Chapter 9: Batting Practice

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“Hey you, there pitching, let me see you wiggle,” calls Ronki from shortstop as Marie-Josee takes the mound against Mary Baldwin College.

“Boom-chi, boom-boom, chi, boom-chi, boom-boom, chi,” echo the rest of the fielders while patting their gloves to a hand and thigh along with the rhythm.

Our new pitcher gives it a little shake before striding into her bocce-like wind-up. She steps from the back of the mound and across the rubber, releasing the ball with an upward flick of the wrist and ending in a statuesque pose with her right arm and left leg lifted. The spinning ball starts high and then drops a foot to plunk their first batter in the knee. The hit batter hobbles to first and our first state playoff game has begun with what looks like it might be batting practice for the undefeated top-seed in the small college bracket.

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“Here you go Jo, hit them some flyballs!” commands Coach Q, handing over his fungo bat so he could pitch batting practice before the game.

She held the slim bat up and looked down its length like it was a pool cue, sighting one of the white sandstone buildings on the hillside of the pristine Staunton campus.

“All right y’all, one out with a runner on second,” she called while launching a high one from the right field foul line toward the outfielders who were lined up in center field.

“I got it!” called our right fielder Karen Lewis waving off the others, settling behind where it would land, and stepping into the catch to propel a hard throw back in.

Shawna, now retired from playing but still helping out, reached up to field the throw with a growing belly peeking from beneath her jersey.

“Mine, mine, all mine!” squeaked Toni running in for Jo’s next hit, a blooper to shallow center.

“Here’s a long one,” warned Jo, taking a couple of hops and swinging with all her might.

The skinny fungo bat flew out of her hands and went spinning toward pitcher’s mound, conking Coach Q on the head.

“Is he dead?” gasped MG running over with the rest of the team.

“We can’t get rid of him that easily,” observed Ronki. “He’s coming to.”

Jo’s normally dark skin turned nearly white as the coach sat up holding his head.

“Awful sorry, coach” she apologized, offering a hand. “Twarn’t trying to hit you.”

“It happens,” he groaned. “But you owe me for this.”

“OK team, get back to your chores!” Jo called, suppressing a scowl as Ronki helped Q over to the visitor’s dugout.

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“Shall I pitch to her?” MG asks at a meeting on the mound in the bottom of the seventh inning, with runners on first and third and the Fighting Squirrels clean-up hitter coming up.

“They’ve been intimidated by your windup since you plunked the first batter,” assures Ronki heading back to shortstop.

“Marie clap clap, Josee,” Toni calls from out in leftfield.

“Marie clap clap, Josee,” the fielders answer.

“In the knee clap clap, Josee,” Toni continues, sneaking in a warning to the batter.

“Marie clap clap, Josee,” they conclude, and the home plate umpire just shakes his head but can’t hide a smile.

     MG strides across the rubber and unleashes the ball with a sideways flick of the wrist. It’s headed for the hitter before breaking down across the plate. The Mary Baldwin batter keeps her head down on the tailing ball and cuts into it with a downward stroke.

Clang from the aluminum bat sends a hard grounder up the middle.

MG stumbles out of her follow-through pose to avoid getting hit in the derriere. Ronki dives past second base for it and misses. The ball is headed to center as the runner on third starts for home for the tying run. Then Debbie Reid running over from a deep second base position lunges in shallow centerfield. The ball pops up into her backhanded glove and sticks. She flips it behind the back as she’s stumbling. Ronki barehands it, steps on the bag, and fires a strike to first.

Thwack into Patty’s mitt beats the runners at first and home by half a step.

The girls all run over to first base to celebrate our first playoff win.

“We’re all for one!” yells Cat to kick off the postgame cheer.

“We’re all for one!” the women repeat.

“We’re one for …”

“Stop this bullshit right now!” screams Coach Q, pulling players from the huddle.

“Coach Quintana, that will be enough!”  admonishes President Caine walking over from the hillside bleachers. “Go on ladies, the rest of the season’s yours,” he continues, holding Q by the arm and walking away.




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