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the others swarmed toward them.
    Helmets off, arms raised, voices hoarse from yelling, the Hornets stayed on the field for a long time, hardly believing that they’d won it. Jason finally dropped to his knees, watching as the Hoboken players walked slowly toward their bus. The bleachers were emptying out, but lots of spectators were still there, on their feet, sharing the moment with the Hornets.
    “You’re some quarterback,” Vinnie said, his face a giant smile.
    “This is just the beginning,” Jason replied. “And you’re the quarterback. Don’t forget that. I was just the emergency guy.”
    “That sure looked like an emergency on that conversion,” Vinnie said. “You must have run about four hundred yards back there, scrambling around. Looked like every guy on the Hoboken team had a shot at you. You were unbelievable.”
    “Just didn’t want to lose,” Jason said, getting to his feet. “Didn’t want to let these guys down.”
    Anthony walked over and gave Jason a hug. He was crying as he said, “Beautiful game, huh? Like I said, Fiorelli, you are the man.”
    “Time for pizza, I think.”
    “Yeah,” Anthony said. He wiped his eyes. “Time for pizza.”
    They walked off the field. Spectators leaving the parking lot were beeping their horns to celebrate the win.
    Jason saw Wade near the sideline, staring over at them. “Come on,” Jason said, waving his arm.
    “Where to?” Wade asked.
    “Villa Roma. Come on, we earned it.”
    Wade thought for a second, a confused look on his face. Then he broke into a half-smile and said, “Yeah. I can do that.... Okay.”
    So Jason, Anthony, Miguel, Calvin, and Vinnie walked up to the Boulevard, trailed closely by Wade, Sergio, and Lamont. They looked exhausted and muddy and excited and proud.
    They looked like a team full of winners.

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SOUTHPAW
WinningSeason#6
     
    J immy stepped off the mound and jogged toward the dugout, being careful not to step on the first-base line. That’d be bad luck. He was excited now. He’d done well on this first afternoon of tryouts.
    The day was overcast and cool, and a few small patches of snow were still melting in the shady spots near the left-field fence. But the baseball diamond was clear and mostly dry. A trickle of sweat ran from Jimmy’s unruly hair onto his cheek. He quickly wiped it away.
    The muscular kid that Jimmy had just struck out was frowning as he put his bat in the rack. “What was your name again?” the kid asked.
    Jimmy tossed his mitt onto the rickety wooden bench and smiled. Not many kids had bothered talking to him since his arrival in town. “Jimmy Fleming,” he said eagerly. “My friends back home call me Flem.”
    The kid made a sour face and said, “Flem?” He thought for a second, squinting and giving the lanky newcomer a good looking-over. “I don’t know where ‘back home’ is, but to me phlegm is something you hack up and spit out.” And he did just that to demonstrate.
    “Home is Pennsylvania. And yeah, I’ve heard all the jokes,” Jimmy said, looking away. “They never bothered me.”
    The other kid shrugged. “I’m Spencer Lewis,” he said, not smiling. “But you already knew that.”
    “I did?”
    “You ought to.”
    Jimmy raised his eyebrows. “That so?”
    “Starting shortstop. Leadoff hitter.”
    “Wow,” Jimmy said with a lot of sarcasm. This kid seemed pretty full of himself. Jimmy decided to needle him a bit. “So I struck out a big star, huh?”
    Spencer winced but gave a half smile. “I ain’t hearing that noise,” he said. “Everybody knows the pitchers are ahead of the hitters in March. It might take me a minute to get used to a lefty like you, with that weird delivery, but tomorrow will be different.”
    The coach had said there’d be a full week of tryouts before he cut the roster to eighteen players. Jimmy had counted twenty-nine out for the squad.
    “The team’s pretty well set, you know,” Spencer said, “especially my