Free The Catcher's Mask by Matt Christopher, Bert Dodson

1

    Rudy looked at the wall clock next to the kitchen cabinet.
Five of three. I should be leaving,
he thought.
Most of the guys will be warming up already. Zero’s probably wondering where I am.
    His mother came in from the living room and glanced at the clock.
    “Don’t you think you’d better take off?” she said.
    “I guess so,” Rudy mumbled. He put on his baseball cap and picked up his catcher’s mitt.
    His mother smiled sadly. “Rudy, I know you don’t think you’ve been playing welllately,” she said, guessing what had him down in the mouth. “But everybody makes mistakes. I’m sure you’ll improve before
     you know it.”
    Rudy nodded. She was right about his poor playing. But he didn’t think she was right about his getting better.
    Rudy stepped out the door and hurried to the garage, where he kept his bike. He strapped his glove to the back carrier, put
     on his bike helmet, and pedaled off.
    Every Peach Street Mudder was there when Rudy arrived at the field.
    “Glad you could make it, Calhoun,” Coach Parker said sarcastically. “Go help Zero warm up.”
    “Shoot,” muttered Chess Laveen. Chess, a stocky boy, was the team’s substitute catcher. “Thought I’d get to start for a change.”
    Rudy didn’t know what to say. He had half expected Coach Parker to start Chess at today’s game. In fact, he almost wished
     he would. That way, Rudy wouldn’t riskflubbing up, like he had the past few games.
    The errors he had made during those games weren’t terrible. Rudy just wasn’t used to making mistakes, that’s all. What was
     worse, he didn’t know how to stop himself from making them.
    After both teams had their infield, outfield, and batting practices, the High Street Bunkers took the field and the Peach
     Street Mudders took their first bats.
    Barry McGee led off with a single. Then he advanced to second on Turtleneck Jones’s sacrifice bunt. He stayed there when José
     Mendez’s high fly ball to center field was caught. But then he scored on T.V. Adams’s double.
    That was it. Nicky Chong struck out.
    The scoreboard read Mudders 1, Bunkers 0.
    Not a bad way to start a game,
Rudy thought as he put on his catcher’s gear.
I wonder if I can help keep the score reading like that. I doubt it.

2

    Pitching for the Mudders was Zero Ford, one of the best lefties in the league — usually. He started off by putting two strikes
     over the plate on Fuzzy McCormick. Then he gave Fuzzy a free ticket to first base.
    “Rats,” Rudy mumbled, thumping the inside of his mitt with his fist. He took a moment to readjust his catcher’s mask. It had
     slipped, making it hard for him to see.
    Sure wish I had my own mask,
Rudy thought for the hundredth time.
This one stinks. Heck, it’s probably the reason I’m screwing up all the time!
    But he knew that getting a new mask was impossible. Catcher’s masks cost money, and he didn’t have a lot of that. And as long
     as the Mudders had one he could use, his parents didn’t see why he needed his own.
    Ron Bush, the Bunkers’ second batter, took two called strikes, then belted one over shortstop Bus Mercer’s head for a single.
     Fuzzy stopped at second.
    The next batter popped out. Then Alec Frost, the cleanup hitter, waited out a 3–2 count and smacked a double between left
     and center fields.
    As José raced to catch it, Fuzzy McCormick rounded third and headed toward home. Rudy leaped to his feet and threw off his
     mask, his heart thumping as he waited for José’s throw-in.
    The ball came in a little too high. Keeping his eye glued to it, Rudy took a few steps back to catch it. But he stumbled on
     something and fell.

    By the time he looked up, Fuzzy was crossing home plate.
    “Have a nice
trip!
Guess we’ll see you next
fall!”
Fuzzy laughed hard at his own joke.
    Red in the face, Rudy stood up and brushed the dirt off his uniform. Then he saw what had tripped him. It was his catcher’s
     mask!
    Darn this mask!
he thought angrily as