Free The Catch by Richard Reece

CHAPTER 1
    I t all began with The Catch. If you say that, “The Catch,” to anyone who was playing for the Las Vegas Roadrunners that day, they still know what you mean. And you can still watch it on YouTube and other websites. It will probably live online, somewhere, forever.
    It happened a year ago in the quarter finals of the Palm Springs Invitational Tournament. For U17 traveling teams, the Palm is a big deal. It comes at the end of the season, and the best teams from west of the Rockies are there. Not to mention a ton of college and pro scouts and TV cameras.
    The Runners were the designated home team in that game, and they were a run up on the Phoenix Desert Eagles in the bottom of the ninth. There was one out and an Eagle on first: Jimmy Toms, one of their speedsters. Unfortunately for Eagles fans, their number-nine hitter was at the plate. That was little Kenny Bailey. He was a terrific infielder, but he had already struck out three times in the game. The outfielders were playing shallow.
    Maybe Kenny was frustrated, or desperate. With a 1–2 count, he should have known they were sending Jimmy to second and just tried to hit something sharp behind the runner. Instead, he practically left his feet swinging at a fastball.
    There was a sharp
clowp!
as Kenny connected and sent a rising line drive lasering for the fence in deep right center. You can hear the commentary on YouTube:
    â€œAnd there it goes! Toms is off, this will definitely tie the game! Hold it, look at the center fielder! Danny Manuel is flying after that drive. There’s no way he can catch up . . . but he’s gaining, he’s gaining . . . He dives flat out and . . . Oh. My. Gosh! He’s caught it. He throws from the ground to second, who throws to first and they’ve doubled up Toms. Game over! Do you believe that? Let’s watch it again.”
    And they did. Again and again. In Vegas the TV news shows were actually leading with the clip—a sports story beating out the murders and car wrecks. When the video made ESPN, the analysts had a few more words:
    â€œHow did that kid catch up with that? He must be psychic!”
    â€œI know, Boomer. It almost looked like he was after that ball before it left the bat.”
    The video footage is amazing to watch. The pitcher winds up, the runner goes, Kenny swings for the fences and . . .The rest seems almost like slow motion, even when it isn’t.
    The fielder is racing after the ball, and then at some point the ball is trying to outrun the fielder. And just when it seems a catch is impossible, Manuel goes airborne and horizontal. Like the dude should have been wearing a cape.
    Suddenly Manuel has the ball. He lands on the ground in a heap, but he holds on and raises the ball to show he’s made the catch. Toms, the base runner, has just rounded third when he stops, looks back at the third-base coach yelling and waving his arms, and reverses his field. But he knows it’s hopeless. Manuel suddenly looks at Perez, who’s also yelling, and throws him the ball. Perez throws to first. The crowd goes nuts. Manuel trots in, and when he gets to the infield his teammates swarm over him, finally hoisting him on their shoulders and carrying him to the dugout.
    Quite a catch. Quite a play. I can hardly believe it was me.

CHAPTER 2
    I n the dugout, everyone was hollering and slapping me on the back except the coaches. Coach Harris was writing something in his notebook. Coach Washington, his assistant, finally came over and put a hand on my shoulder. Then he took me to one side.
    â€œCongratulations, Danny,” he said. “Great catch.” There was something else in his eyes, though. “You know,” he said next, “it was the wrong play.”
    â€œWhat do ya mean, Wash?” I got defensive. “We won!”
    â€œWe did, Danny. But what do you think were the odds of you making that catch?”
    â€œOne in a million,” I grinned.