Trent exhaled, nodding to himself.OK. So this is Colin Campbell-Abrams: Coach.
Bottom of the first inning: Timber Ridge at bat.
The Timber Ridge leadoff hitter stepped up to the plate, settling into his stance. From his perch on the knee scooter, Colin scrutinized every move. Body language. Bat grip. Foot placement. All of it told him one thing—this kid wasn’t looking for a walk. He leaned toward Trent, his voice low. “Aggressive hitter.”
Trent nodded, arms crossed. “Yeah. You want Alex to shade toward second?”
“No. Let’s see where he tries to go first.”
On the mound, Ryan, their starting pitcher, exhaled slowly, gripping the ball. He and Bobby, the catcher, had already settled on the first pitch: fastball. Ryan wound up and fired it down the middle, and the Timber Ridge batter jumped on it.
CRACK!
The ball shot past third, a hard-hit grounder that skipped into left field. Colin didn’t react—just watched as Alex fielded the cutoff throw and got it in fast. A single. Not bad, but not the start they had hoped for.
Coach Tate clapped from the Timber Ridge dugout, shouting out encouragement to his runner, but Colin ignored him, eyes already fixed on the next batter. This one was bigger—tall, broad-shouldered, carrying himself like a power hitter. Colin jotted something in his notebook. “Trent, shift them back.”
Trent stepped out of the dugout and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Back it up, boys!”
Ryan adjusted his grip, took a breath, and threw again. Slider, low and inside. The batter swung over it, missing completely. A few of the Camp Pride kids cheered from the sidelines.
Colin, still watching, whispered to himself. “Good, but he’s gonna adjust.”
On the next pitch, Timber Ridge’s hitter connected, sending a deep fly ball into left center. Camp Pride’s outfielders sprinted back, but it was too late. The ball bounced against the fence, and the runner on first took off.
Colin didn’t flinch. “Cutoff! Cutoff!”
Alex fielded the throw cleanly, firing to second—just in time to hold the hitter to a double. But the runner was already rounding third.
Trent’s hands cupped around his mouth. “Throw home!”
Bobby caught it, spun for the tag—but … “SAFE!” The ump’s call was sharp, decisive.
Score:
Timber Ridge - 1
Thunder Bats - 0
A ripple of frustration passed through the Camp Pride spectators. Ryan pulled his glove off, running a hand through his hair. Colin, meanwhile, calmly flipped a page in his notebook.
Trent watched him for a moment then spoke. “You’re not rattled.”
Colin looked up. “Why would I be? That was a solid hit. Good read on the base paths. They earned that run.”
Trent exhaled, a slow smile forming.
The next Timber Ridge hitter stepped up, grinning with confidence—but this time, Ryan settled in. First pitch, curveball.
Strike one.
Second pitch. Another curve—this one, swing and a miss.
Strike two.
Third pitch. A nasty fastball that sailed over the plate with ease. “Strike three!”
One out.
