1
P itcher Koby Caplin walked up to the mound at Cain Park Field and turned around to look at the stands. “There were more moths
circling my porch light last night than there are fans in the stands!” he yelled to third baseman Billy Trentanelli.
Billy laughed. “We’ll just have to let the fans who aren’t here know they’ll be missing some good ball games if they don’t
show up. OK, you guys, let’s talk it up out here!”
“No problem!” shouted Sandy Siegel, the second baseman. “Hey, batter, batter! Our pitcher’s going to be throwing some smoke!”
Koby laughed. Crowd or no crowd, at least he had his team behind him. Not that a big crowd would have bothered him. Koby was
used to pitching infront of full stands. Last July and August, when he had hurled for the Evansville Grays in the summer league, he had earned
a reputation as a rocket-throwing righty. Big crowds were a common sight at Millikin Field those months.
Not many hitters had luck connecting against one of Koby’s fastballs. And if a runner was lucky enough to get on first, he
didn’t dare try to steal. Most knew that Koby had a lightning-quick pickoff. Besides, if a base runner was able to get the
jump on Koby, catcher Tug McCue was likely to peg him out at second.
Koby spied
Megaphone
reporter Sara Wilson in the stands. She was sitting in her customary seat in the third row of the bleachers, scribbling notes
in her reporter’s notebook.
Wonder what she’s writing, Koby thought. Something that will get people here to watch us play, I hope!
A handful of parents were dotted throughout the bleachers, along with some teachers who had stopped for a minute on their
way home.
“Helloooo, Ms. Brodsky!” yelled Sandy to their seventh grade science teacher.
“Keep the chatter on the field,” Coach Tomashiro ordered. “We’re here to play ball.”
A small group of Monticello students were sitting on the bleacher seats, an open pizza box at their feet.
“Baseball rules!” yelled one student.
Her friend sitting next to her answered back, “What, are you kidding? Nobody cares about the Cardinals. Just look around you
— pizza rules!” They high-fived and laughed.
“With pepperoni!” cheered her friend. Together they made up a “pizza” cheer, to the delight of their other friends.
“P-I-Z-Z-A!
What’s that spell? PIZZA!”
Koby couldn’t help but hear them. It was clear to him that the students had no interest in the team or the game. Baseball
was a big joke to them.
Well, I’ll see if I can’t change their attitude, he thought with determination.
The annual preseason Watermelon Game was a time-honored tradition in the Meadowbrook Middle School league. Behind the dugouts,
each team had huge watermelons stuffed in garbage cans of ice. The winning team would be treated to awatermelon feast by the loser. That in itself was motivation enough for some of the players, for what tasted better after
a long, hot ball game than a juicy slice of cold watermelon?
“Play ball!” yelled the umpire.
Under the watchful eye of Coach Tomashiro, or Coach T., as the students called him, the Cardinals took the field. They looked
cheerful and bright in their red uniforms with white trim, worn for the first time that day. Their new baseball caps were
still gleaming white.
“Let’s play heads-up ball out there. Use your noggins!” Coach T. yelled, pointing to the top of his cap. “No mental mistakes!”
Koby, wearing number 33, pounded his mitt and waved to his catcher. Tug waved back with his gloved hand.
At the sight of Tug’s mitt, Koby had to smile. In order to catch Koby’s speeding, and sometimes jumpy, fastballs, Tug used
a specially ordered mitt, the “Hummer.” The oversize Hummer was the perfect target for Koby.
“C’mon, Cardinals!” Tug yelled. The Greenview leadoff hitter stepped up to the plate. He had a lowbatting stance and a high on-base percentage.
“Show him your stuff,
P itcher Koby Caplin walked up to the mound at Cain Park Field and turned around to look at the stands. “There were more moths
circling my porch light last night than there are fans in the stands!” he yelled to third baseman Billy Trentanelli.
Billy laughed. “We’ll just have to let the fans who aren’t here know they’ll be missing some good ball games if they don’t
show up. OK, you guys, let’s talk it up out here!”
“No problem!” shouted Sandy Siegel, the second baseman. “Hey, batter, batter! Our pitcher’s going to be throwing some smoke!”
Koby laughed. Crowd or no crowd, at least he had his team behind him. Not that a big crowd would have bothered him. Koby was
used to pitching infront of full stands. Last July and August, when he had hurled for the Evansville Grays in the summer league, he had earned
a reputation as a rocket-throwing righty. Big crowds were a common sight at Millikin Field those months.
Not many hitters had luck connecting against one of Koby’s fastballs. And if a runner was lucky enough to get on first, he
didn’t dare try to steal. Most knew that Koby had a lightning-quick pickoff. Besides, if a base runner was able to get the
jump on Koby, catcher Tug McCue was likely to peg him out at second.
Koby spied
Megaphone
reporter Sara Wilson in the stands. She was sitting in her customary seat in the third row of the bleachers, scribbling notes
in her reporter’s notebook.
Wonder what she’s writing, Koby thought. Something that will get people here to watch us play, I hope!
A handful of parents were dotted throughout the bleachers, along with some teachers who had stopped for a minute on their
way home.
“Helloooo, Ms. Brodsky!” yelled Sandy to their seventh grade science teacher.
“Keep the chatter on the field,” Coach Tomashiro ordered. “We’re here to play ball.”
A small group of Monticello students were sitting on the bleacher seats, an open pizza box at their feet.
“Baseball rules!” yelled one student.
Her friend sitting next to her answered back, “What, are you kidding? Nobody cares about the Cardinals. Just look around you
— pizza rules!” They high-fived and laughed.
“With pepperoni!” cheered her friend. Together they made up a “pizza” cheer, to the delight of their other friends.
“P-I-Z-Z-A!
What’s that spell? PIZZA!”
Koby couldn’t help but hear them. It was clear to him that the students had no interest in the team or the game. Baseball
was a big joke to them.
Well, I’ll see if I can’t change their attitude, he thought with determination.
The annual preseason Watermelon Game was a time-honored tradition in the Meadowbrook Middle School league. Behind the dugouts,
each team had huge watermelons stuffed in garbage cans of ice. The winning team would be treated to awatermelon feast by the loser. That in itself was motivation enough for some of the players, for what tasted better after
a long, hot ball game than a juicy slice of cold watermelon?
“Play ball!” yelled the umpire.
Under the watchful eye of Coach Tomashiro, or Coach T., as the students called him, the Cardinals took the field. They looked
cheerful and bright in their red uniforms with white trim, worn for the first time that day. Their new baseball caps were
still gleaming white.
“Let’s play heads-up ball out there. Use your noggins!” Coach T. yelled, pointing to the top of his cap. “No mental mistakes!”
Koby, wearing number 33, pounded his mitt and waved to his catcher. Tug waved back with his gloved hand.
At the sight of Tug’s mitt, Koby had to smile. In order to catch Koby’s speeding, and sometimes jumpy, fastballs, Tug used
a specially ordered mitt, the “Hummer.” The oversize Hummer was the perfect target for Koby.
“C’mon, Cardinals!” Tug yelled. The Greenview leadoff hitter stepped up to the plate. He had a lowbatting stance and a high on-base percentage.
“Show him your stuff,
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