Now Batting

Short Fiction by Frank Diamond

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Randy Torrez steps up to the plate for the most important at-bat in his life. Two outs. Bases loaded. He gets a hit, and the Lenape Lions win the high school state championship. He gets out, they lose and call it a season. Of course, he could also walk or get hit by a pitch, but Randy doesn’t want to win that way.

Randy takes some practice swings before stepping into the batter’s box. He pats the cross hanging on a chain underneath his shirt, blesses himself — a gesture so quick it almost looks like he’s drawing an air-circle. He digs in, raises the barrel of the bat to eye level, grabs it, squints at it, whispers something, lowers it and then relaxes into his stance.

The Dakota Dodgers’s fielders and bench jockeys chatter.

“NobatterNobatterNobatterNobatterUpThereJarvisBaby!”

That would be Jarvis Metempo, the pitcher.

Randy takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

You got this.

Somebody yells, “Walk’s as good as a hit, Randy!” as if it’s newly discovered wisdom instead of a cliche Randy’s heard since Little League. Randy called bullshit on that advice at around age 5, along with, “It doesn’t matter if you win or lose.”

It sure as hell does matter, even little kids aren’t fooled by that one, and colleges don’t offer scholarships to walkers. Those who closely follow high school baseball — players, coaches, various social media, and some newspapers — consider Randy the best prospect in Pennsylvania. He’s a five-tool player: hits for average, got some pop, acrobatic fielder, gun for an arm, and fast.

Colleges also don’t offer scholarships to pitchers who allow a hit, or walk someone, or hit batters and lose games as a result. Not a good look. Metempo is the best hurler in the state. A kid who can mix heat, with a drop-off-the-table curve ball, a sneaky slider, and once in a while a disappearing change-up. That’s at least two out-pitches right there, maybe three.

Randy glances at the crowd, about 5,000 strong in this bush league ballpark, host of the state playoffs this year. Shadows of the stands creep over the grass on this bright and cool day. Perfect baseball weather played under a turquoise dome of a sky arching ever on and on.

Randy’s already gotten scholarship offers. However, in the stands this afternoon sits John “Clutch” McNally, a scout for the Division 1 university Randy really wants to go to. That school manufactures Major League Baseball prospects.

Clutch got his nickname because he looks for the sixth tool: How does a player perform under pressure? Does he come through when everything’s on the line? Does he hit walk-off home runs? Or can he pitch a gem to stop a losing streak? He measures intangibles, those nearly spiritual elements in skill or attitude or concentration that allow players to perform well in situations.

Not everything that takes place on the diamond can now be measured, it just seems that way. Randy’s grandfather talked about batting averages and earned runs. Now, advanced statistics measure things like — for hitters — wRAA (weighted runs above average) and wRC+ (weighted runs created plus); and for pitchers, SIERA (skill-interactive earned run average), and xFIP (expected fielding independent pitching).

But advanced stats can’t be gathered at the high school level because of the small sample size. It’s just too short of a season; 15 to 20 games. Baseball ability runs hot and cold for even top prospects and by the time a talented player shakes free from a slump, or makes the right adjustment on the mound, there may be just two more contests to go.

For hitters, college recruiters look at bat speed, mechanics, knowledge of the strike zone, and the ability to get the barrel of the bat on the ball.

Stop thinking.