Jinxed! (7 page)

“Yeah,” he said. “I bet that's more fun than being a batboy.”

 

“Nah,” I replied, even though I was thinking the same thing. But only for a moment!

“
Almost
more fun, then,” Dylan said.

“Hey, shouldn't you be over helping the Humdingers?” I asked.

“Oh, I was, uh, kind of hoping that you would go to the visitors' dugout today,” Dylan replied.

“Oh.” It took me about half a second to figure out what was going on. Dylan wanted to stay in the Porcupines' dugout so he could play with that rabbit. Its four feet weren't bringing
me
any luck.

“Yeah, I can do that,” I said. It was only fair.

I ran across the infield, veering around the field crew and nearly crashing into Spike.

“Hi, Chad,” the junior mascot said.

I was in the visitors' dugout before I remembered that mascots never talked.

Also, how did Spike know my name?

• • •

The Humdingers sent me off to get food. Food was free for players, and I got to jump to the front of the line. I loaded up with hot dogs and pretzels and nachos and started back for the dugout. I took a few wrong steps toward the Porcupines' side before I remembered I was supposed to be going the other way. I spun around and crashed into a big guy in a polo shirt. I dumped the tray all over both of us. I had mustard and ketchup on my uniform. He had cheese sauce all over his shoes.

“Oh, no! Sorry!” I told him. I looked up and realized who it was: Victor Snapp, the Porcupines' official announcer!

He wasn't just the announcer. He was my idol. I wanted to be a sports announcer when I grew up.

Sometimes I practiced at home. “Now batting for the Pine City Porcupines . . . the first baseman . . . Teddddddddy Larrrrrabeeeee!” I would say. I practiced every name on the roster. I would also practice some of Victor's favorite expressions. “It's a gapper!” he'd say when a ball scooted past an outfielder and rolled to the wall. “It's a goner!” he'd say when a ball cleared the fence.

I'd always wanted to meet Victor Snapp— but not like this.

“Eep! Sorry!” I said.

“Pardon
me
,” Mr. Snapp said in the same
booming voice that he used when he was announcing. He went over to the counter to grab a handful of napkins and wipe off his shoes.

I turned around . . . and faced four or five of my classmates. They'd seen the whole thing.

“Wow,” said Emily. “That was
epic
.”

“Did you do that on purpose?” asked Ellie.

“No way!”

I went back to the snack counter to stock up again, feeling as jinxed as Mike Stammer. Maybe his jinx had rubbed off on me. I'd been nearly creamed by a fly ball right in front of my friends. Wally had yelled at me for giving away practice balls. Dylan had kicked me out of the Porcupines' dugout over a bunny. Now I was covered in ketchup and mustard. If that wasn't being jinxed, I didn't know what was.

he worst thing about working in the opponents' dugout was Ernie Hecker. Ernie had the loudest mouth in Pine City. He was even louder than Victor Snapp, and Victor had a speaker system.

Ernie usually sat right above the visiting team's dugout—so he could yell at the opposing players. He also yelled at the umpires, the groundskeepers, the woman who played the organ, and other fans. He even yelled at the Porcupines players sometimes, although he
was supposed to be a fan. The only time Ernie was ever quiet was during the national anthem. Sometimes the organ player would play it again in the middle of the game just to shut him up for a few minutes.

The first batter for the Humdingers stepped up to the plate. He reached up before getting into his stance and patted his helmet two or three times.

“Hey, Grankowski!” Ernie shouted. “Afraid your head will fly off?”

Kip Kilgore was pitching for the Pines. He brought his leg way up, kicked, and pitched.

He threw a bullet past the batter.

“Strike!” the umpire called.

The crowd cheered.

“Hey, Kilgore, what are you, a ballerina? Get your leg out of the way so I can see you pitch!” Ernie shouted.

My ears were already hurting.

Grankowski double-tapped his helmet again and got back into his stance.

Kilgore raised his leg high, kicked, and zipped another ball in.

Grankowski swung and missed.

“I think you have a hole in your bat!” Ernie shouted.

Grankowski caught up to the next pitch and sent the ball rolling down the third base line.

“Foul ball, foul ball, foul ball,” I chanted. It worked! The ball hooked foul. I leaped out of the dugout to field it—and the ball rolled right between my legs.

“Hey, kid,” Ernie shouted. “Does the
BB
stand for Bill Buckner?” A few people near him laughed. Bill Buckner was a famous first baseman. He blew a play that pretty much cost the Red Sox the World Series. It happened
years before I was born, but I knew all about it. Everybody who knows baseball knew all about it.

I got the ball and slipped back in the dugout. At least nobody asked me for the ball.

“Nice try,” said one of the Humdingers. That just made it worse. Now I had to say “Thanks” to one of the guys who were trying to beat the Porcupines.

“Thanks,” I said.

Grankowski bounced the next pitch to short. Mike Stammer moved to get it, stepped on the ball, tripped, and fell flat on his back. The crowd gasped as Grankowski took first.

“Might as well stay down there!” Ernie shouted.

I fetched the bat and put it in the visitors' bat rack, hoping Mike's error wouldn't come back to hurt the Porcupines.

Obviously, the rabbit wasn't working, at least not as a jinx breaker. He seemed to be doing all right as a lettuce-eating lagomorph, though. He was also doing great as Dylan's new best friend.

Mike got up. He didn't seem hurt.

The next batter knocked a ball just left of second base. Mike stuck out his glove, but the ball bounced off the webbing and into center field.

“I told you to stay down there!” Ernie shouted.

Mike punched his glove a couple of times, crouched, and waited for the next batter. I got the bat and brought it back to the dugout.

“Tough way to start a game, huh?” one of the Humdingers asked. It was the same guy who had said “Nice try” earlier.

“Yeah,” I agreed.

The next batter rapped the ball to second base. The Pines' George “President” Lincoln threw to first for an easy out.

“He could've turned two,” said the Humdinger player.

“Maybe,” I replied.

But I knew that Humdinger was right. It was what they call a made-to-order double play. Lincoln could have—should have—thrown the ball to Mike Stammer. Mike would have had to catch the ball, touch second base, and make a clean throw to first. It wasn't easy, but every professional shortstop did it all the time. I gulped. George Lincoln didn't trust Mike anymore! And if the second baseman didn't trust the shortstop to turn a double play, the Porcupines were in big trouble!

The next batter scorched the ball to center field. Myung Young flew and made a diving
catch. The runners had taken off with the pitch, and Myung was able to lob the ball to second for a double play. The President fielded the ball at second, stepping in front of Mike to do so.

“Nice play! I wish that guy in center was on my team,” said the friendly Humdinger. He grabbed his glove and headed out to left field. I checked the lineup for his name. It was Brian Somerset, a real major leaguer! He was just off the disabled list and getting back up to speed in the minors.

I had Somerset's baseball card. I even had it with me. I didn't know he would be at the game. I could have shown his card to Dylan. The back of the card said, “Brian Somerset started out as a batboy for the Shreveport Captains of the Texas League.” I thought Dylan would like that.

I wanted Brian Somerset to sign my card,
but my binder was in the Porcupines' locker room. Pokey and Spike were leading a bunch of little kids through an obstacle course, so I had a few minutes to run and get the card. I just needed an excuse to slip away.

Tommy led off for the Porcupines. He went through the whole routine of checking his laces, pulling up his socks, and rubbing his bat.

“You're batting, not having your picture taken!” Ernie shouted.

I chased down one foul and ignored a chorus of kids begging for the ball. Tommy struck out a few pitches later.

Myung came up. He bounced one toward third base and nearly reached first. It looked like he beat the throw, but the first base umpire called him out. The crowd booed.

“Hey, umpire! What game are you
watching?” Ernie shouted. “The one we're watching, the guy was safe!”

It was Mike's turn to bat.

“I hope you hit better than you field!” Ernie shouted.

Mike took a couple of pitches and then banged a double to left field. The crowd cheered.

Sammy Solaris came up to bat. The crowd cheered and stomped. Sammy was the best hitter on the team. He fouled a ball back into the stands, took a pitch, and then knocked the ball into the outfield.

Mike sprinted, taking a big turn at third and heading home. The Humdinger center fielder fired the ball toward the plate. Mike had plenty of time to score, but he hesitated. He who hesitates is lost, and Mike was definitely lost. The catcher tagged him out. The crowd groaned.

It wasn't even the jinx this time. Mike was jinxed on defense, but he had always been good on offense. He was losing trust in himself, just like the rest of the Porcupines were.

If he didn't break that jinx soon, Mike was done for as a ballplayer.