Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 58437 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58437 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Coach Adams met Dad’s eyes. “Put in Lopez?”
“Maybe,” Dad said, looking down at the lineup on his clipboard again.
“Except Maclain throws a better curveball than Lopez,” I pointed out.
Dad’s eyebrows knitted together. “Not following you.”
“I know Harding’s left-handed batting stats,” I said with more confidence. In fact, I’d paid special attention to them earlier because they’d interested me.
“And?” Coach Adams asked.
“When he’s batting left-handed, his blind spot is a curveball, and Maclain knows how to throw a mean one.”
Dad gripped my shoulder roughly, more out of nerves than anything else, and my pulse was going a bit crazy as well. “Are you certain?”
Here was the moment. I could blow this game if I was wrong. I stood taller. “I am.”
Coach motioned for Girard and Maclain to come forward, then nodded to me. “Tell them.”
“Harding, the fourth batter in the Rockets’ rotation, is a switch hitter, and if he bats lefty, you need to throw him some killer curveballs. His average sucks with them. Way better at sliders or changeups.”
“What if he bats righty?” Girard asked. “He’s been hitting the fastballs today even though he sucked with them last game.”
I faltered briefly, hoping I wasn’t giving them the wrong advice. There were always so many factors involved, which was what made sports so compelling in the first place. At least to a stats geek like me.
“Just telling you what I know when he’s batting lefty. Everything else is left to skill—and chance.”
Girard looked at Maclain. “What do we have to lose?”
“The fucking game?” Maclain griped, even though we were already behind.
“Trust Kellan. He’s good,” Dad said, and I cleared my throat, feeling more nervous than ever.
“And so am I,” Girard added, and Maclain scoffed.
Then they had some strange stare down before Maclain finally relented. “Yeah, okay.”
While we’d been discussing the Rockets’ lineup, Hollister had gotten on base and Donovan cracked a line drive up the center and batted him in. When the board added a run to our side, the team cheered. But then Devers popped a fly ball to left field, and it was our turn to play defense again. Devers grumbled as his butt hit the bench.
Donovan ran in to retrieve his glove, and I high-fived him. “Good one,” I said before running out to gather the bats.
The tension seemed to skyrocket as the first batter stepped up to the plate. Maclain didn’t beg off any of Girard’s calls, and it ended up being to our advantage. We had two outs with no men on base, but the next batter hit a grounder that bounced up the third base line. Now they had a runner on second as Harding stepped up to the plate. I held my breath as I watched him, and could see Maclain doing the same.
When Harding stepped over the plate, deciding to bat left-handed, Girard’s gaze briefly swung to mine before he squatted down and nodded to Maclain. I thought my heart was going to beat out of my chest as my dad shifted nervously beside me. But Maclain remained stone-faced, not wanting to show his cards. He was pretty good at that, well, unless his emotions got the best of him.
My advice paid off because he threw Harding three solid curveballs and struck the dude out. Harding was so frustrated, he threw his bat down a little too hard, earning him a warning from the umpire.
And that changed the energy of the team as the players ran toward the dugout more enthusiastically than I’d seen them all game. Girard and Maclain even did some sort of strange half hug before they thought better of it.
“Good job,” Girard said, patting me on the shoulder.
And just when I thought Maclain was going to ignore me, he muttered, “Nice work, Crawford” in my direction. Coming from a jackass like Maclain, I couldn’t help grinning.
“Hell yeah! Let’s go, Pirates,” Donovan said, drumming his knuckles on the wooden bench, trying to get his team pumped up.
It worked. By the bottom of the eighth inning, the bases were loaded and Devers was on deck with a dogged look in his eye, especially after that last pop fly. And hell, maybe fresh off injured reserve, he’d been waiting for his moment to shine because he cracked the first pitch straight out of the park, resulting in a grand slam, and there was complete pandemonium not only from the Pirates but from the stands. I could just make out the announcers calling it an exciting game.
The team was shouting and jumping up and down as they crowded behind the umpire, waiting for Devers to cross home plate so they could properly congratulate him. Tackle him, more like it.
I almost felt sorry for how glum the Rockets looked as they finally got our next batter out and retreated to their dugout.
All the Pirates had to do was hold their lead top of the ninth inning. And that was when our closer was called in. As Lopez jogged to the mound, Maclain blew out a breath, his job done for the day.