Free Split Decision by Todd Hafer

then you put something at least close to the strike zone.”
    Jones's next pitch was shoulder high-and well outside. Brett stepped out of the batter's box and adjusted his batting glove, and Cody could sense his teammate's frustration. He looked to the on-deck circle and saw Goddard taking a few slow-motion practice swings.
    Now that KJ's down two-and-nothing in the count, Cody figured, he's gonna keep throwin' junk to Brett, so that he can get to Goddard. And Goddard hasn't hit a ball out of the infield all season. This stinks! So much for the hit and run!
    Jones' third fastball was almost as low as his first. It zipped over the plate, at ankle height. Jones must not have known, Cody figured as he burst like a sprinter toward second base that Brett frequently golfed with his dad on the nine-hole course just outside of town.
    But Jones probably sensed it now, after Brett swung his bat like a nine iron and golfed the pitch right past the Holy Family third baseman. Cody saw Slaven, who was coaching third base, waving his right arm like a windmill, giving the signal to head for home. As he sprinted for the plate, Cody shot a glance at Goddard, who seemed to be pantomiming the act of closing a treasure chest-or perhaps a conductor quieting his orchestra.
    Cody knew what it meant; a throw was coming home, and he would need to slide in to the plate, rather than score standing up.
    The Saints' catcher tore off his mask and waited, glove up. Two strides from the plate, Cody dove headfirst. He heard the ball pop into the catcher's chubby mitt, but he knew he was well under the tag. He heard the umpire bellow, “Safe!” and spread both arms out like wings.
    Cody got up, coughing, blinking, and brushing the fine-as-cocoa powder infield dirt from his uniform. Dirt never tasted so good, he thought, spitting bits of brownish saliva from his mouth. 'Cuz now that Bart and I have scored, we're back in this thing!
    Brett dashed to third on the attempt to put Cody out at home.
    Showered in cheers of encouragement from his teammates, Goddard stepped to the plate. He wheeled to bunt while KJ was still early in his wind-up.
    “Dude,” said Murphy, standing next to Cody in the dugout, “it takes guts to turn and face a flamethrower like KJ.”
    “Yeah,” agreed Cody, “and Goddard has never been short on guts-even if he is short on a lot of other things.”
    Goddard had to dive to the ground to keep from taking a Jones fastball right in the mouth-and making some dentist very rich.
    Jones put his next pitch in the strike zone, defying Goddard to bunt again.
    But Goddard wasn't to be defied. He connected with the pitch in the dead-center of his bat, pushing the ball down the first base line. Jones chased down the slithering ball quickly, but he seemed to know instinctively that his only play was to first base. Goddard was out by two steps, but Brett scored standing up.
    Pounding his fist into his glove, Jones struck out Slaven on three pitches, bringing Murphy to the plate.
    Murphy watched a fastball bullet right down Main Street for a called first strike. “C'mon, Murph,” Cody whispered. “If you gotta go down, at least go down swingin'. Make KJ work for it. He's tough, but not invincible.”
    Jones' next pitch snagged the outside corner. Strike two. Cody expected Murphy to step out of the batter's box to collect himself, but he stayed put, feet planted. Cody saw him turn his head to his left, then his right.
    Pitch number three was a change-up, which Jones disguised well.
    But not well enough. Murphy waited on the pitch and spanked it into the gap in left field. At first base, Murphy got the green light to head for second, where he was tagged out on a close play.
    But the damage was done. The score was 3 to 2, and Grant-and Bart Evans-was three outs from its first victory of the season.
    Cody approached Bart and smacked him lightly between the shoulder blades. “You can do this.”
    “I don’t know,” came the shaky reply. “I’m