The GHOST and Charlie Dusenberry
Chapter Fifteen: Practice, Practice, Practice

PG. 50 TGACD R. ZEIS

“Watch out!”

The warning was shouted out by at least a half-dozen teammates. The warning was cried out because Billy “Skinny” Mickelson had unleashed a fastball during the team’s scrimmage.

Heeding the warning was Chris “The Beast” Harper. The large boy fell out of the batter’s box just in time as Mickelson’s pitch rocketed just past his chin. “Skinny! Remember I’m on your side!” lamented Beast.

“Sorry, Beast,” responded Skinny from the pitcher’s mound. “I’m still working on my aim.”

“Well, work harder!” yelled Beast as he picked himself off the ground.

Standing near third base Charlie could only shake his head in despair. DD, along with the notes given to him by Coach Estrada, had detailed a lot of what he was seeing right now.

“Dad,” DD had told him. “We only have two pitchers, me and Skinny. Skinny can really throw it! But, he’s a little wild.” Charlie had to agree with that statement. “Last season he gave up only four hits for the Angels. But, he walked and hit a bunch of guys. Coach Estrada was hoping Skinny would be better this year.”

“Well, he isn’t,” mumbled Charlie to himself. Just then Skinny fired another pitch about a foot over Beast’s head.

“That’s it for me!” shouted Beast as he threw down his batting helmet and bat. “He can kill someone else! I’m too young to die!”

With Skinny hanging his head down, Charlie and DD, who was catching, walked out to the pitcher’s mound. “I just can’t do it…” moaned Skinny.

“Billy, maybe you’re trying too hard,” said Charlie quietly.

“Coach, I’m really trying to be better, I want to throw the ball over the plate and the only way I can do that is to ease up.”

“Well, then, ease up!” Charlie said.

PG. 51 TGACD R. ZEIS

“Coach, if I ease up I’ll get murdered! No one can hit me when I throw hard, but it’s anybody’s guess where the ball will go!” Skinny was on the verge of tears making Charlie very uncomfortable.

“What about it, Dad?’ asked DD.

Charlie looked from DD back to Skinny. Both children were looking up to him with eager faces. They expected something from the man who they called coach. What could he say to them? He didn’t have a clue. “Just keep practicing and I’m sure you’ll get better,” was all he came up with.

“OK, coach,” Skinny said quietly as Charlie and DD walked away.

“Not very helpful, Dad,” DD said before he pulled his catcher’s mask on and ran back to his position. “Come on, Skinny! You got this!”

Flushing with embarrassment and anger, Charlie felt completely helpless. What did they expect from him? He was NOT a baseball coach.

Fear. There it was again. Fear of letting Skinny down. Fear of letting DD down. Heck, fear of letting everyone down. Charlie turned away from the kids as they went through their practice drills and stood by himself near the dugout. His first instinct was to pray again, but after what he went through yesterday he wasn’t so sure about that anymore. Did he really see what he thought he saw? Was prayer something he had to concern himself with now too?

Staring at the kids running around the baseball field, Charlie let his mind race back many years to when he was eight or nine years old. The old stomach ache returned as if he was actually there again. It was a little league game that someone had said was an important game in the standings. His dad had told him how excited he was and that Charlie should be excited too. But, Charlie was not excited. He was scared.

In the game, the tying run was on second base as young Charlie stepped into the batter’s box. There were two outs.

“Do your best, son!” his mom cried out from the stands. Sitting next to her his dad remained silent. There was nothing else for him to say. He had pulled Charlie aside before the game.

“You can turn your season around today, Charlie. Apply yourself.”

Charlie’s season had not been a stellar one. It consisted of two walks, a hit by pitch and a weak groundout. That was it. The only reason he was batting this late in the game was that two of his teammates were sick that day and only nine kids had shown up.

PG. 52 TGACD R. ZEIS

Prayer became important to the young Charlie at that time in his life. Two specific prayers were composed silently as Charlie waited for the pitcher to throw the ball. “Please don’t let me throw up.” And, “please just let me hit the ball.”

“Strike one!” yelled the umpire surprising Charlie. He stepped out of the batter’s box and looked into the stands.

“Charlie!” yelled his dad. “For Pete’s sake, be ready!”

Charlie shook his head in acknowledgment and then bent over as he felt his stomach heave.

“Is he gonna throw up?” asked one of his teammates in the dugout. A murmur went through the stands as different opinions were expressed as to whether Charlie would upchuck on home plate.

“You ok, son?” asked the umpire.

Afraid to say anything, Charlie crept back into the batter’s box. He feared opening his mouth might trigger a stomach eruption. Pitch number two thankfully missed its mark and a fleeting hope of a possible walk skittered through Charlie’s mind. But the next pitch caught a corner of the plate for strike two.

“Aw, he’s gonna strike out again!” moaned his teammate who was standing a few feet away as the on-deck hitter.

Charlie let the comment sting him as he turned to face the pitcher. He had to end this one way or the other before he actually threw up. He would swing at the next pitch no matter what. It was better for him to swing and miss than to just stand there and watch another ball sail by him for strike three.

Pitch number four-headed Charlie’s way and started to curve right at him. In twisting out of the way in fear, Charlie swung the bat.

THUNK!

The bat had made contact with the ball as Charlie had moved out of harm’s way. The ball started to dribble down the third baseline.

A collective scream of “RUN!” sang out from the stands as Charlie watched the ball roll away from him.

“For God’s sake, run Charlie!” he heard his father scream.

PG. 53 TGACD R. ZEIS

The small boy finally tore his eyes off the rolling ball and started to run. First base was only sixty feet away, but it looked to Charlie like it was a mile.

As the pitcher and third baseman raced to field the ball Charlie kept his eyes focused on first base. First base meant everything to him. It meant actually getting a hit. It meant being a hero to his teammates. It meant maybe getting a smile from his dad.

Twenty feet from the base, Charlie heard the catcher yell, “first base!” That meant someone had grabbed the ball.

Fifteen feet to go!

Ten feet to go!

Five feet to go!

Charlie was running hard. He could feel the wind trying to blow his baseball cap off his head. Almost there! However, instead of continuing to run he began a headlong dive into first base. This was a major no-no.

Gus Dusenberry had drilled into his son that diving headfirst into the base was actually slower than running to it. But, Charlie wanted this soooo badly his father’s words were lost to him. As he hit the dirt to begin his headfirst dive, Charlie heard the ball slam into the first baseman’s glove. Then came the phrase he feared most.

“You’re out!”

He lay there, face down, stunned by how close he had come…to heaven on earth. Sure, some teammates and the coach went to him and helped him up. There were the usual “nice tries.” Those words did nothing for him as he slowly walked back to his parents who were in the stands.

“He hit the ball! He almost made it,” reasoned his mother. Charlie stood a few feet away as his parents faced each other not knowing their son was there.

His mom put her hand on her husband’s shoulder, “He tried. He’s not going to be a pro like you were.”

Gus Dusenberry looked his wife in the eye. “Don’t you think I know that? Just once I’d like to see him prove he had something of me in him!”

“I’m sorry, Dad,” whimpered Charlie.

Pg. 54 TGACD R. ZEIS

His parents turned at the sound of the small voice. His mom crouched down and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Charlie, you almost made it!” she said softly.

“Thanks, Mom,” Charlie said and then turned to face his father.

Gus Dusenberry stood rigidly for a long moment and then looking Charlie in the eye said words that stung even to this very moment. “That’s the problem right there. It’s always ALMOST.”

“Coach! Coach! What do you want us to do now?”

Charlie snapped back to the here and now. He realized that he had been standing with his back to the field lost in memories. Lost. Sadly, he had to look at part of his childhood as lost.

Coming back to reality, he called, “DD, grab a bat. Let’s do some infield work.”

The kids shuffled to their positions as Charlie walked to the dugout to search for Coach Estrada’s notes. There was so much to do with the season opener tomorrow. He was going to coach a little league team. The little boy who couldn’t remember not to slide into first base was going to teach baseball. Crazy!

Speaking of crazy, did he really think he talked to his dead father yesterday! Did he talk to a ghost?

Crazy or not, tomorrow he would have to face the reality that a little league baseball game would terrify him again.

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