Read Online 333 Miles by Craig Birk - Free Book Online Page A

it
went farther than just about anything else Walter hit that year.
Though Tyler’s jaw would hurt every time he opened his mouth for
the next six months, he was quite lucky because the bat hit just
under his teeth, which remained intact. He was taken immediately to
the hospital where it was determined that his jaw was not broken,
which the doctor also said was very lucky.
    With Tyler out for the day, this meant Willy
Christensen would start the game on the mound for the Mets. Willy
usually pitched the second half of the game, after Tyler, and was
usually pretty good. This day, however, he just didn’t have it. The
game started twenty-five minutes late due to the time it took to
get Tyler off the field and on his way to the hospital. When the
umpire finally said, “Play ball,” Mike watched Willy’s first pitch
sail four feet above the catcher, batter and umpire. Pitch number
two was equally as short as the first one was high. Number three
drilled the leadoff batter in the wrist, at which point the child
dropped the bat, grabbed his wrist and promptly started to cry.
    “Jesus, what a pussy,” nine-year-old Mike
thought to himself while smoothing out the dirt in front of third
base.
    Willy’s luck with the second batter wasn’t
much better. He walked him on four pitches. He was more efficient
with the third batter, hitting him in the head on the first pitch.
The ball struck near the top of the batter’s helmet and bounced
harmlessly up into the air toward the backstop. The child was
unfazed and took off in a trot toward first base.
    One of the parents from the other team was
not happy about two of the first three batters being hit. “Hey, get
this guy out of here. He’s terrible and he is going to hurt the
kids,” he yelled.
    Willy’s dad, who was a home-building
contractor and could rarely attend games, happened to be at this
one. Mr. Christensen was a former marine who stood about 6’4” and
didn’t take shit from anyone. He didn’t intend to let anyone insult
his kid on the field. “Stick a cork in it,” he instructed the other
vocal parent.
    Everyone assumed that would be the end of it,
but it turned out Mr. Protective Parent was a cop and didn’t like
being told what to do. He immediately stood and walked right up to
Mr. Christensen and reiterated that if his son couldn’t throw
strikes then he shouldn’t be in the game and was a danger. Other
parents started slowly backing away as it seemed a physical
confrontation was all but inevitable.
    Sixteen-year-old Ryan Sackson, who was acting
as home plate umpire for this game for the tidy sum of $18, had
other ideas. For a high school kid, he took impressive control of
the situation. Ryan walked immediately back to the backstop and,
just as Willy’s dad was sticking his finger in the other parent’s
face, he began to shout. “You two – you are both out of here. This
is a little league game, for God’s sake. You should be embarrassed.
Pack up your stuff and go home.”
    The two adrenaline-fueled men looked at
sixteen-year-old Ryan and realized his point was valid. They also
realized he had given them a face-saving out that wouldn’t require
fighting in front of their kids. Without saying a word, they turned
away from each other and began gathering their stuff to leave.
Pretty much everyone in the place had forgotten the kids on the
field, but Willy was not happy about his dad getting thrown out of
the first game he had come to see that year.
    “Hey, fuck you, Blue, you can’t throw my dad
out of the game,” he yelled at Ryan from the mound.
    Willy got thrown out of the game as well.
Four minutes later, he and his dad were walking out toward the car
together. Mr. Christensen was proud of his son and gave him a pat
on the back. “How about if we go to McDonalds and hang out for a
while and not tell your mom about this?” he asked. “Sure, dad,”
Willy agreed.
    Fifteen minutes later, still with no outs on
the board, the Mets coach put Mike on the