The Catch Read Online Free

shouldn’t have.

CHAPTER 7
    T he consolation game between the Las Vegas Roadrunners and the Oakland Bay Bombers was scheduled for the morning. The Phoenix Eagles would play under the lights in the final, against a team from Mexico.
    We had never played the Bombers, so we were eager to hear Coach Harris’s scouting report on the bus to the ballpark.
    â€œListen up, guys,” he began. “Today you’ll be looking in the mirror. The Bombers look a lot like us. They’re strong at every position; they’ve got some serious power and a couple of all-stars. It’s all going to come down to execution.
    â€œIf we have an advantage, it might be our speed, but more important is our hustle. I’ve talked to some of the other coaches, and they said that every now and then the Bombers get lazy. But we can’t count on that, and anyway, you could say the same about us.
    â€œTheir pitcher. Bart Kenner. He’s not the fastest guy you’ll face, but he’s got good command of three pitches: fastball, slider, and a twelve-to-six curve that can make you look very silly at the plate. Watch for the fastball— it’s hittable if he doesn’t locate it just right.”
    A lot of times when we arrive at the field, the fans and family members there will pat us on the back or shout “Good luck!” Today, however, something truly weird happened. Among the fans were what looked like a Little League team—a dozen ten- to twelve-yearold boys in uniforms with leopard-spotted shirts and hats with big Ocelot logos on them. When they saw me, they ran over and crowded around, holding up pens and baseballs. “Danny! Danny Manuel! Will you sign?”
    I was thinking,
What the . . . ?
when I noticed, a few yards away, two guys with important video cameras. What could I do? I signed the baseballs. But I could feel my teammates staring. When we got to the dugout, Nellie came up to me.
    â€œMan, what was
that
all about?”
    â€œI’m not really sure,” was all I said.
    During warm-ups I spotted Kayla in her usual spot behind the plate. She waved, and I waved back. And before long, here came Jack Strauss, water bottle in hand, settling down behind the dugout in the third row. In front of him was Team Ocelot. When Mr. Strauss saw me he stood up and waddled down to the rail, motioning me to come over.
    â€œHi, Danny, I just wanted to wish you—” His phone beeped.
    He looked at the ID and gestured for me to hold on a second.
    â€œYes?” he said. “What? Who does this Pop Mancini think he is? Ten percent? What a joke! Okay, I’ll meet with him. Maybe he thinks he’s hot stuff in Vegas, but he doesn’t know who he’s dealing with!”
    Strauss put his phone back in his purse. I’d never seen him upset before.
    â€œSorry, Danny. This guy Pop Mancini is trying to squeeze us. He says that the Roadrunners’ uniforms and the
Roadrunners themselves
are his advertising space! He has no problem with the Ocelot logo being displayed on ‘his space,’ but he wants ten percent of our profits on any gear we sell in Nevada. Can you believe it?”
    â€œWhat are you going to do?”
    â€œSue him, if it comes to that. I’m going to meet him tomorrow and let him know just where we stand. Anyway, that’s not your worry. I just wanted to wish you good luck.”
    Â 

    Â 
    We were the home team today, and Coach started Jonas Creeley. I once heard Nellie say that everyone likes Jonas except Jonas. And that kind of pinpointed the problem, when there was one: his confidence.
    Jonas had mad skills: a live fastball that tailed away from righties and handcuffed lefties, an undetectable change, and a wicked slider. When he was locating, Jonas was nearly unhittable. In fact, he had thrown a no-no for the Runners last season. But when Jonas started slow or someone got to him, he would get down on himself. He’d start muttering things