The Perfect Game

THE PERFECT GAME

by Christopher J

Copyright 2013 Christopher Cofone

Published on Smashwords

Formatted by eBooksMade4You

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All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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CONTENTS

Prologue

Joey Coltasanti makes a great play to end his second season of playing summer baseball. He can play the following year and have a chance at realizing his dream of making the all-star team and maybe going all the way to the state’s world series. But he decides not to, believing that the pressure, anxiety, crazy coaches, and everything else make playing baseball not worth it.

Chapter 1 Bonus Baby

A girl named Mindi moves into the house next door to Joey. A saxophone-playing member of Mensa, Mindi proves to be natural athlete who intrigues Joey, and the two soon-to-be 12 year olds quickly become friends.

Chapter 2 Hot Stove League

Joey discusses with his friends the pros and cons of playing summer baseball for one more year, and the chance to fulfill his dream going to the state world series.

Chapter 3 Screwball

March and spring training arrive, and Joey sets out to realize his goal of becoming an all star, in spite of crazy coach Mr. K, and his own anxieties.

Chapter 4 No Joy in Mudville

April gets the season off to an inauspicious start.

Chapter 5 Hit’em Where They Ain’t

Joey’s anxiety gets the best of him, and summer baseball proves itself to be a kids’ game for adults who can’t seem to grow up.

Chapter 6 Chin Music

John Adams spins in his grave as summer baseball in town explodes, with Joey and Mindi at the center of the storm.

Chapter 7 Ninety Percent of This Game Is Half Mental

A new coach appears in town, and Joey’s team can finish out the season - which is easier said than done.

Chapter 8 Let’s Play Two

Joey begins to trust Chris as a coach, and starts playing like an all star.

Chapter 9 A Midsummer Classic

Mindi has a perfect game going into the bottom of the 9th inning. With two outs, Joey comes up to the plate. Will he get a hit and ruin Mindi’s chance at immortality? Or will his nervousness return, causing him to strike out?

Chapter 10 Suicide Squeeze

Joey makes the regional all star team - but now has to face the added pressure of winning every game to advance to the state world series.

Chapter 11 High and Tight

Joey has a chance to overcome his fears and win a game for his team. Will he come through, or freeze again?

Chapter 12 Full Count

All-stars Joey and Mindi leave it all on the field in their attempt to win a game and make it to the state world series. Will they succeed?

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The Perfect Game

Prologue

Joey’s heart was pounding so hard his chest hurt.

If the ball is hit to you, charge it, he thought. Charge the ball. Always keep coming in on the ball. Play the ball, don’t let it play you.

One more out, and we win. With runners on first and third, Rizzo’s Paint Company could tie the score with a single. But with a ground ball to an infielder, the runner at first could be forced at second, and the game would be over. He glanced to his right, toward the third baseman. If you get it, please make a good throw, Frank. For a change. He looked at Jaime the second baseman to his left and thought, I hope he remembers to cover the base if the ball is hit to me. He glanced back at the outfielders behind him. They’re playing too deep, he mused.

All these ideas were running through Joey’s mind as he stood at shortstop. Should he say something? He didn’t.

Instead he just positioned himself the way he always did. Feet pointed slightly outward, knees bent, both arms hanging down nearly touching the ground, eyes focused on the batter standing at home plate. Breathing in through his mouth, his chest heaved up and down, as the anxiety, fear, and excitement rushed through his blood all at once.

The pitcher wound up and threw the ball; it was low, and the batter chopped it into the ground. The baseball bounced over the pitcher’s head then skipped low, like a stone thrown across water, hopping along the grass directly toward second base. Joey’s muscle memory kicked in and he turned left, accelerating full speed toward second base, his cleats kicking out brown dirt behind him as he ran.

Knowing his only chance to catch the ball would be to dive for it, he stretched himself out, extending his left arm and open glove toward the ball. The last thing he saw was a spinning round white thing; it didn’t even look like a baseball. But it landed in his Rawlings glove with a pop, and a split second later his body crashed to the ground with a thump about a foot behind second base.

Lying on his side, Joey could see the runner who had been on first base about to start his slide. He was practically flying through the air, his mouth open and tongue hanging out, almost like a dog’s. Joey quickly pulled the ball out of his glove with his right hand, then reached his arm out for second base. He slammed the ball down on the bag, just before the runner sprayed chunks of damp brown dirt all over him with the slide.

The thought that crossed through his mind at that moment was not the game was over and his team had won, or that he had just made a spectacular play. Sprawled there next to the base, he noticed that it had holes in it. It had little rips where the stuffing was coming out. Couldn’t this league buy new bases?

OUT! boomed the umpire, who had arrived at the scene and made the call with way too much dramatic flair for a kid’s baseball game.

Joey stood up and started to jog off the field, as his teammates ran toward him and

started slapping his back and rubbing his head. Even the coaches of his squad, Mr. K and Mr. H, congratulated him. They were pleased to win the last game of the year, even though the team hadn’t made the playoffs.

The boys sat in the dugout and took off their cleats, and put on sneakers, all the while talking, laughing, teasing each other. Then one by one they drifted from the dugout to their waiting parents in the parking lot.

Joey was the last to leave. The field was quiet now, so different from during a game, with all the noise…players yelling, coaches screaming, crowd cheering, the announcer up in the press box overlooking the field, his baritone voice booming out every kid’s name as they came up to bat.

Joey kicked his legs slowly back and forth as he sat on the dugout bench and gazed at the empty field. He took a deep breath and enjoyed the moment. As much as he loved playing the game, he also liked being at a baseball field when it was like this, peaceful and serene.

Heaving a sigh, he thought about what he had been hoping for ever since he was young enough to play baseball. For several years, he had dreamed that he would become an all-star, and then his team, made up of a bunch of his friends, would reach the state’s World Series. He had talked about it with the other boys, even before they had started playing in the league.

But this dream had all but disappeared during the past two years. Joey hadn’t told anyone, not even his parents, what he was really thinking as the season wound down. At age eleven, he still had one more year that he could play in his town, in the Morganfield Summer Baseball League. But during the last few weeks he had decided he wasn’t going to play baseball anymore. He was going to forgo his last year of summer baseball, and maybe not play ever again. At least not on an organized team, with adults running the show. Deep down, he felt that baseball was such a great game, yet there was so much other stuff going on all the time, that all the fun was taken out of it.

He also had another secret. One that he hadn’t told anyone. He felt he couldn’t take the pressure that came along with playing the game. The anxiety was just too overwhelming. He had become so afraid to make an error in the field or strike out while hitting. Sometimes he would stand at the plate and not swing the bat, or stand in the field and not go after a ground ball or fly ball. He would be frozen by some kind of fear. On top of that sometimes he let himself get distracted during a game by all the commotion swirling around the field, the games, and the league. It just added up to so much…noise.

He thought the silence now surrounding the park was almost scary. The only sound he could hear was the flapping of the faded American flag on the pole by the field’s entrance. It was a breezy afternoon, and the flag was twisting and turning in all directions. Like it’s trying to get away from all the chaos that goes on in this place.

Finally Joey stood up. He looked at the ground inside the dugout; scattered around were shells of sunflower seeds, empty white paper cups, gum wrappers, and someone’s ripped batting glove, now unwanted. It must be too hard to throw stuff away in the wastebasket standing next to the side of the dugout.

Joey turned and began shuffling toward the exit across the diamond that had been named Freedom Park when it was built way back in 1976. Passing through the gate he looked up at the American flag as it flapped noisily in the wind. I wonder if it’s the original, from the Bicentennial year. He noticed that it was in good shape even though it was faded.

He had told his mother and father not to wait for him after the game, that he wanted to walk the few blocks home. Noticing the sun disappearing low in the sky on that hot, humid late July afternoon, he quickened his pace along the tree-lined street that led away from the baseball field.

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Chapter 1

Pop. Pop. Pop. The sound of a baseball smacking onto leather echoed around the room. Joey flipped a clean, shiny white baseball with his right hand back and forth into the Rawlings baseball glove on his left hand. He always loved that sound, that pop.

I hope the new neighbor isn’t another gray haired old lady, he said, gazing out at the moving men struggling to carry heavy furniture up stairs on a humid August morning.

Looking out of his second floor bedroom window a few months earlier Joey watched as next door neighbor Mrs. Price was wheeled out on a stretcher to the ambulance. Lying there wrapped in blankets, her eyes closed, she looked like a mannequin. He had found out later she was actually dead when she was on the stretcher. Never having seen a dead person before, he couldn’t seem able to shake the vision from his memory. The image was burned into his mind.

What happened to those old baseball cards Uncle Russ gave us? asked Joey’s older brother Michael, as he sorted through the Topps cards spread on the floor of Joey’s room. Michael was oblivious to neighbors old and new.

Joey’s head turned around. I wrapped them in plastic and put them in my top desk drawer, he replied. Looking back out the window Joey saw his father walk across the front lawn and reach over the picket fence to shake hands with another man, apparently the new neighbor. They looked to be about the same age.

I’m going to go see who’s moving in, Joey said, removing the baseball glove and placing it onto his desk. Michael grunted as Joey walked by. Make sure you put all those back, Joey told his brother, who was now intently reading the back of one of the cards. Michael grunted again.

The heat of the summer day struck Joey’s face the instant he stepped outside. Then the smell of freshly cut grass filled his nostrils. He walked across his dad’s manicured lawn, so soft under his sneakers, to where his father was standing by the fence.

Hey professor, say hello to Mr. Sabair, said Mr. Coltasanti.

Hi, Joey said.

Nice to meet you Joseph, Mr. Sabair reached over and held out his hand. Joey took it in his, and winced as Mr. Sabair squeezed it tightly, pumping it up and down. You look to be about my daughter’s age.

I’ll be twelve in October, Joey replied.

Mindi’s twelfth birthday is in October too. Just then she emerged, practically bouncing down the front steps of her new home, and ran to where they were standing. The first