The Year Mom Won the Pennant by Matt Christopher Page A

down at their regular places across from Nick, and Mom was across from Dad. They began eating. Hamburgers,
     mashed potatoes, and corn usually would make Nick forget everything else for a while. But this time the fate of the Thunderballs
     was uppermost in his mind. What would he do all summer if he didn’t play baseball?
    “Guess there just won’t be any Thunder-balls this year,” Jen said, putting a forkful of potatoes into her mouth. Her voice,
     thought Nick, sounded like the knell of doom.
    “I have a thought,” Mom said.
    Nick’s ears perked up. “What, Mom? That I play on another team? I can’t. It’s too late.”
    “No. Not that.”
    “What, then, Mom?”
    Mom’s eyes twinkled. “Okay if I tried it? Coaching the Thunderballs, I mean?”
    Nick stared at her. “You? You coach the Thunderballs? Is that what you said, Mom?”
    Mom smiled. “That’s what I said.”

2
    B ut, Mom!” Nick was dumbfounded. “What do you know about coaching?”
    Mom loved baseball just as much as Dad. But only as a spectator. She just
couldn’t
mean what she had said.
    “I’ve watched baseball games for more years than I’d care to mention,” Mom explained. “And I’ve seen coaches work too. Particularly
     your father.”
    “And I bet Mom can do just as well,” Sue put in, shaking back her blond curls. Her smile showed where she had lost a tooth.
    “She just might do better,” Dad admitted, beaming.
    “She just might,” echoed Jen, who had been born between Nick and Sue.
    “What have you got to lose?” Dad said. “Without her you might not have a team at all. With her you will.”
    Nick shrugged. He wasn’t exactly elated about the idea. “Well, I guess having a team is better than not having one,” he agreed.
     “Even if we don’t win a single game.”
    “Thanks for the compliment,” said Mom.
    Nick squeezed out a grin. “I’m sorry, Mom. I really didn’t mean that. You sure you want to coach us?”
    “Yes, I’m sure. But first you’d better ask your teammates if it’s all right with them.”
    “Wait till tomorrow, Nick,” suggested Dad. “This evening you call all the guys and tell them there’s practice tomorrow. TomorrowMom goes with you to the park and tells the boys she’s your new coach. If they don’t like it, they might as well forget about
     having a team.”
    Nick was glum. He appreciated his mother’s offer, but he was pretty sure the guys wouldn’t go for it in a million years.
    At six o’clock the next afternoon every member of the Thunderballs baseball team was present at the field. So was Mom. Most
     of the boys knew her. Nick introduced her to the few boys she didn’t know.
    Mom’s talk to the boys was brief. She said that Nick had told her that the Thunderballs had trouble getting a coach this year,
     that it was impossible for Mr. Vassey to coach them for a couple of good reasons, and that she had volunteered.
    “Some of you might have doubts about my coaching because I’ve never done it before,”she added. “Well, without me you won’t have a team. And isn’t having a team with a greenhorn for a coach better than no team
     at all?” She paused to let that thought sink into their heads a bit. “Besides, I do happen to know the women who coach the
     junior high and high school softball teams. I’m sure they’ll give me some good advice if I need it. Well, what do I hear?
     Will you accept me as coach? Or won’t you?”
    There was silence for a second. A long second. It was more like a minute, thought Nick.
    “Yes!” said Cyclone Maylor, putting up his hand.
    “Yes!” said Jerry Wong. In the next instant every boy there said yes and had his hand in the air.
    Mom’s face lit up. “Thanks, boys,” she said. “From now on you can call me Coach.”

    Mom wrote the name of each player down on a tablet she had brought with her. After their names she wrote their positions.
     Then she asked one of the players to hit fly balls to the outfielders and another