Last 1/2 of chapter titled “Mr. Juanes”
OCTOBER 20 · PUBLIC
1973.
July.
Thursday. Sunset.
We're up by one run. Bottom of the sixth. Two outs. Runners on second and third.
To be an outfielder in Little League can be a dream to many kids.
Or not.
Weekday games at McKelvey meant playing in the late afternoon; ending just before sundown. For all games played on the weekends and most of the first innings of weekday games, the sun would be high enough to bother only those who had to get balls that were hit almost straight upl like foul balls to catchers.
The closer it got to the horizon, the chances that a ball would travel between the sun and those who were asked to play right field would increase. In the last inning of long weekday games, everything that wasn't a ground ball or base hit would temporarily blind anyone in right field, no matter *where* it went.
Toward the end of weekday games, the sun would take it's prime, luxury box seat just above third base at McKelvey Park. The sunset never missed a fifth or sixth inning of every weekday game. In my rookie season of Little League, me and the sun would fight each other in right field.
As the season drew to a close, I snagged the *heck* out of ground balls and base hits that came my way. I knew I was lucky that most games ended before the sun became a right field problem, or that nothing serious was hit my way in games running late. My first year of Little League saw my outfield confidence grow; reaching it's 11-year-old zenith up to, and including the first five innings of our last game.
Because I was about to say good-bye to the third base sun forever, the fact that we - Circo, the black team with the white jerseys, the team I was on - were tied for second place with Eddy's Sport Shop, and any pressure that might come with that knowledge for the season finale, was lost on me. I recall the first five innings of this last game a competitive one; the best I'd seen from the bench all year.
But the competitive nature of this particularly stirring match caused it to run long. From the third base dugout, I looked behind me to see the sun grin at me I heard Coach Juanes call me by my last name to play right field. As the other team's half of the last inning wore on, our opponent managed to put runners back on base. I was wondering what the score was, so I looked out in left at the scoreboard: we're up by one. Then, I thought, this inning has been going on a while. I forgot how many outs there are? So I looked for the light bulb thing on the snack shack that said we have two outs. That's when I noticed the other team had runners on second and third.
Gee-zuz. What a mess. How did this all happen?
And, as I looked at said base runners, I noticed the white lettering on their dark blue jerseys that said: Eddy's Sport Shop. So naturally, I thought, hmmm: we're playing Eddy's Sport Shop tonight, huh, Rick?
And I answered: Yes, Rick! We're only up by one with too many runners on base, playing the team we're tied with for second place.
I then imagined what it might look like to see me looking everywhere but at our pitcher - Chris "Sunscreen" Fowlie - in the middle of his deceptively-indifferent windup. To the casual observer, I might have looked like I was drifting between daydream and baseball nightmare.
As if he knew that I was too close to either, our first baseman yelled something to the team. Can't remember *exactly* what he said; something like 'Two outs guys. One more'. But I bet myself that I could guess what he was *really* saying now was:
$#|+ ...
Because, at that moment, the batter just hit a pop fly.
</part 1>
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