Row 24 Seat 12

Greg Sheehan

Description

Matt Granite is the star catcher for his high school baseball team. However he is by passed by every major league team in the baseball draft. Matt and his teammates go to the San Francisco Gladiators, San Gabriel Tangelos Friday night baseball game. By the end of the night they will have turned the stadium upside down and Matt Granite will become the center of the baseball universe.

Informations

• Publié par: First Edition Design Publishing
• Date de parution: 15 décembre 2014
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781622877775
• Langue: English

Extrait

Row 24 Seat 12

by
Greg Sheehan
Row 24 Seat 12
Copyright ©2014 Greg Sheehan

ISBN 978-1622-877-91-1 PRINT
ISBN 978-1622-877-77-5 EBOOK

LCCN 2014921394

December 2014

Published and Distributed by
First Edition Design Publishing, Inc.
P.O. Box 20217, Sarasota, FL 34276-3217
www.firsteditiondesignpublishing.com



ALL R I G H T S R E S E R V E D. No p a r t o f t h i s b oo k pub li ca t i o n m a y b e r e p r o du ce d, s t o r e d i n a r e t r i e v a l s y s t e m , o r t r a n s mit t e d i n a ny f o r m o r by a ny m e a ns ─ e l e c t r o n i c , m e c h a n i c a l , p h o t o - c o p y , r ec o r d i n g, or a ny o t h e r ─ e x ce pt b r i e f qu ot a t i o n i n r e v i e w s , w i t h o ut t h e p r i o r p e r mi ss i on o f t h e a u t h o r or publisher .

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
To those young or old, boy or girl—whoever got hold of one and took the turn at first and headed for second.

And to anyone who lays down at night and dreams of what can be.

You never know when you will be called…

Be Ready!
Table of Contents

Tuesday
Wednesday
Thursday
Friday
INNING ONE
INNING TWO
INNING THREE
INNING FOUR
INNING FIVE
INNING SIX
INNING SEVEN
INNING EIGHT
INNING NINE
Author’s Note
Tuesday

The San Francisco Gladiators starting pitcher, Jim Westhill, was on the mound in Cincinnati to pitch the bottom of the sixth against the Reds. The fourteen-year veteran saw Jeff Burke, Jr. come to the plate. Jim rubbed his right elbow which was hurting more than ever. Jim stepped off and Chris Walker, the Gladiators star catcher ran out to the mound.
“What’s wrong, Jimmy?”
“I pitched against his old man. That was when I could throw it by anybody. Look at me now. I think my elbow’s had it.”
“Let’s go. Pound him inside.”
Jim hung his head. Bob Logan, the Gladiators manager, came out of the dugout. When he got to the mound Jim looked up, “I’m done.”
Bob said, “Are you hurt?”
“Burke senior hit a grand slam off me in St. Louis in ‘98. My ERA jumped a full point that day. I thought I would pitch forever.”
“Jimmy.”
“Skip, you realize I’ve never been home on the Fourth of July. I’ve never seen fireworks at the beach. My wife has moved us three times and I didn’t lift a finger. I was always in Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, or who knows where, trying to figure out if I should go with the slider or the curve.”
The home plate umpire walked out. “What’s going on?”
“My kids learned more about baseball from my wife than me. You know how many of my son’s high school games I’ve seen? Three. That’s it. I haven’t taken my wife on a vacation since our honeymoon, which was spent at the Ace’s High Motel in Reno, when I was in the Pacific Coast League.”
Jim gave Bob Logan the baseball. “It’s time I go home and make room for some other kid who belongs here. It all went by so fast…” He walked off the mound for the last time.
When Jim Westhill called his wife from the clubhouse, she cried. Her husband was coming home. The grip of baseball was gone. But of course that would never be the case.
The game never let anyone get away that easily. You might be walking the dog and see a kid make a great play at the park. And then you’d think back to when you got the Cubs to hit your sinker into a game-ending double play. The guys would back slap you and at that moment you’d thank your dad for playing catch with you, and the scout who found you, and the fact that you were a big league ballplayer.
Wednesday

Oakland Coliseum.
The Concord Spartans were up 3–1 against the Amador Valley Dons in the NCS High School Baseball Championship Game.
Matt Granite came to the plate with two outs in the last inning. Jack and Sean, his two best friends, were on first and second. Concord brought in their closer, Hank Powell. He was a sure, first-round draft choice in the next days’ Major League Amateur Draft. Several scouts were in the stands to get one last look at the hard thrower.
Matt Granite was the best hitter in the Section. But he was only five foot ten, 180 pounds, which meant he drew zero interest from the scouts. Plus, he had the double whammy of being a high school catcher. Big league teams avoided them like the plague. They simply never worked out.
Matt walked twice as Concord pitched around him. Not this time. Matt knew Powell was going to try and blow him away with ninety-five mph fastballs, to win an NCS Championship and impress the scouts.
Matt locked on the imaginary box where Powell would release the pitch. The contortions a pitcher went through, be it Luis Tiant or Fernando Valenzuela, before throwing the ball, were to be ignored. Find the box and watch the ball come out.
Powell released the pitch. Matt cocked his hips and turned his lower body as the pitch came to him. The hips pulled on his upper body, driving his bat into the hitting zone. The pitch was four inches through the plate when Matt connected.
Every hitter at one time or another has swung and turned the ball around in an effortless, majestic blast, where it didn’t matter if you were playing in a sandlot or Yankee Stadium—everything stopped, people watched, and wished they had hit it.
When it was over, Matt Granite got a trophy as the MVP of the tournament, but it was Hank Powell whom the big league scouts pressed up against.
Matt left the field with his friends. Jack said, “The Yankees will probably take Powell in the first round.”
Sean said, “Yeah, a bonus baby who just got smoked.”
“Don’t they know you’re Matt Granite? You made your bones while they were going out with cheerleaders.”
Sean seemed irritated, “Don’t start with the Godfather [1] stuff.”
“Leave the gun, take the trophy.”
Sean said, “At least you didn’t get picked off.”
“I wasn’t going to run us out of an inning with Matty up there. Fans and hot dog vendors can be careless, but not runners in scoring position.”
Sean shook his head. “Powell is a big stiff. You took him deep and he’s still smiling. Can’t he see the scoreboard?”
Matt looked at his trophy. “Maybe he doesn’t care about a high school game.”
Jack said, “Matt, you don’t come to the Oakland Coliseum and talk about Hank Powell like that!”
“Jack, you’re my friend and I will always borrow money from you, but don’t ever take sides against the Amador Valley Dons...ever.”
Jack laughed, “What a comeback. That was awesome, and under very trying circumstances.”
Sean said, “Look at all those scouts, sucking his toes. I never liked Concord High anyway. I hope they sign Powell and send him to Lodi during mosquito season. Can you imagine what the girls look like in Lodi?”
Matt said, “Stop it.”
“Never hate your enemy. It affects your ability to turn on their fastball. Maybe we should go over there and try to get his memorabilia rights.”
“For once you’re making sense. Matt, do you care?”
“I thought I was going to be the first client of S & J Productions.”
Jack said, “You mean J & S Productions.”
Matt said, “Go ahead, but I’ll have to reconsider my options. I may have to go with Upper Deck. I’m sure they want a forgotten high school player for their new line of Chump Cards.”
Jack said, “Maybe we could arrange for Hank Powell’s mug to be on a Wheaties cereal box.”
Matt said, “Thanks.”
Sean turned serious, “Matt, Hank Powell doesn’t fit into our plans. Besides, his face looks like a pepperoni pizza.”
Jack went on, “It’s not personal; strictly business. But I think Powell needs an Ugly Intervention.”
Sean said, “Intervention?”
“On account he’s so butt-ugly. The Yankees will have to take a fire hose to him and see what they come up with. I guess I could call in a favor and get a mask made for him.”
Sean said, “He’s not dead, you dummy.”
“If the Astros draft him, he’s a goner, just like Carlo. [2] But Powell doesn’t kick in the windshield when he gets strangled.”
Sean got excited, “I got it! Powell is on the team bus after giving up another walk-off homerun. Who could be Clemenza?” [3]
Matt said, “Rusty Staub; [4] he’s beefy, mean, likes cannoli. And he played for the Astros.”
“Perfect. Rusty Staub comes up behind Powell and says, ‘How’s it’s hanging, Hank?’ Then he garrotes him with a jump rope that the guys in the bullpen use to stay in shape.”
Jack said, “But they never use the jump rope because they’re always hung over. Except for the next day’s starting pitcher. But if you’re a bench player, drink up.”
Matt said, “Are we done?”
“Hank Powell, breakfast of champions. Hey, a pizza sounds like a winner.”
Matt said, “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
“An NCS MVP who doesn’t spend time with his family can never be a catcher with the Astros. But at least Rusty Staub won’t strangle you. Why did a big guy like that always choke up on the bat?”
Matt said, “To go the other way.”
Jack said, “Matt, you do have a head for this game.”
“Shut up.”
“Do you realize that it’s so humid in Houston that the escalators stick at Minute Maid Park? The Astros had to go to the Johnson Space Center to fix it.”
Matt sighed, “Okay, what did they do?”
“They put in stairs.”
Sean said, “Why are you always picking on the Astros?”
“Because they stink?”
Sean said, “He’s got a point.”
Matt said, “Jack, with three dozen more A’s, not Oakland Athletics, you could have been valedictorian. What a speech that would have been. They would have clapped and sent you back to the ninth grade to start over again.”
“I don’t know what to say. But if I were you I wouldn’t walk the streets without a bodyguard. Man, if I could play freshmen baseball again I might get the average up to .265.”
Thursday

Matt Granite’s house.
Matt turned on the laptop in kitchen. “Mom, did I get a call from anyone