Cal Poly pushed in the fifth with a leadoff walk. They ran on a hit-and-run, and the ball found the hole on the right side, leaving runners on first and third with no outs. With the corners in and the middle infielders at double-play depth, the next hitter chopped one to me. I moved to second, stepped on the bag, and turned the double play. We traded the run for two outs, leaving the score two to one. The next batter lined out to left on the first pitch, and the inning was over.
“They got lucky,” Goodall stated as we headed off the field.
“Let’s get that run back,” I replied.
We didn’t get it back in that inning or the next. They loaded the bases in the seventh with a single, a walk, and an infield hit up the third-base line. Our reliever was struggling to find the zone, and Coach Ruiz jogged out to the mound as the infield came in to hear what our pitching coach had to say. “Breathe. Work the knees and let your infield help.”
“Yeah, let them hit it to me.” I smirked.
Ruiz headed back, and we brought the middle in halfway, keeping the corners even. The next hitter hit a one-hopper to my left, just like I wanted. I slid, came up, and fired home. Our catcher stepped on the plate for the force out, then threw to first. Double play. Two outs, runners left at second and third. The next batter chased a slider in the dirt for strike three. The student section jumped and cheered as we walked off the field, grateful we’d kept the Mustangs from scoring.
Ortiz started our half and shot a single through the right side. Pak entered as a pinch runner and stole second on the following pitch. Navarro was next. He stayed on a slider and lined it to left, and Pak held at third. Goodall came up and chopped one to the right side. Pak scored, Navarro moved to second, and Goodall was thrown out at first.
3-1.
One out.
Sato lifted a fly to center for out two. Murillo went down swinging, ending the inning.
“At least we have a little cushion,” Dylan said as he grabbed his glove.
“Yeah, but wish it were more,” Farlow affirmed.
Of course, we wanted to be ahead by more than two runs, but at least we weren’t losing.
In the eighth inning, Cal Poly went three up and three down. We threatened again in the bottom half, with Dylan pulling adouble into the corner. Farlow moved him to third with a clean grounder to second. We didn’t cash it in, but we were still up by two going into the ninth.
Our closer, Kane, took the mound, and the first batter dumped a single into shallow left. The next batter walked, and the following hitter tried to jump on the first pitch and rolled it to me at short. I went to second, Ortiz turned it, and the runner beat the throw by half a step, leaving runners on the corners with one out.
Their four-hitter stood in and stared down Kane on the mound. The first pitch was a strike, the second was fouled off into the stands near Cal Poly’s dugout, then Kane missed low for a ball. Kane went fastball in next, and the hitter fouled again. Two and two. Kane threw a slider away next, and the batter swung and missed.
Two outs.
The home crowd was on their feet as the next Mustang stepped up to bat. Kane threw one belt-high for strike one. His next pitch was a fastball up, and the batter hit a fly ball into right-center. Dylan charged and caught it at his knees, then held on.
Game.
We won 3-1.
I parkedmy 4Runner in my usual spot in the underground garage at our apartment complex, and Dylan and I grabbed our stuff. He unlocked the elevator with his fob and stepped in first. I followed and pressed the button for our floor. The elevator stopped on the ground floor, and the doors opened to reveal Mr. Wells from 3D holding a bouquet of red roses.
“Beautiful roses. Are those for Mrs. Wells?” Dylan asked as the older man stepped inside.
Mr. Wells pressed the button for the third floor. “Absolutely. I’ve been giving her red roses every Valentine’s Day for forty-two years.”
I balked. “It’s Valentine’s Day?”
Mr. Wells furrowed his brow. “You don’t know the date?”
I lifted a shoulder. “Baseball and school kinda consume our lives.”
“I knew it was Valentine’s Day,” Dylan stated. “Just don’t have a valentine.”
“That too.” I chuckled.
The elevator stopped on the third floor, and Mr. Wells stepped out. He turned and said, “You have plenty of time to find the one. Just have fun.”
“Oh, we are.” I grinned. “Tell Mrs. Wells hello for us.”
