The Year Mom Won the Pennant by Matt Christopher

1
    N ick Vassey drilled the ball straight over the plate.
Boom!
The ball connected solidly with Gale Matson’s bat and rocketed over the fence, far left of the foul line.
    “Quit pulling that ball!” yelled Cyclone Maylor at second base.
    “I’m not pulling it!” Gale yelled back, his face glistening in the hot sun. “I’m hitting it!”
    Nick grinned. In spite of the monkey business going on, Gale could make the worst-tempered person break into a smile.
    A moment later the smile disappeared.“Isn’t anybody going after that ball?” Nick asked.
    No one budged. The outfielders and the infielders were standing like statues, some of them with their arms crossed, some even
     with their ankles crossed.
    Pat Krupa, standing near third base, was closest to the ball.
    “Go after it, will you, Pat?” pleaded Nick. “We don’t have many balls.”
    Pat glanced at the others behind him, made a face, and went on a slow run after the ball. He had to go out the gate, then
     swing right behind the fence. “Straighten ‘em out next time,” he grumbled as he ran by.
    This is the trouble when you don’t have a coach, thought Nick. No one wants to do anything extra.
    Jerry Wong, who was catching the balls thrown in from the fielders, tossed him a ball. Nick stretched and aimed a pitch at
     theoutside corner. Gale swung and drove the ball inches past Nick’s right ear.
    “Hey! What did I ever do to you? Okay, lay this one down, Gale.”
    Gale bunted the next pitch down the third-base line and beelined for first. Jim Rennie batted next. Finally they all had taken
     their turns. But Wayne Snow wanted to bat again.
    “If you do, everybody else will want to,” said Nick. “And we’ve got to have outfield and infield practice.”
    “We can have outfield and infield practice the next time,” argued Wayne. “Come on, somebody. Pitch to me.”
    “I’ll pitch a couple to you if you’ll pitch a couple to me,” offered Tom Warren, the team’s best hitter last year.
    “You’re on,” said Wayne.
    “Who’s going to shag them?” snapped Scotty Page.
“I’m
not.”
    Nick looked from one to the other and began to feel angry. You can’t have a team with each guy wanting his own way. It would
     fall apart in no time.
    “You know what’s going to happen?” Gale Matson piped up. “There won’t be a Thunderballs team, that’s what. Not unless we get
     a coach.”
    “But Nick says his father doesn’t want to coach us anymore,” Jim Rennie said.
    “Why not?” Cyclone turned a surprised look at Nick.
    Nick shrugged. “He’s working later hours now, so he doesn’t have time. And he’s never won the pennant. He figures maybe someone
     else could do better. How about your father, Gale? Have you asked him?”
    “He’s a cop,” Gale answered. “He works different shifts. He can’t.”
    “My dad can’t either,” said Cyclone. “He’s a pilot. He’s away a lot.”
    “How about your dad, Wayne?” Nick asked. “Think he’d like to coach us?”
    Wayne shook his head and ran his hand up the full length of his bat. “He doesn’t have time either.”
    “Looks as if the Thunderballs have just fallen apart,” announced Russell Gray. “I’m going to get on another team before it’s
     too late.”
    “It
is
too late,” said Nick. “The other teams have been formed.”
    “Then what are we going to do?”
    “I don’t know,” said Nick.
    “You sure, Dad?” Nick pleaded again while he and the girls, Jen and Sue, passed the food around the table. “Are you sure you
     won’t have time to coach this year?”
    “I’m sure,” replied Dad. “I’ve told you my reasons, Nick. I’m working more hours. And I’ve coached the team for four years
     andhave never come close to first place. Give some other father a chance. Maybe he can do better.”
    “But no other father
wants
to coach us, Dad,” exclaimed Nick. “They all have excuses, too. And without a coach, we won’t have a team!”
    Jen and Sue sat