Baseball Great Read Online Free PDF Page A

on one knee.
    â€œGentlemen,” Rocky said, his voice raspy and his words guttural, as if they could barely make their wayout of that massive chest, “we have with us now Mr. Gary LeBlanc. If you’re a baseball fan of any kind, and I know you guys are, you don’t need me to tell you that he’s the star player for the Chiefs—twelve years as a pro and a first-round draft pick right out of high school.”
    Rocky unfolded his arm and extended his palm toward Josh’s father in a dramatic gesture. The team burst into applause.
    â€œGentlemen, I know Mr. LeBlanc from doing my nutritional consulting with the Chiefs, and he and I are going into a joint business venture; but what you guys will be interested to know is that his son, Josh here, is going to see if he’s got what it takes to join this team.”
    Rocky turned to Josh and held out a meaty hand. Josh took it and winced under the crushing grip.
    â€œNow,” Rocky said, turning back to his squad, “you guys do the right thing and make Josh feel welcome. We’ll see how he does, and we’ll see if he can help us do it to it and get to Fort Myers.”
    Josh had no idea why, but he could tell by the looks on the players’ faces that no matter what their coach said, every single one of them wanted to kill him.

CHAPTER TEN
    JOSH KEPT UP WITH the others. He fielded the ball as well as anyone, scooping grounders, snagging pop flies, and snatching line drives like a frog snaps up gnats. His arm wasn’t the strongest of the bunch, but it wasn’t the weakest. Still, this bothered him, because a shortstop needs a cannon for an arm. The shortstop gets more action in the infield than anyone else. He has more ground to cover. That meant trickier glove work, and he had to make the throw to first base automatic.
    The other challenge for Josh was the distance between bases. For twelve-year-old teams, the bases stood just sixty feet apart. The fourteen-year-old players competed on an adult field—ninety feet between bases—a much more difficult throw. Rocky had three younger assistant coaches, each a former collegiate player. Asa group they were silent and tough. They all cut their hair close, like Rocky, and they all knew the game.
    By the time they got to batting practice, Josh had a sweat going, and his arms felt heavy. He waited outside the netting, watching one of the young coaches feed yellow rubber balls into a machine throwing seventy-mile-per-hour pitches. Each player got twenty swings, and the coach tallied the hits, duffs, and strikes. Matt Jones, the tall, red-headed boy in front of Josh, connected with just seven pitches, three of them dribblers. By the time he left the cage, Jones’s eyes glistened with tears.
    â€œThat’s all right, Jonesy,” a husky outfielder named Tucker said, patting him on the back. “This kid ain’t gonna do any better than that.”
    Josh glanced back and saw them looking at him and understood he was the one they were talking about. He ducked through the seam in the netting and picked a bat out of the rack.
    â€œI’ll put a couple past you,” the young coach named Moose said, “just so you get a feel for it. You probably haven’t hit off a machine this fast before.”
    â€œThat’s okay,” Josh said softly, stepping up to bat lefty. “I’m ready.”
    â€œThought you were a righty,” Moose said.
    â€œMy dad makes me bat both ways,” Josh said.
    The young coach smirked at him and mutteredsomething as he nodded his head.
    Josh clenched the bat in his hands and hefted it, letting it swing back and forth enough times to become part of him. When he stepped up to the plate, the coach fired the first pitch before Josh even had the bat back. Josh tried to swing; the pitch hit the neck of the bat, right near his hands, jarring his bones and stinging his fingers.
    â€œOw!” Josh cried, dropping the bat to the