Force Out by Tim Green Page B

serious voice, almost like someone had died. “Okay well . . . No, no, no. I’ve got to give you the good news first.” Coach Barrett looked back and forth between them.
    â€œOkay, the good news then,” Joey’s dad said.
    â€œGood news is that Joey is the first alternate for the all-star team.” Coach Barrett’s face beamed at them like a headlight.
    Then Coach Barrett’s face fell, as did his voice. “I guess that’s the bad news, too.”
    â€œYou mean, he made it, or he didn’t make it?” Joey’s dad asked.
    â€œAs the alternate,” Coach Barrett said, nodding like a bobblehead.
    â€œSo, unless someone drops out, he didn’t make it.”
    â€œOr if someone gets hurt,” Coach Barrett said brightly.
    Joey felt like he was about to lose the small amount of food he’d choked down. This was it, and it was really over. The alternate thing was like striking a match in a blustery wind.
    Coach Barrett cleared his throat. “And I want you to know that I fought tooth and nail to make him the very first alternate. I would not let anyone leave that room until they agreed. It was tough, because they argued no team should have three players on the all-star team, except maybe the champions, but I had them dead to rights because I argued that even though we didn’t win the championship, we still had the best record, and there was a reason for that . It wasn’t all just coaching . . .”
    Joey’s dad folded the waiver Coach Barrett had handed him, and his fingers crept across the crease over and over again.
    â€œNo, it wasn’t, but, Don . . .”
    Coach Barrett seemed startled by Joey’s dad using his first name.
    â€œYou said ‘three players’ from our team. I get Zach and Joey, but who’s the third?”

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    Joey knew who the third was, even before Coach Barrett puffed up like a tom turkey, stretching his neck and arching his back just a bit to expand his chest as big as it could possibly get.
    â€œThe third? The third is Joey. The first is Zach. Butch was the second .”
    â€œButch?”
    â€œMy son.” Coach Barrett wore a vicious smile. “You know? Butch, our second baseman. The winning run on first yesterday in the top of the sixth inning? The one who caught that pop fly to keep them from scoring in the fourth? That Butch.”
    â€œI didn’t mean . . .” Joey’s dad stopped talking to prove that he really didn’t know what he meant.
    â€œIt’s not easy when your son is involved, trust me. I wasn’t the advocate for Butch. It was the other coaches. They insisted he get a wild card spot. Trust me, my vote was for your son, just as I said it would be. You can see the minutes from the meeting if you like.”
    Joey’s dad held up his hands in surrender. “That’s not necessary at all. I was just thinking of your own words yesterday, that he had an outstanding season and that he deserved to be on that team.”
    â€œAnd I stand by that. Look, Jim, I didn’t come here to be challenged. I came to get this waiver signed and let you know that if anything happens, Joey will be the first kid we call to play in that game on Saturday. I think he does deserve it, but I’m only one vote. The other coaches felt strongly about Butch and the other kids we selected. I’m sorry. It’s hard, I know.”
    Joey thought about Butch Barrett’s smug face and his bold predictions. He thought about Coach Barrett’s secret meeting with the other coaches at the Dark Owl Diner the night before. A hot slush of anger slopped around inside his stomach. Joey wanted to scream. He wanted to spit. He felt tears building up in the corners of his eyes.
    Baseball wasn’t supposed to be like this.
    Life wasn’t supposed to be like this.
    Life, and especially baseball, were supposed to be fair.

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    Through the screen of the open