110 Game Three: San Marino 5 (1/2)

I took a deep breath and got in the box. Noah took a lead off second, but stayed closer to the bag than the middle infielders.

The pitcher ignored him and focused on me. His first pitch to me was the same as the one that Noah hit. A good fastball in the strike zone. I really wanted to follow Noah and get a hit as well, but that wasn't what Zeke wanted. He wants a new pitcher so I fouled it. Then fouled another. Foul. Foul. Ball. Foul. Foul. Foul. Even pitches that could be considered balls, I made sure to tip them. I couldn't let this guy get off easy and walk me.

”Get him Bambi!”

”You've got this!”

”Work it! You're doing great kid!”

I heard the cheers come from all around as the catcher went up to the pitchers mound to have a mini meeting. I took a look around and everyone in the dugout and bullpen was up against the fences, yelling for me to get a hit. Embarrassed, I looked away. They didn't know that Zeke told me not to. They must think I'm struggling up here.

The catcher came back and got back into position. The pitcher got set once more. I stepped back up to the plate, trying to make it look like I was going for a hit. Foul. Foul. Foul. Foul. After four more straight fouls, the next pitch came inside. Way inside. I avoided it by stepping out of the box. Ball.

”What was that!”

”Ump! Did you see that?? He was aiming for our guy.”

”Don't get scared Bambi!”

I wasn't scared of a brushback pitch. I could see the trajectory well and it's not like it was crazy fast. Just mid-70s.

”Sorry about that.” The catcher apologized when he threw the ball back to the pitcher. ”He must be getting tired from the consecutive fouls.”

He didn't sound sincere at all. I wasn't scared of getting hit by a pitch, but the catcher definitely didn't seem friendly. I scooted towards the front of the box, just a little further away from him. Then put my focus back on the pitcher. He was sweating even in the cold morning, but could still throw strikes. I tightened the grip on my bat. Zeke wants him out, so I have to foul what I can.

The pitcher stepped on the rubber and went through his motion. This time he threw a curve at eye level that could drop in the dirt. I fouled it as it dipped. Fourteen pitches. My arms felt a little heavy from the bat, but I was starting to feel excited.

This was nothing like fouling pitches in a batting cage. In the cages, the pitches didn't change and there wasn't any variation pitch-by-pitch. Against a real pitcher, I had to put more effort in making sure I had the timing down and the location right. It wasn't as boring as I thought.

Foul. Foul. Foul. Ball. Foul. Foul. Foul. Ball.

”Ball four. Take your base.” The umpire called out.