Free Split Decision by Todd Hafer Page A

getting tired.”
    “That’s okay,” Cody said earnestly. “You just throw strikes and have confidence in your team. We’re gonna be a wall behind you—you got that? Nothing’s gettin’ by us!”
    “That’s right, Bart,” Brett added. “We’re gonna dive for balls, leap for balls, sprint for balls. Whatever it takes.”
    As the Eagles took the field, Cody veered toward Murphy. “Murph,” he said with a chuckle, “how did you know KJ was going to try to change you up? I mean, he’s been giving all of us a steady diet of fast-balls all day.”
    Murphy smiled. “I saw him wince after that second called strike. I think he may have pulled a muscle or something. Anyway, I knew he wasn’t gonna bring the heat again—because he couldn’t.”
    Cody took his place, in straight-away center field for this game, studying Hollister, Holy Family’s catcher, and the first Saint at the plate in the bottom of the seventh. After tempting Hollister with a low slider—unsuccessfully—Bart went to his curve. Hollister was fooled badly and nearly twisted himself into a sitting position.
    “Okay, Bart,” Cody whispered. “Do that again! Give him your hook!”
    Cody saw Bart shake off Goddard’s signal for the next pitch. Then the Grant pitcher shook off his catcher once more. Cody shifted his feet nervously. Goddard knew hitters, and a pitcher who ignored his signals did so at his own peril.
    Bart’s third offering was a waist-high fastball. Hollister turned on it and smoked it to third. The ball was gaining altitude as it headed toward Murphy.
    Fortunately, Murphy was gaining altitude, too. The leap he made to snatch the ball out of midair reminded Cody of those acrobatic dogs he had seen catching Frisbees on TV.
    Bart nodded gratefully in Murphy’s direction. Murphy nodded back and fired the ball to home plate.
    Holy Family’s left fielder was next up. Cody didn’t recognize him. Must be a new guy, he thought, but he seems like a pretty good athlete .
    The Saint never got a chance to show his athleticism at the plate. Bart walked him on four pitches.
    Bart got behind in the count, two-and-zero, to the next hitter, and Goddard jogged to the mound. Goddard was a head shorter than Bart, who, like his brother, was now pushing six feet. But it was clear to Cody that the shorter man was in control. Bart’s head was bobbing obediently, as Goddard leaned toward him, no doubt giving him an earful—maybe two earfuls—of firm guidance.
    Bart hurled an inside fastball that jammed the Saints’ hitter. Bart charged forward and gobbled up the resulting weak grounder. He wheeled and fired to second, getting the force-out on the lead runner.
    Unfortunately, Gannon’s zealously high throw over to first pulled Slaven off the bag. Holy Family still had the tying run on base. And now Jones, representing the winning run, was up—with a fat opportunity to help his own cause.
    Uh-oh , Cody thought, as he saw Jones take his low stance on the first-base side of home plate, KJ’s switch-hitting—going lefty. And I know Bart hates pitching to left-handed hitters .
    A fastball at the ankles, a bouncer in front of the plate, and a neck-high changeup put Bart in a deep hole, at three-and-zero.
    Cody relaxed on the next pitch, figuring that Jones would be taking it all the way.
    He was as stunned as everyone else when Jones swung at a high fastball, which would have surely been ball four. Jones didn’t get all of the pitch, but it looped over second base and looked sure to drop in for a base hit.
    Unless Cody could make like a sprinter and chase it down.
    Chastising himself for not remaining vigilant, Cody dashed madly for the ball. He felt his baseball cap fly off his head, as if an invisible hand had grabbed it. The ball was plummeting toward the buzz-cut outfield grass now, and Cody felt panic surge through him as he feared he would be too late. He flung his body forward, extending his left arm like a starving man reaching for a scrap