Jack’s happy zone.
He didn’t try to pull the ball. He just went with the pitch to right-center, hitting a screaming line drive that was on the ground and skipping past both the center fielder and right fielder before they could cut the ball off, both of them chasing the ball like dogs chasing a car as it rolled all the way to the wall. Gregg scored easily. J.B., running all the way with two outs, scored easily. By the time the ball was back to the infield, Jack was on third with a stand-up triple, and the Cubs, who had been trailing 6–0 when Sam Anthony and his father had left the game and the field, were now ahead 8–6.
Jack should have been out of breath, but wasn’t. Sometimes Cassie got surprised, no matter how hot the day was, when Jack even worked up a sweat. He was smiling as he leaned over to Cassie, gave her a quick low five—so quick that Cassie wondered if anybody else on the field even saw it—and said, “Okay. Now we’re having fun.”
Jack decided to stay with J.B., who pitched a one-two-three bottom of the seventh. The Cubs were 3–1 for the season.
Jack was 1–0 as a coach.
TWENTY
The board of directors for Walton Baseball fired Mr. Anthony as the Cubs’ coach the next afternoon.
They said it wasn’t because he’d gotten ejected from the game. It was because he had made contact with the umpire. They managed to interview several of the parents who had been at the game, and every one, according to Jack’s mom and dad, said the umpire had done nothing to make the situation worse. They thought the umpire had been right, and well within his rights, to tell Sam Anthony to retrieve his glove.
It was Mr. Anthony who had made things much worse, according to all the Walton parents at the game. Then he’d put his hand on the ump. The vote, Jack told Cassie, was unanimous.
“What about Sam?” Cassie asked Jack on the phone.
“Far as I know, it’s up to him if he wants to stay on the team.”
“My dad says they could’ve given him a one-game suspension for throwing his glove, because you can get that even if you throw your bat accidentally after hitting a ball. Or for throwing a helmet.”
“He got off easy,” Jack said. “I just think they didn’t want it to look as if they were piling on the whole family. Anyway, it’s up to Sam now. Or maybe just his dad.”
“What do you think he’ll do?”
“Honestly?” Jack said. “I think the guy could turn out to be a pretty decent pitcher now that his dad is out of the way.”
“Does Teddy want him back?”
“Teddy’s a good teammate. In the end he’ll do what’s best for our team.”
Cassie laughed. “Don’t you mean after you tell him what’s best for the team?”
“Nah,” Jack said. “Teddy’s too smart not to figure things out for himself.”
“Who’s gonna coach?”
“Probably one of the other dads.”
Cassie said, “They should have you keep doing it.”
“Right,” Jack said. “Like that’s gonna happen.”
“I’m serious.”
“Unfortunately, I know you are. But Mr. Leonard and the other people on the board will pick the right guy.”
Mr. Leonard had coached Jack’s team last season, and all the guys loved him. But he was traveling too much to do it again this year.
Jack said, “Actually, my dad and Mr. Leonard are going to coach our practice tomorrow, so we can have a team meeting about the new coach. They say they want us to be part of the process, which is kind of cool.”
The Red Sox didn’t have practice or a game the next night. Cassie told Jack she was coming.
“One night coaching third,” Jack said, “and the girl thinks she can practically take over.”
“You should coach,” Cassie said. “You know what my dad is always saying, right? That Little League would be a whole lot more fun if we could just get the parents out of the way.”
“Can’t lie, Cass,” Jack said. “You’re good.”
“I know,” she said, with feeling, and ended the call.
• • •
The next night Jack’s dad and Mr. Leonard put the Cubs through a practice that lasted about forty-five minutes, just basic stuff, batting practice, infield and outfield, a few situational baserunning drills. But Cassie could see everybody on the field going at every one of the drills hard, smiling a lot, laughing, as if they were all still riding a high from the way the Rawson game had ended.
When they were done, Mr. Callahan and Mr. Leonard asked the players to go sit in the bleachers behind first base.
First Mr. Leonard explained the decision about Mr. Anthony, telling them that no player in the league was allowed to put a hand on another player, and so they certainly weren’t going to tolerate an adult doing that.
“What we gathered from talking to some of your parents,” Mr. Leonard said, “is that what had been a bad situation around this team from the start simply escalated in Rawson.”
“But this is still a good team,” Mr. Callahan said. “Potentially a great team. And now we mean to do right by it.”
“Some other dads have offered to step in for Mr. Anthony,” Gregg’s dad said. “Mike Sutter is one. And Bill York. Neither one of them can make a full-time commitment because of their jobs. But they said that if they team up, they can handle it.”
“But,” Jack’s dad said, “we wanted to get some input from you guys.”
Nobody said anything at first. The guys on the Cubs looked around at one another.
Finally Teddy stood up.
“I want Jack to coach,” he said.
Gus had been sitting next to Teddy. He stood up and raised a hand. “I vote for Jack too.”
J. B. Scarborough stood up. “Jack.”
Jerry stood up. “Jack,” he
