baseball career.

*******

Frank Miller and Phil Rodney pushed their way through the crowd milling around the concourse area underneath Clark Field. Frank hated being late for a Sheaville Loggers game, but today he had no choice. His plan was to close the drugstore at 11:00am and be at the ballpark in time to watch batting practice and the players warm up. However, a rush of customers needing prescriptions as well as toothpaste, shampoo, and cleaning supplies flooded his store right before 11:00am. This was a usual occurrence at Frank’s, especially since today was Saturday and his store was closed on Sundays. By the time he was finished checking out customers and completing inventory, it was 2:15pm.
Luckily, Frank ran into Phil Rodney on his way to Clark Field. Phil, Frank, and Ruth Busby shared one large flat structure that was divided into three different stores: Frank’s Drugstore, Ruth’s Diner, and Rodney’s Department Store. Frank and Phil had been friends for over twenty years and they enjoyed watching baseball games together. Frank and Phil were both unable to close their stores early, so they decided it was better to be late for a game together than alone.
As they walked up the concourse ramp and reached the seating bowl, the residents of Sheaville were already enjoying the game. Kids were munching on hot dogs and cotton candy while their dads kept score of the game in the team program. Frank had thought about going back to the main concourse to get a hot dog, but judging from the crowd, he decided to wait until later.
“Where ya wanna sit Frank?” asked Rodney. The stiff breeze was blowing his think dark hair all across his forehead and he reached down to pull his brown dress slacks up and he rolled up the sleeves on his blue dress shirt. Phil and Frank were opposite in appearance. Phil Rodney was tall and slender with salt and pepper hair and eyes that always revealed a quiet intensity. He exercised constantly, and was always considered Sheaville’s most eligible bachelor. For some reason, Phil always remained just that, a bachelor.
“Anywhere you can find a seat,” Frank replied. Thanks to the indecisiveness of his friend, Frank was able to see the scoreboard in center field and noticed the Loggers were beating the Braves 2-0 in the eighth inning.
Phil grabbed Frank’s arm and led him across the length of the seating bowl. “I see a spot over there,” he said confidently, although amidst the crowd of people, Frank did not earnestly believe him.
They reached a section of seats behind home plate. Luckily, there were two seats close to the aisle. When Phil came upon them, he deducted that someone must have been sitting in the seats at one time and left, judging by the empty hot dog wrappers and globs of ketchup and chili that littered the ground next to the two seats.
“So what’ll it be, Frank. The seat with the special sauce, or the seat with the black handrail in your face?” Rodney winked playfully at Frank.
Frank scratched the back of his head. “Well, I’ll take me chances with the sauce.”
Phil motioned him to proceed to the seat and both men sat down gently.
“I cannot believe we got a seat so close,” Phil said, draping his left arm through the handrail. “Usually, you have to get here way early before the game starts to get seats like this.”
“Well, had things worked out, we da had these seats before someone else,” Frank added. “Interesting how each game always tells a different story.
As Frank wiggled in his seat to get comfortable, Phil obnoxiously tapped Frank’s arm.
“Hey, look here. Shane’s throwing a two-hitter.” The tone in his voice was laced with excitement. “I’ll be, he is throwing a gem today.”
Frank squinted his eyes and smiled. “I’ll be John Brown by George Jefferson, you are right. It’s good to see him throwing so good.”
Shane Triplet was pitching the best game of his brief minor league career. Through 7 2/3 innings, Shane had given up two hits, and only one Macon Brave had advanced past second base. In addition, Shane had struck out nine hitters.
Frank and Phil began watching the action that was taking place on the field. Shane looked fresh and determined. The skies above Clark Field began to turn milky as the clouds eradicated the bright sunlight.
Walter Mann ran out of the dugout towards the mound. He summoned for Biggie, Ryan, and Chaz to meet him at the mound. Shane had now given up two consecutive base hits and the next Brave hitter, Mike Dupay, was the go-ahead run waiting impatiently in the on-deck circle with two outs.
“Uh oh, look at this, Phil,” yelped Frank. Phil turned to face Frank and then directed his attention to the pitchers mound.
“Maybe he is just seeing how ol’ Shane is feeling.” Frank waived his had nonchalantly. “You know how Mann is, he preaches pitching and defense. He watches them pitchers tightly.”
Although he was unsure what his friend had said, Phil shrugged his shoulders and remained silent.
Walter spoke softly, yet maintained the edginess in his voice. “Okay boys, now it’s time to assess some things. Shane, you have pitched a beauty, but I have got Kugal ready to come in and shut this thing down.”
Shane’s mouth tightened and he wiped the sweat from his brow. He knew that Walter had confidence in Brandon Kugal and he did not want to squander the lead. But Shane felt that he could get the next hitter out.
“I can get this guy out,” Shane said forcefully. Although his shoulder felt like it was on fire, he believed he could muster enough strength to smoke another couple of pitches by Mike Dupay. “Look, I have gone this far, please, let me finish it up.”
Walter paused for a moment and waited for some analytical assessment from Ryan, Chaz, or Harry. Neither player spoke. Biggie, however, was not short on words.
“He’s done skip. This fool’s curveball is hanging in the zone too high and his fastball is losing velocity by the minute.” Biggie began pleading. “Bring Kugal in and lets get this win.”
Walter looked at his players and folded his hands on the top of his head. His elbows almost bumped the bridge of Harry’s nose. Walter considered the conversation he gave to Shane about work ethic and trust a few days earlier. He studied Shane for an instant and Shane’s eyes were sparkling under the sunlight. His hands were covered in chalk and dust and he was panting heavily. Walter got a strong singe in his gut telling him to let Shane finish. Instead of listening to his brain, the manager stuck with his instincts. After all, he trusted his instincts when he was a player and he relied on them to a great extent as a manager.
“Triplet, you can finish it. But do not make me regret this decision.”
“I won’t and you won’t. I promise.”
Harry, Ryan, and Chaz all winked at one another and gave Shane a pat on the back and assumed their positions in the infield. Biggie frowned and proceeded back behind home plate.
“Frank, they are going to let him keep pitching,” Phil observed. “I am not sure about this. This could get real ugly real fast.”
“Stop being so negative,” Frank replied bitterly. “This kid has a heart the size of Texas and he is going to finish off this inning.”
Shane vindicated Frank’s assertion by forcing Mike Dupay to hit a soft ground ball to Chaz Martinez at shortstop, and he relayed the throw to Harry Deitzler at first, retiring the side. Walter pulled Shane out of the game at the top of the ninth and Brandon Kugal recorded three outs for the save.
The fans roared and screamed as the two teams exchanged handshakes and pleasantries with one another. Shane approached Biggie Rowan, who was heading towards the dugout trying to unhook his chest protector from his lower back.
“Thanks for the support out there today, Biggie,” Shane said.
Biggie stopped and turned to face Shane. As he turned, he saw the pitcher standing still with his legs together and arms at his side.
Biggie walked up to Shane and poked his finger into pitcher’s breastbone. Shane swallowed hard. Flurries of players were scrambling in different directions, and all Shane could focus on was listening to