The Game Player by Rafael Yglesias Read Free Book Online Page A

Stanley reached the bench, I could hear Stanley’s excited gratitude. “It really worked. Did you see his face?”
    Brian smiled apologetically at me and patted Stanley on the arm. “You did it perfectly. But don’t overuse it. If they see that pitch a lot they’re gonna beat the shit out of it.”
    Stanley nodded his head, his eyes drinking in Brian’s words as if no amount of attention could be adequate to their importance. “Boy, did we fake them out,” he said, his eyes meeting mine. They were wide open, dazzled.
    â€œIt was beautiful,” I said.
    Brian turned away from us and stopped Adam on his way to the plate. “Listen, we got a three-run lead. All we gotta do is scratch for another run or two. So just try and get on. Make Danny pitch to you. Don’t swing at the first couple of pitches unless they’re really fat. He may walk ya and that’s great.”
    â€œOkay,” Adam said earnestly, and continued on to bat. Brian sat down next to me and asked, “So you’re doing the scoring?”
    â€œYeah, is that okay?”
    He looked exasperated. “Of course it is! What kind of question is that?”
    â€œWell, Paul was hesitant about letting me do it.”
    â€œDon’t know why,” he said.
    Stanley’s head appeared on the other side of Brian, “What’s my ERA going into this game?”
    Brian took the notebook from my hands and turned to a section I had not seen before. In large, evenly printed letters someone had written: Lifetime Stats. “One point seven-nine,” Brian said.
    â€œThat’s incredible,” I couldn’t help saying.
    Brian looked at me solemnly. “He’s real good.” There was noise and I turned to see Adam running while an infielder waited for the pop-up to land in his glove. My teammates yelled at him while it descended: “Drop it! Drop it!” And then cursed at him when he coolly closed his mitt around the ball as if he had done so merely to spite them. I recorded the play and Brian said, “He’s in a slump.” He said nothing when Adam shrugged abjectly while returning to the bench, but when he was out of earshot, Brian continued, “Adam’ll be leaving the game and that kid”—he pointed to a short, muscular boy—“John—will come in.”
    I nodded yes in a slow, questioning way.
    â€œDefensive replacement,” he explained. We sat quietly and watched the next hitter ground out. After I had marked it down, I said calmly, “You don’t know how well I field. Is that why I didn’t stay in?”
    He looked delighted and searched my eyes with interest for a moment before answering. “You’re smart. Yes. You see, we have a good enough lead with Stanley pitching to win the game. All we gotta do is catch the ball.”
    â€œI understand. You don’t have to explain. But why did you let me hit in such a crucial spot?”
    â€œI had put you in the lineup to hit then. If I took you out, then I couldn’t give you a chance to play. I thought you’d misunderstand.” I smiled gratefully at him and something happened in his eyes that led to his adding, “Besides, we had a run already.”
    We won the game four to two. Stanley surrendered the two runs in the seventh inning when he fell in love with throwing the new pitch Brian had taught him and gave up successive singles followed by a booming double that was misplayed into a triple by our left fielder. Brian took Stanley out and Paul, who had given me the scoring job, got the last two outs of that inning and shut them out in the eighth and ninth. I discovered from the notebook that Paul was used exclusively as a reliever; another measure of the seriousness of these games.
    We walked to our homes with a number of our teammates. Brian listened to their at first tentative, but later raucous bragging. I learned that they now led the summer series