ball made on the fat part of Hank’s maple bat.
The ball had been carrying in the hot air all night, even with no breeze blowing out to speak of, and now it carried Hank Bishop’s moon shot to right.
Brian watched it the way everybody in the ballpark did, standing, including the rest of the Tigers, all of them at the top step of the dugout, with their heads back, eyes wide, watching the flight of the ball.
“Get out! ” Davey Schofield yelled. “Get out of here!”
Jordy Hall, the Angels’ right fielder, was running full speed, acting as if there were no wall in front of him. At the last second, in perfect stride, he timed his jump and climbed the wall, just inside the foul pole.
Then he came back to earth, ended up sitting in the dirt in front of the wall, and in that silent moment nobody at Comerica, including Jordy Hall, knew whether this was one of those “Web Gem” plays everybody would watch on the late Baseball Tonight.
Or if the Tigers had just won the game.
Jordy looked into his glove.
Nothing there.
It had taken a few extra seconds, but Hank Bishop had just hit a two-out, three-run, walk-off homer—his first home run since coming back to baseball—to win the game.
Brian raced for home plate like the rest of the Tigers, hanging in the back of the crowd waiting for Hank to finally reach home plate. After Willie touched the plate, he ran back up the third baseline to act as cheerleader, running along with Hank, then jumping on his back as Hank got ready to touch the plate himself.
Hank had enough memory and enough experience to toss away his batting helmet before crossing home, knowing he was about to get pounded on. It was the only show of emotion Brian had seen from him all the way around the bases.
Brian ran for the helmet. He had already had Hank’s bat in his hand. Wasn’t about to let go of either one.
And when the celebration around the plate was over and Hank had finished with his postgame interviews, first for the Tigers’ television network, then for Tigers’ radio, finally for ESPN and the MLB Network, Brian Dudley could no longer contain himself.
Not on a night like this.
He was waiting near the top step of the dugout, knowing that Hank liked to take his favorite bat, his gamer, to his locker with him, sure that this night wasn’t going to be any different.
As Hank approached him, Brian said, “Your first homer in the majors, your very first one, was against Todd Wirth! How great is that, you did it again!”
Then he handed Hank the bat.
Hank nodded and took it. Behind Brian were all these people still in the stands near the Tigers’ dugout, still cheering the home run, still cheering for Hank Bishop. Brian could hear the kids calling Hank’s name, just wanting him to look in their direction. There was one kid, wearing a Tigers cap and a Tigers T-shirt, glove on his left hand, screaming, “Hank, this is the greatest night of my whole life! ”
Hank didn’t even look at the kid, any of the kids. But he did look at Brian with this look on his face that was almost curious, as if he didn’t understand what Brian had just said to him.
“Fascinating,” he said.
Then he took the bat from Brian and disappeared down the dugout steps.
Brian stood there for what felt like a long time. Even the kids who had been yelling Hank Bishop’s name started to leave. Finally he took one last look into the stands. The kid in the Tigers cap was still there, watching Brian.
Almost like he knew.
Brian walked down the dugout steps, got one of the baseballs the home-plate umpire had thrown out of play in the ninth inning. Without a word, he came out and stuck it into the kid’s glove.
Sometimes you wanted to go home with something more than a memory.
It was a lot more than Brian was going to get from Hank on this night.
CHAPTER 10
M r. Schenkel called Brian and Finn into his office after Saturday’s game, saying he had something he wanted them to tell their parents.
It was always
The ball had been carrying in the hot air all night, even with no breeze blowing out to speak of, and now it carried Hank Bishop’s moon shot to right.
Brian watched it the way everybody in the ballpark did, standing, including the rest of the Tigers, all of them at the top step of the dugout, with their heads back, eyes wide, watching the flight of the ball.
“Get out! ” Davey Schofield yelled. “Get out of here!”
Jordy Hall, the Angels’ right fielder, was running full speed, acting as if there were no wall in front of him. At the last second, in perfect stride, he timed his jump and climbed the wall, just inside the foul pole.
Then he came back to earth, ended up sitting in the dirt in front of the wall, and in that silent moment nobody at Comerica, including Jordy Hall, knew whether this was one of those “Web Gem” plays everybody would watch on the late Baseball Tonight.
Or if the Tigers had just won the game.
Jordy looked into his glove.
Nothing there.
It had taken a few extra seconds, but Hank Bishop had just hit a two-out, three-run, walk-off homer—his first home run since coming back to baseball—to win the game.
Brian raced for home plate like the rest of the Tigers, hanging in the back of the crowd waiting for Hank to finally reach home plate. After Willie touched the plate, he ran back up the third baseline to act as cheerleader, running along with Hank, then jumping on his back as Hank got ready to touch the plate himself.
Hank had enough memory and enough experience to toss away his batting helmet before crossing home, knowing he was about to get pounded on. It was the only show of emotion Brian had seen from him all the way around the bases.
Brian ran for the helmet. He had already had Hank’s bat in his hand. Wasn’t about to let go of either one.
And when the celebration around the plate was over and Hank had finished with his postgame interviews, first for the Tigers’ television network, then for Tigers’ radio, finally for ESPN and the MLB Network, Brian Dudley could no longer contain himself.
Not on a night like this.
He was waiting near the top step of the dugout, knowing that Hank liked to take his favorite bat, his gamer, to his locker with him, sure that this night wasn’t going to be any different.
As Hank approached him, Brian said, “Your first homer in the majors, your very first one, was against Todd Wirth! How great is that, you did it again!”
Then he handed Hank the bat.
Hank nodded and took it. Behind Brian were all these people still in the stands near the Tigers’ dugout, still cheering the home run, still cheering for Hank Bishop. Brian could hear the kids calling Hank’s name, just wanting him to look in their direction. There was one kid, wearing a Tigers cap and a Tigers T-shirt, glove on his left hand, screaming, “Hank, this is the greatest night of my whole life! ”
Hank didn’t even look at the kid, any of the kids. But he did look at Brian with this look on his face that was almost curious, as if he didn’t understand what Brian had just said to him.
“Fascinating,” he said.
Then he took the bat from Brian and disappeared down the dugout steps.
Brian stood there for what felt like a long time. Even the kids who had been yelling Hank Bishop’s name started to leave. Finally he took one last look into the stands. The kid in the Tigers cap was still there, watching Brian.
Almost like he knew.
Brian walked down the dugout steps, got one of the baseballs the home-plate umpire had thrown out of play in the ninth inning. Without a word, he came out and stuck it into the kid’s glove.
Sometimes you wanted to go home with something more than a memory.
It was a lot more than Brian was going to get from Hank on this night.
CHAPTER 10
M r. Schenkel called Brian and Finn into his office after Saturday’s game, saying he had something he wanted them to tell their parents.
It was always
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