31
Wes
Waiting around for the game to start can seem to take forever at times, and today was one of those days. The overcast skies made everyone worry that there would be a rain delay or even a postponement. Rain delays are the worst, especially after you have gotten yourself ready for the game mentally and physically and then you must wait and wait and wait some more. Luckily for us, the rain had held off and it looked like the game would start on time.
Pete Doyle had moved me up to bat fifth tonight, hitting behind Anton in the hopes he might see some better pitches than the night before. I was far from expecting to have anything close to the night I had before and just wanted to make sure I got good swings so as not to embarrass myself and make people think the first game was just a fluke. As we got ready to take the field, I glanced down at my wristbands, adjusting them, so the KA I wrote on them was turned out to the sides. It made me feel like Kristin was with me to give me some extra motivation.
Our pitcher tonight, Colby Dalton, was another of the young players that were on the Reds this year. He had just a few games of experience last year, and this was a big chance for him to prove himself. He took the mound in the first and promptly walked the first two batters he faced on eight pitches. He heard some light boos from a restless crowd, and after the second walk, I went over to talk to him.
“Decent crowd tonight,” I said to him as I looked around the stadium.
“I guess,” he said to me, looking around nervously as he felt the ball in his hand.
“You got anyone here tonight?” I asked him.
“My parents, and my girlfriend,” he said, adjusting the bill of his cap.
“My parents used to come to my games in Pittsburgh all the time,” I told him. “It freaked me out the first few times. I would try like hell to do good to impress them and always ended up sucking. Play your game, Colby. You got these guys. Slow it down, throw at your pace. Have fun.”
“Thanks,” he said, exhaling. I patted him on the back and moved back to first base. Frank Vincent, the Pirates second baseman who was on first base now, chatted with me.
“What did you tell him, Wes?” Frank said with a smile.
“I told him you guys don’t have a chance tonight and that he should go ahead pick you off, Frank.”
Colby went on to strikeout the next batter on three pitches. Two pitches into the fourth hitter, I saw him looking over to me. He could tell Vincent had a decent lead, even with a man on second. Colby fired the ball to me, I blocked the base with my right foot and slapped the tag on Frank for the out.
“See you later, Frank,” I said to him as I smiled and fired the ball back to Colby. Colby went on to strike out the hitter to get out of the inning. He smiled at me as we walked off the field.
We got off to a quick start again with our leadoff hitter getting on. Then, with two batters out, Anton singled to left field. I came to the plate, getting a good ovation from the crowd. Hank Swan was pitching tonight for the Pirates, and I tipped my helmet to him as I got into the batter’s box. If anyone knew me well on the Pirates, it was Hank since we had played so long together. But I also knew what his tendencies were, so we were on a level playing field. We went back and forth with strikes and balls, and even when the count went to 3-and-2, I fouled off six pitches in a row after that. Finally, on the twelfth pitch and with my arms feeling tired from swinging, Hank hung a slider right over the middle of the plate. I wasted no time and drove it over the right centerfield wall for a home run. Hank looked at me as I rounded third, with a mix of a heated glare and a smile, knowing he had been beaten that time.
Going up 3-0 early made Colby even more comfortable, and he settled in quickly and mowed through the Pirate batters in the second, third and fourth. Hank settled down himself, getting us in order in the second and third, and with two outs in the fourth, he walked Anton ahead of me. Hank had already thrown a lot of pitches by the fourth inning, pushing eighty, and I could see it was wearing on him in his first start of the season. He had a habit of dropping down when he got tired that always got him in trouble, and sure enough, he threw one that was meant to be down but just kept rising for me until it was in the sweet zone. I flicked the bat quickly, and the ball exploded off the bat. It was high into the night, and I lost sight of it as it crossed paths with the bright lights in the outfield. The only sign to me was the crowd yelling and the umpiring circling his finger in the air like he was spinning a plate, signaling home run.
It was stuff out of a fairy tale, or things you dream about when you are playing ball in your backyard as a kid. No one hits five home runs in two games, let alone five in a row. When I got back to the dugout, the guys were going nuts. Ken Abernathy came over and sat next to me on the bench.
“That ties a record, you know,” Ken said to me quietly. Sure enough, they flashed on the scoreboard that I had tied a record for most home runs in consecutive games. I glanced over at the scoreboard and smiled back at Ken.
“Neat,” I said to him and went over to grab a drink of water.
Colby Dalton made into the sixth before running into trouble but only gave up one run to keep us ahead 5-1. Unfortunately, in seventh, our relief pitchers let us down and gave up four runs, so the Pirates tied it up. We came up in the seventh with Hank Swan out of the game and Vic Williams on in relief. Vic was big, strong, and nasty, and not just nasty in what he threw but in how he played. Luckily, we got one man on thanks to an error. Anton then muscled a hit down the left field line for a double, putting men on second and third for me. The crowd was on their feet now when I came up, giving me an incredible rush of adrenaline. I peered out at Williams, not sure what to expect from him. I should have known what to expect when his first pitch was a fastball coming right at me. I quickly turned, and the ball hit me square between the shoulder blades, just where you want to hit someone when you want to send a message. I crumpled to the ground, feeling a searing pain in my shoulder and back. The crowd rained harsh boos down on Vic, and I could hear Anton shouting expletives at him from second base, taunting him and trying to draw him into a fight.
The Reds trainer, Phil Dawkins, trotted out to see if I was okay.
“Where’d he get you, Wes?” Phil said as I sat up.
“In the back,” I said as I started to get to my feet. Phil gave me a hand as I got up and dusted myself off. “I’m good,” I told him as I jogged down to first, eyeballing Vic as he smiled at me.
Our next batter, Brett Thompson, hitting behind me today, lined a single to center to drive in a run to put us ahead. Vic slammed the ball into his mitt, angry with himself for giving up the hit. He went to get two strikeouts and a pop up to end the inning, but we were ahead. I walked slowly back to the dugout and watched Anton cross in front of Williams on the way back, making sure to let him know he was watching him.
My back was sore, but I played on, even as the Pirates tacked on two runs in the eighth to go back in front of us, 7-6. Our lineup went out meekly in the eighth, and we held them in the ninth, so we were still down a run. The Pirates brought in their closer, Pat Stringer, to close things out. Pat was an All-Star closer, one of the bright spots on the Pirate staff. He was tough on everyone and threw lights out stuff from all different angles. Our manager, Pete Doyle, tried to remain upbeat.
”We can do this,” he said, clapping his hands roughly. “We got Anton, Wes, and Brett this inning. We can do this.”
Anton was out watching Stringer warm up while I went out to the on-deck circle to watch.
“Got any tips?” Anton asked me as we watched him throw.
“He’s only got two pitches, Anton,” I told him. “Fastball and cutter, and he always throw the cutter first. Take it and look for the fastball.”
“Got it,” Anton said as he strode to the plate. I watched, taking some practice hacks, and sure enough, the first pitch was a cutter that ran low and away. Anton pumped himself after that pitch, bearing down with his back foot in the batter’s box. The fastball came, and out it went, deep into left field and over the wall. The crowd erupted as Anton tied the game. I slapped his hand as he crossed the plate and saw he had a big smile on his face.
I stepped in and looked out at Stringer. The catcher, Glenn Hopkins, had been surprisingly quiet to me all night. He looked up as I stepped in and grunted. I figured after Anton’s home run, there was no way Stringer was throwing a fastball at all this at-bat, so I had to hack at whatever looked good. I quickly stepped out, adjusting my batting gloves and then took a fast look at my wristbands. The KA was still there on each one, though a little faded on the left after hitting the ground last time. I smiled and got back to the plate.
Stringer threw the cutter, and it was coming in fast, but it didn’t cut like it normally does. This one stayed up a fraction longer, and it was just enough for me. I knew I hit it well; it was just a question of whether it was fair or not. I saw it carrying down the line high and watched it as I moved slowly down the line. When I got close to first base, I heard the ball clang of the foul pole for a home run. I was never one for showing emotion on the field, but I pumped my fist as I rounded first base and made my way around the bases. The whole team was waiting for me at home, jumping up and down with excitement as I stepped on the plate. Fans were screaming like I never heard before.
Anton grabbed me and hugged me.
“I thought you said take the cutter?” he yelled to me over the shouts of the crowd.
“Yeah… for you,” I told him with a laugh as we headed into the clubhouse with a walk-off win.
For me, this was the World Series moment I had imagined over my thirteen years. It was the kind of thing you dream about, hitting home runs like that and then one to win the game. Reporters were all over me, asking me questions left and right. After a string of questions about how good it feels, one TV reporter looked at me and said, “What’s the KA on your wrists for?”
I looked down at the wristband on my right wrist and smiled, and then held it up for the cameras to see.
“That’s someone special I was thinking about tonight,” I said to the reporter. “She knows who she is.” I didn’t say anything more about it.
The reporters finally thinned out so I could shower and dress. Anton was sitting at his locker dressed in his suit.
“Hell of a way to open the season,” Anton said to me. “It will make the flight to St. Louis that much sweeter tonight.”
I finished getting into my suit while the clubhouse guys scrambled around, gathering gear for the road trip. I snatched up the two wristbands from the game and looked down at them as I sat at my locker. I stood up and put the wristbands down on my chair.
“You bet Anton,” I told him. I grabbed my phone and took a picture of the wristbands and sent the picture to Kristin with just the text:
For you.