Free The Zippity Zinger #4 by Henry Winkler Page B

said. “I was born to be on the bench.”
    â€œHank, you’ve got a decision to make, and today’s the day. Do you really want to sit on the sidelines your whole life? Or are you going to get in the game?”
    Mr. Rock didn’t say another word. He just turned and walked away.
    Life is filled with questions, isn’t it? Whoa, do I wish I had a few answers.

CHAPTER 21
    HOW DID I GET HERE? On the mound. I’m sure I said no over and over again to Ashley and Frankie and to anyone who would listen. But here I am, with two hundred people looking at me. Every eye on me. Every person waiting for me to do something. Anything.
    Principal Love stood next to the bleachers, tapping his Velcro sneakers on the artificial turf, staring at me.
    It was exactly noon. We had been playing for almost an hour, and the score was 6 to 5 in favor of the Yellow Team. It was the last inning, and the Blue Team was up. There was still time for them to score and win the game.
    My Yellow Team had used four pitchers, and for one reason or another, they all had to leave the game. Even our ace, Ryan Shimozato, who had pitched every one of his Little League games since first grade without so much as a sprained ankle, had to leave the field. Normally, Ryan’s a ball-throwing machine, but, wouldn’t you know it, in the last inning of the Olympiad game, he trips over second base on his way to third and lands on his right hand. His pitching hand.
    I had been sitting on the bench the whole game. Actually, I had been sitting on my mitt with the ball in it, which is not all that comfortable. Papa Pete hadn’t shown up with Cheerio. My confidence level was so low, it felt like it was around my ankles.
    When I saw Ryan catch his left foot under the second base bag, my heart sank. He flew through the air as if in slow motion, bounced on his right side, and, yup, landed on his right pitching hand.
    Everyone in the stands was up on their feet. Only one person on that whole entire field was high-fiving the rest of his teammates. You know who that was ... of course you do. It was Nicky Ticky McKelty.
    â€œAlright!” the big moron yelled. “They lost another pitcher! The Blue Team rules!”
    Ms. Adolf, who was umping the game, ran as best as she could to see if Ryan was okay. I could tell he was trying not to cry in front of that big crowd. I know how that feels. I started yelling, “Way to go, Ryan! You are the coolest!”
    Ashley tried to put me in to pitch for Ryan, but I refused. I was waiting for Cheerio before I’d step out on that field. So she put Heather Payne in. Heather managed to strike Sasha Nabakov out, which wasn’t that hard because Sasha just moved here from Russia and they don’t even have softball there. Then Heather threw a big, fat, slow ball to Hector Ruiz and he hit a double. Ashley called a time-out.
    She and Frankie came running up to me. I was on the bench behind the chain-link fence, and with Ashley and Frankie on the other side, I felt like I was in a television show about prison where I was the prisoner and they were my visitors.
    â€œHank, we need you,” Ash said.
    â€œNo, you don’t,” I answered.
    â€œYes, we do,” added Frankie. “It’s the last inning. We only have one out. The tying run is on. Heather can’t pitch her way out of a paper bag. We need you to pitch, Zip, or we could lose this game.”
    â€œYou think you need me, but your thoughts are kablooey,” I said.
    â€œHank, we’re out of pitchers,” Ashley pleaded. “Come on!!! You can do this. As manager, I know these things. You’ve done this before, Hank.”
    Yeah, in the empty courtyard of our building.
    â€œHey, Frankie, you do it,” I said, as if I had just come up with a great idea.
    â€œI’m catching,” Frankie said. “Hank, breathe. And I’m talking really deep. All you have to do is just listen to the sound of my