The 823rd Hit (4 page)

“Chad, this is Casey. His family just moved here from Rosedale. Casey, Chad is a batboy for the Pine City Porcupines. Doesn't that sound like fun?” Ms. Henry smiled like she'd just matched up the two best friends of all time, and went off to talk to some other kids.

“The Porcupines?” the new kid said with a snicker. He pushed the hair out of his eyes. “The Rogues just swept them.”

“Only two games,” I said. “The Pines are still the best team in the Prairie League.”

“No way,” Casey said, shaking his head. “The Rosedale Rogues have the best record. First place, remember? Plus they've won the last two championships, and they're about to win a third.”

“Only if they beat the Porcupines,” I reminded him. Casey didn't back down.

“Don't make me laugh.”

“You'd better laugh now, because in a couple of weeks all you'll be able to do is cry.”

We went back and forth like that until class started.

• • •

Dylan was in a different class this year, so I was glad to see him at lunch. He had his nose stuck in a book.

“What are you reading?” I asked.

He showed me the cover. “I'm reading about cells,” he said. “It's really interesting.”

Who reads a science textbook during lunch? Answer: Dylan.

“You would really get along with my dad,” I told him. “My dad also loves to read.”

The new kid slid in next to me.

“The Rosedale Rogues probably have the best pitching staff in all of Single-A baseball,” Casey said. He didn't even bother with a “Hi” or a “Can I sit here?”

“I guess you haven't heard of Lance Pantaño,” I told him. “He pitched a perfect game this season.”

“Pantaño got lucky.” Casey waved his hand like he was brushing away a fly. “Damien Ricken has a lower ERA, a lower WHIP, and a better DIPS.”

I didn't know what those were, but there was no way I was going to admit it.

“I've seen Lance throw over a hundred miles an hour,” I told him.

“Ricken doesn't just throw hard. He carves up batters.”

Casey spent the rest of lunch describing Damien Ricken's pitching. He demonstrated
his famous slider using Tater Tots. “And that's just Ricken,” Casey said. “I haven't even told you about the rest of the rotation.”

He went off to clear his tray. I noticed that his jersey had Ricken's name and number.

“Who is that kid?” Dylan asked.

“Casey.”

“He's like the you of the Rosedale Rogues.”

“I'm not like that, am I?”

“You aren't as annoying,” Dylan agreed.

• • •

Casey caught up with me again on the way home from school.

“Let's go through the lineup,” he said. “Who bats first for the Porcupines?”

“Tommy Harris,” I said.

“What's his OBP?”

“I don't know,” I said.

“Well, with lead-off hitters, especially, you
have to look at on-base percentage, not just batting average,” Casey said. “Jasper Davis is .366, which is pretty good. He's the lead-off hitter for the Rogues. Now, his OPS could be better … I think it's .617.” He laughed.

I didn't get it. I'd have to ask my uncle Rick about OPS.

“Who bats second for the Porcupines?” Casey asked next.

“Myung Young,” I replied.

“Oh, yeah,” Casey said. “He's a great defensive player.”

I couldn't believe he admitted that the Porcupines had something going for them.

“What's his OPS?”

“I don't know,” I said. “I don't know about anyone's OPS, all right?”

Casey shrugged. “Fine. Do you want to come over and see my baseball cards?”

“You should come over to my house and see
my
baseball cards,” I told him. I had thousands, some dating way back to when my granddad was a kid.

“I bet I have more cards,” he said.

“Don't be so sure. I have a lot.”

“I have forty thousand cards. How many do you have?”

“Forty thousand and six,” I lied.

“Ha.”

“Anyway,” I said, “I have to go do my homework. If I don't keep up, Mom and Dad won't let me work the Pines' games this weekend.”

“We didn't get any homework,” Casey reminded me.

“I'm going to work ahead.” The truth was that this new kid was driving me crazy. I never thought anyone could talk too much about
baseball, but he did. Worse, everything was a contest. He was a bigger fan of a better team. He had more baseball cards. He used abbreviations I had never heard of.

“Come on, I don't have any friends in Pine City except for you,” Casey said. “We just moved here last week. Dad's company transferred him out of the blue.”

I sighed. “OK. I guess I can come over for half an hour.”

“Let's go, then,” Casey said.

On the way, he explained that his parents hadn't bought a house yet. They were all staying with his great-uncle Marvin. “He's a big baseball fan,” said Casey.

“He sounds like my uncle Rick,” I said.

“My granddad's even a bigger fan,” said Casey. “He's the reason I have so many baseball cards. He's been collecting since he was a kid, and they're all in perfect condition.”

Dylan was right. Casey
was
the me of the Rosedale Rogues. Casey even had a baseball-crazy uncle and baseball cards from his grandpa.

We arrived at a house with a big porch. An enormous black cat glared at us through the window.

“That's my uncle's cat, Arthur,” Casey said with a shudder. “He's mean. Let's go around back.”

We did. As soon as we walked in, we heard a baseball game on the radio. An old man was hunched over a crossword puzzle.

“Five-letter word for ‘buffalo,'” he said. “That's easy: ‘bison.'” His voice was familiar.

“Uncle Marvin, this is my new friend, Chad.”

His uncle looked at me. “You still can't have it!” he said.

“Can't have what?” Casey asked.

Now I knew that voice! It was him! Uncle Marvin was the old guy with the wool hat. He was the man who had caught Teddy Larrabee's lucky birthday baseball!

t's no use trying to chummy up with my nephew,” said Uncle Marvin. “The ball still isn't for sale.”

Casey looked at me, then at his great-uncle, then at me again. “What's going on?”

“This is the little whippersnapper who came begging for my home run ball,” said Uncle Marvin.

“I didn't beg,” I said. “The player who hit the ball wanted it back. That's all.”

“Sixty years I've been going to ball games. I never caught a home run ball once in all those
years. The second I do, some kid tries to con it off me. Now he's sniffin' around my house for it.”

“It's just a coinkydink … uh, a coincidence!” I said. “I'm not sniffing. Casey invited me over to see his baseball cards.”

“So it's my nephew's cards you're after!” He leaped up and pointed his pen at me. “You'd better stay away from those cards, if you know what's good for you!”

“No!” said Casey. “I
invited
Chad over, Uncle Marvin. I told him he could see the cards. He didn't even ask.”

“I didn't know you were his great-uncle. Promise,” I said. “I don't want your baseball, either.”

“Hmm … All right, then.” The old man sat down. “It was just a surprise, seeing you barge into the kitchen like that.”

“I can see why you want to keep the ball,” I
told him. “Sixty years is a long time. How many games have you seen?”

“Too many to count,” he said. “I've been to at least fifty ballparks, major and minor. If they have seats in home run territory, that's where I sit. I've always wanted to catch a home run ball. Ever since I was a kid in Chicago. Me and Carl—that's my brother, Casey's grandfather—me and Carl would stand out on Waveland Avenue trying to catch balls hit out of Wrigley Field. I never got one. But Carl did.” He had a faraway look in his eyes. “I wonder if he still has that ball.”

“He sure does,” said Casey. “Granddad shows it to me every single time we see him, and he tells me the story every time. It was hit by—”

“Andy Pafko, I know,” said Uncle Marvin. “I remember. Carl wanted him to sign that ball
more than anything, but about a week later Pafko was traded to Brooklyn. Broke Carl's heart. Pafko was his favorite player.” The old man sighed loudly.

“Are you OK?” Casey asked him.

“Just a lot of memories,” said Uncle Marvin.

We went upstairs to see Casey's cards. He had just about everything I had, but a lot more of the older ones. It was incredible.

“Name a team, a year, and a position,” he told me.

“Cardinals, 1982, second base.”

He went to a box and came up with a card for a player named Tom Herr.

We played that game about fifty more times before it started to get old.

Casey did have more cards than me, but I'll bet he didn't have any
magic
cards. I kept my favorite cards in a red binder. Some of the Pines
thought the cards in there helped them work miracles on the field. I gave Mike Stammer my Rafael Furcal card and he turned a triple play all by himself. Lance Pantaño finished a perfect game with a little help from my Jim Bunning card. Sammy Solaris even stole a base after I gave him my Bengie Molina card. That might not seem like a big deal unless you've seen Sammy run. The pine trees outside Pine City Park could beat him in a footrace. I didn't think the cards were really magic, but they reminded players what was possible. Too bad there wasn't a card that would help Teddy Larrabee get his lucky baseball back.

“Do you think your uncle would trade that baseball for anything?” I asked Casey.

“No way,” he replied. “Not even for Granddad's ball from Waveland Avenue.”

“Hey, how come your uncle Marvin didn't
know he still had that ball?” I asked him. “If your granddad talks about it all the time, wouldn't your uncle Marvin know?”